Steve stared blindly at his feet. He was looking at them, but he was unsure if his brain barely registered them as actual objects: his own feet. Steve shifted his gaze and attempted to observe his surroundings, but the movement drew his attention before he could make sense of his environment.
A lady smiled, then the screen cut to her hips, then cut to a building, a sign, the lady again, she’s with a man, both laughing, that could be Steve, cut, food, brightly coloured, lady, building, sign, building.
What was it again? Steve ripped his eyes away. He had no conception of where that building was locating, but his imagination said near. Not that Steve had a powerful imagination. He was proud of ability to imagine that things and people existed outside of his immediate perception.
Steve will now be referred to as Ste.
Ste had decided to go for a walk. It was one of the few decisions that Ste had made himself without nudging from media of from family and friends in a long while. Cars honked and people clambered over each other to make their way to wherever they may be going. The noise and bustle consumed Ste temporarily.
Ste was lost. Ste was never lost and now Ste was lost. Ste saw - or more accurately – heard cars, jarring up his brain tubes - Ste liked to imagine that he had brain tubes, and they were clogged now. Ste was bumped into all the people around him. They seemed like everyone bumping into him. Ste’s chest constricted as he had a panic attack. Ste had no idea that he was having a panic attack. Frankly, the idea of panic attacks had always sounded ludicrous to Ste, although here was he having one right now.
Ste’s mind collapsed into itself. The clogged tubes were clogged no longer, instead they were filling up with black slime. Enough slime to suffocate out the noise and the bustle. Ste wanted to vomit but he could not move his chest with the correct palpitations to achieve such a bile action.
Eyes stared down at S, whom form now on is known as S. S looked up at the eyes. This was the first time Ste had looked up all day. Eyes with heads, all arranged in a cluttered circle around S. Tall towers towered over them, fading into blurs because S’s eyes had a difficult time adjusting to far away objects despite his glasses. S could see himself in their eyes; S’s limited imagination projected S into the eyes. S could see himself warping into his reflection on their eyes. The sheets of glass and metal and concrete started to stare at S too. S screamed.
Screams seemed to last an eternity. Then as suddenly as that, S ran. S ran to where he perceived home to be. They knew something about him. He could not afford to go outside again. So S ran. Although S could not sustain a run for very long, for you see, S was terribly unfit. S’s heart struggled and briefly the struggle of S’s heart eclipsed the feeling of panic.
It did not take long for S to return to his home. It was more of a glorified slum or lair. The kind of slum or lair which did not seem entirely rank as S’s somewhat limited nose would detect any truly vile matter decomposing, but the kind of slum or lair which had plastic rubbish and wrappers and carboard and foam packaging everywhere and cans and junk which S had brought thinking it would harbinge happiness. In the center of the slum or lair was a single bed with a pile of blankets. S would spend hours and days lying on under those blankets. He would feel safe and protected, or paranoid and crushed there, lying down and passing time.
S assumed his position on the bed that he had presiously held only a few hours ago. In his delirium on his was home, he had procured food of some sort. While the health benefits of such foods where dubious, such food did sustain S and would continue to sustain S for the foreseeable future as S saw it.
S using his most valuable possession then looked and some moving images which would he knew would lull him into feeling some brief pleasure. He thought he knew what he had being needing and before he knew it he felt tired and sore and he curled his blanket around him. He knew to avoid the wall facing side of his bed, but he could not stand to look at his slum or lair for very long even with his glasses off. So S closed his eyes.
S kept his eyes closed for a while but it was no use. S opened them and then looked at moving images for several hours until sleep became awake like S was used to.
For the next several weeks sleep and awake were functionally the same thing. S did his thing searching where ever he was to find the next thing. Here S was not S. S was reg41re. reg41re was powerful. People had once listened to reg41re, but times had changed. reg41re had being losing power and influence for some time. In one place reg41re was not allowed but reg41re still visited. In another reg41re was not known as reg41re, instead had no name. Visit, yes, funny. No, not like that, that was is wrong. Maybe if that person says so. They will get this joke. No one got it, well they don’t know it. Maybe if the joke goes like that. Yes. Do again. Got some attention. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Look what these say. No, no, no. I don’t like. Must see more. Wow, have you seen these people. Ha look what this did. Hmmm. Not quite make sense. Hmmm. Maybe some say why. Wow this goes on forever. I must be about to get to the bottom of this. That is wrong. reg41re here with another update. Maybe other one is released. No, not yet. Eventually. Wow there is 8 more of this.
Pleasing sensations on the brain.
More please.
Find more. Now known as Reg. Is there more? Yes, wow limited release run. Yes.
Repeat.
Reg decided to rewatch.
After digging through reviews, Reg watches the top list.
Reg watches all the newest releases.
Reg finds where people post all their favourites.
Reg is powerful here. They listen to Reg.
Reg.
Reg.
A man enters Reg’s slum or lair.
Reg must leave. Cold damp. Reg needs to find warm and electricity. Reg needs food too. Reg staving asks someone. That someone pities Reg and Reg gets food.
Reg is known as R. R sleeps under thing. R has limited language. R doesn’t know how R got here.
There are a couple like R. They offer something to R. R loses the little consciousness he had left.
R no longer R. R is nobody. Need more. Must find more.
Men no longer look like men. Seen no not men in long time.
Hid from man. Other comes and shared. Now good time. One speaks, but no one listens.
Man came today. Moved now new.
Pain. Man cut. Pain. Red. Rain.
The eyes spiral around. Haunting echos. S, R. R, S. Nevermore, mind me, shadows, towers. A lady, sign, building, lady, eyes, figures, eyes.
A man with a scraggy beard lies down. He has finished suffering withdraws from a substance that he became dependent on when being turned out onto the streets. His motor function is poor and he doesn’t speak in coherent sentences. The others he was with became no more a while back, but he was unaware.
The cut on this man’s hand had been infected, which had paralysed him, in the sense that he was unable to more to his normal spots to beg for money to sustain his dependency. Fortunately for the man, the rain has helped wash away the grime and scum that had been crusted and coated onto his hand.
Time still bustled by but, it was no longer rushing forward. Sleep and awake were two different things again. And a knowledge that life had been very different in the past crept back into the man. Steve looked around. The background was a blur. The foreground was his hands and rags. He was squatting on mucky concrete. The sky was a harsh blue, bright enough to dry him out.
Steve stood up. Maybe it was Steve or Reg, or K or something. Steve felt right speak however, so Steve it was. Steve stood up because he was on the ground again. And Steve looked around again. Steve stepped out and tried to go for a walk, unsure where he would find himself.