Open Your Eyes

  by

  H.J. Rethuan

  “Open Your Eyes”

  Copyright © 2014 Herman Rethuan

  All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Herman Rethuan.

  Dedication

  Again, to my folks.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  About the Author

  One

  The lighting was poor, affecting the quality of digital video stream. It appeared to have been shot underground, perhaps in a cave or a bunker somewhere. Away from the satellites, away from the drones that were hunting him.

  “Open your eyes!” the man commanded to his followers in slightly accented English. “Open your eyes and see the truth...”

  He started all his broadcasts like that.

  The man stared right at the camera filming him as he passionately delivered his rhetoric, his plans for the deaths of thousands of unbelievers because their governments would not leave his homeland alone. He called himself The Scimitar, named after a type of sword. A theatrical name for sure, but one that also reflected his desire to be a warrior, a symbol of conflict, a weapon to wage war.

  He thought it was most appropriate.

  There was a familiarity to his words. For years now he had promised a region free of Western influence to his growing legion of followers, a place where people lived by God’s rules and only God’s rules - and he was serious. He would not be like the others, who co-opted his Lord’s name for their own gain. He was going to deliver a utopia, paradise for all who followed him, who believed in him. And there were many.

  And yet, even some of the hardliners, those who shared his same vision, were intimidated by him. To achieve his means he was beyond brutal, taking no quarter when it came to his enemies, and hours of video on the internet proved that to be true. But still, there was something disarming about him. He was charismatic, handsome. He ended each broadcast with a sly smile, as if was one to be trusted. A smiling assassin.

  To some, he is a hero. To others, he is evil incarnate.

  Or, to put it lightly, a terrible kind of person.

  Seth had always thought he was a terrible person. Not for the things he’s done. He just was.

  That was his mindset as a long time sufferer of depression. Useless, not good enough for anything, for anyone. Maybe he was good enough, but he’s been prone to self sabotage. That’s why he’s a night janitor at The Universe, Port City’s fourth most popular newspaper (second most popular online).

  He did start out working during the day, like a normal person. He found it hard, working with all those people around. Those he thought were better than him, more successful. He was overqualified for cleaning the restrooms, the kitchen, the balcony where they would smoke even though they’re not allowed to. Still, it was not like he was one to tell them, that he was smart, as smart and as skilled as them at their jobs. They looked down lowly at him. He could only get a janitor’s job after all.

  He quickly asked to move to night shift.

  Seth approached the desk of the young woman, the only person still working in the newsroom. It was relatively late, but Hannah tended to stay around after everyone else had gone home. For a young journalist, she was more ambitious than most.

  She had her headphones on, watching intently the video of The Scimitar spouting his messages of hate on her laptop. She seemed engrossed in it, leaning forward in her chair as if in a hypnotic trance. Maybe that’s how he has so many followers.

  Seth reaches for the half-filled trash can by her chair. He accidentally bangs it against the desk, startling her. She turns, her surprise turning to relief at seeing a familiar face.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Seth tells her as he empties the trash into his plastic garbage bag before replacing the can at her feet.

  She slips her headphones off, and pauses the video. “No, that’s okay. I was just watching this...” Hannah tells him, pointing to her computer. “Frankly I think I’m more scared of him.”

  Seth nods.

  “Yeah, he’s a pretty scary guy.” Seth ties the bag and moves on to the next desk. “See ya.”

  “You too.”

  That was often it, the only exchange Seth ever gets with a co-worker these days. Not that he didn’t want to talk to her, in fact he liked her a lot. It was just that gap he put in his head separating them, like he was some second class citizen. Still, work was always a little more tolerable if he got to see her during his shift.

  And so, it was like that. He’d empty out her trash, they share some words, and he’d move on. By the time he returned to vacuum the place she’d be gone. Sometimes they would chat about the weather, about how busy she was, but they didn’t know each other.

  He knew about her problem with her stalker though. Things he’s picked up here and there, things from him she’s thrown away. She tried to hide it from everyone but he knew. It concerned him. Still, he said nothing for fear of her finding out that Seth did like her.

  He cared about her.

  But he wouldn’t dare bring it up with her.

  It is late. Seth pulls into the driveway, the headlights illuminating the pale roll-up garage door in front of him. He leaves his car parked outside. It’s reasonably safe. He knows the neighbourhood.

  He’s lived in this house for most of his entire life. A typical suburban home, big enough for a husband and wife, their two kids. They had bought the place just before the moratorium on suburban development, before the booming population of the city forced city planners to turn the metropolis of Port City into an infinitely growing sea of high rise apartment blocks. His parents live elsewhere now, but still it is home for Seth and his little sister Emma.

