Mistakes and Regrets

thethemeis: Let Down

theauthoris: LiamD

   So there’s this guy I used to know. Let’s say his name was John. That wasn’t his real name, but for the purposes of this story we’ll roll with it.

   John and I had known each other for a long time, definitely since our teens, possibly even longer than that. At school we were pretty much inseparable, we later lived together at uni and even after that, when I would hear from everyone we used to hang out with less and less often, we were constantly in touch. You might say he was the closest friend I’ve ever had. Literally, I mean; he was far from the best. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he was a bad friend; his heart was mostly in the right place. But if there’s one key feature of his personality that I can remember (and I struggle to remember a great deal about him these days), it’s this: you could always rely on him to let you down.

   I don’t just mean the trivial things, like the countless times he’d get all excited about meeting up with the old gang and either pull out at the last minute with a poor excuse (‘My parents have gone out and I need to look after the cats.’ was a particularly memorable one) or fail to turn up without any warning at all. It was the big things too, he’d miss the special occasions. The many birthdays, weddings, once even a funeral. For what reason? Nothing more apparent than he couldn’t be bothered to crawl out of bed. I remember often speculating that he had problems at home, and maybe he did, but I also found myself wondering what possible troubles could justify his total lack of commitment to those of us he called friends.

   Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not pointing out John’s character flaws just for the sake of it, and I wouldn’t have stayed friends with him for all those years if he wasn’t fun to be around when I did see him. His chronic unreliability, though, is a large part of what this story is all about.

   I didn't see John for a good four years after our graduation in July 2008 (While it was true we were always in touch, we never actually met up in person). Doing so would have been largely impractical for either of us; following the bachelors degree, I stayed in Leeds to pursue a masters and later career in video game audio, while John journeyed the two hundred and forty odd miles back home to London and continued his specialised studies into differential geometry... Whatever the hell that is. 

   My own endeavours were reasonably successful. I managed to graduate from my masters with merit and six months after handing in my final project materials, I had landed myself a job in the games industry at Rockstar Leeds, if only in 'Quality Assurance' (the technical term for games testing). What followed were five years of drifting from development studio (Team 17) to development studio (Activision Leeds), as I would inevitably get laid off at the end of each product cycle. This isn't about me though; I won't go into too much detail. Suffice to say that a couple of those four years I spent in my early career appear to have been a complete waste of time, as many things tend to seem with the benefit of hindsight.

   Finally, in the early spring of 2012, I got my first job in game audio back home in London at Mind Candy. To celebrate, aside from moving all of my things back to my parents' house as quickly as I could, I organised a trip to the pub with friends I could no longer truthfully call close, but who were dear to me all the same. We had a lot of fun that night. I probably drank too much, as I often do on occasions of celebration, but the were no arguments and it was such a joy to once again be in the company of the kind-hearted and good-natured individuals I had grown up with. Of course, true to form and with his reputation somewhat preceding him, John didn't turn up. 

*

   The next day, after a long lie in and a cheeky Hair of the Dog, I made the considerable effort of the hour long bus journey to the bar that John had been working for part-time. By a sheer fluke, I arrived at the Rambler's Rest just as he was taking his mid-afternoon break. I bought him a drink, maybe to show that there were no hard feelings, though I doubt he saw any significance in the gesture. After we'd had a brief catch-up, talk turned to the previous night.

   'I'm sorry about last night, I really wanted to see everyone.' He stopped to sip his Carlsberg and I kept silent, wondering if there was an excuse to come. There was: 'I've been working hard on the thesis for my PhD. More recently I've found myself losing a lot of time because of it,' he explained. The PhD had been mentioned in passing during our catch-up. At the time, I couldn't even understand the title, let alone the subject matter.

   'Don't worry about it,' I told him. 'I know how time-consuming higher education can be, I struggled enough on the undergrad!' He chuckled briefly at this, a short laugh that sounded strangely deflated, then his face straightened. 

   'I do worry about it Liam, seriously... I have done for a long time.' I noticed he would no longer look me in the eye. I found his undisguised shame unnerving.

