Musings of a Solipsistic Entity ( 3 )Mature

It is just another day in Bedlam. A rather peaceful day, no one can be seen around Adam's padded cell, no one can be seen walking outside - no oderlies, nothing. A vacuous silence. The day is just starting - one could always feel the peculiar nature of the place when the rays of that powerful star illuminate the area, blinding some patients who think they are vampires. One could - very rightly - conject : why does Adam continue to be present inside the funny farm ? He has changed the milieu, after all. No more Rabkovitz. Someone else now. Who? Surprise. Adam does not know. He lives by the uncertainty principle, if my understanding of physics is correct ( though I have no Albert Einsteins to consult, as they are dead). Anyhow. Adam is about to continue writing his stories about various topics, persuing the internet and using his mind to transform it later on with personal experience. The protagonist continues his God-have-mercy-contemplations on storymash , where he has been in desperate need of some constructive criticism. So far , nothing, nothing at all. The individuals he has created to boost his works turned out to be rather insipid, he is in need of someone more direct, more blunt, someone who can burst the buble of complacency which has permeated his perception for too long. 


He can hear the band playing outside. The ‘’Star Trek’’ band, I mean. He focuses on one of the orderlies who has just passed by and he is out. He is walking and observing each cell on his way to the main room, seeing the travesty of life playing out in front of his eyes. Granted, they are just his constructs. Constructs to accompany him. Still, it is so tragic.


‘’Does it mean that I am tragic?’’ he thought.’’What is tragic?’’


‘’I’m gonna kill you, I know who you are, you fucking pussy,’’ shouts someone from one of the cells.’’You’re gonna be dead, ya hear me!?’’


Adam, with calmness in his gait as well as the voice, releases himself from the bounds of sedation , stands near the entrance to the cell of the shouting one. A metal gate, the entrance can be best desribed, with a small Peeping Tom-style hole. There, Adam sees a young man, a filthy Caucasian man, his hair full of insects and the stench , one can only imagine of what, is just indiscernable. Adam looks at the man’s bewildered eyes, the eyes that indicate fear and a will to kill – the will that , without a doubt – would be executed if he has been left out. The protagonist looks at the man in a probing way, his face full of disdain. He tells the person in a calm, assertive tone :


‘’I cannot help you. You are just my creation. You are real to yourself. To me – you are nothing. You are a piece of excrement. A piece of crap. You make me sick. ‘’


Then, suddenly, the man disappears. Adam sighs, murmuring to himself :


‘’Serves you right, mothafucker.’’


Screams can be heard , omnipresent screams, as if one has been inside a cinema with all the digital gadgets on. They are vague initially but then…then it has become clear :


‘’The psycho is here ! The psycho is here ! He has created us , now he wants to destroy us !’’


Adam stands in the middle of the corridor while the orderlies approach. They are in a full-combat’’ mode, ready to strike. They freeze .


‘’Now is not the time,’’ said Adam, approaching one of the orderlies. He eyes the orderlie’s head and smiled.

‘’Just like wax. A house of wax,’’ he murmured, smiling. ‘’Let me just see if this is really so.’’


A nail appears in Adam’s hand.


''Padre Pio!,'' he exlaims, in stitches.


‘’Hit it on the head, was it?’’ he wonders, in all seriousness.


A noise can be heard. The orderlie’s head explodes into pieces, his brain shattered across the floor.


‘’Damn !,’’ Adam exclaims. ‘’I hit the jackpot!’’


He has looked around again. The voices have not stopped. He has ignored that vociferous display of support for the last victim. Waving his hand, he has continued moving forward, towards the ‘’Star Trek Bunch.’’


‘’Captain Jean Luc Picard,’’ voices can be heard from the distance as the protagonist is smiling, not really knowing what he wants from them.


‘’Make it so,’’ another comment can be heard.


‘’Picard doesn’t have an American accent, you idiot ! You sound more like a farmer than a starship captain ! ‘’ Adam exclaims upon entering the main room.


Adam clicks his fingers, defying all known laws of operation when it comes to a normal universe, and transports everyone to the starship. He is disguised as the captain now. He stands up, eyes the crew and tells them in a confident, perfectly clean-cut Received Pronunciation :


‘’My dear friends. You are the finest crew in starfleet. But now, I want you to know that there is a difficult task ahead of us. Something is going to appear on your monitors in a minute. This will be a group of individuals suspected of terrorist activity against the Federation. Your task is going to entail the following : eliminate all but one. We need just one to give us all the details of their operating procedures. The rest has to be eradicated. Is that understood ?’’

The crew has given a more-than-exemplary show of support, after which they have focus entirely on the task assigned . Adam looks at the screen of the starship , smiles slightly and murmurs to himself :


‘’Damnit. I’m not sure if this was how Picard would really sound like. Gotta work on that one.’’


 A second later, it has dawned on him.


‘’What the fuck, I don’t  have to work on anything!’’


A loud burst of uncontrollable laughter can be heard. Adam pauses the game for a moment so that his crew would not remember the whole incident. After two minutes of hysterics, he resumes the game.


‘’Captain, we have the results !, ‘’ one of the crew members, of whom I have no knowledge as this appears to be some sort of alternative ‘’Star Trek,’’ informs.


‘’Very well,’’ responds Adam.’’Let me see what you have come up with.’’


The protagonist walks up to the crew members and nods.


‘’Tell me about your findings.’’


‘’Yes Sir,’’ responds the same crew member as before.’’We have found that most of the storymash individuals are incapable of giving constructive insight into your musings. We have identified only one individual that can be considered worthy of keeping alive.’’


‘’Yes,’’ the respond comes, full of eagerness and anticipation.’’Tell me the identifying pattern of the individual.’’


‘’Of course, Sir,’’ the crew member responds, full of confidence, in a matter-of-factly fashion.’’It is an entity you have created on the 19th of May. The entity fulfills its mission well, albeit can become redundant after a certain period of time.’’

The End

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