  She’s still up, working in the office she made out of the old spare bedroom. She’s usually up this late, usually working on something for her freelance graphic design business. Tonight is no different.

  “Hey.” Seth says to her, standing at the door. She briefly pulls away from her current work, putting together a website for a client that sells PVC pipes.

  “Hey.” she replies. “How was work?”

  “Pretty quiet. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay. See you in the morning.”

  She immediately returns to work, retouching an image of an elbow joint in Adobe Photoshop. Seth just leaves her be.

  Emma’s always looked up to her big brother, despite what he thinks of himself. They both consider themselves geeks, she with comic books, he into action movies. She pursued her dream of being an artist; he tried to with his own. It did not end as successfully for him.

  Still, Emma’s always been there for Seth whenever he got the courage to reach out with his problems. She was his support system, and that’s why she’s still here, living with him.

  She’s seeing someone though; Pete, a photographer. He’s heard all the Spider-man jokes before. He’s also asked her to move in with him, many times. She probably will, one day.

  But not yet.

  Changing out of his work clothes, Seth forgoes the shower, connects his phone to the charger, and gets into bed.

  A quiet night absent of mistakes to dwell on, he falls asleep relatively quickly.

  Two

  Like a beast coming out of hibernation, the Port City rumbles to life each morning like a living being, its skeleton made of steel and concrete, its arteries and veins its network of roads and rail lines carrying the lifeblood of the city: its citizens.

  The residence of almost three million people, situated on an increasingly crowded island at the end of a peninsular, it is a melting pot of a community that even in its infancy served as a nexus for trade and transportation, one that called out to the people of the world with the promises of riches, the promise of a new start, the promise a new life. Rich and poor, it called out to all in order to make itself grow, to make itself thrive, accepting anyone who heeded its call with open arms and turning away no one who stumbled to its door.

  The good, the bad, the wealthy, the poverty. They made up Port City. They made it their home.

  It is Seth’s home.

  Sure, it has its ups and downs. Overcrowding is an issue. Traffic’s often bad. Crime’s always been a problem, especially now with the recent prolonged economic woes. More and more homeless turn up on the streets each day. But the people are usually decent to each other, and all said it’s been a good place to live, to grow up in. Seth couldn’t dream of moving anywhere else; maybe he’s just used to living here, what he generally believes to be a nice place, a safe place.

  For now at least.

  In his bed Seth stirs, finding his duvet wrapped tightly around him. He opens his eyes, th

ey are blurry from sleep. He closes them again. Microsleep.

  He wakes again minutes later. Instinctively, he reaches out to the bedside table, Pulls the cable out of his phone without looking, presses the button on the side to turn on the screen.

  Ten o’clock.

  Routine. Wake up, check internet on phone. Get out of bed. Take a piss. More internet.

  More awake, he stumbles around the house. It is quiet; Emma’s out, probably gone to meet a client. Back to room. Turn on computer, put on some porn. Jerk off. Take a shower.

  Routine. It was good for him.

  Seth pops the foil, releasing the single dose of desvenlafaxine from its blister pack. He places the pill in his mouth, and washes it down with some water from a sports bottle. It was the last pill, from the last repeat.

  Got to get a new scrip filled.

  Seth hadn’t met this new doctor before. Still, he had heard good things about her. It didn’t really matter though, he just needed a new scrip; it shouldn’t take too long.

  “So what can I do for you today Seth?” Dr Asha asked him. She seemed friendly enough.

  “Well,” he starts, “Dr Lee is my usual doctor, but obviously I couldn’t get an appointment because he’s on leave...”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “So um, I just came in to get a new prescription. For desvenlafaxine.”

  Desvenlafaxine. It was an anti-depressant, anti-anxiety medication. Seth jokingly called them his “happy pills”. It wasn’t quite that effective of course, but it did make him stable enough.

  He’d been given them after the breakdown. They worked. Took them for six months, then somehow thought he was cured. Six months of hell later, and he was back on them.

  Hasn’t stopped since.

  “Okay.” Dr Asha tells him. “I’ll need to ask you some questions first, are you okay with that?”

  He nods. “Sure.”

  Seth was expecting this, all these questions. Understandable of course, she didn’t know him, she had to get an idea of what was happening before he could get his hands on those meds. Still, it was still uncomfortable giving a stranger a quick summary about why the past few years of your life has been so lamentable.

  The lost twenties, with little direction. Constant rejection. The feeling of powerlessness, uselessness. The denial that there was a problem. The public breakdown in front of all those people in class. The resignation that there was something wrong with him.

  The quiet acceptance.

  “So how are you feeling now?” Dr Asha asks him at the end of it all.

