Transmissions

by Dominic Lyne

of decaying buildings, all facsimiles of each other, all filled with life and reasons for living. They call it an estate, I call it hell. Such variations of life. Those working their hardest in attempts to leave for better pastures; those who have accepted their lots and aim for a safe and comfortable existence; those who do nothing but suck the system dry, benefit after benefit, being paid by others just to live. From the latter breeds the packs. The human wolves. The leeches expecting everything for free no matter how they get it. Damaged people damaging people. Life on planet scum.

  Ever feel trapped? I’m sure a fair few people feel that here. So much for people being able to live their lives without fear. Survival of the fittest where the carnal natures have a stronghold.

  Let me take you on a trip through this place. Through the early morning light and chill winter’s air. Anywhere else that could be a romantic image, here it is little more than atmosphere to discomfort, fear. How can people live in fear? We just do, it gives us a bit of meaning to our existence. In the light of dawn things are momentarily hidden, scum hidden in darkness. Blackness hides a lots of truths.

  Imagine the scene from the comfort of your homes and quiet neighbourhoods, and pray you’ll never need to set your feet upon this ruined earth. The ground soiled with its sordid decorations of needles and condoms, both used and discarded, a carpet of unknown diseases. The alleyways and walkways littered with possessions deemed unimportant by those who stole them, symbols of human existence thrown away in the selfish quest for greed. Much easier to steal than work for yourself. Trees of concrete and bushes of burnt-out cars.

  I’m taking my time as I walk through this maze of wasted space. Remember that old psalm? The valley of death one? Psalm 23 I think it is. Well it doesn’t apply to this valley of potential death, this hell isn’t governed over by some divine protection. Everyone for themselves, keep your eyes to the ground and avoid them any direct contact with someone else’s. What a shit hole. Scared to fucking even walk home. To think we all pay to live here. Yes, mankind really is that backwards. I’d rather live in some pissy war zone than here, at least that way I wouldn’t be governed over by that bullshit of equal rights. Here those mean nothing.

  A car speeds past. It’s too clean, too new, obviously stolen. It’ll be a smashed up, burnt out husk by the end of the day. Some people have no respect. Stupid brains with stupid logic. Can’t be bothered getting a job to buy things so I’ll just rob off those who do. Selfish Robin Hood theory, rob from the rich to feed oneself. They don’t even need to be rich. They might rob something from someone but it’ll never fill the gap they crave to be filled. Those bastards have no soul, none at all. No conscience, no morals, no remorse. As uncivilised as an un-evolved hyena. Scavengers.

  Okay, so maybe you think I’m being harsh again. Well think what you want, I don’t care, I’m just being honest, as honest as I see it. I won’t pander to this notion that it’s the environment that breeds these lost souls. That’s just giving them an excuse. They have as much a chance as everyone else born into this world, they just choose not to use it. They choose, no one or nothing else. They choose their paths and cannot be excused of that choice.

  The noise of the car fades into the distance. I’m bored of this level, this valley of hell. The icy winter sun shines down, the windows glistening like shards of ice clinging onto dirty rock faces. I walk on, across a bridge over the railway tracks. The police have stopped someone, he’s being searched exactly as I pass. Cash, phones, cards. Looks like they’ve been busy. You can’t help but feel smug at their capture, maybe there is some justice in this hell hole.

  I know where I’m going and I’m going there in silence. Leave me to my thoughts.

  Welcome back. We’re high up now. The highest point I can get to. From here I can see everything, the estate stretching out until it meets the ‘civilised’ world. A little existence locked away. Hell on Earth. People move across the streets and walkways like ants in their nests, followed by their own deaths, their shadows. That’s what I’ve been building up to, setting the scene. All I can see when I look down at those people are the shadows. The darkness is coming and they don’t even know. It’s there on the street corners, in the alleyways, doorways. Everywhere. Tall black figures stranding in silence, following people around, gliding down the streets like the Gestapo of depression. Their tendrils of darkness rising like smoke around them. This is depression, this is fear all given form, invisible to the eye but certainly felt within. Lost souls, broken souls all huddled together as their own personal deaths surround them all.

