2023-02-17 22:53:13Shellville, which was really more of a large town for that matter. A little piece of butt-fuck nowhere in the midst of glamorous Californiacations just out of San Diego's reach, but which luckily had a beach front.
And like many cities or towns or even all, Shellville held a common atmosphere on the best of nights.It was cold, bitter and yet beautiful all the same.Minus the people...Night seemed to be the only time a man could quench his thirsts and never look back in regret until later the very next day. Men and women alike, throwing a couple of pennies or paper rolls as well as hours at each other for sex or for drugs all in good neighbourhoods.Being the world we live in now or rather, the world that has always been a current and fashionable norm as cycles turn in order to try and stop it.And one could be, although shouldn't be fooled by the Emerald city atmosphere in day time's delouse. For, it was the night time that which most people are skeptic of, that many come to show their true colours. As the real things that go bump in the the darkness of night; and in a town like Shellville, or as the youth claim it to be named "Hellville" after the vacuumus hole in the earth they saw it to be, around midnight...things would always start to get...rowdy in it's vast and eerie ambiance of buzzing streetlights and melancholy night owls. They each had their story...And as Oliver knocks off of his day job, later than usual as the middle manager of a corner café near the town square called "Locale" - which on most days was filled with college students.For some reason, Oliver believed that he had it (in some way) made; he didn't have to buy for more than one person in his house hold so the disposition of minimum wage didn't bother him, especially as his parents - who were tired of secretly locking their bedroom door at night; threw him into a fully furnished apartment at age eighteen, rather than a room with padded walls. That which was bought for a handsome amount of money in order to pay off the rent and to overcompensate for their silent hoorahs of ridding themselves of him, but with not so much a view to die for of the dark blue empty ocean far off into the distance since his apartment was built inland. Not to mention that they also gave him a car just so that one: Oliver couldn't complain about being kicked out and two; he wouldn't notice the joy in their faces when they did so.Oliver's parents were never fond of his almost compulsive behaviorisms although, they did their best to except him as he was and tried to in some ways give him some kind of guidance, but Oliver never seemed to be interested; this made them usually suffer in silence and become rather conscious of his appearance in social gatherings and family events.They went so far at times as to be very cautious not to stand in his way when he threw one of his many tantrums, it sometimes seemed better not to intervene.It got so bad to a point of which they didn't even have the guts to tell him he was actually in fact adopted...They were sweet, they didn't think that he needed to know, they were hopping that it would be much easier to love him all the same.But that did not bother Oliver all that much, because he always in some way knew...It was either that or his mother had an affair, seeing as he was the only one in the house hold to have speckled green eyes and a scalp caked with wild curly strawberry blond hair.He shaved his head to spite his appearance and identity once he ran away from home in the midst of one of his silent crises and it gave him a morose and anaemic light; this made his mother furious, that is after they had finally found him with the police. But she knew that there was very little she could do without finding a rat's head in her coffee or some other vicious consequence to that degree.And dare she ever mention a therapist...They had bought him a few of his favorite things in advance in fear that he would do something much worse if they simply kicked him to the curb and pretended as if it were the best gift any parent could ever give their already spoilt rotten ankle biter, for nothing ever seemed like enough.And on his birthday, they had basically celebrated their new life without him and he was out by the next morning; with his parents believing that the days of mangled puppies, mutilated birds and squished bees along with the haphazard yelps from crying siblings now estranged were finally behind them.Which led to his simple life here, as he continued to "peacefully" sweep after he told a fellow green eyed peer that he would helpfully take over the duty (even though he was practically done), pretending that he didn't notice that their shifts had ended about two hours ago in order to get his boss to pay him overtime."Hey, what are you still doing here? Your shift ended two hours ago, and where's Row? ", Oliver's boss - Mr. Moloi said as his jolly Fatman figure stopped and turned in front of him, blocking his seemingly bleak view of the inky space beyond the glass door and windows and even furthermore past the street lamp lights."Oh, I told him I would help out and that he could leave. I hardly noticed time fly by, sir.", Oliver lied."Come come, I've got to wake up early tomorrow.", Mr. Moloi spoke up."Taking the misers out to brunch again, sir?", he asked as he leaned on the broom stick."Why yes I am.""I tell you, you spoil her, sir.", Oliver joked with a blank yet joyous smile."Well...like all women, she'll complain if I don't.", Mr. Moloi said with such a smile that made him look like the jolly Fatman's spitting image as his round belly shook with laughter, complete with a short greying beard before he turned for the front door which opened with a jingle bell."You'll lock up won't you? The spare key is on the hook.", the old rustic-fadora-wearing and slightly tan Santa