snip

2010-01-21T23:39:00.007-08:00

He wakes up naked in bed, in tears, spit and vomit drying on his chest. Between his legs is a searing pain that stabs white hot flames up and down his torso. The blanket, soaked with blood and piss and shit, is a map of murders slowly taking shape, new territories forming by the second, discovered, conquered, paved over and rediscovered, terror firma incognita. Bluebottle flies, slow and bloated, populate the landscape in their busy colonies. He tries to move his legs.

2010-01-21T23:39:00.005-08:00

His whole room smells like a slaughterhouse, like a public toilet, like anal discharge. The windows are shuttered. The door is padlocked from the inside. The bulb would rather obscure than illuminate. In its half-light, he tries to stand up.

2010-01-21T23:39:00.003-08:00

He reaches down between his legs, towards the pain and blood. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger, and he shits a little. He cries until some of the pain dies down. He fears small parts of it might fall off if he stands up.

2010-01-21T23:39:00.001-08:00

What's left of it is a small thing, a shred of meat carelessly torn, holding on to him on stringy threads of yellow white red flesh. There is a phantom weight against the balls, where large bits of it used to be. The rest is hidden by hair matted with clots of blood. He picks at the dried scab around the wound.

2010-01-21T23:38:00.009-08:00

Some of his meat fall off dry and weightless. Blood flows in steady blobs and goops. He closes both palms over the wound, trying to stop the stream of blood and meat. He tries to stand up.

2010-01-21T23:38:00.007-08:00

His legs are weak and shaky and numb, attacked by pins and needles. He sits up on the edge of the blood-soaked bed, tentatively moves his feet, puzzles over attempting to walk with his hands cupped between his legs.

Minutes go by and the pain plateaus. Legs spread out, he braces himself on the nearby wall with a bloody hand, and tries to stand up. By the bed is a bedside table with a lamp, its bulb flickering dirty shadows on the wall. Across the wall is a door, by its side a tray of food. A few feet from the tray is the closet, its door closed.

He gains his balance and keeps it centered, despite his phantom limbs. He starts to walk, slowly. He feels all his blood rushing down to his legs. His right thigh spasms, cramps. His legs fold and he holds on to the table and slips, banging his head on the corner, then drops to the floor on all fours. Blood diarrheas out in chunks between his legs, pools around his knees.

He crawls back to the bed, leaving a trail of blood.

2010-01-21T23:38:00.005-08:00

He grabs at the bedsheets and heaves himself up to his knees. With one hand between his legs and another acting as a third leg, he crabs towards the door. Blood pools into the hand between his legs, drifting chunks, scarlet stirring. After a few minutes, he reaches the door.

He sits beside the foodtray. He props himself up to his knees with his free hand, then holds on to the doorknob with the other.

He tries to pull himself up, but the knob is slippery with blood. He slips and falls and hits his head on the knob's half-circle.

His legs suddenly close as reflex, squeezing the wound, further tearing the flesh.

2010-01-21T23:38:00.003-08:00

He crawls back to bed. He gathers the blood-soaked sheets around him, wraps himself with it. Blood runs from the wound, a steady stream. He is too sleepy to care.

2010-01-21T23:38:00.001-08:00

His belly shivers and grows colder and colder as the blood flows from his wound. His legs numb, the numbness slowly crawling up, to his waist, to his navel, to his chest. The blood flows down, as well as shit and piss. The warm confluence of liquids reaches the tips of his fingers. He reaches it up to his nose. He vomits as he loses consciousness.

2010-01-21T23:37:00.008-08:00

He heaves and retches and vomits all over himself, his tired body rippling in convulsions. His vomit is acrid acid yellow, transparent save for pink and red chunks. It mixes with the blood. The colours don't mix.

2010-01-21T23:37:00.007-08:00

He closes his eyes for a minute. He rubs them with both hands, mindlessly smears them with his blood. It drips to his mouth.

He tastes the blood and spits it out, rubs his arm over his mouth to clean it, only smears more blood over it. Crying, he looks around the room for something to clean his mouth with.

He tugs at the bedsheet and looks for a clean spot. He looks around the room and sees the bedside table, one drawer half open, on top a flickering lamp and behind it a mirror set on the wall. He crawls towards it.

2010-01-21T23:37:00.005-08:00

His hand over the table, he props himself up to peer over its surface. From his knees, he sees the mirror is cracked, with shards all over the table. He stands up in frustration and punches the mirror, but it doesn't crack any further.

2010-01-21T23:37:00.003-08:00

He picks up one shard and cuts off the stringy threads of yellow white red flesh between his legs. The cut is rough, incomplete. He holds on to the meat and jerks at it, and the stringy threads snap in the middle. He lets go of the shard and it falls and it falls dully on the table, on a mass of congealed blood.

2010-01-21T23:37:00.001-08:00

On the table is a piece of meat, bloody and misshapen. The blood has already caked, but flies and ants still gather around to feed on it. The flies scatter as he moves his head to it closer, and as he does, his belly heaves and blood gushes from his wound, wetting his legs, his feet, the floor.

2010-01-21T23:36:00.002-08:00

The bloated blue-bottles buzz from the blood to the vomit to the food.

2010-01-21T23:36:00.001-08:00

He crouches over the food. What was once scrambled eggs is a pool of dried vomit. What was once a pair of sausages are now a pile of dessicated meat ridden and eaten by maggots. What was once a glass of water is now a toilet for flies.

2010-01-19T23:31:00.000-08:00

The lamp strobes and clicks. He reaches beneath its shade, feeling for the switch, instead touches a live wire. He is catatonic on the floor.

