Depressing Prose Poems #12 and #18

2003:

ITS RAINING AGAIN

Once again it was raining without stop. It had been going on all day. Sound familiar? The rain beat relentlessly on the thin Japanese rooftops. On their shaky foundations they were just begging for an earthquake to come and tear them apart. And if an earthquake didn’t appear there were plenty more tricks in the bag. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get a flash food with all this rain.
Small figures huddled under their umbrellas in between train stations, all decked out in their identical school uniforms or business suits. Now and then someone who forgot their umbrella would be weaving in and out of them, running towards their destinations, undeniably drenched regardless of their haste.
I laughed uncontrollably at my bench in the station. Those idiots. Ha ha ha. I couldn’t stop laughing. I tried and tried but something was wrong. I panicked, what had happened to my mind? Huge gut wrenching spasms of laughter shook my whole frame as I rocked back and forth on the seat. By then a large crowd of primary school children had surrounded me, mouths gawping. I felt ashamed and frightened. Why couldn’t I control my own body anymore? Things started to get black on either side of my eyes, like a horse wearing blinders. Maybe I needed more oxygen. Too bad I wasn’t gonna get it. I collapsed forwards still cackling insanely.
To my increasing horror one of my hands reached into my pocket to extract a small box cutter. Where the hell had that come from?! I couldn’t bear to think what was going to happen next, but I didn’t have to because already it was embedded in my left arm. I must have stabbed myself on purpose. I tried to stop but my right arm kept spasmodically jerking the blade into my flesh. There was no pain for some reason. Then I watched in terror as the hand dropped the blade but proceeded to peel the skin from my left arm, starting from an incision above the wrist. The skin was pulled up to the elbows, then the shoulder, then with a horrendous sound of tearing, ripped off from the arm completely. A huge red lump of flesh that was my left arm was revealed and twitched uncontrollably. I noticed a few people around me heaving their breakfast onto the tracks. The blood from my arm made a small river on the pavement, then it steadied into a drip drip drip.
It was only then that I realized my laughing had finally stopped.

ZOMBIE PSYCHOLOGY DEPARTMENT

I thought as much. As much as anyone. Until they ripped my brain from my skull. Those bastards. And they say a university education is to be prized. Ha. The Physics Department said they’d pay me 15 dollars an hour if they could just extract my brain to do tests on it. I said sure thats the best summer job I’ve ever heard of. I don’t even have to do any work. Plus, with my brain gone from my skull I wouldn’t feel anything, i could really and truly vegg for the first time in my life. Fucking ace. Right? Yeah I thought so.
That is until I couldn’t move. Like I was aware I had no brain, so I couldn’t figure out why I could still think and see from the vantage point of my body. And move around too. It must be some sort of backup plan biologically, maybe it was pure soul? Anyway I was confused too. And it only got worse of course. Without a brain my body moved slowly, sluggishly, like a zombie. I think I must have simply become one, because my flesh was starting to rot on the bones. The heart stopped beating but I was still trapped in the flesh.
I would come back each week to get paid and pay my brain a visit. But by then it seemed completely foreign to me. Like some relative in the hospital you used to know. They got Alzheimer’s and completely ceased to be who you knew before. That’s how it was with me and my brain. After a while it even stopped returning my phone calls.
One day I was walking home from the Physics Department when my foot got caught in a sewer grate. No big deal, I thought slowly, I’ll just twist a bit and be on my way. It wasn’t until after I walked a few feet afterwards that I noticed my foot was missing and had sunk to the bottom of the murky stagnant water. Well bullocks. I walked humorously home, limping with one leg longer than the other. Nothing poured out of the wound either that’s the strange part. I guess you’re used to that by now though.
As soon as I got home my softer organs began to decompose faster. I started to panic when I realized soon I’d be unable to move. I had to find some way to get my brain back before it was too late. The Department must have known about this all along. They were probably manufacturing zombies on purpose for some foul plan. I hurried to the phone to have them halt all tests on my brain. As I was dialing my fingers wouldn’t cooperate and I kept hitting my friends number by accident. Over and over. He was quite perturbed. Then my hands just plain fell off and I collapsed dejectedly by the phone.
I know I’m still here where the story left off, but sadly I’m unable to move. I’m just a frozen ghost, body completely gone, with a brain slowly pickling in a jar somewhere and all I can do is nothing.

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About Chris S.

Burgeoning Burgeon-er.
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2 Responses to Depressing Prose Poems #12 and #18

  1. eliot says:

    I hope to get a flash food if i’m lucky. πŸ™‚

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