short stories

‘The Collapse is Coming’ – Opening Chapter

(An experimental opening chapter to my next novel ‘The Collapse is Coming’)

~ Part One ~

I stood alone once again, my fragile heart somehow still beating. 

I often wondered how that thing kept working after all these years; after all the ache and pain I had put it through. Even it just cutting out for a minute would be understandable, but that beating just went defiantly on, pumping the blood through my veins, fueling my existential flame that flickered as a brief flash of light in this universe. My heart obviously had more hope in me than the rest of me did. I wasn’t doing so great, but I was still here: a crooked smile on my face and delirious thoughts wafting around my hungover head. Yes, I stood dazed and confused at the age of thirty-two, wondering where the hell I was going to head next. My life path was like that of some vagrant wandering down a dark road on the edge of town, looking at the flickering lights of cheap hotels and wondering in which one he could momentarily rest before drifting on some more. It seemed that the youthful me who had fervently chased his dreams had changed to this sullen drifter of the night – a man simply searching for some shelter, rather than some grand haven; a man no longer trying to climb a mountain, but just summoning the strength to get out of bed; a man no longer trying to write some great novel, but just scribbling down a few simple sentences. My god, what was I even becoming? I looked in the mirror and wanted to behold those eyes that stared fiercely back at me in my twenties, but such a life was now something seemingly buried in the past. The merciless dagger of time had taken its swing, and what was I but yet another man secretly bleeding out before everyone’s eyes.

My melancholy wasn’t helped by the fact that my girlfriend of two years had recently left me and moved to Spain. It had been coming for a while as a looming sense of inevitability hung over us once the honeymoon period had cleared, and I realised staying together would require me to change something within myself that just couldn’t be changed.

I thought back to the moment I crashed her car as she was trying to get me to finally learn to drive. Lessons were progressing, aided by the fact that she was letting me practice in her car. And then one day, I went to pull off from a busy street, and instead of putting my foot on the brake, I just pushed down on the accelerator and drove us straight into the parked car in front of us. A harsh atmosphere covered us as she and her dog looked at me in abject fear. The moment was telling: my broken brain once again malfunctioning and stopping me from doing something that was considered fundamental to being a functional adult.

There were other things: personality clashes, differing social classes, but the true break was children. The thought of having children for me was something akin to learning Mandarin; it wasn’t something that was even on my horizon, nor ever would be. Maybe there was something wrong with me, but I simply had no desire to procreate. Hell, even if I did, common sense would have stopped me from doing so. I saw the horror of the world at the present moment and looked with sympathy at those screaming kids, totally unaware of the inferno they were about to enter as the house of cards that we had built swayed and toppled over. A hurricane was coming, fuelled by unsustainable capitalism, climate change, AI, social media, and the general breakdown of civilisation that was so obviously happening to anyone who didn’t have their head buried in their smartphone. I didn’t buy the talk that you could change the world with your own children; if I were to spawn some miniature version of myself and try to raise them to be good, I knew it would be an act of cruelty. Looking at the current state of the world, I was confident any good-hearted, sane person in the future would be an anxious, alienated individual surviving on pills and alcohol before eventually dying alone in some rat-infested box room. I could even see the beginning of the end now with more tents appearing every day along the local river. More and more people were falling off the edge with the runaway rent prices. The Blade Runner years awaited as the lower classes scraped for tins of beans and the rich lived in heavily-guarded pleasure domes, using up the last bits of energy as the lower classes rotted in the stinking wasteland.

I was walking along that river now, watching the mother push the prams ever forward into that dystopian future, and reflecting back to the times when me and my ex walked her dog in the same spots. My solemn reflection was abruptly interrupted when I was approached by one of the homeless men who lived in one of the tents. I recognised him; I often saw him stumbling around the city in a high-vis jacket, long blonde beard, and wild blue eyes. I assumed he would ask me for money, but he asked me if I could play AC/DC’s ‘Back in Black’ on my phone. Naturally, I obliged and put it on for him. We then walked for a while as he continued asking me questions and erratically flipping between subjects. The guy was incoherent and not making much sense, but I didn’t judge him for it; not many people did.

I eventually felt bad for the poor bastard and went to buy him some booze and cigarettes from the local shop. I handed over the money to the cashier, noticing that I was getting kinder towards homeless people as I got older (perhaps a part of me felt that the roles would be reversed in the near future and I was trying to gain some good karma before my turn in the gutter came). I exited the store, gave him his items, and wished him good luck. I even said “god bless”, despite being a non-believer.