2010-01-18T00:01:00.002-08:00

He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-18T00:01:00.001-08:00

He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

He is kicking the wall. He pushes it with all his weight, and it gives.

2010-01-17T00:01:00.000-08:00

He is kicking the wall. It is starting to give. He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-16T00:01:00.000-08:00

He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-15T00:00:00.000-08:00

He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-14T23:58:00.000-08:00

He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-13T23:57:00.000-08:00

He scratches again. His fingers are bleeding. He is kicking the wall.

2010-01-13T01:34:00.001-08:00

And he bangs on it.

2010-01-13T01:34:00.000-08:00

And he bangs on it.

2010-01-13T01:33:00.000-08:00

He scampers towards the door and with his fists he bangs on it.

2010-01-13T01:26:00.000-08:00

Its hands are clasped around its ankles, but it has no fingers. Its eyes and mouth are sewn shut. It spoke volumes.

2010-01-13T01:16:00.001-08:00

- and a body falls on top of him.

2010-01-13T01:16:00.000-08:00

He kicks it off of him, and it hits its head on the side of the bed. The sheets fall on top of it, covering it only halfway. From what he can see, he can't tell if it used to be a man or a woman.

After a few minutes, he crawls to it slowly. He pulls at the sheets. The body is lying on its side, its back to him.

The body is dessicated, naked, down to its skin and bones. It smells of fish. The back is curved, the arms around its legs, hugging itself in its death. He still can't tell if it was a man or a woman, but the body is as small as a ten-year-old's. It has no hair anywhere in its body.

He turns the body to face him.

2010-01-13T01:15:00.000-08:00

The closet door opens -

2010-01-13T01:14:00.000-08:00

He crawls to the closet. Its door is locked. He runs his bloody fingers on the lock. It is rusty. the hinges are loose and rusty, nearly about to give. He slips the rusty key into the lock. It resists a little, but then goes in straight. He twists the key.

2010-01-13T01:07:00.000-08:00

- it closes in a snap, as if pulled by a string.

In a fright, he tries to stand up, but slips to the floor on his own blood.

2010-01-13T01:06:00.001-08:00

The closet door opens -

2010-01-13T01:06:00.000-08:00

- and there is nothing inside but -

2010-01-13T01:03:00.000-08:00

He falls wetly to the floor. The closet door pushes back again and again, as if someone from the inside is pushing it open. The hinges are creaking, splitting the wooden frame.

2010-01-13T01:02:00.000-08:00

The door suddenly pushes back with a jolt.

2010-01-13T00:59:00.000-08:00

He crawls to the closet. Its door is locked. He runs his bloody fingers on the lock. It is rusty. the hinges are loose and rusty, nearly about to give. He pushes the door gently.

2010-01-13T00:48:00.002-08:00

He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:48:00.001-08:00

It snaps.

2010-01-13T00:48:00.000-08:00

He loses his balance and falls onto the foodtray. He feels his fingers are sore, and he looks at them and sees they are bleeding. He is too tired to care. He goes back on all fours and crawls to the bed.

2010-01-13T00:47:00.002-08:00

He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:47:00.001-08:00

He twists it again. The key is moving.

2010-01-13T00:47:00.000-08:00

He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:46:00.000-08:00

He twists it again. Something inside is moving, but he's not sure what it is. He can leave it alone or he can go on twisting the key.

2010-01-13T00:45:00.002-08:00

It still won't move. It's stuck inside the lock. He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:45:00.001-08:00

He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:45:00.000-08:00

He twists it again. He feels something moving inside the lock. He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:44:00.001-08:00

It doesn't move. He twists it again.

2010-01-13T00:44:00.000-08:00

It still won't move. He tries to pull it out.

2010-01-13T00:41:00.000-08:00

He crawls to the door and traces the keyhole with bloody fingers, as if blessing it. With the other, he smears the rusty key with his blood, in an effort to clean some of the rust off. He slips it into the lock. It goes in tightly, with a grate. He twists the key.

2010-01-13T00:37:00.000-08:00

The key is rusty and nondescript and looks about to break from the slightest strain on its neck. There are only two locks in the room: the one at the door, and the one at the closet. He chooses which one to open.

2010-01-13T00:33:00.000-08:00

He pulls open the drawer, and finds it brimming with rusty keys. He sifts through them, looking for anything else other than keys. After a while, he decides to take one.

2010-01-12T23:57:00.000-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.005-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.004-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.003-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.002-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.001-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:56:00.000-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:55:00.003-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:55:00.002-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:55:00.001-08:00

It doesn't give. In frustration, he starts scratching the wall with his fingers.

2010-01-12T23:55:00.000-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-12T23:54:00.004-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:54:00.003-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:54:00.002-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:54:00.001-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:54:00.000-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:53:00.001-08:00

He pushes it tentatively. It moves, but incremental. He pushes it again. It moves as if hanging on hinges. A door.

2010-01-12T23:53:00.000-08:00

He pushes it again.

2010-01-12T23:48:00.000-08:00

His fingers touch a flat vertical surface, smooth, made of wood. A wall.

2010-01-12T23:43:00.001-08:00

Darkness.

2010-01-12T23:43:00.000-08:00

He hears something moving. He reaches out to the dark in front of him.

2010-01-12T23:40:00.000-08:00

The lamp is clicking and strobing. He reaches beneath the shade, feeling for a switch. He pushes it.

2010-01-11T23:57:00.000-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-10T23:57:00.001-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-10T23:57:00.000-08:00

He scratches again.

2010-01-10T23:56:00.000-08:00

He scratches again. His fingernails fall off. He scratches again.

*snip*

snip