A Cloud in Heaven

Part 2

        Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The monotone alarm of his phone went on and on, reverberating through the musty air. He eyes slowly opened on response to the alien noise, raising his head from the drool stain of his scratchy, carpeted sofa seat. He did not know what time it was. The room was darkened with only the slimmest blades of light cutting through from the crooked blinds of the living room window. His feelings of bliss were gone with only the emptiness of side effects pounding in his head with every beep of his phone. He saw his phone, face down upon the warn carpet, having fallen out of his hand as he drifted to sleep that night. It hummed continuously. He never heard the alarm before. It droned like a propeller and only stopped with small intervals to let the next buzz through. What could it be? He asked himself. He never received calls, not even from his mother. No one had a need to talk to each other. The point of speech disappeared long ago. He picked up the phone and saw the illuminated screen. His heart began to beat with terror at the words and images that flashed across the cracked glass with every sonic pulse. Upon the screen the symbol of bureaucracy laid. It was an eagle clutching parchment and arrows, adorned with the banner of the United States official Department of Population Control. The banner beneath the eagle's heavy talons curled into a semi-circle encompassing the beast. Its wings were raised as if in alarm towards the sky. Its beaks was shut with one eye in profile piercing through the screen, as if it was striking his heart with its formidable gaze. He remembered the eagle for he had seen it many times. The American angel of death knocking upon his door. Beneath the seal was the logo of the Ascension Corporation with its bold, blood red letters and sharp, chiseled characters seeming to be the most prominent feature of the insignia. It burned deeper than the eyes of the raptor, like a red hot brand from a fire about to strike a trembling calf. He sat frozen with the phone vibrating continuously without end, sending electric surges into his arm. He was stone. Fear gripped every muscle, refusing to let tendons and bones act upon his flesh. He felt the anxiety surge like a flood, drowning his breath, and crushing his heart upon every beat. It was closing in on him. His eyes seemed to fail him as they began starring into the void past the phone, past the once safe sanctum he presided in. Every moment the adrenaline pushed him deeper towards the void. He was moving at lightning speed without moving at all. Spinning out of control in a vortex of darkness, claws of fear ripping into the tender flesh of his brain. The black specter, that darkened being entered his mind again. He could see him clear as day arising from the oblivion pulsing in dark horror all around him. He felt the cold sweat upon his forehead with his spine convulsing every time he tried to suck in air. He was choking, choking on fear in the sight of him. He felt numb, so numb that all feeling left his fingers and drained from the cells in his skin. The phone slid from his hand and thudded against the carpet, buzzing continuously on the floor. He did not even notice. He squirmed and writhed with every moment he was in the specter's presence. It stood across the room from him, gazing upon him with its darkened, faceless form. He cried hard with every convulsion of his lungs, painful tears trying to escape with every failed breath. He tried the best he could to look away. He curled in upon himself, hugging his legs to his torso and shoving his face into the dirt laced stitching of his sofa. All air was blocked from entering his mouth now but he had to look away. He felt his lungs burn but he could not look anymore. Consciousness bled from his body. Any heat from within him was dampened. Then, as suddenly as it came, he felt the darkness recede. He felt his breath slow and the icy cold of the specter creep back into the void. The world reached his eyes again as he raised his sweat and tear drench face from the couch. He looked around. All was normal. The light creeping from his blades was the only thing that had moved from its natural position. He was alone once more with only the faint, muffled buzzing of the phone echoing through his apartment.

        He rose slowly up from the couch, trying to steady himself. He wobbled over the ringing phone, trying his best to ignore its call. He stumbled but caught himself on his counter, knocking over several greasy boxes onto the stained linoleum. He quickly flung upon a drawer beneath the counter top and revealed a graveyard of orange, white capped bottles. Dozens were empty with fading peeling labels. He flung his hand through them, scouring for a particular bottle, searching for a pill that helps him fight the specter. He does not like this pill for it clouds his mind. It made him feel empty and replaced the violent anxiety with only the deepest depression. He needed it, however, as he could feel another attack looming and creeping closer with ever buzz from the phone. Each vibration was a step from the specter, coming for him once again. He began to panic. Where is it? He frantically thought to himself as he removed bottle after bottle, tossing them onto the ground with sharp bangs. His hands moved like lightning in the drawer as he began throwing the bottle bottles in hopes of finding the one pill that would silence this. Just as he felt the feeling crack through once more he saw it. He quickly tore open the bright orange tube and let two small, blue pills fall into his hand, emptying the cylinder. He tossed it back in the drawer and raced to the sink. Grabbing a filthy, used paper cup he emptied its contents into the sink and poured fresh water in. He tossed his head back letting the pills enter his mouth and forced the pills down with a rush of the cold liquid. He felt his heart beat forcibly against his chest as if it was trying to escape from whatever was inside him. He threw the cup and slammed his arms upon the counter, shaking his head and bracing himself. The attack started swift like the last once but this time with greater force on impact. He trembled and shook his head violently feeling his skull beat against his inner self. Then the surge of anxiety began to be replaced by waves of depression which crept in slowly. The terrible duality. The continuous fight within. The anxiety was sharp, ferocious, and constantly trying to cut through. The depression, viscous and thick, was able to sedate the beast and asphyxiate it in constant drips. He felt his heart slow. His mind slow. Everything in him halted. His breath was warm and passive. His tremors and shaking disappeared. He now drowned underneath the sea. He backed up against his sofa and fell. He had no need to get up. He knew what was coming for him now. He felt the fear sleep but it still remained, just pacified for the time being. He could still hear and feel the vibrations as he laid on the floor. It was his time. It had come for him.

