My trip to Wichita

My trip to Witchita

It began when the phone rang. I was living in a small apartment at the time, an even smaller one now after what occurred. I picked up the phone off the wall. I usually never received calls on my cell after my parents divorced four years prior. They would usually blow it up with calls every so often. No matter what logic stated, there was the uncanny feeling surrounding me that they were stalking me somehow. I felt like a jumpscare when the calls came in at first. But it slowly devolved into an annoyance rather than something to fear. The wall phone was more comforting and felt like a motherly hug every time I picked it up. And if you wanted to separate yourself from it, you could do it with physical force rather than just tapping a button. However, this time, it would betray me, slapping me with a backhand so hard that only an alcoholic father two whiskey flasks deep could dish out to his children. The little screen on the wall phone displayed an all to familiar number; the call was coming from DJ. Whether you would call him Dennis, Mr.Johnson, or his full name, it didn't defy the fact that the caller was my brother. My hand shook like a violent earthquake as I picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end did nothing to stop the tremors.

"Alexander! Glad I managed to reach you! I know it's been a while, so how's life been treating you?"

It took a good five seconds before I could finally read my mental script properly and answer back.

"I'm doing somewhat fine; why are you calling at this hour? Shouldn't you be in college?

"You haven't heard of summer break? The students at Wichita State are off a bit early. They've begun the construction of a new complex, so they've let us enjoy the break a bit earlier. Besides that, I've also called you to see if you wanted to visit me for a week or so. It'll be a bit of a drive from Chicago since you don't take planes, but I thought It would be a nice offer."

My mind spun into a tornado, and my brain of myself halfway opted to take my brother's kind offer for a vacation from my life. My life at this point had become a hamster on a wheel, running and running as if it were being chased by a pack of madmen only to be stuck in one place for eternity. The other half wanted to make me smash the phone against the wall and punch it so many times that my knuckles would detach from my fingers and pierce through the skin, exposing the ruddy bone. Unfortunately, the latter wouldn't occur. I accepted his offer and soon got packing.

The drive from Southside Chicago to Wichita was a blur in my memory, an endless stream of asphalt felt like a river I would drown in. The double yellow that split the countless roads in two was speaking to me, calling me to cross them and feel danger once again in my life, an emotion that I no longer felt after my parents split. I yearned for that feeling; every car, every truck, even a simple bike that passed by on the other side of the yellow urged me to jerk the wheel to the left and into the illegal lane. My trip, my goal, however, prevented me from experiencing nirvana.

I arrived in the late evening, my brother's house was as blinding as the sun compared to my apartment. Everything about that house, its paint, its windows, even its lights that were barely visible inside it wanted to commit an act of arson against me. It wanted to see my flesh burn off in clumps and witness my face turn to char. Despite all of these dangers, my brother was the only person to walk out of it without being burnt. Even to the point, he greeted me when I pulled my rotting Camry into the driveway.

"Alexander! Nice to see you once more!" He said while shaking my hand.

"Come in; I have some dinner prepared. I'd also like you to meet someone special."

That specialty screamed mentally at me the moment I walked in the house; He had become engaged to one of the many university drones in my welcomed absence. He explained his future with her as I sat at the table and stabbed at my steak, each weak stab to it feeling like a mad serial killer teasing their victim before cleansing their skin with their blood. DJ's plans for the future were a stark contrast to mine, the word "Future" had no meaning in my vocabulary anymore, and his tangent started to make my blood boil.

It was just as I was dozing off after dinner when it happened; the urge to relieve my body in the bathroom rose me from my cotton grave. It was a straight walk to the bathroom, but every step towards it made it feel like a maze. I couldn't shake the feeling that the doors that lined the hall were changing places with one another like a twisted game of musical chairs. Dealing with this, I finally reached the bathroom door, its knob burning my hand with its coldness. I should've taken its warning as such, for when I opened the door, part of my mind detached itself from my brain.

My brother was face down in the bathtub that lay before me, body covered in his maroon ichor. All this blood came from the massive abyss on his back, with the spine hanging from the shower curtain rod like a traumatized veteran in a closet. His German .45 had drowned in the toilet, most likely one of the tools used to destroy the muscle around his backbone to extract it from his once-breathing self. That's when the screams began, coming from the attic, the rabid dog of a human that had extinguished my brother was still in the house and was after his lone lover. It quietly yet quickly ran down the stairs and grabbed the butcher's cleaver that lay on the kitchen counter before running back upstairs and into the attic.

The entrance to it was the equivalent of purgatory, a dark, endless void only cushioned by a splintered oak floor. The feminine screams were deep inside it, yet it was deafening to my ears; I kept running through the attic like a Lovecraftian monstrosity was gaining on me. As I sprinted faster through the dark attic, my mind began to sprint too; the feeling of danger was finally upon me once more in the quest to stop the psychopath from running amok.

Her screams kept getting closer, then nearer, then finally directly in front of my eyes and ears. What had also come in front of me, though, was the figure that was once chasing me. Somehow along the way, it had overtaken me and was gazing through my eyes and into the pink matter that was my brain with its crimson optics. I knew who this person was; the very man who had comforted me throughout my life was now in front of me. Its manifestation nearly brought a tear to my eye until it lunged at me, and I fell through the floorboards below and crashed down into the bathroom.

At this point, reality had finally shown up. The madness, the carnage, the pure bloodshed had all been a hallucination by my craving for danger. The cleaver in my right hand was now rightly covered in blood, my brother's own. The story was the same with his pistol that was now waterlogged in the toilet, tinting its surrounding water a hot pink. I even felt one of his vertebrae in my mouth, with its salty yet dry taste layering my tongue. My motives shouted at me, I craved danger while my brother condemned its very existence. Denying reality had helped me reach that heavenly feeling once more. Even if it forced me to break the fifth commandment in my pursuit of what fueled me, finally, I felt alive again. But despite my act of self-preservation, I was punished, and what is the punishment for such?

"Wichita PD! Drop the knife and place your hands on your head!"