Souls - XXVII

I’ve gotten so used to the sound of gun shots I don’t even jump anymore. Even when that shot erupts right in front of my face, traveling into my mouth, and through my skull.

I feel the force of it, I feel it kick me back off of the stool. The ceiling speeds by as my body hurls towards the floor. I smell the gunpowder, I smell the burnt hair and burnt flesh. I feel the cold tile on my arms. I know the shotgun shells traveled through my mouth and through my head. I even look back and see brain matter dripping down the stainless steel hood.

But I am not dead. 

I am not only alive, I am still having thoughts. I am having thoughts despite the fact I see pieces of my thought-maker sliding downwards behind me. This is all very confusing. 

I am not what I think I am.

Maybe the psychotropics are still in my system, maybe I’m still back in St. Annes. I feel up to the crown of my skull, it is jagged, pulpy and wet. This is not a trip, this is real. 

I have a ringing in my ears that I assume is a result of foreign pieces of metal flying through my head, but as I look around I realize it’s my phone. 

The phone I lost. 

It’s sitting in the middle of the diner, on top of my stolen clothes and next to a translucent tube of soul.

I sit up, feeling the world spin around me. A hole in the head really messes with your equilibrium. I put my hands to the floor and crawl to the phone.

“H-h-h-he-llo?

“This is all very exciting, very interesting.”

I guess Lucifer survived, and he sounds like a giddy schoolboy.

Putting my hand to my cheek, I rub my face trying to reacquaint myself with reality. The blood drips down through my hair and onto my face. 

This isn’t possible.

“I’ve given you your supplies, the car should be outside. Chop, chop, back to work! I cannot wait to see how this all turns out. You do not disappoint young lady! I would tell you all this in person, shake your hand, but your daughter did some damage. I’m not suitable for presentation yet. Soon though, I will shake your hand. That is a promise.”

“Where…where is she?”

“I have no idea! Me, I have no idea! This is all very exciting!”

His glee is not making this any better.

He hangs up, leaving me all alone with my impossible thoughts from an annihilated brain.

I wobble to my feet, drop the vestments from my shoulders, grab my clothes and start getting dressed. Brain or no brain, you still put your pants on one leg at a time. Stuffing my phone in one pocket and the soul in the other, I make my way back to the kitchen. I can’t go out like this. 

I turn on the sink and wash up the blood, the brain matter and bone particles up as best as I can. I even pull my short hair up into the best bun I can in attempt to cover the hole. 

No dice. Having a man’s haircut has its drawbacks.

A paper chef hat, probably purchased out of some kitschy need of authenticity, hangs next to the grill. I throw it over my head. The gore is covered, but now I look like a child who just visited their favorite themed fast-food restaurant. It will have to do.

Stepping over the fat man on my way out I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. His life was simple, his life followed rules. When his head came off, he had the decency to die.

I take a deep breath as I step outside, still not sure how I’m managing to do such a thing. That’s when I notice the shadows, they are surrounding me, shifting and twisting at a distance. There have always been shadows in this new world, but they’ve never quite behaved like this before. They usually move with the fluidity of a river, going where they please, daring us to avoid them. But now they twist away from me, as if I’m a boulder in the middle of their stream. They are the ones avoiding me. That’s when I realize.

They are afraid of me.