   'It was only a drink down the pub, mate. What does it matter if y-'

   'A drink down the pub, five birthdays, two weddings and a fucking funeral, of course it fucking matters!' He wasn't quite shouting, but a couple of people on the table next to us heard this outburst. They strategically walked over to the bar for another drink.

   'I know what you all think of me,' he continued, his usually dull brown eyes shining with tears. 'I don't blame you either, I'm an unreliable prick.'

   I had never seen him this upset. In fact, had you asked me the week before I would have told you he was entirely incapable of extreme emotions (and I only would have been half joking). I had no idea how badly this had been eating away at him. I was pretty speechless.

   'But I'm trying to change that, I will change it. After to-'

   'John, it's about that time again mate,' the barman called over. John wiped his face and nodded to him.

   'Sorry, I need to go back to work,' he explained. Something of a lifesaver from my point of view; this whole affair had been getting pretty awkward.

   'Look, before I go, we're having a barbecue on Saturday. The weather's supposed to be good and it's Mum's 50th next week. If you're really planning on turning over a new leaf, why don't you pop in and say 'hello'? I'll even do you a burger.' We knew each others parents fairly well, I reckoned Mum would've been happy to see John after such a long time.

   He grinned, eyes glinting. 'That would be perfect!' he exclaimed. 'My work will be finished by then, I'll be there!'

   'Ok, mate, but if you can't make it, it won't be a prob-'

   'Did you not hear what I said? My work will be done! I won't let you down!' He left me on that note to get back to his duties. I finished my drink pensively before saying my goodbyes and catching the bus back home.

*

   The week passed pretty quickly. After recovering from my pretty dire hangover, which seemed to have been exacerbated by the alcoholic top up at the Sailor's, I spent much of it indoors. Since most people I knew were in full-time work, I didn't have much options with my week between jobs other than sitting around playing my PS3 and watching the odd film. Not that I was complaining.

   In fact, by the time the barbecue came around on Saturday afternoon, I had forgotten all about inviting John over. At three o'clock, the food was ready for serving. Just as I had grabbed a burger and bap for myself, the doorbell rang. I remembered the guest I was expecting, though never really thought would turn up. From the garden I walked through the kitchen and hall, before opening the front door. The voice that accompanied the stranger's face at the door was oddly familiar.

   'I told you... I told you... I finished, I won't be a let down anymore!' At first I didn't comprehend what was happening.

   'Sorry mate, I think you've got the wrong house...' I began.

   'Liam... I told you, Liam... I said I'd be here. I didn't let you down!' Slowly I began to connect the dots. The defined jaw, the dull brown eyes, the prominent ears. But this man was forty years older than John, at least. This had to be some sort of bad joke. As I was trying to make sense of the situation, the grey haired, weather beaten stranger in front of me shuddered violently. He began coughing harshly, hacking up blood over the porch.

   'I... I didn't let... you down Liam... Did I?' he asked, between fits of choking.

   'No, John you didn't, you...' His whole body convulsed madly, stilled, then spasmed again for a further few seconds. This time when he stilled, he spoke no more. Bewildered, I felt for a pulse. There was nothing, this man was dead.

*

   Despite his ravings and our final exchange, it took me a long time to accept that the stranger was in fact John. After calling for the ambulance, I rang all of the phone numbers associated with him in my phone contacts, all of which went to answer phone or didn't connect at all. Six months on and I've still had no luck. Recently I've found more reason to worry.

   You may recall that I mentioned not having much memory of him these days. The thing is, up until a few months ago, I could have described John to the smallest detail. The clothes he wore, his hair style, his facial hair (or lack thereof). But now it's all a haze. You'll also remember that John wasn't his real name and that is part of this too; last week I forgot his name. Next week, who knows what else I won't remember. That's why I'm writing this all down, and hoping that I believe it all when I later come to read it, not just think it a mysterious tale.

   If I do forget it all, if I cast this writing aside, branding it dissatisfactory fiction, god knows what repercussions that could have. Which brings me to my point. I appeal to you, kind reader. If any part of this mad tale makes sense to you, I implore you to help me. Without you, I could leave one of the greatest mysteries, and potentially a great danger to mankind, undiscovered forever.

