Miserable Homo sapiens

By Can Altun All Rights Reserved ©


A conflict between the logic and human instinct

Big Bear

I’m Austin; I’m writing these lines solely for myself, not caring about whether someone reads them or not. In this utter darkness, walls, my own self, my thoughts and my impulses are at war… I shouldn’t forget what I know, including my ability to write as well as almost everything inside my head. I’m making my best effort to gain that ability back just because of one reason, I am afraid, which is an agony for me to except it. I grab a pencil, I’m trying to write something on to my hand however I haven’t achieved much yet. Then, with the pencil, I’m using my white trousers as if they were a blank page. Too bad that I don’t have another pencil and I’ve tried to sharpen it with my teeth in order to get to the lead. I sharpened it though the edge is shapeless. I keep on writing without any specific pattern, so actually I haven’t achieved much at all. It’s at least legible though. I’m putting down onto this page my emotions and my past in order to protect my mind from this war. I’m an easy-going, well-behaved and hard-working child of a family from the middle class, and I’ve got a brother: Easton. Until I was fourteen, I lived with my parents in the countryside of Cardiff. When I think about this place in my depressed state of mind, it only seems to me how innocent and happy I was there. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that I was a little bit spoiled by my parents, being the youngest in the house. I don’t want to speak of my father since he was already six feet under when I was three years old. Eastooonnn was my beloved brother. He made a great effort to raise me; he was like a father to me. One of my favourite memories with him was when he said “Austin, I’m always by your side, and whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.” With a confident voice, I used to reply: “I know.” Before it’s too late, I need to get my story together. Alas! I don’t have enough space to write on my trousers…

A Couple of Weeks Later

I’ve found a way to continue, I thank Jesus Christ at least for providing me with this opportunity to be able to talk to myself. I hardly ever go out to the yard. I don’t have any friends here since people find me weird. And creepy as well… How do I know this? I can feel it from the way they turn their eyes when I talk to people, or how their blood curdles inside their skin, or from their tone of voice or mimics. I’m smoking in the nook, on the quiet. People pass me by in groups. Some are taking a walk, some are murmuring about being an experimental subject for the CIA while getting high on the yard. This is crazy! Some are trying to hook up with someone to please their lust. Within all this chaos, my eyes catch an old man. He must be new around here; I’ve never seen him before in the yard. Completely brand new… Hiding behind the pages he’s reading; he lays eyes on my appearance. But he doesn’t notice that I’m looking at him, as well. Told you before, old yet new here... I get out of my nook and start walking towards the man. I’m not aware of anything, especially of this everlasting, preying-on-my-soul, and making-me-lose-my-mind lunacy! Thinking how I’d save my soul and mind, I’m nearly beside the old chap. How dare he?! When I stand next to him, he puts the book aside and stares at me with his chameleon eyes. “Yes?” I don’t even bother to reply. I sit beside him, time is running out. As if we were on a train trip in the same compartment, he wasn’t bothered by my existence; he kept reading. “What are you reading?” I asked. “A collection of papers on self-help. So I can’t name a writer right away.” I can hear my thoughts on him saying “what an old man, what the hell is he talking about”. A couple of pages catch my attention in that old, dusty book. “What are all those pages about?” “Which ones?”, “There, those blank pages.” “Them? They’re for my letters; I got them from the commissary.” Did he just say stationery? Or did my mind trace the word? Suddenly, I start daydreaming about my childhood memories. I go back to the times when I used to feel my mother’s scent on my cheeks… The clock is ticking, time to act up. As soon as I say “Could you please share the pages with me”, I pull the pages from the book. The old man kept looking at my hand and the book; he didn’t even notice what just happened. Behind my back, he wandered “Hey, I didn’t even say yes!” with a familiar yet disgusting phlegmy and husky voice. I’m safe now… Or maybe I tend to think like this? I’m not sure. I guess I was safe during my childhood when I was with my family. Easton and my mother Maria gave me this feeling of safety. What a pity that they’re not here at the moment! My brother started a family when it was time and went far away. I had one and only wish for him to have a baby but unfortunately, they failed regardless of trying numerous times. Don’t think that he’s a sober-minded person just because he was like a father to me. He lived life to the fullest; failed, succeeded, crumbled down, was torn apart, got the pieces together and rose again. On a constant loop, classic Easton…

That’s precisely why I got spoiled by my mother. On our farm, thank God, the harvest was enough for us to live by and save a little bit, as well. Time went by and since Easton didn’t go to college, my mother wanted me to do so and supported me from the bottom her heart. Her wish came true. Thanks to expensive tutors, I studied in a department called criminal investigation -which, for me, was a department for improving stalking skills- in a well-known college in Britain.

Not Aware of the Time Anymore

I thought I was never going to write again, just because I stole the blank pages, I was severely beaten by some douchebags. I’m getting myself together in this shithole. I try to remember why I write, I can’t help myself from asking “why on earth do I keep on writing?” Stupid Austin, keep on writing. “With the alarm sound going off again, those douches are coming back again. Jesus Christ, save me, show mercy on my soul.”

False Alarm

It wasn’t like I expected. Ha-ha! You fools! Did you really think I’d be scared right away? My bare existence is enough for others to quiver with fear.