  “I think... overall I’m feeling okay.” he replies. “Yeah.”

  “That’s great.” The doctor hands Seth the prescription, enough for another six months. “Nice to meet you Seth.”

  “You too, Dr Asha.”

  The front door closes shut, locking itself with a click. Seth tosses the paper bag his pills came into the trash as he slips the box into a jacket pocket.

  “Hey.” says a voice. Emma, home and splayed out on the couch, watching some TV show.

  “Hey. What’s this?” Seth points to the screen. He thinks he recognises an actor.

  “I don’t know. Some movie. Whatshisname is in it!”

  “You busy?”

  “Obviously not.” she replies to him. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  He sits down in the chair across from her. Puts his feet up on the table. She doesn’t mind.

  “Pete’s flying out to Iran tomorrow.” Emma tells him.

  “Iran? You worried about him?”

  “No, he should be fine. It’s only for a few days, to cover the Asian Cup qualifier.”

  “Hey, so he finally got his press credentials, huh?”

  “He got them a few months ago.” Emma informs him. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  “I don’t think so.” Seth replies. “So are things still going great? With you and Spider-man?”

  “Yup. Pete and I are doing just fine thank you very much.”

  “Cool.”

  “And we have lots of sex. Lots.” She smirks.

  “I had to ask...” Seth laments, a little put off by it.

  “So how ‘bout you?” Lily asks him. “Things going okay with you?”

  “Yeah, saw the doc this morning. Same old story, picked up my meds today. I’m okay.”

  “Good.” she replies. “That’s good to hear.”

  She smiles.

  Seth gets up from his chair, tickling his sister briefly and making her shriek before he finally leaves her alone with the TV. He places the box of desvenlafaxine pills in the bathroom cabinet. Closes the door. Pouts in the mirror. Goes back to his own room.

  For Seth, life consists of routine. Some days are good, others not so much. Some days he’s content with his place in the world, while other days leave him unfulfilled, useless, even numb. He has his struggles, but so do others. Life just goes on.

  It always does.

  Three

  Although not as glamorous as copywriting for a big ad agency or writing the next Hollywood blockbuster, Seth still found cleaning enjoyable in its own way. It was strangely rewarding, putting everything in its place, making order out of the tiniest chaos. The manual labour of wiping down desks in silence, vacuuming the swaths of carpet, mopping the endless stretches of tiled floor: it was just serene, relaxing even.

  The thunder crack was loud. It drew Seth’s attention to the weather outside the building’s huge glass windows. A massive electrical storm was gathering above the city, with bolts of lightning arcing between the black clouds that hung in the sky like some kind of spider web made out of blinding white strands. It worried Seth a bit, not so much for its fearsome appearance, but for the real possibility that the power might fail and he’d be forced to stumble around in the dark.

  He picked up his mop and bucket and moved on to the next sector. He pushed open the door to the men’s restroom. He frowned.

  Just hold your nose and bear it.

  With the toilet brush Seth scrubbed away at the dry shit stain that somehow still stayed stuck to the walls of the porcelain bowl despite the many, many flushes he tried to wash it away with. It was an all too common occurrence; the guys in the newsroom may act like professionals out there but in here they were fucking disgusting children who’ve forgotten their potty training.

  Still, just bear it.

  With a few more strokes and a final flush, Seth finishes off his great labour. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief he heads towards the door, to grab a few more things from his trolley outside.

  Above him, the lone florescent light flickers.

  Glancing up at it, the thought of a blackout again crosses Seth’s mind. Lowering his gaze, he looks to the full length mirror that runs the width of the restroom and notices that it is absent a reflection. His reflection.

  “What?” Seth whispers as he steps towards the unmirroring mirror. The stalls behind him are visible, but he is not, like he isn’t even there.

  He raises his pink rubber gloved hand, waving it in front of his face. The lights flicker again.

  Seth jumps as his reflected image returns to the mirror. He breathes another sigh of relief only to quickly cut it short as his reflection splits, making a Seth clone. It splits again, making another, then another.

  And yet, on his side he is still alone.

  The light above flickers, quicker, like a strobe light. It glows brighter, growing in intensity, illuminating the whole room in an increasingly blinding white glow. Seth is frightened but cannot move, nor does he dare to move. He is frozen, paralysed as the growing light and the room itself seems to envelope him, as if the entirety of existence and physics and the very nature of the universe itself began to change in front of his eyes...

  He tries to close them, but it is useless. They have become transparent. He is taken into the light, transported into this void. He tries to close his eyes again.

  And suddenly, things go black.

  With a click and a hum the lights come back on. Seth stares at his lone reflection in the mirror, bright pink rubber gloves and all.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9