No One Else Is Living This Way

Ghostly music swirled in Commander Bright’s brain, though the instrument of choice was whirring noises from his waking dizziness. He would have checked for a massive lump on his head if not for his hands being restrained behind his back. Any oxygen he managed to muster up came through his snotty nose as his mouth was obstructed. He wanted to wiggle around to break free from his new bondage, but the duct tape was too powerful, squeezing him down like a Gundam’s hand.

Bright’s darkened vision let just a little bit of light in at a time and eventually his salty eyes gave him the blurry, distorted shape of someone he used to know. Long gone was the innocent young man that he tried to push into becoming a true soldier. In his place was wide-eyed psychosis, a teenaged boy wearing not his uniform, but a wife-beater tank top, dirty brown pants, and a glazed over expression. Amuro Ray had gone off the deep end, but Bright had already known that the minute he could no longer move his body or express anger through his words.

Amuro’s superior wiggled around in his chair some more, but to no avail.  He was too weak from the dizziness and lack of oxygen. But he couldn’t find it within himself to accept defeat so easily. There had to be a method to Amuro’s madness. Something had to make him tick aside from the constant battle fatigue when he took his Gundam into any given war zone. Bright’s exhausted mind wouldn’t allow him to search so easily for answers.

“Guess what?” Amuro leaned his face closer to Bright’s. “I forgot to make my bed today.” The young man chuckled through his nose, a privilege not afforded to the bound and gagged Bright for fear of passing into darkness yet again. The joke wasn’t even that funny to begin with. Amuro wasn’t done there. 

“But of course…that’s hardly my only infraction.” He produced a file folder and thumbed through the pages like he was shuffling cards. “That’s a lot of pages for just one person. It’s almost like…you’re obsessed with me or something. I’m sure you have a lot to say about me.”

He pulled one of the pages out. “Amuro Ray. Sixteen years old. Gundam pilot. Received several infractions for behavioral issues, which include, but are not limited to insubordination, questioning authority (which is the same as insubordination, I don’t know why you’d put those two together), hijacking military property, desertion, aggravated assault, and aggravated mayhem. Has several psychological issues such as high-functioning autism, depression, post-traumatic stress…

“Do you really want me to keep reading this? We’d be here for hours if we went over everything. Wait a minute…” He looked around in mock disbelief. “There’s no file cabinet. How am I supposed to file this page with no cabinet? I’m sure it has to go somewhere.” He stared menacingly at Bright’s left thigh, causing his bound and gagged victim’s heart to thump loudly like a useless beacon to nobody coming to rescue him.

Amuro produced a staple gun from his back pocket and stapled the lone sheet of paper to Bright’s thigh. The Commander screamed so powerfully through his gag that his throat began to take more damage than his wound. His eyes watered and burned down his cheeks. 

“What? You don’t think that’s a good place for it?” More gagged screaming from Bright. “I agree. Let’s put it somewhere else.” Amuro ripped out the staple and this time the gagged screaming nearly caused Bright’s head to split open. The Commander cared little about the oxygen leaving his body in a gust of tears and snot. Amuro didn’t care either as he continued to taunt his former superior.

“Well, look at this! You got blood all over the page. How is anybody supposed to read about my horrible deeds when there’s blood everywhere? How is anybody supposed to judge me if they can’t see what’s there? This page needs to drip-dry. And I have just the place to hang it.” He stapled the non-bloody side of the page to Bright’s crotch and this time the screaming was high-pitched, like a female dragon wanting desperately to unleash her fireball. Speaking of fiery balls, Bright’s genitals bled more profusely than his thigh.

Amuro continued to taunt him. “Nah, that’s not going to dry it off. Let’s hang it somewhere else.” He ripped out the staple and Bright’s voice nearly blew like a bomb as he shrieked in pain. Seconds of torture turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days, weeks, months, and years. In reality, it had only been a few seconds of agony, but it might as well have been eternal damnation.

The teasing wasn’t over, as Amuro pulled a bottle of liquor from the shadows of whatever room they were in. “Am I even old enough to drink this?” He popped off the top and did it anyway, teenaged years be damned. His innocence was gone long before he took his first sip. He held it out to the still screaming Bright. “Want some?” Amuro proceeded to splash the alcohol on Bright’s groin and leg wounds. The stinging pain was like a thousand scorpions digging into his body with their claymore tails. The bacteria was dead and Bright wished he was.

Amuro splashed the alcohol in Bright’s face, which would have spelt the end for his oxygen supply if the tape gag didn’t get saggy and fall off. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Bright screamed. The growls of agony were replaced by raspy, rapid-fire breathing. The blood in his gums pooled up and gave him a nice taste of nickels and dimes.

