THEY ALL FALL DOWN
I
I'm such a fool. Such a fool. I look up - down - no, up. Definitely up. 7:18. I board the train from Piccadilly Circus to Hyde Park Corner. Back to where it all began - or at least where I think it all began. Who knows? Maybe it was written in the stars, on the back of a cereal packet, maybe it was only decided a second ago. Still, It's fitting that it should all end there. I chuckle wryly to myself. This has all been so stupid; so superfluous. I laugh hysterically, attracting the glances of idiots. I've vanquished all, deposed of all, and here I am, a complete wreck. For someone in my state of mind, I've done the worst possible thing; never, never kill all of your demons, never wreak a perfect vengeance. The train reeks of sweat and lights blink off and on, and suddenly it is blasting off, leaving me with that sudden inertia, a sinking, and a feeling of sickness to my stomach. Seconds later, I'm alone with my thoughts again. If I'd known how precious he was at the time, I'd never have done it. How did I cope before? But that wasn't me. That was someone else. Someone content with nothing. Not just a someone. Not just a someone with a poor hand in life they'd accepted, though; I did everything, had everything; I felt nothing, created nothing, loved nothing, revelled in nothing. The train stopped and slowed, but in my head it possibly clicked into the niche of the station, like a jigsaw piece falling into place. The rude crowd stumbled blearily to their feet, and I exited with them, as still another herd entered or sat in the giant metal tube, racing on through their own lives in their own times with their own prayers and their own thoughts and their own friends and their own tiny meanings. I paced out of the station, slowly quickening pace until I broke into a run, my mind racing, racing, my body pulsating with a quickening truth; against all odds, an imminent meaning filling my head with the ease that squash clouds and billows through water.
As I ascended, I felt absolutely nothing. My mind was like steel; resolute, unflinching, stopping neither for consideration nor for reinterpretation. I was taking flight. I stepped out of the lift and walked with purpose and dignity across the roof. It was time for me to drink of my cup. I reached the precipice, and carried on walking, out onto the thinnest of air. I dropped like a stone.
"You thought I didn't exist. Turns out you're a figment of MY imagination"
II
I'd thought about this moment for the last couple of months. I think it was mostly fantasy, though; I didn't think I'd meet the guy again. I will think that this was fated afterwards, I know that much; of late I've been inclined to believe whatever I say. Oh well, let's go with the flow. Nemo had seen me, too, and we both stumbled awkwardly between the bustling and jostling people who didn't matter to meet at the centre of the carriage. I couldn't look him in the eye to begin with. "Another party, is it?" I could feel his stare pressing against my face, begging me for eye contact. I met him directly. "It's a way to fill the hours," he answered dryly, "how are you these days?". I smiled and answered him honestly: "A lot happier. A lot better. A lot like you.". He was, as expected, amused. His lip curled upwards and I could see him playing with the idea in his head, as he did with everything. Now thinking about what to say. A second later: "It's the very best way to be.". Predictable. But he knew that. It was never a good sign. He frowned slightly. "I've been a little bored lately.". I couldn't contain a snigger, "You? Bored?!" "Well, relative only to myself, obviously. But, yes. Bored.". I wasn't sure how to answer, but he knew that, he was just toying with the profound effect of silence. To a master manipulator, it's invariably a greater tool than speech. He continued: "Like me you say?". A rhetorical question. The man was all about rhetoric. "Do you find fun in games too, now, then? Would you like to play one? Do you remember Pandora?". I remembered Pandora. Of all the people he could have brought up. "We can start with the very easiest of the games. Seduction. You and I will spend day and night; well, hopefully night, wooing the innocent. It's a way...." he repeated for effect, lingering on every word "to fill up the hours.". This was, I suppose, what I had been waiting for. It felt so much more real now, like something had really clicked in my head. It had been a real epiphany waking up this way, don't get me wrong, but now I could feel the blood racing and the mind moving and could see every one of a million situations bustling and jostling in my head for attention. A challenge, and something I was all too aware I could accomplish, too. "I'm listening."
