antipunk

Sunday, September 9, 2007 4:44pm I cackle a scream "IS THIS HELL?!" as I knead my tears back into my face. Failing to gasp a breath between sobs my phone rings. I peer through the eyes of Monet squinting at my phone painting this caller a reprieve whom I can confess my anguish. 1,217 miles away my mother's voice wells, "Robert, Molly (your sister) is in the hospital with a fever of 104 and the doctors say she could die soon if she doesn't improve". Bewilderment strikes my body with such a force my mind is blasted into vertigo. Gliding to incoherence "is this real this doesn'tI can't I don't under where amI where whe" Over the phone "Robert, Robert, Robert!, Robert!, Robert! Robert!" my mother cries "Are You There?!" At the apex a remote murmur, "what am I where?" Descending into clarity, the epiphany manifests "this is happening isn't this is really happening to me" Desperation devastates any previous reluctance I had to confessing peccancy. I hear my voice falter "Mom, I've been doing a lot of meth and cocaine, abusing Robitussin a potent dissociative in the same family as PCP and", my eyes sear with tears, "alot of really bad people have tried to", choking on each syllable, "do some really", I hack out "bad things to me today" transmuting into serenity "I need help" Three, two, one critical mass achieved. A nuclear blast tumbles through phone lines obliterating the silence "YOU'VE BEEN DOING WHAT!?" Like a child of the 1960's missile crisis hiding under my desk I pray "Mom...I'm really scared right now please pleaseplease" Enlightened to my religion instead my father's voice interrogates "What's going on? Your mother is hysterical, she's telling me to talk to you" As if I had digitally recorded my initial plea, the facts played from my voice choking, hacking and whispering. My father's voice "I can't", a short pause I hear my mother interrupting "We can't, do this right now." Only silence resonates within the blossoming mushroom cloud of atrocity. My phone screen despondent reverts to the screen saver. "What happened" I gaze at small orange comets, something of purpose, spiraling downward into a meaningless digital graveyard and realize the actuality of the Revelation; I am alone and nihilism my bestowed boon.