        He did not know how long he laid on the floor half conscience. He stayed there long past when his phone's battery gave out and the constant pulses lost their fury and the device slipped into catatonia once more. His whole body was numb from inactivity and sore from being pressed against the floor boards. He could feel the worst part of the medication wane in its effects. He was slowly rising from the vicious sea he found himself plunged into. As he rose from its depths all fear and sorrow was emptied. He felt nothing. A vessel devoid of character and feeling once more, returning to his natural state. He arose from the ground and slowly ascended the side of the sofa. Once up he noticed the light of his blinds now faced the opposite direction. The hands of time revealed another day lost to his endless war. That war would soon come to an end he though. The mark of death was now upon him. He was branded and set aside for the culling. He wanted to scream but was silenced by his sedation. He groggily scuffled his way to his bedroom. Each breath he took lasted an eternity. Every exhale and inhale slowly flowed in and out of his lungs like calmed ocean water against the shore. His reality was dulled even more than usual. It felt like all colors were drained from his surroundings, amplified by the growing shadows of the falling sun. In his sepia world he finally was able to make it to his bed. He perched himself on the corner of the mattress, slumped over with both hands clasped on his legs. There was nothing to do. There was nowhere to go. He did not need sleep. He did need television. He did not want his phone and he did not want to know. If he turns on his phone it will be revealed. His expiration date. The day he loses the pointless war and the day he falls in the battle he does not understand. The day he goes to heaven and loses his chance to answer the question.

        That night he did not sleep. Fear ended up creeping in slowly as the storm inside of him subsided. He spent the majority of the night in sweat filled terror once the implications of his realizations seized him. The specter visited him several times and each time his only escape was drowning himself. He passed out occasionally, whether from fear or exhaustion, but nightmares woke him back to reality. Terror shook him and tried to drive him to go get his phone. He heard the buzzing and the beeping in his night terrors but could not bring himself to bring it back from the dead. He knew it must be coming soon. A month. A week. A few days. It was haunting him to his core but if he was to expel the mystery, find with certainty the day he would ascend he would not know what to do. He remembered the nights as a child when his mind would plague him with black thoughts that assured him he was broken. A broken child in a world of doom. His loved ones left this world because of him and avoid his presence he thought. It's what he believed. His mother assured him that this was just the way of the world and not his fault. That they lived in an imperfect reality, a truly complicated time. He was not the reason his family disappeared and that he should not threaten his own life because he felt so alone. He almost believed her until she left him too, until she became just a memory and text on a screen. That was the day he broke. The promises he made to her he could not keep. The drawer of pills became his only exit from a world of pain and dread. He swallowed a bottle. He waited. That was the day the specter arrived. He could see him in the cracked, spotted mirror of his old bathroom, growing closer to him every second he waited. Then the fear and the anxiety broke through. The specter played his hand upon his shoulder. That was the closest they ever came in contact. The searing cold shot through his skin, making his heart beat a thousand times per second, until he thought it would ignite in a gory blaze. In a fit of fear he shoved his finger down his throat. His warm flesh mingled with saliva upon his tongue as he tried to force himself from the brink. He struggled to do it. Then, with a violent convulsion, the contents of his stomach forced itself through his fingers and teeth and splashed with fury upon the scratched white sink top. Pills and red tinted stomach acid painted the glass, flooding every cracks and crevice as it cascaded down. The sweat poured down upon his eyes. He could barely see himself in the glass through the perspiration and puke. He saw himself drained but alive. The specter had disappeared, reeling from the violent episode. He stared at himself with intensity, his baggy, sunken eyes fixated. Why? He thought before he felt his moist palms slip off the sink and he closed his eyes as he hit hard tile.