Chapter 2| A Madman's master plan

esus Christ, these people make me want to castrate myself.

It was very still on the beach. I didn't come often. Too many blonde a******s bouncing around barefooted, with their overly sheen golden retrievers as if no other animal had ever been invented for human contact. Actually scratch that, no animal had ever been invented for human contact. I noted this when this one particular a*****e bent down to pick up dog s**t. Turns out the thing hadn't finished. His hand lost to a faecal accident. But that isn't necessarily the reason why I was seriously considering giving myself a home vasectomy with a non-sterilized stiletto switchblade.

Now I know, I said blond but I'm not particularly too picky when it coming to drawing out the shall we say, seedy homunculi, that plague this wretched place we now refer to as, Other Earth. (Not very inventive for 43rd century beings, what can I say there never really was an upward route for humans when we actively stared fighting for regions of land that we never actually owned. But that's an argument for another time). The place was littered with all these insipid brown headed beings that floundered around the beach with their obviously, wild animals. The whole act of coming to the beach these days was the scientific equivalent of foreplay, blatantly unnecessary, but a notable chance for clear idiots to showcase talents that are ultimately useless. In fact fore play is probably a bit of a stretch considering fore play has an active function. Anyway what I was getting at was that the a******s came in all types. It just so happened to be that the bulk of them were blonde.

You know, I really didn't and never planned to bother myself with the goings on of anything outside my observatory. But unfortunately my once self-proclaimed cloak and dagger (that's folk talk for, top secret), my hide out. ( Or as Heindrix likes to call it, lair- which in all honesty is a bit much, considering nothing lair-y ever happens there.) has recently been exposed, not only to the public but an infestation of Inestuadine, nasty little bug things that tear nails right out of their buds -very unpleasant.

Heindrix was the one to physically feel their wrath but it goes without say that the sheer terror of knowing that those things infested themselves into, the place I used to call my home is equally agonizing. For the sake of clarity, let it be known that, Heindrix was my personal full grown genderfluid human pet (I too am human), I wouldn't say slave per-say, though they did spend most of their time in a shopping cart providing me with random factoids of life and arbitrary historical anecdotes. Which come in handy in conversation and actually much of scientific research. I'd much rather refer to them as my employee, if you considered my company, scientific intellect and whatever sources of nourishment I gave them, forms of payment.

Anyway, as for my tarnished home the extermination company they could get rid of the current problem, but it seems these creatures are remarkably regenerative.

So they, like many of the other clusters of people running around calling themselves problem solvers ( political parties, congress campaign management groups, stepford wives and soccer mums alike) they failed as a whole.

And I not to sound too sentimental, ( yes, humans never stopped willing themselves to feel nothing in the future) but I loved that dingy but perfectly structured setting. See, it used to be the basement of a refrigerator dealership, that was going out of business due to the rapid cooling of Other Earth's planet core, which was eventually rebuilt into what used to be The Socratic Observatory, which was eventually abandoned. I mean I was expecting this really. The probability of anyone using an observatory in the 43rd century was comparable to the probability of Bill Cosby turning out to be innocent. A very small amount, is what I'm saying here. The basement was owned by woman named, Michael who ran an illicit contraceptive pill manufacturing ring and after mass sale took her, took her business to one of the bigger buildings in the Bust.

Now I'm sure you're wondering how a perfectly safe and reputable drug could be illicit at all, that's honestly a story for another time. Michael would gladly tell you herself but it seems since the implosion the Bust is slowly dying out so there's rarely enough time to give a personal contemplative life narrative with everyone trying to subsist on illicit establishments and self-inflicted mediocrity. Michael personally showed me the space in case you were curious of how I got my hands on such sensitive information. (I'm also quite the sleuth when it comes to all things Other Earth.) The place was spotless, save for a few random spots of chemical burns, so I guess you couldn't really call it spotless now could you. Heindrix thought the irony of man whose child was murdered living somewhere where they make the thing that impedes children from coming into existence in the first place, was hilarious.

