Taobrick Home

Her perceptive consciousness returned to reality after what may have been hours spent alone in the drifting waters of her mind. Her senses rose into a heightened state of awareness, hearing with absolute clarity the sound of the purring engine, smelling the brand new leather interior, with the accompaniment of the rushing arrival of pain from her jaw and bitterly dry mouth. The sun was rising up and she was coming down, aware that she must return to the security of her bed to try to shed the feelings of apathy and isolation with sleep, or even with the gentle caress of some further chemical romance.

She began to realise that her surroundings were recognisable. The car was parked in front of a long, overridden driveway such that the house was not visible from the entrance. Looking around the road she realised that she had driven to her childhood residence, a few hours travel from where she had begun the evening. She rushed to get out and check the outside of the car for any marks, in case she had crashed during the forgotten transit to the unexpected destination. Looking at the enormity of her brand new vehicle, she felt a rush of pleasure due to its perfect state and also her contentment with the purchase. She had worked hard to raise the funds for it, and she felt its attainment was well deserved. She laughed at the amazing fortune that had occurred over such a long drive, in a state of mind not fit for any conscious activity.

Her mind tried to retrace to her last memory, managing to produce a series of images that finished with the body of the man she had been with after leaving the club. Further pleasure came to her own body when she remembered him. She knew he had been exceptionally handsome and charming, even though she could not fully recall whether his hair was dark blonde or brown. She once again laughed, but at the freedom she felt in sexual liberation, the idea of which had been formed over the quarter century she had existed for. Her mind began to chaotically churn through the short term partners that had led her to feel empowered from sex, but this ceased immediately when her eyes fixed down the long, dark driveway. Without mentally cooperating, her legs began to lead her towards the house she had been raised in.

The house had seen better days, she knew that for certain. The brickwork had faded considerably and it appeared to have been completely abandoned, ivy consuming the walls and halfway up the tiles, with a few of the windows boarded up with plywood. However, she imagined that it was still occupied, as the garden was full of a variety of newly spouted fruit and vegetables, most of which she could not identify. Her stomach dropped at the sight of the front door. It was open ajar, beckoning her inwards, like her childhood was reaching out for her to explore, to rethink the years of social shaping to which she had carved away at herself to form identity. Like her body was aware of her intentions, it led her through the house, slowly, cautiously, in the dim light that peaked through the spaces in the boarded windows. For every angle that her eyes viewed each room with, an extortionate number of memories flooded her head, overwhelming her with a range of emotions. There were a few items left in the kitchen, including a pot, a plate, a large knife and a wooden stirring spoon, but otherwise the house was void of life. Her independently moving body resulted in her standing feet together, arms pinned to her sides, well postured shoulders and head, with her face in front of the room she once occupied, the only door to have been left shut.

The sweat that had accumulated in her palms met the cold bronze door handle. Once her eyes had adjusted she became aware that the room was entirely empty with the exception of a pile of sheets in the corner. Her mind was absorbed within the four walls, roaming without care for space and time, the past, present and future merged into a dream-like state of existentialism. She was still fully aware of the physical ties of her body and the space she occupied in that moment, and of the flurry of memories, both good and bad, that seemed to coexist within her sense of reality. Her ears pricked up when she heard the scuttering of some organism around her feet, and was terrified upon witnessing a large spider find its way onto the front of her right shoe. She jumped, flicking the spider from her foot and letting out a muffled shout. She then let out an uncontrollable scream when her eyes gauged the sheets in the corner rising up like plumes of smoke. From within the filthy rags emerged the face of an old man, his face appearing angered and bitter at the sight of the girl. Their eyes met with a prolonged silence, during which they both awaited some kind of dignified response from the other.

‘What do you want? Usually you people just take food from the garden, there’s nothing left in my house for you!’ He raised his voice to emphasize that it was his house, an assertion he made from the judgments in her eyes, which she confirmed: ‘I am no thief, and I don’t believe that this is your house, sir.’ ‘It absolutely is my house! You bloody people with your expensive clothes, make-up and pristine hair always assume I’m squatting here, no you can’t ever comprehend it!’ He said with a tone of patronization that she picked up on instantly. ‘Well, young lady, I am not. I bought this house outright decades ago for the community, for the masses, for the people’s revolt, and yet I was met with contempt and ostracized from the world, and again they ask why the chains are still round their ankles?’

