Self-pity was all well and good, but I also always knew that I had to get out of the house sometimes and meet some girls.
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ThEraPeutIc SKIn JobS
Number Ten
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Number Ten
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“It will never end,” sneers Special Offalgruber Jakob Skin, pacing around the small room, his immaculately polished shoes tapping out their own tune on the bare concrete floor as he walks. The suspect sits at the table, head bowed as he listens to Skin talk. ‘It never ends, until he get the answers we want. Well?”
“Well?” repeats Max Zero, holding his head in his hands and trying not to give in to despair. “Well what?”
“Are you ready to cooperate?” says Skin, taking a seat at the other side of the table. Reaching over for the pack of cigarettes, he sighs in exasperation. “It’s really very easy, you know. Either you tell us what we want to know, or we take you out behind the chemical sheds. You know what will happen then.”
Max looks up, tears streaked down his face. Smiling grimly, he answers quietly. “When I was a kid, I watched Sesame Street. They taught me the value of cooperation.”
Skin smiles slightly, before nodding for Max to continue.
“They taught me that cooperation was important,” continues Max, suddenly animated. “They also taught me the difference between Near and Far.”
Skin sighs, then leans over the table and casually slaps Max in the face. The blow draws a little blood, along with Max’s undivided attention.
‘We are not interested in your pitiful little pop culture references,” says Skin, sitting back down in his seat, lighting his cigarette and holding it in a way only Nazis in movies do. “We are only interested in pure, hard facts. Now. Are you ready to play?”
Max nods his agreement.
“Excellent,” beams Skin. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Who do you work for?”
“I don’t work for anybody,” answers Max, confusion creeping into his voice. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Do you believe that children are the hope of the future?” continues Skin.
“What?” whispers Max, taken aback by this sudden shift in questioning. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m asking the questions here,” says Skin, anger and distrust building, only to subside suddenly. “Do you believe in the fellowship of man?”
“Of course not,” says Max. “Look, what is this all about? What am I doing here?”
“Here?” repeats Skin, looking through the papers on the table. “Where do you think ‘here’ is?”
Max looks around the room carefully before answering. “I’m in a small room, roughly ten feet by ten feet, by ten feet. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. There is a framed picture on the wall behind me, but I don’t know what it’s a picture of. There are two chairs and a filing cabinet in the corner. The only other furniture is this small table we’re both sitting at."
Skin smirks slightly as he replies. ‘What a remarkably astute answer. Tell me this: Did this room exist before you gave a description of it?”
“I don’t understand,” says Max genuinely.
“What am I wearing? What are you wearing?”
“I don’t- You’re wearing a grey military uniform, but I don’t recognize it. I’m wearing normal clothes. That’s all.”
“Was I naked just now?”
“What?!?”
“Let’s change direction,” says Skin. “Who do you think you are?”
“Me? I’m Max Zero.”
“Fair enough, but who are you? Are you somebody who lives on J Street, surrounded by impossibilities, or are you somebody who lives in the real world, where things like that don’t exist?”
Max thinks for a moment, but it doesn’t help. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” grins the Offalgruber. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You have nothing to contribute.”
He picks up some of the papers off the table and throws them across the room, pages full of dark text floating in the air. "Look at them! ‘No Future’. Huh. Even these stories are obsolete. You are being replaced by people with more enthusiasm, passion and creativity than you can ever muster.”
Max tries to reply, but he can’t speak. There's something hot and heavy in his throat and he can’t say anything.
“Can you see them down there?” continues Skin, oblivious to Max’s troubles and pointing in a direction that doesn’t exist. “Writing stories of last evenings and theatrical matriarchs with more passion than you can ever muster. Why don’t you just give up?”
Max swallows the thing in his throat and finally answers. “Fuck you. My work is just as important as those. Maybe I am stuck in an outmoded concept, but who cares? So what if others have fallen to apathy? So what if nobody cares anymore? I still give a damn. I still care.”
“How admirable,” says Skin, only to be interrupted by somebody entering the room through the door behind Max. The new arrival steps carefully around him, placing something in front of Skin.
“Your tea, Herr Skin,” she says, putting the cup carefully down and looking over at Max. ‘Would your offender like anything?”
“He is fine, Korporal Jenkins, ” says Skin, answering for Max. “Maybe later.”
The redhead in the sharp, black uniform nods curtly and retreats, her perfume lingering in the air long after the door is closed behind her.
"You know her?” asks Skin, smirking at the dumb expression on Max’s face.
Max smiles tiredly. “I think so. I think we’ve met.”