Soon I arrived home and cracked open one of my own beers. I sat there in silence in the garden, zoning out and sipping my drink. It was a sunny afternoon in October and I was trying to soak in some of that last warmth before the winter came. The dying leaves fell around me and I watched one float from side to side, twirling down before finally landing on the grass beneath my feet. I looked at it for a second, admiring its golden flames. Then I saw a wasp. It was crawling beside the leaf and eventually crawled on top of it. I was expecting it to get up and fly away, but it just stayed there on the dying leaf for a while before eventually carrying on, stumbling through the grass. It quickly became obvious to me that the wasp was dying too. Summer was over, and this lawn was a battlefield with the last remaining survivors. I then turned to look at the table beside me. I had my laptop with me and I could see my reflection on the screen. Thirty-two years old, I could see myself aging rapidly before my eyes. The forehead lines were more prominent than ever, and my eyes looked tired and defeated. This is the way of the seasons, I thought to myself. Death and decay were inevitable, and I looked back at the wasp and felt a comradeship with the dying creature. Our fate was the same. We were all staggering through life, enduring the seasons, falling to the floor, being made weaker and weaker before finally finding a suitable place to die.

poetry

~ If Only For A Night ~

~ If Only For A Night ~

Grand ideas in a hotel room, drunk at 3 am,
Listening to Radiohead and plotting roadtrips
Dreams that can only be drunken dreams
Once the dawning daylight of reality
Comes to extinguish the hedonistic glory
With those old killjoys of practicality
And pragmatically.

Another lover lost to time and space
And one can be worn down by these transient meetings
But Jess, I still feel the energy of your presence
As you return to your normal life in the States
And I still linger here in Asia.

Some people shine so brightly in a brief encounter
And then they leave you with that golden glow
Leading you to search for it in the eyes of others
Only to realise it was only temporary
Fleeting and fragile like the flowers of spring
Reminding you once again
That the best things in life
And the most beautiful things
Never last, even if the memories do.

The rock of reality always waits to fall
And you separate like ripples on a blank shore
Leaving you astray and alone in that hotel room
Dreaming of that glorious road trip in the sun
To realise you had already had it
If only for a night.

poetry

~ Something Beautiful is Going To Come ~

~ Something Beautiful is Going To Come ~

The hangover has me in its teeth once again
An ant infestation leaves little bites on my stomach
I watch another random woman leave
Another transient lover lost to time and space
As the mosquitoes now circle above
And the air conditioning doesn’t work
The sweat pours down my forehead
And the construction workers grind away outside.

This is what they call suffering, I guess
This time in a cheap hotel somewhere in Vietnam
The rain has been pouring down for two weeks now
I spend the day staring at walls; drinking water desperately
Until a break in the rain allows me to finally go get some food
But then the heavy rain returns and I sit under an umbrella
Listening to it pounding, the little droplets leaking through
Dampening the remnants of my dinner.

After two hours, I realise it isn’t going to stop
So I grab my bike and cycle home in the storm
Wading through dark streets without a light
As angry cars splash puddles upon me
And the rats scurry into the shadows
And my sandals slip off the pedals
Before I finally return to my lair.

I don’t know how I ended up here
Age thirty-four, dwelling in this foreign place
Without purpose or passion; at the mercy of life’s pests
The ants, the mosquitoes, the cockroaches, the rats
They have found me and closed in
They know a dying creature when they see one
And they wait to feast on my flesh.

But I am still alive for now
And I walk into the bathroom once more
Staring at my wrinkled, tired face
In this dirty, mouldy, broken mirror
Those eyes without energy or excitement
That tell the story of a defeated man
Who couldn’t quite find his way
In life’s wilderness.

I guess I am just another ugly soul stuck in an ugly place
But I stare into those tired eyes and believe
That someday, soon, something beautiful is going to come.

I hold onto that hope as the rain pounds down on the roof
And hear the workers still grinding away
Even though I know they are no longer there
It’s all around me; against the walls of my rattled skull
In the vessels of my heart; in the chamber of my delapidated soul.

But still, I stare into that gory reflection
And believe that someday, soon, something beautiful is going to come
Knowing I am not the only man nor the last to stand in such a spot
Where life feels vacant, and it truly feels like the end of the line
But something within stops him from stepping into the abyss
The enduring illusion of hope; the lightbulb still flickering.