She could tell in his words the influence of isolation in incubating bitterness, she knew already that he had spent many a day lying under those sheets retracing his steps back in the past, recalling and trying to replace the conversations and occurrences that had led to his retreat and confinement. ‘I used to live here, about fifteen years ago now.’ He sat upright, looked at her, then proceeded to stand up as a child would, first on all fours, then with the balance of his arms pressed on the floor he raised his knees with the sounds of crunching bone, until his wincing face was above his body, and he let out a relieving sigh from the exertion. The pains in his expression faded into an uneasy smile, ‘I remember you from the brief moment that our paths crossed.’ His look made her uncomfortable, and she wondered whether he was acting like a man in solitude or a man with intentions. ‘Your mother was but a sheep, obsessed with dreams of progressing further towards the equilibrium of social-normality, fixated with her finances and caring for nothing else.’

She paused for a moment, forcing him to dwell on his comment. ‘A mother must ensure financial security for her children, and I don’t understand why anyone would take flight and face the brutality of the winds in directions away from their flock. My mother is now very successful because of her attitudes. You could learn a thing or two if you learnt to understand the times to be herded and the times to be the wolf.’ He snapped in response ‘the herd is inevitably led to the slaughter, and please let me know what defines success: money? Are you going to tell me that because you and your siblings are living in wealth that your mother is immediately classified as successful?’ She had been completely stunned by the old man’s words, and it made her feel insignificant and judged, and leading with tones of anger she responded ‘She raised us on her own, and success is at the very least having a bed to sleep in at night, the floor is no place for old men.’

‘Success can only be measured by the lives you have touched, by the wealth of happiness and opportunities that you provide to others, not through finance. That’s what nobody understands anymore, that the working class will remain in the pubs, casinos and brothels because society has removed their opportunities from them, while the rich will remain in their ivory towers, because the ugly truth is that capitalism thrives on exploitation of the masses.’ She listened to him, but felt like she couldn’t really comprehend his words, ‘the world is evolving, becoming more intelligent, the poor in this country no longer starve at night, the differences between us and them are increasingly smaller. Society is moving towards an equilibrium of equality with every second.’

He proceeded her with a quote from Gandhi ‘We need to be the change we wish to see in the world.’ Took a deep breath and continued, ‘There is no equilibrium, we must drive the change. Instead of posting a letter, you would rather I throw it to the wind, and expect it to arrive at its destination?’ ‘But you don’t know the destination’ she replied. ‘In fact, I do, and you would too if you opened up your mind. I have spent years dwelling on this, and I know what is right for the world, if only it would accept me!’ His arrogance made her laugh. She had felt pity for him upon first laying eyes on his sorrowful face, but she now saw his superiority complex, his desperation to assert power through his politics, and she could see that his good intentions rose from a place of deflated ego, of low self-esteem. Her laugh came as a shock to him ‘don’t mock me you stupid girl, what would you know about the mechanics of the world?’ His face once again distorted to a look of pain and disgust ‘You’ll make nothing but a trophy on the arm of another brainless fool.’

She felt more relaxed now, and knew that she was now leading the conversation. ‘Maybe, but more importantly: where is all your furniture? Why do you sleep on the floor? Did you give away your possessions to a community that gave nothing back, to a society that left you with nothing but your idealist politics and bitterness?’ She looked into his eyes, and searched deep within them, and in his hesitation he confirmed her assumptions. ‘Old man you know nothing of the people in the world, and it has left you in your solitude. Why do you shiver at night on the hard floor for these socialist attitudes? What point are you making, or to what God are you calling out to?’

‘God has no place here. It is the same ignorance that causes religion as that which causes malicious human intent. The furniture? Well why should I listen to their plea for me to buy, to consume and be consumed by items which always lead to dissatisfaction, and arise from the childhoods of the poor that manufacture it all? Socialism is the only logical truth, but is never forged with the loving intention that it was conceived with. Your world of dog-eat-dog is primitive, and arises from the individualistic, irrational mindset that is unaware of any selfless intention, and it thrives on exploiting the oppressed and ravaging the earth and its fragile beauty. Everybody in this world lacks true intelligence: idiots that believe in God are no different from those that do not question their very existence. There are followers of Christ who will avoid eye contact with those that sleep on the streets, and there are atheists who expect their lives to be worth more than just a name in a family tree. Nobody thinks anymore because there are machines that think for us. Nobody thinks anymore because their minds are just a storm of distraction, with constant entertainment in the palm of their hands. Yet despite the logic of the computer era, nobody thinks logically, like a man of God their decisions are never based on rational foundations.’

