A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [73]
Hey, Fat Otter.
He stares at me.
You want what I got?
He stares at me.
I’ll give you everything.
Stares at me.
Gimme your Pile and gimme your tail.
Stares.
And I’ll give you the whole fucking mess.
Stares.
What do you think?
He sits and he stares, seems to consider, and he disappears back under the Pile. I wait for him to come back, but he doesn’t.
You’re a smart otter. A smart fucking otter.
I laugh and I let go of the Rail and I continue to walk. The Pine crescendos and it takes me down and leads me to a path of stone and the stone rings another small Lake and I try to look through the ice but there are no fractures and the ice is too thick. If there is life it is hidden beneath a cold, frozen shell.
I think and I forget and my feet carry me through heavier Wood. The air is black and the leaves are thicker and the crackle is hypnotic and though my eyes are open, I don’t see anything. I just walk.
I come out of the Wood and the darkness, but not out of my head. There is a brown grass Hill ahead of me I climb to the top the view shows me the Buildings and the benches and the Lake. It shows me moving shadows created by the lights of the bright, clean, uncomfortable Halls. I sit down and the brown grass is wet and I’m not bothered by it and my eyes drift to the screams coming from behind the dark, barred windows of the Medical Unit. The screams soak in and they echo, echo, echo and I lie back and the jacket gets wet and the back of my head gets wet and I close my eyes and I listen and I think. I allow myself to feel to feel completely and the feeling brings lucid, linear streams of thought and image and they run through and out and back and through and out and back. They run through and out and back they run.
Can’t stop.
Have to stop.
Can’t stop.
Pain.
Gutter.
Priest.
Fuck God.
Her.
Fuck her.
Pipe.
Torch.
Bottle.
Can’t stop.
Pain.
Take it.
Rage.
Murderous rage.
Uncontrollable.
Rage.
Sins unpardonable.
Places from which there is no return.
Damage irreparable.
Cry.
Fight.
Mom.
Dad.
Brother.
Cry.
Fight.
Live.
Torch.
Pipe.
Bottle.
Sick.
Sick.
Sick.
Get better.
Impossible.
Stay.
Impossible.
Fuck God.
Fuck her.
Fuck you.
Stay.
Live.
Fight.
Cry.
Decision.
Decision.
Decision.
Bring it.
Take it.
Take it.
Decision.
The streams are lucid and clear and they run back and through and back and through and they meet and they lose empty forget and there is is is something something something I hardly know perfect calm. Clarity. Serenity. Peace.
My urges are gone. My heart is beating slow and steady. Everything I know and I am and I have seen felt done past present past now then before now seen felt done hurt felt focus into a something beyond words beyond beyond beyond and it speaks now and it says.
Stay.
Fight.
Live.
Take it.
Cry.
Cry.
Cry.
Chapter 11
Sickness drags me from sleep, pushes me out of bed, throws me before my friend and my enemy it throws me before the porcelain. It empties, wracks, hurts, it won’t let go of me.
There are chunks of stomach, bile and remnants of last night’s dinner. There is acid, snot and spit. There is blood. Streams of blood.
I get in the shower and I turn up the heat and I wash the sickness from my face and my body. It gathers around the drain and I crush it with my feet and I make it disappear. I’m sick of being sick. I want it to disappear. I crush it with my feet.
I brush my teeth. The new ones are just like the old ones. I like them and I’m happy to have them.
A white scar is forming in place of the hole in my cheek. Another reminder of the life I live.
I don’t even bother with my eyes.
I get dressed and I make the coffee and I pour myself a cup and I drink it. It’s strong and I get sick again, so I take another