CHOOSE YOUR OWN MINDFUCK: A Night in Eighth Block Tower (A3)
Bedlam Bible fans! Explore the Eighth Block Tower! Choose your fate! New posts every Tuesday and Friday. September '23 through December '23. Don't succumb to the huummmmmmmmm...
You’ve chosen to separate from the others…
And then there was one.
You try to remain positive about separating, but it’s difficult knowing they probably know exactly where the cash is and you’ve been bullied right out of your share.
For the sake of your sanity, you go over a list of possible endings to the night that would please you to no end—the first being, of course, that they have no clue where they’re going and you stumble onto the shoebox full of cash on your own. $56,000. Man, that’s a lot of dough, you think.
But could you really take the cash and flee, leaving the others high and dry? Maybe, but it’s not really your style. You may be a crook, but you still have a moral compass, goddamn it—it’s just a little more skewed than most others, admittedly. You’ve always considered yourself to be fair. You’re not the kind of person who dips into other criminals’ honey pots. Companies, unknown strangers, your parents—that’s all fair game, but another criminal’s share of the loot? That’s where you draw the line. The paranoia alone would be enough to drive you totally mad. Everywhere you’d go, you’d be looking over your shoulder, waiting for the fellas to catch up to you. At some point, they’d find you and as soon as they saw your yellah, no good, backstabbin’ face, they wouldn't hesitate in putting a bullet straight through your brain. Hell, even if they never caught up with you, the paranoia would never go away. The money would haunt you until the end of your days…
You sigh, then scratch that ending and think of a better one.
In this new fantasy, you imagine you find the cash on your own, then call in the boys to divvy out their shares… but they don’t answer. The apartment is eerily quiet. Something’s wrong, you think, so you silently tiptoe back to the bedroom, where you last saw them, and take a peek inside. Instead of seeing the boys, you’re shocked to see the bare backside of some strange… dog-headed… fish-man… with plastic toy eyes and gigantic… chicken legs?—in your fantasy you try to visualize what a shapeshifter might look like, but you’ve never been good at all that imagination stuff—whatever it is, it’s hunkered over your partners in crime, eating their insides out, right there on the bedroom floor.
They’re dead. 100%. There’s no chance they survived this. No way.
Knowing this, you sneak away unnoticed, exit the apartment, then the building, hail a cab and tell the cabbie to take you to the nearest airport. At the airport you buy a ticket for the first flight out of there, no matter the destination, and off you go to start your new life…
Hmmm. Something’s missing, you think, then reassess.
You start the fantasy over again and it all goes the same as before, however this time when you hail the cab, there’s already someone sitting in the backseat. It’s the most amazing and beautiful person you’ve ever met. Thankfully, they welcome you into the cab, saying they’re headed for the airport as well and that the two of you can share the ride. What luck!
The drive to the airport is long, but you hardly care because you’re having the most wonderful time getting to know this new special person in your life.
As much as you’re enjoying the moment though, you know a relationship with this person could never work. This incredible human would have to be crazy to get mixed up with someone like you, a petty criminal with a shady past. They deserve better.
At the airport, sadly, the two of you say your goodbyes and go separate ways, but hey… at least you’ll always have that cab ride…
What the hell kind of fantasy is this? You ask yourself. You can do better. You know you can do better.
Reset.
Same fantasy as before, except now on the ride to the airport, you come clean to your special person. You tell them you’re a small-time crook, just made parole, and you’re already up to no good again. You tell them about the money, the dog-headed fish-man, chicken legs, everything. You’re expecting a slap to the face, a scream, some kind of negative reaction, but it never comes. Instead, they just smile, lean over, and remove something from their luggage—a shoebox, nearly identical to the one you now hold in your hands. They tell you to open the lid, so you do, and inside there’s just as much—no, even more money than what you have in your own box!
The two of you make out all the way to the airport, and once you finally get there you give the cabbie the biggest tip he’s ever seen, wink, and tell him the two of you were never there. He winks back, takes the cash, and drives off.Â
You and your lover run through the airport, taking the first flight out of there—no, no, no… you wait like an hour for a flight to the Bahamas! It’s really nice this time of year (even if it’s not, you make it so for the sake of this fantasy). The two of you live happily ever after—rich and in love.
When the fantasy ends, you remember the reality of your situation—you’re standing in the middle of a shitty apartment, in the worst part of town, and you have nothing at all to your name except for your name, and your name is soiled in mud and shit and everything bad, because you have a rap sheet following you like a shadow that says you absolutely cannot be trusted. Your future doesn’t look so bright—your real future, that is. You need the money. It’s the only way to a good life. No room for error.
So, enough with this keeping separate bullshit. They know where the money is. You know they know where the money is. So, what are you doing? You shake off your fear and march straight back to the bedroom to meet up with the fellas.
Hopefully it’s not too late.