Her knowledge of socialism was almost non-existent, and she knew that quoting from the passing comments of friends or snippets of socialist discussions she had read would be unwise to use when arguing about politics with the old man. “You think that faith is an opinion that is based on irrational foundations?” She paused for a moment, but before he could interject she asked “Do you have any children old man?” Her lips curled up at the edges, forming a wry smile that she had developed in order to make many men before him powerless, which induced an angered response from the wrinkled lips of his reddening face. He knew she was playing with him, but his passion against conception prevented him from being strategic with his response, which he aggressively stated:

“Of course not, why add more parasites to an already infested world, like topping up…” She interrupted: “Then you can never love anyone.” His face was instantly distorted with surprise. “If you do not wish to procreate then the only founding reason to be with someone is based on an irrational basis. To love someone is to assume that there is something special in that person to match you as an individual, and vice-versa. Out of the billions of humans that exist it is an act of faith to assume that the person you settle for is perfectly matched with you. Therefore you could never love one person or you would be performing an act of faith.” The old man snapped back at the girl “Of course I don’t believe in love and it’s obvious falsity, do you see any partners here?”

He knew he was being deceitful at the expense of winning the argument, yet his guilt quickly manifested into further anger. He had loved someone once, but they had left him. He had awoken on the most beautiful summer’s day, rising to the chirping of the forest birds and the green tinted sunlight that reached out to him through the gardens magnificent leaves. Walking down the stairs he found the destructively simple note that was left for him on the table, reading only,

“I’m seeing another man. I hope you clear your head, farewell.”

His recollection was blurry, but he had felt slightly relieved for the first few days, a period where his mind did not wander, but was constantly living in the present, without even a single thought except that of his heightened senses, like an ecstasy of overwhelming colours, smells, textures and tastes, all without labels or judgments. There was no good or bad: everything was uniquely interesting. Even the blandest of foods had produced new flavours, and new colours appeared within his awareness. This feeling had eventually passed like the birds in winter, and he was left alone in his thoughts, uncertain of the causes for her retreat from his love. He clawed out for self-esteem, reassuring himself that he was the perfect ‘catch’ for a partner: caring, intelligent, and even despite his age he was still rather handsome. His head called out the familiar quote he was proud to have coined himself: ‘the largest fish in the lake are always the oldest, the wisest and the most magnificent.’

His thought process was cut when he heard the door close. The young girl had left him. Walking over to the window he began to feel his mind slipping away, like his consciousness was reducing down to a fraction of the space inside his head, feeling that his eyes were like windows of their own, leading to a world that was too distant to be able to decipher or even perceive. Gazing out onto a horizon that seemed to be drawing closer, all that appeared to be visible were the black clouds that were moving over the region. He crawled to his sleeping space and pulled the dirty old sheets over his eyes. However, the image of the lingering clouds seemed to perpetuate in his mind. As if his eyes were open, he could see the hands descend from the blackness to encompass him. Panicking, he managed to grasp enough energy to return his head from the confining sheets and gasp for air, only to witness the silent nothingness that existed beyond the distorted image of the glass. He recognised that the weather had settled for the unforeseeable future.

His thoughts had rendered him completely silent for a few minutes, and she had felt that it was an appropriate time to leave, as her mind felt impatient and bored of his rather slow and dreary conversation. She had left the house feeling overwhelmed with pride. Being articulate was one of her many talents, and she had won many conversations before, topics of which she had little knowledge of the subject matter. She knew she had completely stunned her aggressor, and experienced a great deal of pleasure at his defeat: knowing that she had left him weak and fragile after his explosion of what she saw as egotism and self-righteousness. On the drive home she thought about their discussion, and wondered which country the animal had died in so that she could have a leather interior to her car, or how many beggars she would usually ignore every day on her commute to work. Other people had never been a consideration to her, and she believed that everyone could make something from their life no matter how poor or ill-educated. Her mind began to question her own successes, and each one suddenly appeared to contain a succession of opportunities that had been provided to her, not entirely as an accomplishment that she had established in her own right. She could suddenly visualise the large group of people that had contributed to her position in society, and accepted the importance of the financial aid her mother had endorsed her with.

