The Mind is a Razorblade

by Max Booth III

  i reach my hand out and tap the man on the shoulder, but my hand falls through his body like he’s made of light.

  every few seconds there’s a brief change in line. we’re all moving, and no matter how much i try to stay still, i can’t. it’s no use. it’s as if there’s an invisible chain hooked to the back of him and the front of me, and i’m just being dragged along to enjoy the ride.

  i try to open my mouth to speak but my lips are sewn together. thick stitches replace all character in my lower face. i frantically claw at my mouth, prying my jaw apart, and after a while it finally shows a sign of tearing—skin stretching like silly putty.

  breath heavy, i exercise tarnished vocal cords and plead for him to stop.

  “HEY!” i scream, and a wave of sound is clearly visible as it departs my mouth, drifting off into the air and evaporating near the ceiling.

  no one hears me. i might as well not even be here.

  we eventually reach a tall titanium door. beside the door resides a table with a man sitting down behind it, typing away at a computer. jumping up and down like some sort of hyperactive bunny, i am able to see over the last few shoulders. the man at the computer wears a dark blue robe, and the word that comes to mind is ‘indigo’.

  indigo...

  there are only three others in front of me now, and i’m finally able to hear what the man is saying to them.

  ‘you are now brother bloodgood,’ he says. ‘welcome.’

  the first guy steps through the door and it closes before i get a chance to see what’s on the other side.

  the next one in line steps up to the table and the man behind the computer brushes his fingers across the keyboard for a moment. ‘you are now brother slaughterfield. welcome.’

  the next guy in line, the one directly in front of me, steps forward. i join him next to the table.

  i clear my throat and say, ‘’sup.’

  the man at the computer hops on the bandwagon with everyone else and utterly ignores my existence. jerk.

  he instead does his little thing on the computer and says, ‘you are now brother bob. welcome.’

  bob?

  ‘bob?’ the man beside me echoes. ‘are you serious?’

  the man in the indigo colored robe nods and gestures to the door.

  ‘what kind of name is that?’

  he shrugs. ‘it’s a name.’

  ‘a pretty pathetic name is what it is.’

  ‘it’s a fine name. my uncle was named bob. he was a good man.’

  ‘compared to bloodgood and slaughterfield? yeah, it fuckin’ rocks, dude. super tough.’

  ‘oh, come off it,’ the man says. ‘i don’t choose the names, now do i? it’s all the computer’s doing. now move on, will ya?’

  brother bob sighs. ‘can’t i just pick my own?’

  ‘well, all right. what do you have in mind?’

  ‘uh, i dunno.’ brother bob scratches his head. ‘baby puncher? dick steel? uh, shredder? any of those would be great.’

  ‘hmm.’ the man hovers back over his keyboard, typing away. ‘all of those are already taken, sorry.’

  ‘oh, what the fuck?’

  ‘sorry man, what can i say? you should have gotten in line sooner.’

  ‘well, shit.’

  ‘what about chad? that one’s available. it’s pretty hardcore.’

  ‘oh, screw you.’

  brother bob heads through the door. i try to follow, but the chain that’s been connecting us all this time must have snapped. gravity pushes me back into the darkness, and i’m falling, falling, drowning...

  some unknown god flips off the lights and the hallway vanishes. it is here, floating in merciful darkness, that i realize who the man is, the one labeled ‘brother bob’.

  that man is me.

  chapter nine

  I continue freefalling in this universe devoted entirely to darkness when, without warning, I’m back upstairs at The Risqué Cabaret. A second hasn’t even passed since the dreadlocked man spoke my name. I’m still in mid-blink. The fly orbiting around my head hasn’t moved in a century. Then someone hits the PLAY button, and life shoots back into normality.

  The dreadlocked man behind the desk has just finished calling me by my long desired name, and here I am, struggling to keep my balance, wobbling like some baffled fool without a brain.

  The scene back at the hallway—realistically, it had only lasted no more than a split second, just a quick solitary flash of a single image, and then before I could so much as breathe its ink, it was melting into one massive puddle of nonexistence.

  But that’s all over now, and I’m back in the real world.

  Whatever real means.

  “Eh, Bob?” The dreadlocked man waves his hand back and forth, trying to snag my attention. “You all right there, buddy?”

  I clear my throat. “Uh, you’re calling me Bob, right?”

  He nods. “I believe so, yes.”

  I slowly point my finger over at the desk. “And you’re...Lamb, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “Cool.” I tap my fingers along the hems of my trench coat. “I have some questions I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  Lamb raises his brow, as if I’ve no right to even be in the same city as him. And maybe I don’t.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I’ve got some questions for you, too.”

  I hold out my hands, forming a shield. “Before you even ask, these are my funny bunnies, and no, you cannot have them.”

  * * *

  “Judging from the look in your eyes, you ain’t in the mood to play no games,” Lamb says, grinning, “and that’s a damn fine thing, because guess what? I ain’t in no mood to be playing no games, either.”

  I nod.

  The gun in my trench coat sags down, tugging at my shoulders and stretching out the fabric. One minute from now, the gun could be in my hand, and Lamb could have a hole in his skull. Maybe less than that. Or maybe he’ll have the gun and I’ll have the hole. Goddamn this world.

