Therapeutic Skin Jobs #2

I'm still determined to fill my Sundays with these things, but oh fuck I really wasn't getting better any faster. I admit I've had to cut out on the ironic misanthropy because nobody can tell the fucking difference anymore and I'm not that awful.

But shit, I was 22 when I wrote this and that's more than half my life ago, and I think all the atoms in my body have been replaced three times over since then, so who the fuck am I anyway?

Damn it. This is what happens when you read your old fiction. You start talking like it's fucking 1997 again.

Therapeutic Skin Jobs #2: Kick. 

By Max Zero

     There is no time. What happened then happens still and will happen forever more. And yet, billions and billions of minutes ago, the universe still farted itself into existence.

    This was the absolute. This was everything. From nothing came reality. From the void came life.

    The first few seconds after creation were the most interesting. Creatures smaller than electrons danced together in the primal light of the universe, creating new ways of thinking, new ways of being.

    Flash forward to the here and now and nothing’s different. A group of atoms have joined together as one and called themselves Dr. Skin. And they still groove to the unknown beat.

    Dig it. See that dance floor? There’s the good Doctor with Claudia, his companion and other, dancing away the night. Pull back further and see the nightclub they find themselves in. It’s fast and clear and true.

     They’ve changed their clothes. Doctor Skin is wearing a wonderful purple velvet suit, with the frilliest shirt since Jon Pertwee hung up his Doctor’s cap. Claudia is wearing a short miniskirt, straight from Mary Quaint’s 1969 catalogue, with a wonderful optical art effect blemishing its surface and giving intense headaches to anyone who looks at her for too long.

     Our subjects of attention hadn’t been on J Street long before they found this place. It’s their happening. The music is loud, the floor is hard. The man in charge of the music displays uncommonly good taste. Every tune flows effortlessly into the next, leaving no time for breath or pause.

     Doctor Skin is completely unaware of the fine beats. In his ears, all the music sounds like John Lennon is still going through Cold Turkey, twenty years after somebody politely shot him dead. What a world.

     It’s two hours ago and Doctor Skin is buying a dark blue pill from two men who talk too loud and sweat too much. In normal circumstances, the good Doctor would have nothing to do with people like this. Luckily, the Doctor has never been subject to a concept like ‘normal circumstances.’

     Back on the dance floor and the pill is just starting to kick in. Skin laughs as a shock wave of pure splendour courses down his spine, zapping him right in the small of his back.

     "Screw collaboration!" screams Doc at the bright light in the ceiling that refuses to stop shining in his eyes. "I’m in it for kicks!"

     "Darling," purrs Claudia in his ear. "Please calm down or somebody will get upset and we’ll be forced to kill everybody in the room. Self defence might be a good excuse, but the karma will be devastating."

     "Quite right," mumbles Doctor Skin. Claudia has always been able to get through to him, no matter what state he’s in. That’s for the best, right?

     With a tenderness that hides his state, the Doctor pulls Claudia closely and they start waltzing around the room, avoiding the others on the floor with ease and resisting the pull of the beat.

     

 ???

    The creator of this sorry piece of shit is feeling a lot better. His own form of therapy is weaving his magic and his abominable mood is starting to fade.

     It’s still there, though and This is only to be expected. The day started with a hideous betrayal of true trust, an event that the creator finds unforgivable. The incompetence and stupidity of those surrounding him have not made the situation any better.

     But the ever-changing story of Doctor Skin and Claudia help him get through the long, hard day. That, and the fact that lunch is less than an hour away.

     Carry on.

???

     "Negativity is the bastard cousin of stupidity," whispers Doctor Skin into Claudia’s ear, somehow resisting the urge to nibble on the lobe. "One must have a positive outlook if they’re to make any progress."

     "Balls," replies Claudia, displaying none of the Doctor’s resolve. "The most intelligent people I’ve known have been diabolically cynical."

     "Ah, but you can maintain a healthy attitude while still questioning everything. I’ve been doing so for ever now."

     Claudia bites down hard on Skin’s ear, drawing blood. His ecstasy is matched only by the joy in knowing he has lost the argument.

     And it is in that precise moment that Doctor Skin’s supernatural grace deserts him and he steps on the toes of another dancer. If he was the kind of being to lay blame at the drop of a top hat, Skin might well blame Claudia for distracting him during a particularly tricky pivot. Or he could blame the drug that has unbalanced the proportion of chemicals in his brain. It's undoubtedly his own fault, of course.

     "Oi," cries the victim of Skin’s wayward feet. "Watch where you’re going."

     Doctor Skin turns to confront this other denizen of the dance floor. He’s big and hairy, two things the good Doctor is most assuredly not. A confrontation seems inevitable.

     "Oh, come one," sighs Skin. "Surely this isn’t going to degenerate into a horrible fight? I thought we were above that."

     The hairy brute strides forward, top lip curling up.

     The Doctor sighs again and easily avoids the first clumsy punch aimed right at his chin, stabbing forward with his left hand and hitting his assailant right in the middle of the throat.

     He falls to the ground, gasping for breath. His companions, already knowing they are easily outclassed, drag their friend away, leaving Skin to resume dancing with his muse.

    "Very nice," smiles Claudia. "But I wish you’d let me take care of him. I am a much better fighter. You know that."

     Doctor Skin winks.

     "Possibly, my dear. But if a man can’t defend himself on a dance floor, he forfeits the right to be called such."

     Change of tempo.

     The DJ puts his music away, to be replaced by a band on a small stage above the floor. They’re not very good, but their heart is in the right place. The music is fast and dirty, pure rock and roll.

     Claudia squeals with joy and starts bouncing up and down. The Doctor joins her, suddenly all hands and feet.

     Zoom in again on the figure of the good Doctor, dancing his arse off. Go closer, and see the fabric of his clothes. Go closer and see the atoms that make up his being. Go closer and see the creatures that make up those very atoms.

     They’re still dancing, just like they did at the start of everything. Just like they always have, just like they always will.

     Because at this level, it's all true.

     There is no time.