cooed while he span on his heel as he waved goodbye to Oliver, who smiled and waved his farewell.Pretending came very easy to Oliver, a talent or rather a game he had mastered years ago, when he could still play innocent when a window would break or when a sibling would suddenly lose their hair after using the shampoo or conditioner, and it seemed as though he was only getting better with time.For you see, Mr. Moloi has had this quaint diner so to speak for years and practically treats Oliver, if not all his employees like a daughter or son; seeing as he has none that anyone knew of.That made Oliver personally believe that he put himself in good terms with the elderly gentleman. Oliver seemed to believe that he practicality had him wrapped around his finger, and he would never admit the fact that he actually liked the old man, but if he were to die, then Oliver could quite probably own the café with a bit of elbow grease and shoe licking.He truly believed he had a reputation to uphold.And as soon as Mr. Moloi was out of sight, he locked the front door behind himself and immediately turned around to face what he would prefer to be known as trash world, or earth as we know it.People are strange, but townsend life, am I right?Shitty cops parading their badges for credit yet only able to think as far as their noses, litters of shitty people who all thought themselves better than one another, with their noses in the air whilst parading around under Oliver's very own as he climbed a nearby gas station kiosk's roof top to his secret hide out. Grabbing a pill and a cigarette.As he sparks up, he then spots three loud idiots who are either teenagers or were acting like ones; who were - as many have heard people who fit the same description to be known as 'fuckboys' walking towards the rarely used train station as one of them puff on an e-cigarette or something to that effect.Oliver rolled his eyes and trailed off to the sound of foot steps that came out of the darkness from a rather good example of 'No honer among thieves', as he spots a man not too far from under him flipping through a wallet which the stranger swiped from a busy and slightly deflated-looking mother of two monsters a block down from the station; both tearing her in different directions as she was dragged through the streets from an apartment building, at this hour.She obviously hadn't known it dropped out by the time she had gotten into her car, tisk tisk.
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Yesterdays, Todays and Tomorrows
His stomach churned as the door knob turned and creaked with sinisism he thought he could feel in the air, but what he saw, who he saw once the door was open...he almost dropped the gun. And as he put his arm by his side, he was tempted to hide it. The door was open and Nick came eye to eye with Rowland as the door creaked wide over the sound of the radio;"Row...", the way he said his name was a whisper with that voice of molasses that still gave Rowland chills, but this time it was more like the chills you get when you feel or see something supernatural. He might as well have said 'no', for Rowland didn't believe it either...What does a ghost say to another ghost? The fucking thought made him feel like his life was just some fucking joke and that pissed him off, but before he could react with anger, Nick marched toward him and then did the strangest thing - he kissed him. It was full of impatient passion but all Rowland could justify was the taste of bitter-sweet cherry cola on hi
Vivamus, moriendum est
Ever meet someone that just screams chaos, but you go for it anyways...If you answered yes, then I know you're lying. Because you never see it coming until they carve the fucking words into your forehead with a piece of your own fucking rib...****Bitter Truths " That ain't nothing but the Devil!""...Sometimes horrific events come into our lives. We get fired from our jobs. We get ill. A loved one dies one. Scrolling through the news we are overwhelmed with murder and natural disasters, as Mother Nature and our fellow humans seem to be in race to see who can kill us off first. Hate surrounds us.It is only human to look at these thinhs and wonder "why." Why do they hate us? Why do we hate them? Why does so much horror have to happen in this world?The "why" is the origin of fear. The "why" is the unkown, and people fear the unknown. This fear of the unknown, of things that lurk in the dark, that threaten our existence...It is where horror is born.Some people will look at the hor
Chapter twentytwo: Mr.Goodbar
{Yesterdays todays and tomorrows} -Flashback- When in Rome.Nick lay face up upon it with his Clearwater eyes in sunlight as his mind was lost in the ceiling; he couldn't remember what they were talking about but he knew it was something about angels and demons, and the beginning and end of the world.he had read somewhere, that there are no archangels... But merely they are the brothers and sisters of mankind... And to this day he just can't put my finger on it... And told Rowland once he came back from the bathroom, Nick chimed in the silence with a baritone of concern. "Well...maybe, the brothers and sisters of mankind are too the archangels we know,... instead of contradicting the belief it's the chicken and the egg. Both exist as both one and separate, I mean a chicken can't come from thin air and neither can the egg, right? I mean I probably didn't first come in the same guise as the egg we've come to know, that's how we know that evolution is possible. But I th
*I'm no Flower Child*