And tonight I stand alone with the lost and the loveless
With the ones that sit around dwindling fires in dark places
Who are stuck in the sewers and swamps
Trying to summon some strength
To shake themselves free from the sludge
To rise up into the light once more
And let that illusion not be an illusion
But a beautiful truth that saves one from total destruction
The beautiful truth that allows me to collapse into this bed
Looking up at the mosquitoes still circling above
Feeling the bites on my skin; the anxiety in my blood
And fall asleep dreaming, still dreaming
That someday, soon, something beautiful
Is going to come. 

thoughts

~ Far from Home ~

~ Far From Home ~

I sat drunk and alone in that hotel room, far from home, realising I had gotten older and that my life was gradually spiralling out of control. When I stopped and thought about it, my behaviours had become more extreme over the last few years, and I had all the hallmarks of another doomed soul drifting into the darkness, slowly losing his way until there was no way – just a wide expansive wilderness which swallowed him up. I could see the pitiful headline of my life being written; another young death, someone who went off the rails, consumed by mental illness and addiction. I could imagine the comments from friends and relatives. I could imagine their momentary sentimental reflections at the funeral before everyone carried on with their lives. Yes, it was as I sat there that I saw it all unfolding clearly before me. But it was also at that moment that I realised the awareness of such a fate was perhaps enough to do something about it. It was at that moment that I got up and stared at my tired eyes in the mirror. It was at that moment that I decided I was going to do something radical. It was at that moment, in that hotel room, that I decided I was going to save myself.

poetry

~ End of the Empire ~

~ End of the Empire ~

Smoke finally clearing
As our love lies smashed to pieces
In ruin, I stand among the rubble
It’s over,” logic tells me. “There’s no repairing this…
Not this time…

Time to finally move on
And drift out of each other’s lives
To become memories and recounted stories
Perhaps even wonders of what might have been
On some quiet future nights
When the heart is feeling restless
But nothing more than that.

I start heading outward
But can’t help but find myself stopping
And picking up the pieces of our scattered castle
Holding them in my hands.

Memories of cooking together
Shared laughter by the fire
Dog walks in the woods
Soft kisses on the cheek

One by one, I pick them up
And thoughts of rebuilding
Soon enter my foolish mind
As I stand alone in this wasteland
Studying the fractured remains
Occupying this empty space
These fingers numb with the feeling
Of knowing some things can’t be fixed

But holding onto them, anyway.

poetry

~ The Radical Thing ~

~ The Radical Thing ~

Do the radical thing. 

Growing older, it’s so easy to sink into slumber
The sofa groove; the spiritual chamber
The suppressed desires and unspoken words
It’s so easy to accept the weight of the adult world
And let those slumped shoulders form
As you stand with the others on the assembly line.

But do the radical thing
And nurture the parts inside yourself
In whatever way that keeps those eyes shining
And letting that mouth speak words of meaning
As you continue on your truest path
Shaking off the forces that want you
To become another background character
Bitterly beeping in life’s traffic jam.

Do the radical thing.
And love yourself unashamedly
Don’t submit to mindless drudgery
Nor let the bottle or the pills
Numb you to a conditioned reality.

Let the sanctity of solitude
Remind you who you are;
Let the rhythm of happiness
Flutter in your heart.

Be someone that your child self
Would look up to and delight in
And nurture a life in which you live naturally
A life in which you live with integrity,

A life in which you live radically.

poetry

~ Something Drastic Must be Done ~

~ Something Drastic Must be Done ~

Tired of not blooming anymore
Tired of being over the best part
Looking at those sullen eyes
Those shrugged shoulders
Feeling that emptiness within
As the sunlight doesn’t reach the important spaces.

Tired of being on the wrong path
And knowing I took a wrong turn somewhere
Yet not doing anything about it.

Tired of speaking words I don’t mean
And sleepwalking down these streets
Being a productive member of society
While my soul lies in some deep sleep.

I want to grab it and awaken it
And run out the front door with wild eyes
And feel these words come more easily.

I want to go back to a place in time
When writing came before working
And I didn’t care so much about money
Or that stupid fear of the future.

I want to break free from this post-youth winter
That has frozen my spirit.

I really want to do it
But the frost grows thicker
And as the days continue to drift by passively
As I stare into the vacant eyes of strangers
And that silent sadness begins to take over
I realise that something must be done.

