LANDLINE PASCOM

CHAPTER V

A flash came, there was himself, all beaten by his own reality; high in gins, and syringes, and to the sit downs that his reefers gave him. The door creaked open, outside, on that front door was the fox man covered in blood, staring at him from that darkened eye sockets, giving a gaze from the void. A being of pure malice, intuitions, and experiments experienced to be a subjective flaw dare not to contemplate the moral grounds of good conduct.

He walked inside, steadily, on his feet, then towards Simon as he downed his beverage. Stabbing the knife at the table, perhaps to provoke a man ruined by his own emotions. Loneliness fills the body of God's unworldly making. Simon stared blankly at the knife, as to his perception, he had a malleable face, spacious even if neared to him. Mister Auburn walked away, his intentions are far more indecipherable than the rest of Simon's friends. Above all, these people introduced themselves one at a time to him. Way back, he remembered how these guys were those that he always had, celebration, games, maybe so, enjoyment. To every party they had, there was Mister Coral that he knew, Mister Cerulean that he talked to, and Mister Auburn that he always had gone to whether it is the mondays or the sundays. All week, he loved how these people sounded benefitting to him as a person, one in particular crux however is how he met them.

Delving deeper, these friends of his had always been around. He remembered how during his later years in kindergarten they would always talk, but with masks, and these masks spoke to him. Oddly, it is of questioning how Simon force fed himself with medicine for a sleep, and before he knew it, his friends were gone, either from a party or a job. But lately, they all have been busy on their own.

Digressing from the simple fact, on how his profound cronies tend to deject reality such as his, almost homogenized, it is funny also that in every bottle he shared with them, only his would be taken out, and the rest, left until morning to get cold under room temperature. But lately? there is no fun from those days that came by, like how every modernized person would feel intoxicated with incessant exchanges between reality and their profession in life. Now, Simon had himself, alone in this room, sequestered from everything, reclusiveness hit him like a hammer to the cranium. A dosage of heroin is enough to settle his anxious veins, perhaps it was a help to render his fatigued mind, even so to make him control his reality with something that bats an eye when neon comes. A haze that blinds him, momentarily, lights were gaily at this point, and to his perspective, it was all purple and fastidious.

Simon lifted his reefer, huffing a few before puffing a cloud of infectious smoke, but now it was cyan, even to the peeking buildings over his window, as if it was all mocking him for stepping so low in this point of life, to where he is holed in. Must've been that he wanted something more, yet complacency pilfers the best from all of us. One time, Simon was a decent man with a decent job, he served as a typical Jack from work, inside a business place in Pascom. A white-collar Jack he was, once, a simple night it was before he picked up a call that rang his landline number. Once he had a voice, in latter days that came he lost it all, even if he disagreed. Being inside of the Elysian Corporation is a business proposal too naive to be even assimilated. A simple man once, now, just a bugger that hefted his mussy perception on a day to day basis before breaking his own sanity with his moral judgement, the essence of consequentialism, over the proposed deontological knowledge propagated inside his workplace.

In the old days, now to be forgotten, he was an ordinary Jack that made copies of business papers and printed forms that are to be circulated inside the room. But the absence of liveliness killed most of himself along the process. Now, calls are never to be refused for the corporation demands respect, time, and work. The excuse of habits are to be neglected, all things said must be processed with haste. Yet there are times for Simon where he barred himself from doing the corporation's deeds, a singular absence is enough, and so to the times that he dismissively lived to it, the only thing he loved had been gone for almost a few years now. As a result, he was the only one enough to sort these things out before the authoritarian power bid to notice these changes. However, business was made, and it was as clear as a diamond how the ELC can provide power and hindrance to those who sought the world with a plastic flashlight and truncheon, maybe with tazers and guns, vests, or even so, K9 sniffers.