Delirium's Muse by Michaël Wertenberg

Author:Michaël Wertenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Wild Press
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

I TOUCHED A DEMON ON THE CHEEK

2 November 2018

My hands have a mind of their own.

I knew I shouldn’t smoke—well, my mind knew I shouldn’t smoke, and it knew I didn’t even want to.

My hands, however, reached for the rolling papers.

I yelled at them to stop. Do you think they listened?

They lined a leaf of paper with tobacco, and they packed. They sprinkled in some PCP, cocaine, and hash. They rolled and they sealed, ignoring my repeated instructions to the contrary.

‘I swear, you light that thing up and I’ll make you pay!’

Do you think they worried?

They didn’t so much as hesitate. They grabbed the lighter, sparked a flame, and burned off the wick of the joint.

I turned my head, but my hands are fast. They rammed that thing in my mouth, and lest I suffocate, I was forced to take a drag. Before I had even blown out the offensive smoke, my hands were already shoving that thing in my mouth again. Oh, how I did suffer!

I waited for my hands to set the joint on the ashtray, then I instructed my arms to drop to my sides. I stood from the sofa and ran to the wall, turning at the last second so that my right hand would smack against it. Unfortunately, my shoulder took the brunt of the contact. My shoulder! What had my shoulder ever done to me?

If my hands had mouths, surely they would have laughed.

‘This is not funny, and it’s not over! Far from it.’

My obedient legs carried me toward the bathroom and stopped just shy of the doorway. I leaned against the wall such that my arm dangled at my side, my hand—my insubordinate hand—flush against the door jamb. ‘I tried the easy way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

My foot (oh, how I love my feet) kicked the door, slamming it shut on my right hand.

I screamed a scream of pain but also a scream of dominance. I would make my hands see. I would make my hands obey.

With my foot holding the door closed, I leaned back, crushing the hand further into subordination. ‘And I’ll do the same to you, left hand!’

My eyes shed tears—surely tears of joy at the victory of my rational mind over the irrational one of my hands.

My left hand was spared the same fate, for the time being, but I did smack it against the wall in case it thought my warning a bluff.

I returned to the living room and took a seat on the sofa. On the coffee table before me sat the half-smoked joint balancing on the side of the ashtray. I was surprised to see that the joint was still burning. Surely it couldn’t still be, yet there it was.

I had to lean in to get a better look, as often the mind will play tricks. A thin stream of smoke rose to touch my nostrils. The nose doesn’t always know and is often in collusion with my lying eyes, so I leaned in even more.

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