Edwardian Resuscitation

It wasn't just a new day. No, it was a new life. Blank pages were now occupied by writings of a promising future. I had finally gotten a job that I wouldn't loathe. I had been welcomed aboard on the wagon of life, and my journey was about to commence. I considered myself fortunate, and I saw how my efforts had finally paid off. Success was inevitable at this point. I was happy.

I had ordered a large pizza with lots of chilli to celebrate my victory over the bad times. Never had I enjoyed a meal like this one. I was in ecstasy. Unfortunately I was about to pay the price for my feast of triumph. I couldn't remember how long it had been, since I last ate any meal where chilli was an ingredient. In my elevated mood I completely forgot about the consequences of eating spicy food, but I was happy.

I couldn't count the times that I had gotten up throughout the night to go to the bathroom. Being very exhausted I was unable to comprehend, why my ass was on fire upon finishing my visit to the bathroom. I felt tempted to go downstairs and stick my butt in the freezer or insert ice cubes into my anus. However, the feeling of laziness and extreme fatigue was too overwhelming. I decided to go back to bed with flames sticking out of my ass. My ass would have to burn for now, because I was still happy.

This was not the end of a chapter. This was the ending of a book, and I was about to start writing a whole new one for my new life as an established homo sapien in modern society. I foresaw that life could only improve now. I had been at the bottom and used every single cell in my body to thrust myself upwards. I was on my way up. My destination probably wasn't the stars, but I would surely reach a celestial layer of some kind. I was happy.

Edward T. Shufflebottom

Sunday Turnstiles

It was Sunday, the most boring and inanimate day of the week. The day were you would sit down and mentally recite the whole week and compare it to every single moment in your life. I couldn't help but to start journeying down memory land. I wandered down my own boulevard of regrets and achievements. This timeless dimension that was a figment of my imagination was occupied by every person and object that I had interacted with at some point in my life. I would pass by every face in a slow motion driven environment and salute those whom had brought my joy and extend my long finger to those who hadn't. It was a lot like watching those commercials for hair products, where some famous model walked down the street and got the attention of every male in her proximity. I was the centre of attention in this brainchild of mine.

Inevitable my journey took me to the end of the boulevard and to the junction of fate. This is where I stood know and pondered if the sum of all my failures were greater than my achievements. Every road departing from the junction was guarded by a turnstile that led into a misty oblivion. I knew if I once crossed one of the turnstiles, I would extend my boulevard and I wouldn't be able to regress to this conjunction. Only the sound of the wind and my heartbeat could be heard. Tumble weed and rogue posters saying “Future wanted – dead or alive” strayed by.

I was at a point in my life, where every single decision I made scared me. I wondered how others felt about this. Did their buttocks sweat? Did their interior monologue stutter and tremble with insecurity? Or was I simply a neurotic and social outcast? I would never find out.

These were the Sundays. The days that you hoped would never come, but ironically enough you couldn't live without. The days that contained an endless moment of decision-making to walk through a turnstile and cash my ticket for a destination that would drop me into an unknown tomorrow.

Edward T. Shufflebottom

The Penguins are here

The Indian summer had ended subtly and let autumn announce its presence with grey skies, colourful leaves and various illnesses. Only armed with a leather coat and a pair of suede shoes, I had chosen to surrender silently to this hostile geological take-over. I was well aware of what was about to transpire. Billions of invisible fiends had taken their positions all over the world and awaited an encrypted message. The penguins were here.

It had taken two days before my room mate had found the time to show me, how the central heating was activated. The lack of carpeting made sure that this house remained a giant icebox. I endeavoured to shield myself against the cold by using my jacket and my shoes, but not even that sufficed. It was like experiencing an Alaskan winter with long meditation sessions surrounding the subject of how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here. I did constantly try to remind myself that things were never easy in the beginning, and Rome was not built in one day. However, these placebo phrases were slowly losing their power. I was in a mood of perpetual bitterness with a terrible urge to desist from all productive activity.

My new mood took its toll by depriving me off all fundamental social skills. There had been a few incidents that could verify, how I had become inapt for any social encounters. What I found odd yet very amusing, was the fact that I did not feel guilty for being so socially impaired. I was able to defy the unwritten laws of ethics and formality without being morally prosecuted. People probably regarded me as the caveman that recently arrived to civilization, but that didn't concern me. Perhaps I had reached the age, where I was old enough to be categorised as eccentric.

I had witnessed something rather unfortunate. My mind was at this point still unable to grasp it. Devil cat had entered the living room with light movements and disappeared behind the television. It was then that I heard the sound of something that reminded me of cold lemonade being poured into a cocktail glass. I closed my eyes hoping that it was my imagination playing tricks on me. By the time I realised that I had not slipped into some sick state of daydreaming, Devil Cat was halfway through its piss. I got up and ran to the television, but I was too late. Devil Cat had finished serving its lemonade and charged out of the living room. There I stood unable to comprehend or believe what had just happened. The secret of why the living room occasionally smelled like piss was finally out. Many times had I entered the living room and been punched in the face by the foul odour of feline urine, but I had been unable to locate the source.

When things couldn't possibly get worse, I was surprised again. This time it was a lump of excrement of some beast that laid there undisturbed to test my endurance. My only guess was that Princess had given this object a lift from the garden and into the utility room. I sighed deeply. It was strange after living in this house for such a short while that I was already able to identify how the most improbable things took place. It wouldn't be long before I could unravel the secrets of the universe, decode highly encrypted information for government agencies and identify that final ingredient in KFC's delicious chicken. I was not sure how much of this that I could take. Not only were the penguins here, but the swampland had claimed the house, and there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it. You probably guessed, what I did. That's right. I cowered.

I was beginning to suspect that the inhabitants of this house enjoyed this rather inhumane and filthy lifestyle. Cleaning up crap and vomit from various members of the animal kingdom was obviously a full-time hobby cherished by everybody in this house besides me. If they were looking to include me into their guild, they could forget about it. I refused to become an element in their equation. The penguins were here, the swampland had claimed the house, the guild of shit was looking to recruit me. I needed to get out very very soon.

Edward T. Shufflebottom