Nemo and I sat outside a quiet pub in Soho in our usual manner. We didn't speak much these days. We were all too weary of listening to the other. All speech, ultimately, is either a deliberate lie or an indeliberate lie. Even logic can tell untruths; something as colourful and nuanced as language is inevitably the ultimate tool for dishonesty. After five minutes of silent drinking and staring, Nemo ventured to open his mouth. "So, Cassius, how is it going?". I mulled on what to tell him; I ventured the truth: "She told me she's not in town until Saturday. We're going for a drink then.". He smiled. "She told me the same thing. We're going to a play in the afternoon". We both returned to our silences, figuring out the amounts of truth the other person could have spoken on a mental plain, and for each of these evaluating the other's responses to their situation, then our own situation in comparison, then our own alone, in every facet of it's possibilities; her thoughts, her feelings, what made her tick. The most likely best move with which to follow. Twenty minutes later, we walked silently back to our adjoining hotel rooms.
The days rolled by in ecstasies of thought, a peculiar mania of chaotic possibility, every flight of fancy considered, ranked; made possible and dismissed. Then I was sat alone and her footsteps echoed behind me. Her shadow began to engulf my table and take me out of my patient and joyful thought. As always these days, I was ready; even predatory. I stood up and pulled out a seat for her, she sat and I obligingly pushed it in. "Thank you" "What are you having?" "A vodka and coke?" "Coming right up.". I ventured into the musty bar and ordered, throwing the bartender a smile, a cursory thanks, and a tip. Always tip the bartender at the start of the night. Be Charming. I exited stage left and made my way back to the performance proper. "How are you doing? I haven't seen you in a while.", she smiled politely as I sat back, took a sip of her drink. "I'm doing ok, I've had quite the hectic day. I went to see a play earlier.". I figured that what she would say would likely tell me little anyway, but I wondered if she would squirm, if I'd get any satisfaction from her body language. The possibilities made the bait too delicious to avoid. "Oh. How was that?". Immediately, I had her full attention. Her eyes seemed to bore into mine, but I had learned very early on that when people did this it wasn't genuine until you'd done a lot of work. This was the eager wish for connection that people felt when you seemed to actually take an interest; I rested my chin in my hand in a thoughtful, considering poise, and sunk my eyes straight back into hers. "It was ok,", yeah, not listening lady, and yet she keeps staring, even more intrigued that I don't appear turned off by her lukewarm, pointless answer. I care, oh, I care. "I guess the real thing was that the plot was so sad, I almost cried you know.." I let her vacuous words wash over me, watching her and making her watch me. I doubted she was going to say anything of interest for a while, so I could concentrate on controlling her thoughts. "And then the little boy..." the hubbub of people at adjoining tables was really dying away now, flickering into non-existence. An unconscious toying with her hair told me that she was completely absorbed now, and I almost imagined I could smell her hypnotised enthrallment on the air. Given how entirely uninteresting her story was, I could guess that already my expression and mannerisms had done their work. Not that it mattered. The great thing about confidence like mine is that even if things aren't true, my conviction makes them seem almost true. Every interaction is a social contract, and except for Nemo, everyone can be brought to believe the things that I believe, given enough of my conviction. "But when the mother died, the boy didn't have anything to live for. It was really awful.". Aha. A point of psychological interest, much better. I decided I held her under sway by more than enough to be quite blunt; she could accept my interest in her to any extent without much question. "What meaning do you think life ought to have?". For a second I thought I had come on to strong, made a foolish error in my manipulative lust. Her eyes flew away to the floor, her hand came up and she bit at her thumbnail; her chest rose and fell, and her eyes recoiled upwards and to the left. Then, all was safe once more. They veered back downward and shone straight into my own. "I guess...somebody to love. Somebody to be loved by.". A classic. The girl surely didn't know what nonsense, what impracticality her heart's desire was. As if anyone can know someone fully. As if there is any logic or beauty to loving someone without knowledge or condition. And with both of these precepts, it is impossible to love someone for who they are. I smiled, delicately, barely noticeably, but warmly. I bored further into her skull, poured my lying words into the mould of absolute honesty. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" "Yes, I think I do.". No you don't, but you believe me as strongly as I do, even when I phrase my statements as questions. I could already feel my teeth sinking into that delicious and wicked flesh. I could certainly feel my teeth sinking into her beautiful but malleable consciousness. Now, a walk by the river.