They actually laughed at this and noted it out to Michael, who awkwardly smiled, wanting to make sure that he knew that she understood the irony but feeling equally sympathetic of me. I pinched Heindrix on the neck for this later on. The rest of the basement was just near optimal condition but I was in a rush to flee from the borderline asphyxiation of the crowded Bust and thus I appealed to the nearly perfectly average underground dwelling, that had a small but notable collection of asbestos peeking out from the kitchen roof. I know it sounds like I settled , which I did, but ultimately as any person would do I began to believe my settlement was my own choice and comfort myself by inevitably falling in love with what it. Like when you come up with an initial idea for something and the other ideas just seem like s**t. Or when you're trying to remember something and you know you know it but you can't remember it. (Note from Heindrix: That's actually called tip-of-the-tongue syndrome. And this is not like that at all.)

You can imagine my heart break when I lost that home to a horde of glorified vermin, and had to sequester myself to the dunes of Caesar Beach, with Heindrix sitting in a trolley next to me, watching a******s dawdling along the beach front, inappropriately sucking on their vape pens, and being reduced to subservience by dogs. You'd think the human race would have manifested into some kind of mock-up of the Elon Musk Ubermensch, but instead were still running around half naked in water whining about the s**t aristocratic government and bad cell service online. What an utter clusterfuck.

...

My sleeping pattern has gone to s**t, its actually been s**t for a while now. I don't really know how to fix it but it clearly has made itself a stamp in my midnight tales. I'm sure Heindrix is sufficiently annoyed with the sound of my aggressive typing after I get so furious with a lot of things, most particularly, life. It bothers them that I concern myself with my mortality too much. I mean where are all dying and how can you truly begin to live if you blind yourself from the fact that you are going to die.

That's stupid.

I seem to find myself having a lot of these little epiphanies, I'm very good at that it seems. Having epiphanies. I'm sure, its no great eureka moment, everything that I've thought has been thought before by someone, even myself, I simply may have forgotten, with the way the gist of life, my life is going, I could clearly envision myself falling down a well of long lost neglected memorabilia.

When I awake on this eve I find myself drowning once again in my own failing cesspool of literature but not even Hemingway can soothe me in this down fall.

My down falls make me a weaker and stronger man, I wish I was a woman. There seems to be a great earthling Justice of being a woman, women seem to experience life on an alternate playing field, on an alternate plane, beyond male commoner capacity. Everything they are seems heightened. I can see it, no other nurture like theirs has existed, no other pleasure or pain, or lust or love. Have you ever seen a woman in true pleasure? Naked, bare indulgence, how messily they fall into it, this is still is the most stunning thing I can thank some self-indulgent deity.

The real question is where will me and Hendrix move to next? Where could we find ourselves next. I get excited at this. We rarely shift ourselves from place to place but when we do it befalls us with a great adventure and once again we are peeled of the wilted red, that some say is life. But I have already pledged myself to the lustrous life of a derelict. I have spent many years speared by my own condition of normalness. I hate it. At least if I can wonder on my own landings, I may find myself.

And in the forest I can see the water that I can drink from and lose myself once again. Goddamnit I've kept myself at the hands of human tyranny for too long, I get excited at the idea of having to finally think for myself. Heindrix thinks I'm a madman, I'm glad they think so. I know they also take a fine pleasantry in watching me lose my senses for a while, but I also know they secretly hope I will follow through on all these great ideas.

They remain silent though, whenever I ask them the next day ( I almost always blackout after reckless thinking) they claim never to remember the tales of the previous night.

Liar.

I think it scares them that I am so willing to lose myself to my own hand, mainly because my own hand could tear away at a million masks of the creatures that are inside of us. (Or because I'd stab them in the knee, like I did that one time, which they still don't believe was an accident) I know it scares them most because I am not afraid. And fear is the one thing that rouse a madman.

I might kill myself, so I've decided. The details of this act have yet to come to me, but I don't think it matters much

Author's Note

Not too certain about this one. Any brutal criticism is welcome