Monday, March 14, 2011
Is she thinking of her soul, damned to eternal fire? He couldn’t get the damn song out of his head. Or is she lost within the sounds, the sounds that we have sired? It reminded him of his childhood, a key experience. At some point, maybe when he was nine or ten (it had to have been around then because he had his own room, which meant Ella had moved out) he’d purchased a Jason mask with his own money in a post-Halloween clearance sale. It was a decent replica, meaning a typical goalie mask, except that it glowed in the dark, light green, like all other white plastics that glow in the dark. Is she burdened by regret, for all that we have done? Well he played with the mask all day, scaring family members and staring creepily from his bedroom window at passersby, holding it up to the light for charging as the sun eventually set. When bedtime came, still pumped about having such a cool toy, he set it on his bedside table, staring at it with love as though he’d never before possessed something so fucking awesome. Of course, this love quickly turned to horror, when the house grew silent and dark. Initially, he turned away, attempting to ignore the mask, which certainly didn’t scare him, at least not from this angle. But soon he was peeking over his shoulder, glancing at the goddamn terrifying thing and burrowing below his covers immediately afterward, wondering if he was too old to crash in Mom and Dad’s room. Yes, of course he was, we’re talking double digits in the age category here, just throw the fucking thing under the bed. Or is she planning her next move? Or making on the run? Which he did. This worked for a bit, too, but curiosity took its toll and soon he just had to peek under, just once, just to see if it were still there. Over the edge of the bed went his head and as his eyes cleared the mattress and peered belOH HOLY FUCK JESUS CHRIST GLOW IN THE GODDAMN DARK and head right back up and under covers, feeling the vacant eyes staring through at his back, small breaths escaping through the checkerwork of perfect holes. (Chorus): I don’t know where her thoughts go, in those darkest hours. All I know is I can keep it up, when it really counts x2. Once the initial gut-wrenching horror relatively subsided he realized that it wouldn’t be so damn scary if he just stopped thinking about it. What a brilliant fucking idea! If he’d only thought of it sooner! All he had to do was tell himself “Don’t think about Jason.” Easy as pie. Don’t think about Jason (fuck) don’t think about Jason (fuck!) don’t think about Jason (FUCK) Seriously now, you idiot, think about monster trucks or Howard the Duck or motherfucking Barbie dolls if you have to but don’t think about the notorious Camp Crystal Lake killer Jason goddamn Vorhees (FUCK!) Is she broken and contrite, hoping to undo these things? How ridiculous, he realized at nine or ten, the human mind. How unfair the necessity of recognizing that which you’re attempting not to recognize by deciding not to recognize it. Maybe, but yes, oh yes, maybe…. Maybe if he just thought of something else specifically, he would forget about Jason Vorhees, who stabbed fence posts through teenagers during sex. He could think of something fun, something he liked, something benevolent and far more interesting than mongoloid murderers. Or is she ready to remove, those conspicuous wings? Power Rangers were pretty cool, right? And, even though he was nearly in middle school, Muppet Babies was still a pretty fun show, right? Fozzy doing his wakka-wakka-wakka thing and Piggy in love with Kermit and Gonzo’s nose and screaming teenagers stabbed through the eye with crocheting needles by masked killers right below the fucking bed! Shit, this wasn’t working either. Is she wanting to repent, and return unto the fold? Eventually the mind does its thing, though, and he fell asleep, most likely not dreaming about Jason. The next morning he threw the mask in his closet, burying it with other toys and dirty clothing. He can’t remember what happened to it, or if it bothered him again that next night from its more-distant-yet-equally-evil hiding spot, but every once in a while over the years he’d remember it and the whole bullshit process don’tthinkaboutJason would start over again until it quite simply disappeared. Or is she ready for another go, before our sweats turn cold? Fucking song. A pretty good one, though. Those fucking drums, like he's drumming with fucking trees, that weird buzzing spaceship sound, blipping away. Don’t think about Jason. Chorus x2. Don’t think about Jason. Spaceship-sounding blip solo. Chorus x2.