“I’m sorry, what was that? You want me stop? You had enough?” Amuro slapped Bright and reddened his already strawberry cheeks. “Come on, Bright!” Amuro slapped him again and again. “You can’t grow up unless you get slapped! If you’re depressed, snap out of it! Isn’t that what you said to me?” Amuro suddenly calmed down, but not in a charitable way. “My own father wouldn’t even hit me.”

Bright shot a snot rocket on the floor and breathed heavily as he spoke. “You can slap me and staple me all you want, but your head voices aren’t going away!” Amuro grew sullen in his once arrogant facial expression. “You think you’re the only one who has war flashbacks?! You think the rest of us aren’t hurting just as much as you are?! This is war, Amuro! Everybody’s feeling it! You’re the only one who’d even think about torturing me over this! You’re the only one with the staple gun right now! No one else is living this way…”

Amuro backed up, stunned in silence.

Bright spit a wad of blood on the floor. “See? You’re backing up because you know it’s true! Torturing me isn’t a substitute for therapy! Never has been, never will be! You can kill me for all I care, but no matter where you go, you take the pain with you!” Bright smiled through red and pink teeth. “You know what the best part about all of this is? Your trauma will only get worse once you go to prison. All that time alone in your prison cell with nothing but your thoughts. Your loud…destructive…violent thoughts…They’re all yours. They’ll only get louder. And louder.”

Amuro clutched his brown head of hair and doubled over in pain. “Stop it! Just shut your mouth! I’ll staple your lips shut if I have to!”

“What kind of nightmares do you have, anyways? Bombs going off? Getting shot at with lasers? Nearly dying every single time you’re out on the battlefield? Oh, I bet you hate those explosions, Amuro. I bet you absolutely HATE combat!” Bright started making bomb noises with whatever was left of his throat and mouth.

“I said stop! No more! SHUT UP!” Amuro broke the liquor bottle against the wall, fashioning it into a knife. He slowly crept towards his hostage with wildness in his eyes and spittle foaming on his lips. “You were the one who made me this way! You wanted me to be a soldier! You wouldn’t let me rest when I needed to! You’re the one who fucked with my mind!”

“Yeah…I am…And you know what? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Except this time, when I slap the hell out of you…I’m going for a knockout!”

“STOP IT! SHUT UP!”

“Or what?! What are you going to do, Amuro?! You’re going to keep wrestling with your mind until it gives you want you want?! Good luck with that! Face it, Amuro…you can kill me…you can kill my whole crew if you want to…but your mind…will always be a shitty place to be!”

Amuro couldn’t deny his head voices any longer. He turned the broken bottle on himself and sliced his own throat open. Bright’s voice may have been raw from death growling into a tape gag, but at least he couldn’t compare his throat pain to Amuro’s. The once brilliant Gundam pilot now laid on the ground in a pool of his own biological sludge, finally free from the prison of his own mind.

Bright’s breathing slowed down and his neck stopped radiating with pain like a nuclear rod. Every breath he took was one of relief. The pain in his crotch and thigh was completely forgotten about during his moments of bravery, but not when he tried to undo his tape. Squirming went from being a mere chore to a marathon in hell as pain shot throughout his entire body. But free himself from the tape he did. And then he collapsed on the floor with nothing to entertain his senses but the boots of his rescuers, who almost came too late.

He lost track of how much time had passed since he’d been asleep in the hospital. He thought for sure he had slipped past heaven’s gates. But the only part of heaven he could experience at that moment was the softness of his bed cushioning his aching body. Everything else felt like being engulfed in flames, whether it was the wrappings on his wounds, the tubes coming out of his skin, or his pounding headache.

The nurses turned around to check his progress…and every last one of them had Amuro’s face. They even had Amuro’s voice. Everywhere Bright looked, he saw his torturer, who once took on the role of the one being tortured. It had to be an illusion, right? It had to be his mind playing tricks on him. That was the only explanation for this. 

In which case…everything Bright said about Amuro’s traumatic hallucinations came to fruition…for him as well. He gave away his own prophecy. The physical torture was over. The psychological hell was just beginning. Maybe taking Gundams onto the battlefield wasn’t a great idea after all. Bright wanted to shout his newfound insanity from the rooftops, but shouting required a little more vocal power than he was afforded. He was a prisoner of his own mind…and it would be like that for the rest of his life. The broken bottle sounded better with every passing day in the hospital.

Schizophrenic Playboy

RJ Redmond folded his arms and curled into his seat as an army of screaming wrestling fans polluted the air with their fried chicken breath, open bottles of beer, and overly-buttered popcorn. Was being in the front row really worth it? Was being in the nosebleed section really worse when there was a video monitor hanging over the ring?

