With a wheezing cough
and slowed-down reaction speed, Brick moped around the office. He sensed the
distant tower getting stronger everyday with each soul that it absorbed, but he
couldn't bring himself to think about it. Such dark and important thoughts
would find the right time, but not now. Now, despite his co-workers repeated warnings, he headed over to the door that
separated his division from the Other Side. With a bit of hesitation, brick
finally opened the door to some unexpected results:
I am not a doctor, or an astronaut or a clown (not even of
the 'class' variety), but yet I feel that I need to give the reader a hint
about what the hell has been going on with Brick. Anticipating events I can say
at least two things. One is that Brick had a severe cold that was complicated
by an impending mental breakdown. The other is that It's not easy being a
disembodied voice. I have needs too, you know.
Though Brick's health, mental or otherwise, was always suspect at best,
he had done a good job of delaying any negative symptoms from crippling him. He
knew his state was precarious, his mind and heart being particularly vulnerable
at times, but he hated the idea of being ill. Who wouldn't? But he needed to be
well, he needed his wits for what was to come, so he carried on, despite all of
the warning signs.
His heart was plagued by confusion. While he still had an
undying longing for she-who- shall-not-be-named in all her glory, he also had a
gnawing in his heart for the beautiful producer who had captured his attention
and affection during working hours. Unfortunately, because of his perennial lack of hope and the terrible
exhaustion he subjected himself to, Brick was letting himself become susceptible
to hallucinations. His own boss had suggested the possibility to him, but Brick
obviously ignored his concerns and continued along this self-destructive path.
The last straw to test his patience was opening the door to
the Other Side. The pressure proved so great, that it sent him into a deep
delirium. And suddenly he was no longer in a postmodern television studio
office, but the basement of the record studio where he had recorded his debut
album. First he saw the mirror that had cast a cruel reflection of his double
chin in years gone by. That was followed by the reflection of a familiar and
despised face, though who-the-hell knows how he got there in the first place,
since there were no doors in this space. This was a person of sordid deeds and
a less than desirable appearance. His hair was dark brown and wavy, slicked
back by a furious brush, with hints of scalp shining beneath the tufts of hair.
His facial hair was thin and coarse, blonde yet dark. He was wearing a golden
shirt that had lost its luster and khaki pants in non-khaki weather.
In brief, it appeared that the gentleman could not possibly
be moral or even likeable except in that love-to-hate-them sort of way. His
dark, plastic sunglasses were, of course, too dark to see through, giving the
man the appearance of having no eyes, and thus no perceivable soul (no offense
to the eyeless, it's just a story detail.)
The countenance of the unexpected visitor was that of
someone prepared to annoy the hell out of you for no good reason. He was just
that kind of rat bastard (no offense to rats, bastards, or illegitimate rats).
Brick was angrily silent and refused to talk first. The
visitor waited and waited like that annoying guy at a party who tries to coax
you into talking to him, even though he is a total douche and a terrible human
being. The man was ready to pounce upon any conversation.
"I say," G Mod began to brick, "excuse me
but, I mention it to remind you. You wanted to look up that movie that you
watched last night to see if whatsername was in it, but you were busy with
work, and probably forgot..."
"Yeah..." broke Brick and his ruddy face grew
annoyed. "Yes, I forgot....but I would have remembered...ah damn, I forgot
what I wanted to look up. Why do you bother me now, as if I'm going to believe
that you were the one to remind me and I didn't just remember it myself?"
"Don't believe it then," said G Mod,
smiling like a shark, "What's the point of believing against your will?
Just look at the music industry. Most of them sold their souls to me.... but
does the existence of a devil necessarily prove that Zeus or Odin exist? I
don't think so. I want to join a cult just to mess with them. Or maybe I just
want to join the band called the Cult... or Blue Oyster Cult, he he."
"Listen," Brick says, trying to make sense of what
was going on, "I seem to be having some sort of episode here. It'll pass
and you'll disappear again, just like you always do. You disappear because you
don't really exist. I, I'm the one that's saying everything, not you. I was
delusional when I saw you last, and that's not going to..."
"I'm so glad that you're treating me with so much
respect," extolled G Mod.
"Fool," chuckled Brick, "Do you think that
I'm going to kiss up to you all of a sudden? I'm in a terrible funk because of my
cold, so maybe that's why I'm seeing you show. Misery enjoys company. You're a
phony and I regret finding any good footage.... Ugh, I can't even speak logically..."
"You poor idiot, you poor son. Yes, I am the way I'm
supposed to be. What am I if not the source of some fatherly advice? You know,
I'm listening to you and I'm really surprised that it took you this long to
talk to me. I figured you'd want to whine much earlier. You accept me as
someone real."
"Never will I think of you as anything but a bad lie, a
sickness, a ghost. You are the worst I have to offer...and I really thought for
a long time that that was Slate."
"Excuse me, your royal brick-headedness, but you are
just playing deeper into my hands. You really believe the extent of what is possible...and necessary
for the future. You believe that this job of yours is what you need in your
life. And what happens when the job starts disappointing you? Will you go into
one of your downward spirals again like you did after whatshername..."
"That was a moment of weakness... I couldn't believe
that I would care so much about someone like that..."
"And why were you so tempted to go to the Other Side
just now? Do you just miss that cute and perky producer?"
"Don't talk about her! How dare you, you junkie!"
Brick said, trying to stifle his nervous laughter.
"Ah, you can still laugh. Good I see you're not
entirely dead yet. She's a sore spot for you, isn't she? They always are."
"Don't speak of such things.."
"I understand that you're sensitive about such matters.
The great and powerful Brick is never one to open himself up to new things and
people so, of course, the first skirt that's kind to you is suddenly elevated
to some great status, regardless of who she is. Maybe you should write her a
crappy love song like you have for all the women you ever met!"
"I'll kick you in the teeth."
"Come now, is that anyway to behave?"
"Ugh... you choose only my worst feelings and emotions
and prey upon them. You are stupid and vulgar. I can't stand how you pop into
my life and just drag everything into the gutter...."
"My dear idiot, above all things, I want to act like
the best manager that a rock band has ever seen. I'm not the kindest person
ever, but I feel the bitterness that gathers in tormented men's hearts. It
would drag me down if it weren't for my special status... It's always exciting
inside your head. The proximity to full chaos inside your mind is thrilling
enough as it is. But seeing you, in-person, struggle is the pièce de résistance..."
"What right do you have to just sit there and criticize
me in such a brazen manner?
"For one thing, your imagination is so decrepit, that
you had to reference the Brothers Karamazov just to express yourself. You see,
the outside world is shutting you down, literally. That Producer is just another
in a series of pointless flirtations. This job? This career that you seem to be
so whole-heartedly doing is just a box that you've chosen to hide yourself in
while your life passes you by."
"..."
"Nothing to say? You can try looking to the book, if
you're so afraid to think up something new..."
"No, I was just.... Remember when this blog used to be
funny?"
"You poor man. Has this cushy desk job robbed you of
everything? Perhaps we should ask Milton Friedman and his sweatshop friends.
That's always an effective cover story: Brick whines, sweatshop workers still
denied basic human rights. Hey, it's fun going off-book."
"Leave me alone..."
G Mod finally burst into laughter, "That should be your
catchphrase: Leave me alone! Be careful, or the universe just might grant you
your wish."
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