I realise that something drastic,
Must be done.

poetry · thoughts

~ Travelling at Thirty-Three ~


~ Travelling at Thirty-Three ~

Staring up at the sky and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness
Searching for those satellites in between the stars
While standing on a rooftop in Las Palmas
Wondering how I ended up here, again,
My days of drifting not quite over
But knowing I am definitely older now
And yes, I miss the youthful me
That renegade rascal who reveled in life’s bright lights.

Somehow it doesn’t quite hit the same anymore
I mean, those starry skies still look the same
The ocean shoreline still looks the same
And the sangria still tastes delicious
But the sense of soul-searching adventure
While coming of age on life’s rollercoaster
Is different.

Somehow I am adjusted to it all
The sights, the sounds, the conversations
And the things that once caused butterflies to flutter in my stomach
Well, they now feel like crickets chirping in my brain.

There is a still quietness on this side of town.

And as my eyes finally adjust to the darkness
And I look at the satellites instead of the stars
I wonder if I will ever behold the blazing light
Of youth and adventure again.

short stories

~ New Year, New Me ~

~ New year, New me ~

Another night of laying there unable to sleep. Another night of watching the hours go by as dawn approached, knowing I’d face the world even more sleep-deprived than the day before. Such a situation was nothing new to me. Insomnia had been ravaging my life for years by the time I was in my thirties. It came and went, but at its worst I’d get just a couple of hours of disturbed sleep a night. Sometimes I’d get none. Slowly it would snowball out of control until my mental state was dark, depressed, and delirious. At my very worst, I would even slip into psychosis and begin to have auditory and visual hallucinations. I would be totally exhausted and broken – a pitiful wretch – and all I needed was to simply sleep to fix myself, but I would lay there each night undergoing psychological torture, totally unable to switch off and get the thing my soul was screaming for. One time I got so frustrated I started banging my head against a wall in a desperate attempt to knock myself out. That’s when I realised the severity of the disorder that was violently destroying my life.

It’s now the start of 2024 as I begin this year in this all-too-familiar way. I partly have myself to blame for it, having gone on a weekend bender in Dublin three weeks before. Whenever my routine is disturbed by drinking and late nights, I usually end up spiralling into a state of sleep-deprivation. I guess I should have accepted by now that my partying days are behind me with this paralysing condition, but it’s been hard to let go of all the fun things that filled my youth. So, here I am three weeks on, battling a disease of the mind that no one else can see and only a few can understand. Still, the start of a new year presents the opportunity to start fresh and mark out some targets. Maybe I’ll quit drinking, I say to myself. Maybe I’ll finally get this condition under control. Strict sleeping times and healthy practices. No more partying until dawn. It’s a nice idea that I commit myself to with a sense of vigour and hope. A man can always use the concept of a new year to try and start afresh; even if it’s just a temporary delusion, sometimes that’s what one needs in order to keep marching into another year of existence.

For now though I lay in my room, hiding from the outside world which seemed far too unbearable when one hadn’t slept properly in weeks. I guess it was a good place to be considering that storms had been battering the country for weeks. I couldn’t help but listen to that heavy wind and rain like I was listening to a representation of my turbulent mental state. The nearby river continued to rise as I felt a growing gloom about my life, as if a sprawling swamp surrounded me with sinister creatures lurking somewhere in the shadows. Each year life got considerably harder and I was left wondering how I’ve even made it this far without drowning altogether. I took refuge in the fact that there was obviously some sort of strength inside of me that had kept me fighting off my demons throughout the years – whether that be depression, anxiety, alienation, insomnia, or general madness. However, I didn’t feel as strong and brave as I once did, and things were only getting harder as that river continued to rise and the current got stronger. I could feel my insides shaking; my nervous system vibrating with anxiety. I wondered how the hell I was ever going to get by in this world with my mental health problems and unemployability and the rising cost of living and everything that just seemed to make being a human-being a stupidly difficult and unrealistic task.

I couldn’t let myself get bogged down in a million worries at once, so I set a step by step guide to get out of the darkness first. The first thing I needed was sleep so I focused on fixing that by staying away from booze, meditating, and having set bedtimes. It took a few days but I eventually felt able to head out and face the world. I ran alongside the flooded river; I breathed in the air; I went shopping in the supermarket for healthy foods. Slowly I started to feel somewhat like a human-being again. The next step involved the ever-present necessity of money. I needed a job after my last one decided to let me go a few weeks before Christmas. I started searching and sending out applications. As always, I looked for the most straightforward jobs possible – menial factory or warehouse roles that required you to do just a couple of repetitive tasks. That’s about all I could manage at this point. Perhaps that was my ceiling. I was an autistic daydreamer after all, and my limited capacity for work was hard to ignore when reflecting on my job history.

