Friday, April 20, 2012

Meltdown

  The signs began in a small manner. Hardcore sweating, numbness, constant laxness. I couldn't concentrate on being an artist anymore. There was no more inspiration. The world was turning into a giant jelly jar, and I was simply surviving in it. I could feel myself slowly dissolving into that jelly. I thought it must have been too much pressure to meet the due dates. Donna thought otherwise. Sweating like pig wasn't a good sign to her, even though I tried to convince her. Pigs don't sweat, horses do.
  We visited the doctor. Dozens of test, autopsies, rest of the crap. He said he'd contact me once he got the reports. He did. Me and Donna visited him one fine evening. And that's when I got to know, I was suffering from a critical case of meltdown. I was melting away. And there was nothing anyone could do about it anymore. We were too late, it was the last stage.
  We came back home. That night, there was no dinner. From the next day, Donna took a leave. Atleast that's what she said. I think she left her job. There was no more showers for me. No more sponges. No more soap. No more soggy soups. Just hard boiled veg and eggs. Donna wanted me to stay solid. Stick to my ground. Stay there, beside her, standing.
  But nothing stopped the melting. Everyday, the bed would be mucky in the morning. I insisted her to not sleep with me. She didn't listen. There was no more daily activities like peeing, shitting, brushing, bathing. She made me suckle onto ice cubes. And I was okay. I was to become one with the universal jelly. The all encompassing slimy muck which I'd see around me everywhere nowadays.
  Then one fine morning, I realised I couldn't creep out of the bed anymore. I shouted for Donna. She came, she picked me up. I was now the size of a 5 year old. She placed me in a bucket. The same bucket in which I'd once puke when I got too drunk to boost my artistic frenzy. I was okay with it I suppose. The whole day, I watched the television, peeking out from the inside of the bucket.
  The next day, I was liquid. I was disappointed, I thought I'd be jelly, colourful, wobbly, fun to play with. I'd just turned out to be a bucketful of creamy mud. Donna cried when she saw me. I asked her to take a sip from the bucket. I really wanted to know how I tasted. She cried louder. A bit too morbid request for her, I guessed. Finally she transferred me into a mug, and we headed towards the hospital.
  The doctor saw me. He said he was sorry. He also offered me to stay over in the hospital. They'd wanted to do some studies on me. I wasn't sure about it. I couldn't speak. I was just a mug full of mud. Donna refused to let me go. The doctor offered money. Donna was stubborn. So he offered her to stay with me in the hospital. I guess she reconsidered. We needed the money. She did.
  They transferred me to a nice, cozy room, a nice, cozy bed. A nice, cozy mug. I was under observation. Donna was sitting beside me. She sat there for a full day. Then she lost consciousness suddenly while trying to check me out inside the mug. She had refused to eat. She had become weak. So she fainted. I saw them taking her away, while I lay there in the floor.
  Donna had knocked over the mug when she fell. I was on the floor mostly, and a bit of me was in the bed. I could hear the nurses screaming, I saw the doctor panicking.
  The cleaner came. He moped me up, put me in a rusty bucket, and finally flushed me down the toilet bowl. I could finally feel a oneness with the universal jelly. It and I were finally becoming one. I rushed down the sewers.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  When Donna came back to the room the next day, she found a new mug. Suddenly, she skipped a heartbeat. What if Eric wasn't there inside the mug? What if he'd left, angry with her leaving him all alone? She paced up to the mug, and there was Eric in it. Eric was there, in his full, slimy glory, almost basking in his victory over mankind.
  She cuddled the mug. She'd live the rest of her life with this mug full of Eric. She was decided on that. She had Eric with her, there, in that mug. She'd always have him.

No comments:

Post a Comment