Liam Donnellan - 27th July 2012

Monsters

thethemeis: Monsters

theauthoris: LiamD

   The pleasant aftertaste of herbs and spices following his uncharacteristically obnoxious burp only proved to Ben something he had suspected all along: once he had disregarded the rubbery texture and crude packaging, the Pot Noodle was actually quite tasty. Of course, there was no logical reason as to why it shouldn't have been.

   'You should never judge a book by it’s cover, young Benjamin.’ A long time ago when Ben had commented on the dirty, slob-like appearance of a working class family on the London Underground, that’s what his grandfather had told him. And as a man who had started with very little, and worked hard to earn the high standard of living his family enjoyed, Thomas Wight had a good idea of what was meant by the ancient proverb. Unfortunately for Ben however, his dear old Grandad Tom had married a cold woman who cared much more for beauty and wealth than she care for her fellow man and this left both his mother, and consequently Ben himself, with a less noble set of morals.

   Rik's honking laughter (and there truly was no other description for it) cut through the dank air like an axe. Ben winced as it pierced his ears.

   'You might not look like us, but you sound more like one of us every day!' he exclaimed joyfully between irritating guffaws. He let out a loud burp of his own, his loud ensuing laughter echoing around the walls. Ben wasn't impressed but, as this was one of Rik’s less disgusting habits, let it slide. He had only been down here for two weeks this time around yet it felt like years since he had last seen daylight.

   ‘Live with wolves…’ Ben quipped absently. Rik briefly looked perplexed at this response before disregarding it entirely in favour of lancing the enormous boil on his forehead. Ben cast him an accusatory glare but quickly looked away when he saw what he was doing. Not long now, he thought. I’ll never have to see that vile face again.

   ‘No wolves down ‘ere.’ came Marcus’ gruff voice. He threw the blood covered remnants of the raw (and possibly live) rat he had been eating out onto the train tracks before continuing. ‘Lemme know if you see any though, gotta taste nicer than this shit.’ Using his two-inch long claws to impale another unfortunate rodent, he began his second course.

   Despite the amount of times he had witnessed Marcus dine, Ben’s body still wanted to wretch. Monsters. That’s what they were. Sickening, grotesque, rancid, putrid, bilious, horrid, ugly, stinking fucking monsters. Sure, they were technically human, they probably even behaved like humans at one point in their lives, but The Incident had caused them to deteriorate into these abominations and they were deteriorating still. In spite of his orders Ben detested them, all of them. He loathed them, each and every one. Of course, he did his best not to show it. This immense network of tunnels and shelters that was once an extraordinarily under-appreciated marvel of human engineering known as the London Underground was their territory. A minor disagreement with one of the more aggressive sorts down here and Ben might never see sunlight again. Not long now, he thought. Not long at all…

   Kurt stopped picking the thick, crusty hairs from the singular nostril that was too large for his face long enough to participate in the conversation. ‘What I wanna know…’ he began in his irritatingly nasal drone ‘…is ‘ow did you manage to boil the water? It's always hard when I have one.’

   ‘Don’t be fuckin’ stupid Kurt, he’s used the old electricity hasn’t he.’ said Marcus, through loud, crunching mouthfuls. ‘Don’t you know he was an engineer before?’

   Ben merely grunted. In truth he had been a little taken aback by the question and was grateful for Marcus’ convincing, if horrendously misinformed, explanation. He cursed his own stupidity; if they had really known how he had eaten his ‘meal’ there would have been a lot more questions. Or perhaps worse - none at all. Kurt's face lit in admiration for Ben's apparent well-retained wisdom.

   ‘I don’t really ‘member much about before,’ he reflected sadly. If his hands weren’t covered in mucus, Ben might have pitied him. ‘Do you Marc?’

   ‘’Course I fucking do don’t I!’ spat Marcus. ‘The grass was green, the trees were brown and the sea was blue. It was bright too. Not much else to say about it.’ The angered look on his face stopped Kurt from pressing him further.