I can't explain how ashamed I was. I couldn't quite grasp why, either. I'd got exactly what I wanted, but somehow, the rules of the game had changed without my consent. Even worse than my loss was the very fact that I was not in control. No one else should have the power to tell me what situations meant. So now, here we are. Time for some damage limitation. I stalked across the platform and straight into the train. Convincing someone else is always the best way to convince yourself. A shared conviction, an agreed new reality, has so much more force than a private warping of the truth. I looked into his stony grey eyes. "I've done it.". He observed me, his analytical gaze thrown roughly and quickly across my features, searching for a flinch of my eyebrow, a fold of my lip. "Really?" "Oh yes, it was excellent. And easy.". Nemo didn't need detail. Detail was vacuous. The joys of the manipulation were first in the occurrence itself, and second in the confirmation to another. Second by second description was tedious and vulgar, and for the weak of mind. The train stopped, and we disembarked. Nemo smiled and put his arm around me. "So tell me about it."
Part of me ached, was screaming that there was something very wrong with this state of affairs, but from the moment he asked, I was doomed to brag horrifically. The thing about lying, and being good at lying, is that when you get caught up in fiction, you can't let anything go. You need reality to be perfect, and that means gross levels of meaning and situation, huge gulfs of truth, need to be filled by carefully worded depictions. "We walked along the river, she was putty in my hands. I talked to her for a while about life and about beauty and about Love. Then I waited until she was staring directly at me, lingered just long enough to make her nervous, agitated, even desperate; and then I kissed her. She kissed me back, but soon I pulled away. She was making it into too mutual an affair. I needed her to relinquish her soul, I needed her complete submission. I took her by the hand and led her to a hotel room in Soho, and there I undressed her, used her, and slept." I looked up, caught his eye. "In the morning, she told me she loved me". I smiled an arrogant smile. "I don't plan to see her again". By now we were at the entrances to our hotel rooms. Nemo smiled. "Come in. Let's celebrate.". I walked in, and immediately saw what was wrong. It was etched into his face. Immediately, it flickered away, back to that joyful, careless smile. "Whiskey?". I was terrified, and I wasn't sure what of. I'd only known this certainty once before, it was still as vague, as animal and basic an instinct as ever. I couldn't answer. He looked around, and saw my haunted features unavoidably betraying my emotions. His face suddenly morphed into pure scorn, like the devil himself manifesting, and he strode across the room. He punched me square in the face; once, twice.
"Here I am. Oh? I was hoping you'd have a resolution for ME, actually."
III
I'd seen him from ground level. I wondered whether I could get there in time. I took the elevator all the way to the top. It was old and it juddered with every floor. I considered that I could be God's hand, come to save him from his otherwise inevitable demise. I considered that I could be God. I looked around the rusty lift. Deus ex Machina. Perfect. The lift clicked into place, cracked open; the wind flew in, blowing my coat open. I looked monstrous, powerful. Already, I was gazing straight into his eyes. He'd turned to face me, and he was terrified, vulnerable. The very picture of The Other. This was a perfect moment. I took on my most commanding tone. "Step away from the precipice.". He dutifully stepped away, and I felt the sheer power of being God. "What brought you here?", he collapsed pathetically on the floor and began to sob like a child.