CaliforniaThe next few days, weeks, months felt sort of normal to Rowland, he hadn't the joys of finding out the side effects of antidepressants just yet. But it was like if a cheery whistle and song played in the back of his mind like a cheesey theme song from a musical, singing in the rain after a storm he felt was still right behind him but to him for the time being he felt that things could get sunnier - would get sunnier and damn well should.And yet such a polarisation didn't scare him, he finally felt the better side of nothing...He had visited home every so often to keep his mother sane, checked that off his list like a chore out of love - incidentally promising that he would come back for his birthday, but otherwise things felt better. He even painted freely in between brakes of editing Olivia and his' work making the executive decision including her help create a punk/goth culturale magazine starting with the Rainbowradioactive kids; the thing was, that he noticed everythi
Los Angeles
RainbowradioactiveIf salt were a physical feeling it would taste of a wound, he split his lip on a smile a while ago. Licking the gash as he waited...He had a few days off, so he figured that when he got home he would do that thing he really didn't want to do.So he found himself in the waiting room of a private psychiatrist's office next to a ficus plant just as stiff and stoic as he was in that moment, as he realized he'd admitted defeat to Elizabeth he tuned into the receptionist's radio in the background to the ambiance that which all hospitals and clinic had, though to Rowland it was more like a dentist's office... He could just hear her now, under the thought of whatever questions he could be drilled with.He tensed his jaw as he waited. He actually got a card from Elizabeth after she called a psychologist to refer him to a psychiatrist, little did he know there was a difference...The difference being that a psychiatrist is a medical grade pusher, to put it simply. Where as a
Hong Kong
Working for three days straight on Hong Kong Island and usually he would find Monday was followed by Thursday or you can't believe it's Friday when just yesterday it was Tuesday but now he felt all three - counting every second light lighting fixtures and their positions, tours of causeway bay and placement of the painting while preparing a speech, all he could think about was what he said the day he decided to leave Shellville with Nick as he smoked out his window and watched the sun set change the sky and sea. Rowland thought he found another installation to Dantés nine circles of hell - deliberate ignorance chains you to a writing desk to think you're entire fucking life over. And for some reason he imagined a raven screaming and pecking at you for the Fucking sake of some sick irony.The devine comedy being that humans have no one else to blame but themselves for their damnation... But this made him think of something else as he looked out the window of his hotel room, crushing th
Tripping on mushroom clouds
Seeing all of this didn't make it any less unreal for Rowland... In fact, it might of just convinced him that he was seeing dead people. Like it wasn't just in his dreams anymore as he kept repeating a head count of the recently deceased like sheep from sleep he couldn't get in a head that felt full of wool yet never in a warm way. And, forgive him for being cheesey but something he was getting use to was that this fucked up feeling which felt like something else bad and wasn't going away - adding the quiver in the mutton's throat from either anxious fear or the memory of how stupidly choked up he got in front of the Pastor at Charlotte's funeral towards the end of their reverend chat.Her death wasn't the end.He was this feeling's "to let"*...Always having imagined that by using emojis as symbolic to describe specific sounds of a word it would be as much a language as Egyptian or Kanji or any language for that matter - for a letter is simply a symbol of indication... An icon to sim
Chapter twenty one:The Reaper wears bubblegum blue
{Cry me sunshine, Cupcake}***"My feet fell on the floor...", When Rowland thought about that typo from an inner conversation that which he couldn't remember, it made him dizzy as he morbidly imagined a body suspended from nowhere ragdoll to the floor...Mind bending when he thought about what that could mean as an actual sentence and that made him fear he'd gone full circle.An idle mind is the devil's playground as "They" say.He watched his paints run dry in a dusty corner infront of a blank canvas, his mind was splayed across the dusty floor boards in piles of loose papers amidst origami trinkets...Hong Kong, Berlin, Stockholm... he still needed to clean up and get a few things done while still somehow giving way to hating himself for not packing a little earlier for his trip to start in China and sitting around in silence despite the work ideas he had and wanted to pen down in his black journal having discussed this in a boardroom meeting, but...no.Just not right then at least
Somewhere in Milano
It was like he fucking woke up from death, so tempted to fall off the edge of the bed and sink off the face of the Earth as he held his head in one hand with his elbows on his knees - Death was welcomed. Too tired to show the fucking confusion this all added to his life behind high-nerfing cigarette smoke, spacing out on the smoke streams as he watched ash fall to the Raj patterned carpet over wooden varnished floor as he then heard a soft good morning from behind him as the sheets on Yoko's side of the bed started to twist with movement but she didn't get up and he felt the silence until he went so deep in thought that he stiffened once he felt slightly familiar hands touch his back before a soft kiss was planted at the back of his neck as Yoko got off the bed wearing nothing but his round rimmed spectacles, his undershirt with black thigh high socks, tracing her hand to Rowland's bright blond head of hair and roughly rubbed his head down playfully as she made her way while lazily st
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