ThEraPeutIc SKIn JobS #13

I'm fairly sure this was the TSJ I wrote in the 21st century, but I was obviously still high on my own bullshit.

    For one perfect, clear, pure moment, it all made sense.

   But this revelation brought added challenges. The first real step up the spiritual ladder involved the dissolution of my personality, and I’d put entirely too much effort into that to let it go so easily. In that eternity inside everything, I stood my ground and refused to surrender my individuality, holding everything together with an absurd mantra that incorporated a treasured cartoon:

   “My name is Dr. J Q Skin, millionaire. I own a mansion and a yacht.”

   No nostalgia is permitted in the afterlife, and this affirmation of the universe at its most shallow was inexcusable and the result inevitable. With no small regret, I was removed from Heaven.

   Beyond senses, I still fully understood what was happening to me as I was wrenched away from infinity and sent screaming back down to the material world. For a while it was a kick, riding God’s brainwaves through astral space. A couple of rogue thoughts materialized somewhere behind me and laughed at my fashion sense, but I couldn’t turn around to kick their heads in. After all, I didn’t have a body.

   But as I approached the reality I knew and loved, I was caught in a strange kind of psychic web and dumped, kicking and screaming, in Hell.

   Typical.

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ThEraPeutIc SKIn JobS

Number Thirteen 

Life In Hell

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    The bartender has an extra couple of eyes where his nose should be, but that doesn’t bother me.

    What bothers me is the fact that the beer he’s just served me is extraordinarily warm and completely flat. I spit the revolting fluid over the nearest short person and turn to the bartender. 

    “You can’t expect me to drink this filth!” I bellow a little louder than I’d expected. My fellow patrons take little notice of this tantrum and I carry on with the childish behavior. “This beer is utterly bland, inordinately boring and a crime in seventeen nations!”

    The bartender shrugs and smirks. I already know what his answer will be and he happily confirms it. “What did you expect? This is Hell.”

    I can’t argue with that logic and leave the bar, walking out onto the streets of Hell, a place which is, disappointingly, exactly as I’d imagined it to be. No flames or torture machines or creepy little red fuckers committing every kind of atrocity they can think of. Instead, there’s just one big city, stretching on forever. It’s not as hot as I’d expected, and there's a lot less people than I’d thought they’re be, but the sky is as red as I’d dreamed, and nothing is ever quite right.

    As I walk down the path beside an empty road, I gaze around and the last vestiges of my optimism vanish. The architecture is depressingly drab and boring. No cool gargoyles or gothic churches with occult symbols carved in the wood, just apartment buildings and dull storefronts. Nothing inspiring. Nothing beautiful in any perverse sense.

    “What did you expect?” laughs a friendly voice behind me. “This is Hell.”

    I turn slowly and grin at the young man standing on the footpath, his posture casual, his manner relaxed. “I’ve heard that one before,” I reply, “and it wasn’t funny the first time.”

    He’s wearing cut-off jeans, a shirt with the sleeves ripped off, a red bandana on his head and the darkest sunglasses I think I’ve ever seen. No shoes.

    When I first became aware of my body again after my holiday in Heaven, the fact I was now in Hell garnered little attention from me. I was reveling in the delight brought on by the fact that I was now, despite all expectations, still wearing my favourite suit and boots. Now, standing next to this man in a red felt tuxedo and blood-red Doc Martins, I felt overdressed and stupid.

    “Careful,” says the man, pointing at me with a lazy left finger. “I can read your thoughts. Look, don’t worry about it. You look fine. Now. You must be Skin.”

    “I guess I must be,” I say, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it. His grip is strong. “And you?” 

    His grin widens considerably, showing perfect teeth. “My name is Cthulhu”.

    I stop shaking his hand and step back. “Cthulhu? Aren’t you meant to be fucking big with tentacles and claws and wings and all that shit?”

    Cthulhu puts his arm over my shoulder, turns me around and starts walking back down the street, whispering in a highly confidential tone right into my left ear. “You ever tried eatin’ a hamburger with all that crap getting in the way? Fuck that.”

    This is another piece of utter logic and I again make no attempt to refute it. I go for a question instead. “So what’s up?”

    “It’s not as bad as you think, Joseph. Hell is a state of mind, and you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. But if you really want to go, you have to convince the Council.”

    “This is ridiculous. This is all a state of mind, but I have to pass some idiotic test?”

    “Of course you do,” says Cthulhu excitedly, pounding on my chest. “It’s all about the drama! Besides, it’s a system you humans came up with. There’s no need for it, but that never stopped you guys before.”

    “Alright, alright,” I reply, gently pushing him away and following him down the street. He’s about to turn around and say something else when a clown in a dirty outfit walks up to my new travelling companion and grips onto his shoulders with sharp red claws.

    “Cthulhu, you bastard!” he spits through sharpened teeth. “Where’s that twenty bucks you owe me?”

    “Bite me, Beelzebub,” offers Cthulhu, shrugging him off and flipping him the bird. “You’ll get it. Sooner or later.” Beelzebub snarls at him and shambles off. I’m highly offended that he didn’t even glance at me. 

    I turn to Cthulhu and ask the question that first comes to mind. “I don’t get it. Why do you all look like humans? Shouldn’t Hell be a little more advanced than that?”

    “You really don’t get it, do you?” chuckles Cthulhu, walking away again at a brisk pace, forcing me into a vulgar jog to catch up. “All your fantasies, all your science fiction. They were all wrong.”

    “What the hell are you talking about?”

    “Humans are as advanced as the universe gets. There are no aliens or magicians smarter than you out there. You are it. You’re as good as it gets. You’re getting better, and I can’t fucking wait to see what happens next, but don’t count on any outside help, dig?”