RJ breathed deeply in an attempt to quiet his schizophrenic mind, always racing with wild thoughts the more these fans screamed. It didn’t help matters that the Jabba the Hutt look-alike sitting next to him grabbed RJ by the sleeve of his System of a Down T-shirt and shook him. The piggish wrestling fan also ruffled Mr. Redmond’s spiky green hair. RJ could do nothing but sigh and ride out this wave of testosterone.

The ringside announcer in a tux belted into a microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring: ‘The Nation of Temptation’ Luna Kat!” Every drunken male in the crowd came to life and quite possibly came in their pants at the announcement. RJ shrunk in his chair and sighed again. Calm down, it’s just a stupid fucking woman, he thought to himself. He ignored his own mental command as did everyone else in the arena.

With a hard rock remix of “Love Is Blue” by Paul Mauriat blasting over the speakers, the aptly named Nation of Temptation strutted down the aisle swinging her hips from side to side. As part of her sexy gimmick, she came to the ring wearing a black leather bra, a black leather thong, and fishnet stockings. Her pale white skin, long red hair, and puffy blue lips also did their job in getting the horny male crowd to go berserk. Isn’t she supposed to be a heel?, thought RJ.

Luna did the splits on the ring apron and then wormed her torso underneath the bottom rope. The fans’ screams really set off fireworks in RJ Redmond’s mind. Why am I even here? I should just get up and go, he said to nobody in particular. He failed to heed his own advice by the time Luna picked up a microphone and licked it to get some extra crowd attention.

The music died down and Luna smiled seductively at her audience, which did nothing in getting them to shut up. In fact, they chanted her name over and over again despite the fact that RJ himself said she was a heel, or villain in plain English. Luna couldn’t hold the microphone to her lips without being whistled and catcalled by the audience. She held her land to her mouth and smiled, selling it like the champ she wanted to be.

“Okay, boys, settle down,” she said in her sweetest voice, which surprisingly worked. “I came here tonight for a one-on-one match. But to be honest, it probably won’t last five minutes. Or two. Or even ten seconds. My opponent tonight is a lot like all of you: lazy, out of shape, and probably eating government cheese with a plastic spork.” That got a boo from the entire arena, RJ included. “In fact, just to show you all how easy this is going to be, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Oh dear god, why did she have to say that? I fucking hate these sacks of protoplasm around me, RJ thought. He had every right to say those words as the crowd roared to life once again, every horny male pointing at themselves and screaming to be chosen.

Luna giggled as she scoped the audience. RJ was secretly grateful that her pretty jade eyes scanned the upper tiers first. She shook her head and wagged her finger in disgust as she moved to the middle tier. And then…the front row. She tapped her chin in contemplation and finally found the one man she’d love to make an example out of. “You!” she said in a low, steamy voice while pointing at RJ.

His insides locked up on him while his skin vibrated in absolute crippling fear. He shook even harder when obnoxious fans pointed at him and messed with his hair again.

“Come on, don’t be shy, love bug,” said Luna as she sat on the middle rope with her thong-wearing butt pointed directly at him.

RJ’s blood turned cold and sweat glistened off of his goose bumps while rowdy fans chanted, “Don’t be shy!” over and over again. With one last wave of her hand, Luna invited RJ into the ring. One leg over the barricade and he nearly stumbled onto the floor, which earned a chuckle from everyone around him. At this point he was convulsing with terror as he slowly made his way up the stairs and into the ring. The crowd laughed again when he entered through the side that Luna wasn’t sitting on. She laughed too and shook her head before wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Luna before holding the microphone to her mark’s mouth. His lips quivered and the crowd laughed at him even more. “You speak English, honey?”

“…R…RJ. My name is RJ.”

“Give it up for RJ, everyone!” said Luna while clapping her hands. The crowd booed at her new boy toy, causing him to shrink inside of himself again. “So RJ, you’ve seen the show before, I’m sure. Do you know how this goes by now?” No answer, just trembles and stuttering, which earned even more boos from the audience. “Come on now, guys, be nice. He’s obviously proving my point as to how easy of a match I’ve got coming up. I’d be nervous around me too if I was a lonely, sweet little virgin. This isn’t a Magic: the Gathering tournament, honey. If you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”

The sea of laughter that swallowed RJ Redmond whole sent his panicked mind into overdrive. First the fans laughed…then his head voices laughed…then the fans called him vulgar names…then his head voices called him vulgar names. RJ’s knees got so weak that he crumpled to the ground to the amusement of others. On his hands and knees, his high anxiety morphed into schizophrenic anger. His mental illness often led him to be Incredible Hulk levels of angry at little things. But the big things in life…

“I can’t fucking take it anymore!” RJ shouted as he began pummeling the canvas with his fists. He shrieked and foamed at the mouth while raking his nails across the ring. Pounding. Raking. Pounding. Raking. All of his psychotic energy concentrated on the spot next to Luna Kat’s feet. She soon backed up from that spot in fear and threw her arms in the air in the shape of an X.