   It was always the same when one of them claimed to remember life above ground, Ben had noticed. The descriptions were bland somehow, as if they had revised the information for an exam and were simply repeating a mantra to aid their memory. There was no feeling there at all. Even the worst raconteur will recall the minor, insignificant details of memory that give a story life. No such detail was present down here. Their memory was deteriorating as quickly as their humanity, probably. Ben wondered how long it would be before they forgot how to communicate completely.

   ‘I’d like to go up there again, maybe one day soon…’ said Kurt finally.

   ‘Hmph, I'm not sure you would. Remember what happened to Pete?’ asked Ben, rhetorically.

   Nobody remembered what happened to Pete. That was the point. Nobody knew. Around two months ago one of the less barbaric of their contingent had decided that the time had come for them to return above ground and volunteered himself as lead canary. Excluding the vicious, solitary horrors that now reportedly stalked the Northern tunnels, it would be safe to say that Pete was liked by most of the tunnel-dwellers. His celebrated departure had given even the most pessimistic among them hope of returning to their natural home. He had promised to return within ten sleeps with a report on the above ground conditions, good or bad. This made it all the more hard to swallow when he failed to return at all. They all knew the score. General consensus was that the above ground toxins had killed him. For a long time nobody spoke as their minds dwelt on the subject.

   Thirty minutes later a loud snore from Rik considerably lightened the mood, though the underlying feeling of disgust Ben felt around these creatures never quite dissipated.

   ‘Not a bad idea that Rik. Thanks for cheering us all up anyway Ben,’ said Marcus, wiping the blood from around his mouth of dangerously sharp teeth. ‘I’m gonna turn in.’ The very thought of Marcus’ “bed” gave Ben the creeps. The tangled mess of furs and skins of the various rodents and small mammals he had  chanced upon (and for whatever reason not eaten) may have been softer to lie on than the hard stone, but the sheer stench made his creation inexcusable.

   'You're real lucky Ben, there's not many of us who weren't affected by all this.' observed Kurt after Marcus had left. He sighed heavily. ‘Do you think we’ll ever get back up there?’

   Ben watched him catch the large bluebottle that had been buzzing around his head with his freakishly long tongue before determining a response. ‘…Sorry Kurt, not in this lifetime’.

---

   After he was sure the three of them were safely asleep, Ben quietly made his way up the stone steps, through the long uphill tunnels before finally ascending the ancient metal staircases that no longer moved as they were originally intended to. At the top of these old electric stairs where the walls were lined with old screens that no longer displayed their advertisements, there appeared to be nothing but a dead end of fallen metal and concrete to the naked eye. He was sure that none of the creatures that were once human would venture up here, especially these days, but checked the surroundings all the same and was pleased to find himself alone. Standing to the far left of the apparent blockage, he pushed open a concealed door and waited for the security scanner to recognise him. This was the part he had been dreading most. He had always harboured an irrational fear that one day the scanner would reject his genetic reading and the silent but oh-so deadly security measures would put a swift end his existence.

   He thought of Pete.

   ‘Thank you for your time, Benjamin Reynolds-Wight. Au revoir!’ came the chirpy security voice. Ben couldn’t tell if it were human or machine, it was all the same to him anyway. Before he left through the front entrance of the defunct London Bridge train station, he approached the security desk at the front gate. Sam greeted him jovially.

   ‘Anything to report before you’re off for good?’ he asked.

   ‘Nothing new, still getting worse. I’ll check in at the office and fill a final report with Trevor.’ replied Ben, dreaming of the liberation he would feel when he finally got home that night.

   ‘Shit… I can’t help but feel for them Ben, those people were just like us before…’ Sam trailed off, as if finishing the sentence could make the situation worse. ‘Is there no hope of integration?’

   ‘Monsters Sam, not people. They’re monsters; you don’t want anything to do with them, trust me.’

   Ben heard Sam sigh as he walked away towards the company car that would take him to the office and paid no attention to his reflection visible in the chrome body of the vehicle. Pulling the handle, he opened the door and positioned himself comfortably inside, all the while thinking that he never wanted to see any of those disgusting monstrosities again.