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pretend everything is okay to all those around you. A smile can hide even the deepest lie. Everything moves forward and you just have to constantly ride that tide.

  The reason he fears, he hides, is that he knows there is something in his life that is wrong, not right, pulling him down and holding him there. Deep at his core he knows what it is and that hurts more than not knowing. It is why his head is in the sand. He only has two things which hold any significance in his life, one is something which to him is so pure, so important that he knows within it lies his purpose; the other, well that is what he fears losing as without it he is alone, but that is what he knows keeps him from his destiny. One is an ideal, a belief. The other a person, a living physical being. Choices don’t come much harder than that.

  He moans into the pillow. Why should he have to choose? Why can’t they coexist together? He wishes they could, he knows they can’t. One simply isn’t important enough to him no matter how hard he tries to make it. It, is he really that unimportant that he refers to him as it? That choice of word makes him feel even worse. Is he really that shallow, or is he just being honest? Why must we choose between our hopes and our companions? That’s the point, he thinks, if they were the right ones there would be no need to choose.

  He pulls himself off his bed and walks across his room, daylight pouring through the window. He catches a glimpse of his naked form in the mirror but chooses not to look. He can’t remember getting undressed. He picks up his phone, no messages or missed calls, he hadn’t expected there to be any, it was just a routine motion to make it clear in his head that no one cares. His phone never rings, no one ever calls, he doesn’t know why he needs it. He goes to call his partner. He stops, it’s too early, why bother waking him when he’ll be too hung-over to care. Instead he dials the number of a friend, surely Laura will be able to help him, or at least take his mind off things for a while; she’s good like that. It rings through to her voicemail. Typical, no one ever answers when you need them.

  Naked he sits back on his bed. What should he do? Go out, walk, try and clear his head in the open. No, he doesn’t feel like doing that. No energy to deal with the world, besides he’d still have to return to this solitude, this place where he is alone with nothing. When you have nothing that’s when you think and that is something he doesn’t want to do because he knows it will lead him back to this choice. The ultimate choice in his life: his purpose or his comfort? The ideal or the life? How could he choose? In his dream it had been forced out of him, he had to tell what he desired most. In truth it hadn’t been forced out of him, he’d told it freely. So what is holding him from his dream? What part is eating away at his confidence? The other half. The partner. The boyfriend. Shit, he thinks, can’t I just be happy with what I have?

  He knows what his problem is. He’s scared. Scared of what he could become, scared of hurting another, scared of hurting himself. All he wants at this moment is no cares and certainly no fears. Lost inside himself he needs someone to offer him comfort, to offer him security. He has that person, or he wants to believe he does. That person who would just be with him, lay with him, hold him and just let the world pass them by in silence. Someone who would put him above all others. It’s what he craves but deep inside he knows he’s holding on to a lie.

  He grabs his phone and dials the number. It rings through to voicemail. There’s a fucking surprise. Bastard.

  No escape. No one to turn to. People only bother with him when they want something from him. Some friends. He snorts in disgusted laughter. No one cares unless they want something. Maybe he deserves that, deserves to have the most uncaring friends he’s ever had. What does it matter in the long run? It matters a fucking lot. What has he got other than rotting away unseen and uncared about? Who fucking deserves that? He’s not a bad person. They’ll be the ones regretting discarding him when he reaches his goal, his aim. When he’s on the lips of thousands then they’ll come running. Then it’ll be his chance to ignore them. At least he’s thinking about the future, about his purpose. It would be a vision of hope if he didn’t have the ‘choice’ tagged to it like cancer. The day is young, he guesses that gives him some time to sit and think things through.

  So what makes his other half mean so much to him? Do they have some special connection? An un-breaking bond? In truth no. They sit in silence most of the time for the simple fact they have nothing major in common, they argue too easily and he is always the one made to feel like shit when the other simply doesn’t care, is too selfish to care. Why does he put up with it? Why stay with someone who feeds your insecurities? Comfort and security, the need to feel wanted, the warmth of relationship. When he thinks he realises that he hasn’t truly felt appreciated, just a trophy hung on the wall, someone to go home to but never show off. Why does he put up with it? Love? Fear.

  Now he’s being harsh, his morbid mindset isolating the negatives, there must be positives, why else would he care so much? Honesty laid in his initial thoughts, these are just justification to his attitude. But there is always a flipside. At the moment he is happy in being someone else - lie -­ and why should he place all his hopes into an ideal which could be nothing but a stone messiah, an empty dream that will leave him with nothing but a wasted life. Could he torment his soul that badly for no gain? He loved his partner once, he is sure of that, and he could do so again, right? He could convince himself to love another for there’s nothing else for him. What am I thinking? He slams his hand against his head. I love him; I wouldn’t say it otherwise.

  Are you sure? his mind asks.

  I don’t know. That answers everything; there is a ‘no’ in that answer. Why force something that may no longer be there? He loved him once but that’s either dying or is already buried in the past.

  The decision needs to be made. If it is left too long everything may crumble and he will have nothing. Does he really have someone who values what he does? If he needs to ask that question then the answer is no. The choice is so simple yet so difficult. Ideal or person? Purpose or comfort? Either way each path chosen will be the end of something. Something will die and be lost forever. This decision will have no turning back. Hearts will be broken either way. The tears are coming; it’s too much for him to bear. This is a decision he’s too weak at the moment to make, his confidence and hope at an all time low. Sweet fucking Jesus help me for once. Like that’ll ever happen, nothing ever goes his way. He needs someone to remind him of who he is. He needs to find his place somewhere.

  He falls onto his side and curls up. He knows he should get dressed at some point but he simply can’t be bothered.

  His eyes open, the light outside is fading. He must have fallen into a blessed dreamless sleep. The day was wasted but that doesn’t concern him, it would have been wasted anyway, at least he feels a little refreshed, a bit clear headed. He sits up and pulls on some jeans over his bare lower half. As he stands with his dick in his hand over the toilet he hears his phone chime a new message’s arrival. He finishes and returns to his room.

  Sorry, I was out all day and forgot my phone. You can call if you want.

  What’s stopping you calling me? he thinks as he dials the number through regardless. It’s answered and in the moment he hears the voice of the one he ‘loves’ he knows he can’t do it. Can’t break his heart over an ideal, and he can’t give up on what he sees as his purpose either. He can’t make the choice; it’s too hard. Maybe both could coexist but he knows the answer to that already. He’s trapped in the grasp of his other half, grown too used to feeling needed. He knows he’ll always try and sort things out with him, knows he’ll chase him just to avoid rejection, and he knows secretly that his other half knows this and will use it against him. How pathetic, chasing for something which is so bad for you.

  The conversation ends and he can’t even remember what was said or communicated. Knowing us it was nothing of significance. As he
places the phone down he smiles. A warm smile. He’s realised there is a third option. There’s always a third option. Calmly he finally gets dressed. Two roads lead to the end of something, one leads to the end of everything.

  He sits staring at them; just sat on his bed next to him, it all looks so simple. If one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small, then this pile of pills in front of him will be the pills that end it all. The escape hatch, the exit. So this is what it comes down to, this is where his path has come, the only decision he feels he can take. What else is there left to say?

  It’s all worked out in his head. It all seems too easy. He doesn’t care about what people may say. If anyone was listening to him would they actually understand? Could they understand? Would they want to or just blame him for their forthcoming pain? Even with death people can be so selfish.

  He’s so calm, this is the first time he can remember having absolutely no fears, it’s like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s tired, soul cold and empty. Tired of screaming into the darkness and hoping for a reply. His mind clear he cries one final