  “Good, I’m glad to see we’re on the same page here,” Lamb says. “Now, the way I see it, we both got ourselves some questions. You’re probably wondering why you woke up at the river—and, well, I’m kind of wondering why you woke up at all. It’s not everyday I look at a ghost, ya know? All right, so here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll play a little game. I’ll ask a question and you answer, then you ask, and I’ll answer. Sound fair?”

  I maintain my silence, fearing a single blink could kill any masculinity I may be radiating at the moment.

  “And the game will stop once we’ve come to a settlement, or the other is dead. Preferably you. Maybe this time you’ll die right.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Lamb waves his finger. “Ah, ah, ah, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

  I look at him, waiting for him to ask me something, but he just sits there exchanging a cold stare. A full minute passes before he says, “Where’s the package, Bob?”

  “What package?”

  Lamb slams his fist against the desk and a cup of writing utensils tips over. “The heart!” he screams. “Where is my heart?”

  The sudden maniacal tone in his voice is so unexpected and unsettling that I realize this is not a man I want to tempt, because he will bite, and he will bite hard.

  But something inside me, some smartass demon locked in a cage deep within my spirit, can’t resist pounding on the bars a little and making a goofy face at this wild animal. “Uh...in your chest?”

  Lamb doesn’t even flinch, but still somehow signals a man hiding in the shadows to leap out of his corner and elbow me in the side of my skull.

  Who the fuck? Some kind of bodyguard? Jesus.

  I manage to stay standing and turn my head, giving the man one of the most evil looks in the history of evil looks.

  “Not cool,” I say, and spit in his direction. My aim isn’t too shabby: the glob of saliva hits him dead in the face. The bodyguard responds with anot
her elbow, this one slamming into my gut and doubling me over. I collapse down on one knee, my hands pounding against the floor. He is one big son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.

  That had also not been cool, but I suppose I can let it slide this time, although a part of me wants to bring out my gun and blast a hole in him, show them all who’s boss. Blow that obnoxious brute’s pretty little face off his big, stupid skull. Then turn around with that magnificent chunk of steel still in my hand, shove the barrel down Lamb’s throat and make him suck on it. And after I’ve found out all I want to know, I’ll squeeze that glorious trigger and sing hallelujah to the Lord.

  Or fuck that. I could just use my weird mind powers and dissemble them all into a hundred different pieces. If only I knew how to actually control it...

  I clear my throat and shake away the evil thoughts, standing back up and ignoring delicious temptation. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Lamb says, disturbingly calm. “You were just a little fuzzy on the rules, ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah.” I scratch the back of my head and wince at the pain my fingers inflict. “That’s right.”

  “And we’re ready to play for real now, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, good.” Lamb rubs his hands together. “Now, Bob, please answer me this: where the fuck is the package? It’s kinda important to me, ya know. Retrieving these particular items just so happens to be the most important aspect of my job. And if I was to lose one of these, uh, shipments...well...needless to say, I am gonna end up hearing it out the ass from my boss, from your boss, and let me tell you something, Bob—I really, really dislike hearing things out of my ass. In fact, I don’t particularly care for anything coming out of my ass except for shit and the occasional goldfish, but that’s my own personal preference and I understand not everybody’s gonna agree with that, and don’t even start preaching your goddamn goldfish rights crap at me, because I’ve already heard it all. The point is, I don’t care. I’ve always done what I liked and I’m gonna continue to for as long as I’m alive. Understand?”

  “Um.”

  “Okay, disregard that last part,” Lamb says. “What I’m trying to say is this, protecting that package is my motherfuckin’ job, right? Well, I really, really like my job. Don’t you think it’d be a real shame if I lost it? This city ain’t exactly excelling in the job market these days, in case you hadn’t noticed. What’s a man to do if he ain’t got no cash flow? He might as well not even live. Just be another one of those pathetic fuckin’ ghouls out there in the pits with their sad little shopping carts. I’d be better off just blowing my own goddamn brains out right here and now, don’t you think?”

  I’d be very glad to oblige you with this, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “And of course, I don’t want to go blowing out my goddamn brains. Just a big ol’ needless mess for Raoul here to clean up, and boy let me tell you, Raoul hates cleaning up blood.”

  “Especially brains,” the man in the shadows adds.

  “Especially goddamn brains.” Lamb slams his palm against the desk, getting more and more worked up. “So, Brother Bob, you gonna tell me where that heart is or am I gonna have to blow my goddamn brains out? Not before, of course, blowing out yours, as well. And don’t tell me you don’t know because I know you know. Hell, I got me eyes all over this city, and these eyes are telling me they saw you enter the place and leave with the package in your possession. During this time, one of my own men was murdered and the building burned to the ground. I gotta assume you are responsible. But I’ll worry about all that crazy shit later, because priorities are priorities. Thus, the question remains: what the fuck did you do with my motherfuckin’ heart?”