RJ’s strikes and claws grew so intense that he managed to pull out pieces of the canvas along with pieces of his fingernails. He didn’t care that his fingertips bled. In his racing mind, everybody in this arena should have been on the receiving end of his fury, not the mat. More energy was expended. And more. And more. When his tank was quickly emptying, the fans booing gave him more energy to work with. And then…his arms and legs ached with lactic acid buildup. His breathing intensified. And in his ultimate low, he dropped his forehead on the ground and bawled his eyes out in front of this hostile crowd.

He didn’t notice paramedics helping him to his feet. He didn’t notice Luna Kat breaking the code of fiction known as kayfabe to show concern for something that was essentially her fault. His mind was too destroyed to notice the crowd still mocking him with hateful chants. Or were they mocking Luna? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, he thought to himself.

RJ had been wide awake throughout this whole disaster, this shit show in a fuck factory, but when his mind calmed down for just a few seconds, he found himself laying on his back on a padded doctor’s bench in the trainer’s room. His body ached worse than any wrestler who worked a match that night. He felt like he had been body slammed off of a skyscraper. His legs felt like they were twisted off and sewn back on Frankenstein-style. His arms hung off the bench like wet beach towels. He kept repeating to himself in an exhausted raspy voice, “I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry…”

The face that came into his blurry view wasn’t that of a villainous wrestler. The raised eyebrows and sorrowful frown painted a picture of concern and genuine heartbreak. RJ thought he was hallucinating again when he saw Luna Kat’s face, but she held his hand and there was no mistaking it anymore. Still, he repeated the silent, tearful phrase, “I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry….”

“I know you are…and I’m sorry about what happened to you,” whispered Luna uncharacteristically. “I feel awful right now. I took my role too far. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry…” RJ squeezed Luna’s hand for extra effect, but she only gave a minor wince of pain.

“You have every right to be angry, RJ,” she said while petting his shoulder. “Your ride to the hospital is going to be here any minute now. I just…thought I should let you know how sorry we are about the whole thing. You’re probably not in the mood to accept apologies right now, but…I thought I’d put that out there…”

“I’m not angry at you, Luna…I’m angry at those fat bastards out there who think my suffering is funny…It’s like…they’ve never seen a schizophrenic before…”

Kat’s face sank as her eyes got a little dewy. “I honestly didn’t know you were mentally disabled. I thought you were just shy…I’ve always liked being around shy guys, but…not like this…I’m so sorry, RJ…I really am…”

“Nobody knows I’m schizophrenic. They know there’s something wrong with me, but they probably didn’t guess that until tonight…” RJ sniffed and wiped away a single tear with his weak hand.

“Look, if you want a refund for your ticket, you can…”

“I don’t need a fucking refund…getting my money back isn’t going to mean much to me…it’s not even my money…it’s the government’s. If you wanted to do me a favor…nah, I shouldn’t ask….”

A sad smile formed on Luna’s face. “What do you mean you shouldn’t ask? Is it something…you know…derogatory?”

“No…it’s not…at least I hope it’s not…”

“Well, what is it?”

Swallowing a peach-sized lump in his throat, RJ asked in a slow and jittery voice, “Would it be alright with you…if I…if I…rested my head on your lap until the ambulance gets here? You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I promise…I won’t be pervy or anything, but…”

Luna shushed him and placed a finger on his drooling lips before wiping some of it away. “Of course you can. No problem. It’s hardly the worst thing someone’s asked me to do for them.” She smiled and sat on the padded bench, cradling RJ’s head on her lap and playing with his hair.

“Thank you…you…have no idea how much…this means to me…especially after tonight…I’m not trying to hit on you or anything, but…”

“It’s okay…I swear it’s okay,” whispered Luna. For the next few seconds, this was how they sat together. RJ would have smiled at this moment, but he was too weak to even curl his lips. So instead, Luna continued the conversation with, “You know…there’s already talk amongst the wrestling journalists. If it’s any comfort to you, what happened out there is being considered for a Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. I know you smarks like to read that stuff.”

“Yeah…and WWE’s like, ‘Hold my beer. We’re going to Saudi Arabia.’”

Luna laughed. For the first time that evening, RJ allowed himself to laugh too. It wasn’t a hearty one, but it was a good start.