Her mind was like a knife, cutting down and tearing apart everything she felt was permanent to her existence, and after a few hours’ drive she could no longer bear her own company. As if her identity was a fortress built on sand, slowly crumbling before her, she felt true misery. She had spent her life trying to forge meaning from achievements, from fitting in with the crowd and from material possessions. It all seemed to amount to nothing in that moment, and with that feeling she immediately felt like an outcast from society: alone and redundant. Although she was not far from the unwavering warm embrace of her home, she had to pull over. She had been crying so much that she felt disorientated, and every road she turned onto seemed to stretch out infinitely far. Walking round to her boot she started sifting through the pile of clothes she had meant to donate to a charity store, where at the bottom of the pile was a small tin that she had stashed an assortment of leftover drugs in. However, she stopped at that moment to look at what lay before her. The bag contained thick sheets that had been gathering dust under her bed, as well as some old clothes that included t-shirts from fitness events she had competed in and items left over from previous partners. It was the first time in hours that her mind had been calm, and with a sudden rush of tranquility she returned to the wheel and headed back to the old man.

With the time he spent in the home, his isolation brought out the apparent flaws in her argument. He felt that it was possible for him to love someone, but that the love must derive from a compromise of qualities in the partner, like a subconscious tick-list of mandatory traits that a partner must have in order to form a relationship, and a long set of optional characteristics of which the more ticks off the list implied the less compromise required, such that in order to love it was merely the act of forgiving the partner for the qualities that they lacked. Knowing the nihilistic road this path carried him down, he felt reassurance in the vast emptiness of the void he stared into. It allowed him to feel closer to the universe and not just the humans that existed within it. He kept repeating this logic, but he knew that her ideas had value. He remembered the certainty of his previous love: despite the inescapable doubts that were sometimes present, he would still feel inextricably linked to the body, the structure of mere atoms that lay beside him at night. Yes, their words would cut the deepest, the rejections of his advances would lead to overwhelming feelings of worthlessness, and the outside world beckoned him to further explore, but he always felt that love was something too simple, too fundamental to human existence to be explained. Love was just too irrational, and he knew that he had been touched by it. He began marching around the house, clenching his jaw and shouting obscenities. The words ‘logic shall prevail’ looped inside his head, until he heard the door open once again. He was stood in the kitchen at the time, and momentarily wondered how long he had forgotten the world for. After he called out, she appeared. Lowering the bag on the floor she looked into his eyes and said:

‘Old man your mind has made you age terribly. If you can recognise that stress and misery are but a turning of the tides, only then can you find true meaning.’ Her eyes moved from his to the floor to watch a spider slowly creeping towards her. ‘You must leave this place and find work to fill your mind, your isolation is an infinite source of pain. You must learn to distract it, entertain it, leave your bitterness with your idealistic nonsense and learn to take what the world presents to you in the form of opportunity. I understand that it all seems rather pointless, but there is an incredible universe out there, and if you wish to do good for the world it should be one person at a time, not trying to force the unbearable thought of change onto an unresponsive community. You should learn to love and not hate. We are all easily blinded by illusions of grandeur but it is with emotional intelligence that we can improve the world, even if the decision does not appear to be the logical one to make.’ She felt empowered once again, and her heart was racing with the promise of a new life. Both of them watched as she confidently raised her foot and stamped down on the spider, executing the organism despite usually being too petrified to move in its presence. No sooner had she done it that he roared with anger, picked up the knife from the side, and thrusted it into her chest. The girl died soon after, and no words were spoken throughout the duration of her death.

He returned to his silence and buried her a few days later underneath a large cabbage patch in the garden, which proceeded to have a magnificent yield for years afterwards. He parked the car under a tree in the unexplored corner of the garden, which became engulfed by the surrounding plant life, and remained unnoticed by the world. He carried on his existence seemingly unphased by the occurrence, and nobody found her body. Truth be told, nobody really missed her. The upset and heartbreak that was caused by her disappearance lead only to her friends and families definite realisation that everything in life is temporary, and their misery arose only from the apparent meaninglessness of their own presence, and did not truly originate from a place of love nor of compassion for the young girl.