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s quit talking. I thought maybe he’d broken and would continue spilling dribble ‘til the end of time. I clear my throat, searching for the right words to say, but every possible answer feels like it’ll end with someone’s goddamn brains blowing out of their skulls. To be fair, I haven’t seen any of these two with an actual gun, but assuming they aren’t packing would be fulfilling a fool’s magnum opus.

  “It was stolen,” I tell him. Lying is not going to get me anywhere. “Stolen by a maniac in his dirty underwear.”

  Lamb stares at me for a moment, at a loss for words, and nods. “I see,” he finally says, clapping his hands together. “Well, that certainly sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case, Bob, but you know what I’m gonna have to do now.

  “Um.”

  “That’s right, Bob.” Lamb stares into my eyes. “I’m gonna have to kill you. Again.”

  “Oh.”

  “Only this time, I’m gonna blow your goddamn brains out. And then I’ll probably blow out my own, too—because, I’m just as screwed as you are right about now. The only difference is, you ain’t gonna get the pleasure of killing yourself a sorry sonofabitch before it’s all set and done with, unlike moi. But, don’t worry now, I’m a pretty fair guy. This is a game, after all, right? And I do believe you deserve a turn.”

  Lamb grins.

  “And make it a good one,” he says, “’cause it’s gonna be the last question you ever ask, assuming you’re allergic to bullets like the rest of the human race. And I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you are, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, it’s not your turn to ask a question.”

  Lamb laughs and holds out his hands. “You got me.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and search for the right fish to pick from my ocean of inquiries. Where to even start? Fuck.

  “Why did you kill me?” I ask him. “Er, try to, at least.”

  My eyes refusing to break Lamb’s gaze lest he notice a change in my own concentration, my hand starts crawling down the side of my trench coat, slipping in the pocket and curling around the gun like a sly snake acquainting itself with a tree branch. On the inside, I manage to slow the speed of my heartbeat, but on the outside, I maintain the frightened little boy look, careful not to let him detect this redeveloped composure.

  After an extensive length of consideration, Lamb finally answers my question. “You really have no idea, huh?”

  I slowly shake my head.

  “Well, Bob, it’s like this.” Lamb leans forward. “You fucked up. And I mean, you really fucked up.”

  “Oh.”

  “You fucked up big time.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah, if only you did see. But you don’t see shit, do you? No, you don’t. You have it all written across your poor pathetic face. Listen, Bob, trust me when I say that you screwed over the wrong people. I don’t even know where to start. You know what we do here, what the main purpose is, yeah?”

  My blank look is all of an answer I need to give him.”

  “Damn, that vac really screwed your shit up.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, it’s not important now.” Lamb waves his hand dismissively. “But what you need to know is this: you work for me—or, at least, you did. Now, I ain’t the boss here in the whole scheme of things. Hell, even Indigo himself don’t call the shots, not when you think about who we really rule under, who it is we obey. Who we worship.”

  “Conundrae.” The words leave my mouth, but the words do not belong to me.

  Lamb grins. “What can you tell me about Conundrae, Brother Bob?”

  This time, I have nothing to say. I shrug. I think about the crazies in the city with their posters and chants praising Conundrae, but what does it all mean? What does any of this mean?

  “Shit, man,” Lamb says, “is there anything you can remember?”

  “Yeah, actually.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I remember waking up, half buried in mud, rain pouring, head pounding and pounding and pounding. I remember a river, and I also remember finding two bodies—one dead, the other nearly dead—keeping me company. I remember all that very clearly, but wha
t I don’t remember is how I got there, or why, or anything fucking else, so if you can please do me a favor and fill me in on this, that’d be pretty cool of you.”

  “Okay, okay, you wanna know why you were there?” Lamb pushes his hands off his desk as he stands up. “You fucked over the wrong people, Bob. A lesson was dealt, punishment was served. It’s a regular routine that we perform at least once or twice a week, yet this time it went wrong. It wasn’t the first time the...operation failed, but it was the first time that someone woke back up afterward. Every other time, when things went sour, the subject never breathed again. They became nothing more than a miserable sack of dead flesh. All life floats away into the sheer nothingness that it is indebted to. Only this time, it didn’t quite happen that way, now did it? And those two dead fools back at the river? Well, I knew one of those sons of bitches, and you just so happen to be wearing his coat. The cop, though? Well, you tell me, Bob. You fucking tell me.”

  It’s surreal, standing here perfectly still while he loses it in front of me, voice rising with each passing syllable. Things are about to change. The conversation is dying. This room is going to be stained red.

  “His name was Oasis,” I say.

  “Oh, is that so?” Lamb smirks. “How’d you know that?”

  “The radio, in his car, it was calling for him. They used his name: Oasis.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, he’s dead. Your boy shot him.” And then I took a turn.

  “Yeah, and he shot my boy, so I guess they’re pretty even, now ain’t they?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So what was he doing there, Bob?”

  “What?”

  “What was that motherfucking pig doing at the river?”

  “I don’t even know what I was doing at the river.”

  “You?” Lamb laughs. “You were supposed to be stayin’ dead, that’s what you were supposed to be doin’.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah, and don’t get me wrong now, Bob—we weren’t trying to kill you. It just happened. Such are the risks when you attempt to reprogram a human being.”