The Slip

1 HE CAME TO WITH A start and stumbled backward, letting go of the shopping cart. The thick smell of excrement and decay filled his nose and slithered into his lungs. His stomach clenched in revulsion and he staggered farther away from the cart, but the stench followed. The overpowering odor tightened it’s grip, coiling around his stomach, immediately forcing the expulsion of its contents through his mouth and nose. The acidic smell of his stomach fluids was somehow an improvement and he sat heavily on the sidewalk, trying to recover. Through watery eyes, he took a moment to get his bearings. He had on tattered clothes and mismatched sneakers. Dirt was caked on his hands. Some of the vomit had found its way through the numerous holes in what looked like pajama pants and glued them to his skin. Nothing made sense. He did not recognize what he was wearing, his surroundings or even his hands as he held them up for inspection. He had no recollection of anything. At all. It was as if he didn’t exist and then he did. A hum of voices suddenly filled his head. Millions of thoughts intertwined into a flowing river of ideas, discussions and comments. He felt strangely calmed by the susurrations and reached out naturally with his mind to join in. As quickly as they came they disappeared, replaced by a desolate loneliness. That felt like a memory. But a memory of what? He heard the sound of an approaching vehicle and looked up. The image of a hovering ship entered his mind. The vehicle approached, rolling down the street on four wheels and his brain struggled to coalesce the image in his mind with the reality of what he saw. Then the image was gone and he watched the car drive past. He tried to bring the hovering ship back in his mind but it was gone. Like the memory of a dream after waking, he was left only with its impression; the knowledge that it had been there but a complete inability to recall it. What were the voices in his head and the images of flying cars? Why didn’t he recognize himself? Tendrils of panic began surfacing throughout his body. The only thing holding them at bay were the continuing desperate pangs of loneliness. The loneliness felt familiar, and while bottomless and unbearable, provided an anchor point and he grabbed hold. Pussy! Get the f**k out of the way! An angry voice snarled in his head. He suddenly felt his consciousness being torn away from the physical exterior of his body. He was compressed into darkness. His face was a mask he no longer wore. His view of the world had receded a distance from the mask’s oval eye cutouts. Someone else took control of his body. The octopus of panic thrashed back to life. He was no longer connected to the physical. He flailed helplessly, spinning weightless in the darkness. Who do you think you are? I’m in control here! I’m the boss! The angry voice became violent. He sensed his body moving with harmful intent but he had now lost his view to the world, seeing only darkness. But it wasn’t complete darkness. His existence had come to some sort of equilibrium and he forced the panic back. There was a light source behind him. He was able to rotate his essence. The cutouts in the mask were still there, he had just spun away in his panic. He was a passenger now in his own body. He watched through the windows of his dark room as he pulled a long blade from the shopping cart. He could feel his mouth pull into a tight grin.