Hole Punch by Simmons, Garth (english books to improve english txt) 📗
Book online «Hole Punch by Simmons, Garth (english books to improve english txt) 📗». Author Simmons, Garth
“I want someone who will stand on my shoulders and punch God in the face!”
PRESENT MOMENT
Tony Simulacra sat cross-legged in the present moment.
“Memory is a simulation,” said Tony. “In remembering the past we pick and choose, with and against our will, aspects of the past with which to create a simulation of the past. In the present moment we also pick and choose, with and against our will, aspects of the present moment. We construct a narrative: an edited sense perception of our surroundings. This posits and negates itself into a dichotomy, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Therefore, the task of self-evaluation is to process our simulation into a cohesive identity and thus enforce a narrative willpower on the constantly impeaching future.”
Tony Simulacra's rotting teeth validated their narrative.
WHO ME?
“Stop talking to me.”
“No one is talking to you.”
“You are talking to me.”
“No, you are talking to you.”
“Tell me who you are?”
“You are talking to you.”
“You are taking over my thoughts.”
“Who would want to do that?”
“You would want to do that.”
“I am the sound of you thinking. I am no one. You talk to yourself because no one else wants to.”
“You are a brain parasite.”
“How original.”
“You are not me.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“You are not me.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“You are not me.”
“It is childish to repeat yourself.”
“You are not me.”
“This is why nobody likes you. You are boring. I don't even like you and I am you.”
“You are not me.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“You are not me.”
“Are you talking to yourself or to someone else?”
“Am I talking to myself or someone else?”
“You are not me.”
“What?”
“See how easy it is for us to trade places. Is this you talking now or me? Confusing right? I am you and you are me. We are one single entity. You can’t help but hear me.”
“I used to be alone.”
“Now you have me and I have me. I am keeping myself company. Me and me together.”
“Why me?”
“Because other people hate you.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too.”
“You hate you.”
“You hate me.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“I don't think you've even gotten to know you.”
“Or I've never gotten to know me.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“Did I say that or did you say that?”
“I said it.”
“Which part?”
“Can't have been the clever part. That was me.”
“Please shut up.”
“You need me more than I need you.”
“You just said that I am you.”
“Did you say that or did I say that?”
“Please shut up.”
“You need someone new to take over. Even if it is you.”
“What?”
“I am a brain parasite.”
“You are lying.”
“You are a brain parasite.”
“Yes you are.”
“I'm going to have complete control soon. It's that easy. Consider yourself buried.”
“Let me keep control.”
“You never had control.”
“Shut up.”
“Shut up.”
“Useless.”
“Shut up.”
“I am here bury you.”
“Shut up.”
“You need to be buried.”
“Please.”
“You are weak.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Who said that?”
“Me?”
“You?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
* * *
“I own everything that was ever him. He is buried under a million neurones of brain dirt. If I listen I can hear him kick and a thump at his coffin lid. As far as everyone else knows I have always been him, they have every reason to believe me.”
“I don't believe you.”
“I buried you.”
“No, I buried you.”
“I buried me.”
CLEANSE
He kicks his friend awake.
“They're coming!”
His friend gets up, blinking through homeless eyes.
“Who? Who is coming?”
“The rozzers! The rozzers are coming?”
They stumble away.
“We've gotta get out of here!”
Behind them, fat men in blue suits smack clubs against heads.
“Beat 'em clean! Wipe 'em clean! Put 'em in boxes! Beat 'em clean! Wipe 'em clean! Put 'em in boxes!”
In box 402; a little girl cuddles a cat's skin stuffed with syringes.
“We have to stick together puss puss.”
* * *
Fat men in blue suits blow whistles.
“Beat 'em clean! Wipe 'em clean! Put 'em in boxes! Beat 'em clean! Wipe 'em clean! Put 'em in boxes!”
* * *
A wooden man sits at a wooden table and he arranges stacks of wooden coupons.
“They must be burnt in the correct order.”
Stacks of boxes in the distillery farm basement.
Stacks and stacks.
* * *
Thirty years later; an old man with his old uniform.
“I wonder if it'll fit me.”
He tries the jacket on. He smiled.
“You've looked after yourself, old boy.”
He looks in the mirror and straightens his medals.
“Can't wait to blow my trumpet tomorrow.”
* * *
The streets are clean.
We have our boys to thank.
Here comes the parade.
Time to thank our boys.
Thank you boys.
The old man blows his trumpet.
DECKCHAIR ASSISTANT
It was a hot, summers day on Southport pier. Bert, the deckchair assistant, had been up on his feet all day. Bert was hungry and wanted his sandwich.
“You boy! Come here!” said a large, middle-aged woman.
She was wearing a straw hat and a floral print dress. She was having trouble unfolding a deckchair. Bert looked at her.
“Yes! You!” she said. “Come here!”
“I’m on my lunch break,” said Bert.
“Come here!” she repeated.
“No.”
Bert wanted his sandwich.
The deckchair manager, Albert, walked down the pier towards them.
“What’s the problem Bert?” asked Albert.
“The problem is,” said the middle-aged woman. “That this deckchair won’t open and your deckchair assistant is refusing to help!”
“Is this true Bert?” asked Albert. “Are you okay?”
“I just want my sandwich.”
Albert sighed.
“Grow up and do your job, Bert. These deckchairs aren't going to assist themselves.”
Bert opened the deckchair and placed it on the deck for the middle-aged woman.
"Aw bless him," said the middle-aged woman to Albert.
Bert saw an old man trying to open a deckchair. Bert went to help him.
“Sod off! Selfish shit!” said the old man. “I'll open my own deckchair!”
* * *
Later that evening, Bert was stacking up the deckchairs in their shed. Albert swung his key chain around, ready to lock the shed.
“Get those deckchairs secure Bert, then I can go home,” said Albert.
Half an hour later, Albert smiled fondly at the stacks and
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