    “Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s pretty sad.”

    “You’re telling me,” answers Cthulhu with a resigned sigh, stopping before a typical door into a typical building and pushing it open. “Right. In you go.”

    “Sure,” I answer cheerfully, stepping through into the darkness beyond. “Why not?”

    For a second, there's nothing, but my eyes soon adjust to the darkness and I see I’m standing in an incredibly uninteresting room. A wooden chair stands in the middle of a scuffed wooden floor. Three desks stand at the right side of the room, the figures behind each desk cloaked in shadow. An unbelievably old man in a black cloak points at me with a small hammer. 

    “You’re late. Sit down,” he barks in a distastefully authoritarian voice. Nevertheless I find myself obeying him and sit in the center chair.

    “This court is now in session,” says the old man, stifling a yawn before turning to me and fixing me with glowing red eyes. “I am the Judge and this is my place. Do as I say.”

    “Okay,” I answer meekly.

    He nods and turns to the first chair. “We will hear from the Banker first.”

    A bright light appears and a stern looking man in a sharp suit and sharper mustache stands and fixes me with a contemptuous glare. “The subject has no assets, no worth. He refuses to buy anything more than he absolutely needs and does not contribute to the overall economy. He is a leech on society.”

    The Banker does not fill me with the same fear as the Judge, and I am no longer restricted with my response. “I am not a leech. I am a person. As long as I’ve got that, I’ve got all I need.”

    The Banker snorts in disgust. “The more you own, the more power you have.”

    “The less you own, the more freedom you have.”

    “Enough!” barks the Judge, and the light above the Banker vanishes. “I will have no cod philosophy in my court. “We shall now hear from The Priest.”

    A light appears above the second desk and a pious looking old man stands, the glare shining off his bald head. He looks directly at me and smiles sadly. “Regrettably, the subject has displayed little sense of moral duty and is irredeemable in the eyes of my organization.”

    “I object!” I holler truthfully. “I have a highly defined sense of morality. It’s not my fault it’s incompatible with yours. Look, just because I’ve broken seven of the Ten Commandments….”

    The priest coughs politely and stares at me. I can’t stop myself from telling the truth. “Alright, ten of the Ten Commandments. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between right and wrong. Christ, any moron can figure that out for himself if he tries hard enough. Without your help.”

    “We help set the standard for all.”

    “I refuse to be held to the lowest common denominator!”

    “Thank you, Priest,” interrupts the Judge, the second light vanishing with the sound of his voice. “General?”

    A big, burly man in a savage haircut and excellent uniform studded with medals stands and nods at me. “The subject is a good solider. He understands the inevitability of violence and the ideal of honor. He has a few problems with the sacrifice of pawns, but he’ll learn soon enough.”

    The General sits back down and I resist the urge to salute the motherfucker. He sounded just like John Wayne.

    “Very well,” says the Judge. “You can go.”

    “What?” I ask. “Is that it?”

    “Yes,” hisses the Judge, motioning with his hammer towards me. “Go. Leave. Fuck off.”

    I need no further encouragement and leg it out the door. Cthulhu is still waiting for me; leaning against the wall like he ain’t got a care in the world.

    “I made it,” I tell him.

    “I know.”

    “Now what?”

    “Now you go home.”

    Disappointment leaps on me like the inevitable bad sequel to the movie you loved as a kid. “So, I just go home now?”

    “Pretty much.”

    “Don’t I get to met the big guy?”

    Cthulhu’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who?”

    “Satan. Lucifer. The Devil!”

    “Oh,” sighs Cthulhu. “No. Nobody ever gets to meet him. But it’s like he’s everywhere at once, you know?”

    “No, not really. Okay, so what do I do? Click my heels three times or what?”

    “Why don’t you hang around for a night? Robert Johnson’s doin’ a gig tonight. His stuff is fucking brilliant.”

    “The Devil got all the best tunes, right?”

    “Something like that.”

    “I’ll pass,” I answer, waving him off with a hand that looks surprisingly insubstantial. “I’ve got a life to live.”

    “Fair enough,” nods Cthulhu, stepping back as I fade away any further.

    I figure I got one more time for question before I go, and I ask it in a voice in a voice that sounds more like wind. “Hey, Cthulhu. Why’d you help me out anyway?” Cthulhu’s smile is the last thing I see in Hell, but his voice follows me into the tunnel back to reality, and the echo bounces around in my skull as I return to life. 

    “Why not? If we can’t help each other out every now and again, we aren’t worth anything.”

    “Can’t argue with that,” I answer, surprised to hear my own voice, clear and loud. I can also feel rain on my face and weight on my bones. I open my eyes and see Kristine standing over me, her wet blonde hair clinging to the side of her head.

    “You went and shot yourself in the head again, didn’t you?” she says, putting her hands on her hips and frowning at me. “Didn’t you?”

    I stagger to my feet and stand, clutching the side of my skull. I’ve got a bastard behind the eyes, but that’s as bad as it gets. “Only once.”

    “You scared the crap out of me,” she moans. “You were lying there with a hole in your skull, talking about stupid things.”

    “What stupid things?”

    “Crazy talk about Judges and owning a mansion and a yacht and tentacles. Things that didn’t make any sense.”

    “Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say, walking forward and holding her in my arms. Right now, standing here with her is a perfect, clear moment that wipes away my migraine and fills my chest with warmth. Heaven and Hell ain’t got nuthin’ on this. “I’ll explain everything. Trust me. It’ll all make perfect sense.”

The End 

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This has been a Mad Wish Presentation. Merry fucking Christmas!