The Cultmaster

Chapter 1: The Diagnosis

As Chris Cambridge stood waiting for the NJ Transit bus, he could not help but feel as though his mind was manifesting something. Not a simple thought, a manifestation. As he eyed the Empire State Building from the street, he wondered if there was more than just this. This goddamn city. These streets, dirty as always, a real life manifestation of hell. The graffiti was scrawled over the Lincoln Tunnel's exit with untelligible things for the most part. "Unfuck the world", said one part, in blood red writing. Stupid, thought he, gawkingly, they actually believe the world can be unfucked at this point? Everything's going to hell, the whole damn thing! There's no savior for us! Not one! Stop dreaming! He pulled out his Walkman, which was black, and thought to himself, What's the point of music? There's no happiness left! If that's the case, why did I buy this shitty thing in the first place? Fucking stupid!  He had reason, however, to feel the way he did.
The city was a stressful place for anyone to live and work. People drove maniacally, including all of Chris' taxi drivers whenever he still worked in the city. His Midtown apartment was absolutely tiny; there was no bedroom, only an alcove within which a bed was placed. Every morning, his commute consisted of coffee with a side of cursing, virulent, at anyone who even remotely looked in his peripheral the wrong way. But now that the boxes were packed and transported across the bridge to the new home, there should not have still been reason for the anger. But the bus had still not arrived, and it was a freezing November evening; his breath was visible. It was so cold that he almost resisted the urge to internally criticize everyone who walked by him.
"Where the fuck is that mofo?" he finally screamed out loud frustratedly. Suddenly, he felt a cold hand bump into his back. His inner soul was suddenly awakened. His face and whole body froze in petrification, and his heart slipped into oblivion.
"Sorry," the person said in a pleasant, melodic voice. It was the last straw. Chris could not fathom the fact that another being had interacted with him.
"Why, you bitch-" but he stopped when he saw who it was. It was a man in a black coat, black gloves, a black hat, and boots of the same color. The night sky had become more prevalent now that the person resembled nothing more than a shadow. They were of a similar build and a similar height to Chris.
"Oh lord, I am so sorry," Chris continued, more meekly now. "I hadn't any idea you were-"
"Coming? Of course I was coming! You brought me up here, you know? Silly Chris..."
"Yes sir, it was my fault. I... I should have remembered. I asked you to help with the move."
" Are the boxes already in Jersey? Or are you still holding on to lost memories like an idiot?" Chris looked at his friend with a sad yet infuriated face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were so-"
"Sensitive?!" Chris snapped. "Were you gonna say that I was sensitive? I'm not sensitive! I can't be sensitive! No one can! In this world, you've gotta be strong! Not a little bitch! How dare you imply that I, I of all people, could be sensitive?" The friend yawned in boredom. Chris was stumbling on his own two feet, as though he were trying to look taller and stronger.
"Man, are you drunk again or something? You been hitting the pills? You know you've gotta stop that. You can't go on like this," said the friend, more sympathetically now.
"I'm sorry I lashed out. It's just... this whole move has taken a huge toll on Emerson and I. It's stressful. I loved this city when it was still, you know, New York. Not whatever shithole it is now. You understand what I mean, right?" The friend looked with perplexed eyes at him.
"Can't say that I do. I got that... Jersey state of mind. You know, relaxed, suburban. Frankly, I heard hardly nothing that you just said." As they spoke about the new life Chris would be leading in New Jersey, the bus arrived to Chris' jubilance.
"About fucking time," said he, then turning to the friend, "Alright man, I guess I'll see you-" but he was gone. No trace. Not even a goodbye was said. Everyone stared bewilderingly at him as he searched for a man who was no longer there. It was if his friend had dissolved into thin air, into the recesses of Chris' stressed mind. He turned to the bus and boarded. I must be going crazy.