Saturday, March 13, 2021

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The Ninth Circle Part 10

I am frozen to the spot. I can feel the sweat forming again on the back of my neck. I want to drop the tray and run for my life. Whatever this is, it was not worth it. “My… my… my name is Geoff,” I stammer. “Don’t just fucking stand there, get me some water,” the voice demands. “Ice is in the freezer.” I still could not see who it is I am talking to. The smell of death and decay is clinging to everything.


I walk around the piles of newspapers, magazines, and rotting clothes. The cats watch my every move. I am standing in the kitchen, or at least what I think is the kitchen. I can see the fridge, so somewhere there must be a stove. I spot what looka at one time to have been a white microwave oven. A thick layer of grease covers the top and sides, giving it a slightly brownish-yellow “sticky” look. 

I place the tray on top of several of the half full mason jars. The smell in the apartment is burning my eyes and nose. “Hurry the fuck up!” the voice yells “I…, I’m going as fast as I can,” I say. I have to keep repressing the feeling that I am going to vomit at any minute. A cat walks on the counter in front of me, 
dragging its tail under my nose. “Rowr,” the cat says, pausing briefly in front of me and looking into my eyes. Then it turns and makes a return trip. 

 

I am definitely standing on things that have been laid on the floor. If I have to guess I am suspended about five inches above the actualfloor. 

“Do you want the water they sent upstairs with me?” I ask. “Do you want the water they sent upstairs with me?” he mimics me. “Fucking genius,” he snarls, sounding like steam escaping a tight valve. “Use your fucking brain.” He hisses. I am listening intently, trying to figure out where the voice is coming from. 

My guess is that he is behind the slightly closed door twelve feet away from me. Slowly and as quietly as I can, I begin walking over and around the mounds of garbage on the floor. “What the fuck is taking so long?” he screams.  Somewhere in the room with the slightly closed door, objects hit the floor. In his anger he is throwing things everywhere. 

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I can hear myself breathing as I reach out with a trembling hand and press one finger to the door. It moves slowly inwards but not before letting out a loud creak. “Where is my water? Where is my water? Where is my water?” He begins screaming and slapping his hands on the bed. 

The door opens slowly and the smell I first encountered when I entered the apartment is suddenly much worse. I squint into the room. I can’t see anything. The room is dark and the blinds are pulled. The only light is coming from a street light outside. 

I see a figure lying on what must be a bed in the middle of a pile of garbage. Leaning up on his elbows he looks at me; I still cannot see his face. “Where the fucking holy God dammed hell is my water?” he screeches. My urge to drop the tray and run is now stronger than before.  


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