“Does that happen often?”
“It’s all about the Dodo,” says Max inexplicably, winking at somebody who isn’t there. “Right, Fred?”
“Have you had enough yet, Herr Zero?” asks Offalgruber Skin, ignoring this last cryptic comment.
“I was bored of this a long time ago.”
“One last question. Are you willing to answer it?”
Max carefully reaches across the table and grabs the packet of cigarettes. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” says Skin. “How do you feel?”
“What?”
“How do you feel?”
Max takes the lighter from the table and lights the cigarette in his hands as he considers his answer. “How do I feel? How do I feel? How the fuck do you think I feel? Look at me! I’m nobody, a nothing person stuck in a nowhere life. I can’t make sense of anything anymore and I’m becoming harder and harder to understand. I don’t mind so much, because I’ve got nothing to say. You said so yourself. I have no original ideas. I have no new thoughts. I regurgitate and recycle the same old derivative shit. I have nothing worthwhile to contribute, but that doesn’t stop me talking. And you know what the worst thing is? I’m doomed to mediocrity. I can’t get out of this life. I’m trapped in my own head, and I don’t know the way out.“
Skin watches his test subject carefully as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you done, Max?”
Holding up one finger, Max scratches his chin thoughtfully as he continues. “Not quite. I don’t want to sound like some self-pitying moron with too much time on his hands. I love life. I love living these times. There's so much to see, so much to do, and so many people to meet. I’m only fucking human. I feel sorry for myself now and again, but I get over it. I get up in the morning, open the curtains, and thank somebody for another day. I’ve got so much hope for the future you could light a small city with the energy that feeling generates. Jesus! Lets face it! Don’t it feel good just to be alive?”
Skin hesitates until he is sure his suspect has finished speaking. “Are you done now, Max?”
Max sits back in his chair and puffs on his cigarette. “Yeah. I’m done. Bloody hell. Maybe Steven Grant is right. Dialogue kills the flow.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because it’s so easy. Look, can I go now? Are we done? Do you have any more questions?”
“No, I have no questions. But I can’t let you leave.”
“What?” cries Max, tapping his ash onto the concrete floor. “You said we were done. Why can’t I go?”
Skin smiles as he prepares his apocalyptic answer. “Because there is nowhere else to go. This room is the limit of our tiny universe. But don’t worry, we won’t get bored.”
Skin stands up and walks to the corner of the room, leaning back on the wall and folding his arms. “I told you before how it works. Don’t you see? The interrogation goes on forever. It never ends. It will never end.”
“Well?” repeats Max Zero, holding his head in his hands and trying not to give in to despair. “Well what?”
“Are you ready to cooperate?” says Skin, taking a seat at the other side of the table. Reaching over for the pack of cigarettes, he sighs in exasperation. “It’s really very easy, you know. Either you tell us what we want to know, or we take you out behind the chemical sheds. You know what will happen then.”
Max looks up, tears streaked down his face. Smiling grimly, he answers quietly. “When I was a kid, I watched Sesame Street. They taught me the value of cooperation.”
Skin smiles slightly, before nodding for Max to continue.
“They taught me that cooperation was important,” continues Max, suddenly animated. “They also taught me the difference between Near and Far.”
Skin sighs, then leans over the table and casually slaps Max in the face. The blow draws a little blood, along with Max’s undivided attention.
‘We are not interested in your pitiful little pop culture references,” says Skin, sitting back down in his seat, lighting his cigarette and holding it in a way only Nazis in movies do. “We are only interested in pure, hard facts. Now. Are you ready to play?”
Max nods his agreement.
“Excellent,” beams Skin. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Who do you work for?”
“I don’t work for anybody,” answers Max, confusion creeping into his voice. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Do you believe that children are the hope of the future?” continues Skin.
“What?” whispers Max, taken aback by this sudden shift in questioning. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m asking the questions here,” says Skin, anger and distrust building, only to subside suddenly. “Do you believe in the fellowship of man?”
“Of course not,” says Max. “Look, what is this all about? What am I doing here?”
“Here?” repeats Skin, looking through the papers on the table. “Where do you think ‘here’ is?”
Max looks around the room carefully before answering. “I’m in a small room, roughly ten feet by ten feet, by ten feet. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. There is a framed picture on the wall behind me, but I don’t know what it’s a picture of. There are two chairs and a filing cabinet in the corner. The only other furniture is this small table we’re both sitting at."
Skin smirks slightly as he replies. ‘What a remarkably astute answer. Tell me this: Did this room exist before you gave a description of it?”