Did I just say false alarm? I’m in a war. That’s probably the reason why I have goose bumps with fear and thrill is terrorizing me inside and out. I need to put an end to all of this yet I don’t know how to manage it or at least, I can’t make the confession to myself. I feel alone, it’s a good reason to go insane. However, my loneliness isn’t the ultimate reason but my thoughts are standing right across me in this tiny room. They’re staring at me while I’m staring at them; I can feel in the air that I should act up. It’s enough for me to keep breathing the same air over and over again. How terrifying it is for things inside my head to take over my consciousness. Nonetheless, the even more terrifying thing is that I’m aware all of this. I’m fucked, I can feel it; I need to be at peace with myself. But how? And why?

An Ordinary Day

I woke up. I’m not aware of the time or the date, I can’t distinguish them anymore. My entire attempt to remember any of them is in vain, and I’m not sure if I want to remember them or not. My final attempt is to figure out the time from the sun. But, this cell is darker than you could ever imagine. Where does all this darkness emerge from? Is it because I’m surrounded with walls, or…? Thoughts bothering me deep inside are still trying to pop up and make me want to do something. My trousers were all white, now they’re all covered in black. I wish I hadn’t written any of this. Would I be able to complete all of this then? I see more clearly what I avoid confessing even to myself. Pardon me please, as I told you at the very beginning, but the entire reason for all of this is because my brain and my heart are at war. The consequences of this war were harsh; am I afraid to experience this all over again? Or is it my subconscious that will make me realise things? I couldn’t stop it; doubt has joined the war, as well. Just like I couldn’t prevent my daughter Nancy’s death… Almighty God! Her existence made me discover my reason of existence; her silky hair, divine face and scent that was unique to her only… Dear almighty Lord, I hope Nancy is now with you and you are taking good care of her. When I’d last seen her, she was acting pretty bizarre. For instance, when we sat down to the table for a casual dinner, she sneezed. She got rid of the mucus quickly by cleaning it with her hand or putting it somewhere on her dress. However, this wasn’t the only thing that she did that night which surprised me. She stood up and headed towards to bathroom. When I asked “Where to?” she replied “I’ll just wash my hands, Dad.” I thought it was about her stepping into adolescence but the truth was completely different. How blind was I, one might not know his most beloved, closest person. God, if a little girl could hide something from me like this, I don’t want to think about my peers. Could it be some sort of a defence mechanism? But why? She came back to the table as if nothing had happened, sat down and continued to have her dinner. “Is my daughter a grown up now?” She smiled. I can’t give a reasonable answer to her smile now. Did she smile because she simply liked the question or was it the beginning of an ending? Ending… but for which one of us? Nancy’s death or my heart’s freezing as hard as stone? Mom, can you hear me? Jesus Christ? My fingers can’t help themselves from writing. You wouldn’t believe it, yet I’m so close to win. Are all of these emotions real? How would I be so affected by something that is made of cells? Shall I compare it to my love to Nancy? There must be only one answer. The old man from the other day must have been sent to me by Jesus. I’ll find a way out thanks to the pages I stole from him. I understand now that he couldn’t do anything to me. How would an old man like him who’s a looney, weak and all wrinkled, stand against a man like me who’s in his thirties? How did I make the same mistake again? Now it seems to me that everything happened for a reason…

Everything happened for a reason four months ago, as well. I couldn’t take care of both Nancy and business at the same time since it was so busy in the centre. I even forgot about myself. I felt suffocated. I was tired of caring for other people and struggling with achieving anything. That night, I did something I had planned long before. I waited patiently to get my pay check. From now on, I decided to take care of myself. From a pharmacy, I bought a serotonergic drug. I used it immediately; I could tell from others’ gaze and my spongy mood that my brain chemistry had changed. I was going to take care of myself that night, not of anyone else. I got LSD and lost myself to the night. I was having so much fun that I wished to go to an everlasting party; I drank countless amount of whiskey and liqueur. There was no one else around but me. I was waiting for this moment for a long time: no one else is around, just me. My body stopped enjoying all of this after a while and got into the act to go home, which was my safe place. In order to get to my bedroom where I could be all alone, my mind worked in tandem with my feet so perfectly that my body cooperated with its conscious and equal mind. I was getting closer to the house. That night, I was to take care of myself only. While getting closer, I was unable to contain myself. I checked my pocket to get the keys yet something was missing: the keys. I went through other pockets but there was nothing. I was about to go crazy. I remember yelling: “I need to get into that bloody room!” I shouldered the door: “Open up, God damn it!” I heard a noise from the inside that triggered me. I got stronger, the door couldn’t resist my strength. It cracked open finally, and I was on my way to my room yet I glanced at Nancy’s room while passing. Right in front of me, a giant bear was preying on my beloved daughter, whose body was torn into pieces and her right eye was missing. I flashed to the basement, took the axe and got back to the room. I hit the axe so strongly to the bear’s neck that it was about to chop off completely and then hit it once again with a cry. Its head was gone. With the sunrise, the police came by and the pieces of me and Nancy were the only things that were left from last night.

A headline: Austin G. takes his life by hanging himself from trousers in his cell.

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