  Some girl fell out of her window; no one even knew she existed. They say the parents witnessed it, they said she had a smile on her face. What a way for your secret to be revealed.

  I feel sick, scared. God knows why I can see all this, maybe it’s my reason to get out of here. The final push. To see manifested upon this earth the demons of others, the other soul born at our birth but ignored. We are all followed by our own personal deaths, some call it their guardian angel, spirit guide. I call it mortality. They get stronger as we get weaker, spilling their decay into our souls constantly, cradling us in their poisonous smoke tendrils. It’s only natural some are scared of the dark, it surrounds us every day. Close enough to touch, to feel.

  Mind back to the scene. The shadows in the corners. A man pauses in a stairwell to light his cigarette, totally oblivious to the tall figure behind him. Featureless, gaunt, empty. In a way the very essence of the man’s soul. He looks broken, worn down, tired. God only knows how I look like to others.

  So, one final look around at my world, my hell, my prison and my hatred. From here it looks as it is in reality, insignificant and decaying. No purpose in the great scheme of things. The epitome of human life, what man has become. Greedy, lazy, lost. Take away our deadlines and what have we got? Things need to change, they have to or we’ll destroy ourselves, maybe that’s for the best but maybe there’s a chance we could change. Find our direction again. Live in harmony with the world that created us instead of trying to either control or destroy it. Maybe we’re beyond all hope. Change is coming, I can sense it. The darkness is pushing in around us. Crushing. Preparing.

  I could wait for the change, I know it’ll happen in my lifetime, but I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited all my life and this is me making the biggest choice. Sticking my finger up at my demon shadow. In truth I’d rather be reborn in the new age than have a past rooted in the old.

  One step and I’ll fall. One step that’s all. One step and I’ll be free, feel the rush of air around me before welcoming in the darkness. One step to salvation. One small step for my soul, one giant fall for my body. I guess I shouldn’t joke at a moment like this, maybe it’s good to have a final smile.

  This is how I go. One step.

  Gabriel:

  A Forgettable Exit

  If I could take one pill to forget it all, would I take it? That’s the first question Gabriel has with himself when his eyes hit his reflection in the mirror. What must it be like to be able to just forget everything? His eyes study his naked form, still wet from the shower. His lips screw into a scowl. You ain’t anything special.

  He focuses his eyes elsewhere as he finishes brushing his teeth before drying off the remains of his shower with a damp towel. One more look in the mirror as he leaves the room, one more shudder. One deep sigh.

  The bedroom still smells of sleep, the bed unmade, clothes piled in a dirty discarded heap in one corner by the wardrobe. He bypasses everything as he walks to the window and looks out. London 2102, the great metropolis at the heart of a democratic dictatorship. The great British Republic. He can’t help but snort a laugh. The piss-hole of the world.

  Through the window of his flat the brick and mortar buildings stare back at him in their haphazard rows, their crooked rooftops and dirty windows. Such sorry sights they’d seen in their existence. T
his is the future no one wanted to predict in those books of old. There are no flying cars, no buildings of glass and plastic, no robots, no freedom from crime and disease. Under a skyline of cameras a city turns stagnant, surveyed but never corrected; corrupted by no freedoms. Lost and abandoned dreams discarded in blackened piles of stinking waste in the corners of streets and the bowels of darkened alleyways. No wonder everyone is trying to find ways to escape, to forget.

  He’d read in the newspaper yesterday about the new drugs crawling their ways through the streets. The most popular being 4G£Tz, a pill that will make you forget whatever you want to. In a world without hope, only a smile will get you through. He’s taken enough chemicals in his life but could he ever be tempted to try this one? He rubs his eyes. How did mankind ever end up so lost and directionless that happiness can only be found in lies and chemicals?

  He rests his head against the glass, feeling its kiss against him. Casting his eyes around he lets them focus on the scene outside. Walking up the steps to the opposite flat is that girl Rose, he only knows her in passing. She’s no doubt off to see that friend of hers. The quiet one. You could easily