“I don’t understand,” says Max genuinely.
“What am I wearing? What are you wearing?”
“I don’t- You’re wearing a grey military uniform, but I don’t recognize it. I’m wearing normal clothes. That’s all.”
“Was I naked just now?”
“What?!?”
“Let’s change direction,” says Skin. “Who do you think you are?”
“Me? I’m Max Zero.”
“Fair enough, but who are you? Are you somebody who lives on J Street, surrounded by impossibilities, or are you somebody who lives in the real world, where things like that don’t exist?”
Max thinks for a moment, but it doesn’t help. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” grins the Offalgruber. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You have nothing to contribute.”
He picks up some of the papers off the table and throws them across the room, pages full of dark text floating in the air. "Look at them! ‘No Future’. Huh. Even these stories are obsolete. You are being replaced by people with more enthusiasm, passion and creativity than you can ever muster.”
Max tries to reply, but he can’t speak. There's something hot and heavy in his throat and he can’t say anything.
“Can you see them down there?” continues Skin, oblivious to Max’s troubles and pointing in a direction that doesn’t exist. “Writing stories of last evenings and theatrical matriarchs with more passion than you can ever muster. Why don’t you just give up?”
Max swallows the thing in his throat and finally answers. “Fuck you. My work is just as important as those. Maybe I am stuck in an outmoded concept, but who cares? So what if others have fallen to apathy? So what if nobody cares anymore? I still give a damn. I still care.”
“How admirable,” says Skin, only to be interrupted by somebody entering the room through the door behind Max. The new arrival steps carefully around him, placing something in front of Skin.
“Your tea, Herr Skin,” she says, putting the cup carefully down and looking over at Max. ‘Would your offender like anything?”
“He is fine, Korporal Jenkins, ” says Skin, answering for Max. “Maybe later.”
The redhead in the sharp, black uniform nods curtly and retreats, her perfume lingering in the air long after the door is closed behind her.
"You know her?” asks Skin, smirking at the dumb expression on Max’s face.
Max smiles tiredly. “I think so. I think we’ve met.”
“Does that happen often?”
“It’s all about the Dodo,” says Max inexplicably, winking at somebody who isn’t there. “Right, Fred?”
“Have you had enough yet, Herr Zero?” asks Offalgruber Skin, ignoring this last cryptic comment.
“I was bored of this a long time ago.”
“One last question. Are you willing to answer it?”
Max carefully reaches across the table and grabs the packet of cigarettes. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” says Skin. “How do you feel?”
“What?”
“How do you feel?”
Max takes the lighter from the table and lights the cigarette in his hands as he considers his answer. “How do I feel? How do I feel? How the fuck do you think I feel? Look at me! I’m nobody, a nothing person stuck in a nowhere life. I can’t make sense of anything anymore and I’m becoming harder and harder to understand. I don’t mind so much, because I’ve got nothing to say. You said so yourself. I have no original ideas. I have no new thoughts. I regurgitate and recycle the same old derivative shit. I have nothing worthwhile to contribute, but that doesn’t stop me talking. And you know what the worst thing is? I’m doomed to mediocrity. I can’t get out of this life. I’m trapped in my own head, and I don’t know the way out.“
Skin watches his test subject carefully as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you done, Max?”
Holding up one finger, Max scratches his chin thoughtfully as he continues. “Not quite. I don’t want to sound like some self-pitying moron with too much time on his hands. I love life. I love living these times. There's so much to see, so much to do, and so many people to meet. I’m only fucking human. I feel sorry for myself now and again, but I get over it. I get up in the morning, open the curtains, and thank somebody for another day. I’ve got so much hope for the future you could light a small city with the energy that feeling generates. Jesus! Lets face it! Don’t it feel good just to be alive?”
Skin hesitates until he is sure his suspect has finished speaking. “Are you done now, Max?”
Max sits back in his chair and puffs on his cigarette. “Yeah. I’m done. Bloody hell. Maybe Steven Grant is right. Dialogue kills the flow.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because it’s so easy. Look, can I go now? Are we done? Do you have any more questions?”
“No, I have no questions. But I can’t let you leave.”
“What?” cries Max, tapping his ash onto the concrete floor. “You said we were done. Why can’t I go?”
Skin smiles as he prepares his apocalyptic answer. “Because there is nowhere else to go. This room is the limit of our tiny universe. But don’t worry, we won’t get bored.”
Skin stands up and walks to the corner of the room, leaning back on the wall and folding his arms. “I told you before how it works. Don’t you see? The interrogation goes on forever. It never ends. It will never end.”
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