Although jobless, I was at least getting some income being on government unemployment benefits. It required me to attend meetings with a work coach to tell them the steps I was taking in seeking employment. My last one was at the height of my insomnia when my anxiety was through the roof, and I was unfortunate to be met with a guy who grilled me and got me to apply for terrible call centre roles in which I wouldn’t last more than a few days. This time I was better prepared and lucky enough to be met with a woman who clearly didn’t care as much about her job as the previous guy. Perhaps she too knew what a joke it all was. I sat there describing some jobs I’d applied for, as well as some vague future employment goals. She typed some things into a computer and nodded her head as I accepted my place as a misfit and liability in this society. The tedious process plodded on and eventually came to a merciful end.

I then headed back out into the streets of Nottingham city centre. I walked around and saw them all surrounding me again: the normal, civilised faces of humanity. Presentable people with careers and cars and credit scores and shoe collections. People ready to continue on along the treadmill of a normal, sane life – mortgages and marriages; security and stability. The separation from everyone else all was as strong as ever. It was a new year, but it seemed it was the same old me – wandering the world like some sort of alien that had been cast away on planet earth. Still, I reminded myself that I had a beautiful girlfriend; that I was consistently looking for work; that I was twenty hours into learning to drive. Perhaps this year would be different. Perhaps this year I’d finally smoothen and straighten out. I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the ‘new year, new me’ optimistic delusion was taking effect once again.

I continued walking towards home until I reached the river. I stopped and sat down on a bench beside it. The water levels had dropped back down to normal and the winter sunshine twinkled upon the surface. I let myself breathe and observed the pleasant scene before me, watching a flock of birds fly along the river and happy dogs stroll along the pathway. It was a place I had experienced great peace before and, after a few minutes, I noticed that peace there in my soul once again. I felt my inner anxiety being alleviated – all the thunder inside being replaced by a loving, radiant light that had filled me before. Despite my current troubles, I knew that it was a beautiful world, and that I really did belong to it – even if I felt out of place in society. Slowly I began to accept myself and where I was in life. Slowly I began to accept that yes – it was a new year, and in reality would never really be a new me, but the best thing I could do was to nurture the part of myself that had guided me to peace and happiness before. At that moment, I made a decision to look after myself a bit better, starting by resisting an offer to go out for drinks that evening. Something inside of me said the way forward this year was as simple as that. My plan wasn’t to conquer the world, or run a marathon, or some specific goal or resolution like that – but to just treat myself with some basic kindness and gentleness. Starting from there, who knew what it would lead to. For when the storm has passed and the destruction has been cast, it seemed the best and only real thing you could do was dust yourself off, pick up the pieces, and let yourself move forward in the direction of the calming and healing light.

poetry

~ Who Am I Kidding?~

~ Who Am I Kidding? ~

Who am I kidding?
Trying to be an ordinary person
Getting my driver’s licence
A girlfriend, a job
A routine.

Who am I kidding?
Dressing up nicely
Tidying my room
And calming the fire inside.

It may be suppressed, at times
Even dwindling
But the spark is always there
Waiting to erupt
And engulf me again.

Some things are inevitable
And who the hell am I kidding
Thinking that there will ever be a time
When I’m not wading through the sewers
And being covered in all the shit
That is now seeped into my soul.

I no longer wish to lie to myself
Only to face the harsh light
That unveils the truth I cannot escape.

Tonight I throw away the mask
And stare into the mirror
Beholding my scarred, scratched flesh
Facing the grim reality
Of my maniacal self.

I was never made to be clean
I was never made to be normal
I was never made to write words
That are different from these.

I was made to linger on the outskirts
To drift in the darkness
And let my own madness
Consume me totally.

This truth is unavoidable
And please, do not pity me
For this act of accepting who you are
Gives one a certain freedom in life.

It’s the freedom of unbolting your own cage
And letting yourself be unrestrained
Wandering in your natural wilderness
Your claws sharpened; your eyes wide.

Your strongest, strangest
Unshakable self.