The Effects of Loneliness
by David Oakley

Somewhere in northern New England, a general store is host to a young man, no older than twenty, named Robbie. He searches the aisles, looking for something in particular, hoping that not will his find be inexpensive, but of good quality, this is a rather important purchase. With luck, he finds the perfect item, and on sale no less! After several minutes, with his purchase paid for and bagged, he steps out into the crisp air to be greeted with shivers and chill bumps. But, no story is complete without some type of description. He stands about 6 feet tall, short black hair covers his head, and the signs of an increasing forehead are beginning to come into works. Although he knows that more attractive people exist, there are some narcissistic attitudes floating around in his mind. The clothes that cover his healthy body are inexpensive, but fit well and look better. He looks down to take a view of himself, and that not satisfying his craving, he turns around, and stares blankly into the store's front door. The reflection in the window is clear, he is obviously standing there, this does not confirm, in his mind at least, his existence.

The walk to his apartment, although short in distance, seemed particularly long this cold afternoon, with the thoughts of insecurity and self-mocking strangling his senses. Once his home is in sight, he reaches into his pockets and jingles his keys through his fingers, secretly hoping that this meaningless activity will shoot a dose of reality into his mind. At the front door he remembers a movie in which the hero shakes his keys to warn the multiple animals living with him to hide. He did so and chuckled to himself. As Robbie removed his leather overcoat and tossed it onto his plush sofa, he clicked on the TV, and walked into the hall. Stepping over the threshold, he stood for a moment, temporarily forgetting what exactly he had meant to do. Looking up the hall toward the window, Robbie felt a brisk chill come from it, moving through his shirt, his skin, and directly into his heart. Staring at the window at the end of the hall, Robbie fell into it with his mind, absorbing every centimeter of decoration covering it. His mind fled from its current position, and remained fixated on the window. It was not an unusual window, nothing but bland panes, and dusty curtains, nearly brown from years of neglect. Just as soon as Robbie became hypnotized by this window, the trance fell, and Robbie was left to figure out exactly why he had stood there, staring.

Once his thoughts were collected, Robbie remembers why he needed to purchase the razor. Through all of his thoughts about proving his existence, despising himself, and other forms of self-depreciation, Robbie decided on a new look, to better suit his newfound outlook on life. He removed the blade from the paper bag, studied it once more, and walked into his bathroom to prepare. Collecting a towel and shaving cream from one cabinet, he looked up to be met by his reflection. Disgusted, he continued to search for the last remaining, essential item. The first step to shaving one's head is to remove most of the hair with electric clippers. Doing this keeps from shaving with a normal razor repeatedly, and is much quicker than normal shaving. Robbie looked patiently in each of his bathroom's three cabinets, each turned up nothing besides assorted cologne and old shampoo and hair spray. Becoming agitated, he opened the package with the razor and threw the container into the wastebasket beside the toilet. Standing in front of the mirror, not wanting to shave his head with this small blade, he placed the razor back into its package, and thought. His mind, racing to find a solution to his personal puzzle, came upon the idea of using scissors to cut the excess hair. Clapping like a small child, he walked swiftly into his kitchen, and eventually, located a small pair of scissors that would work perfectly. After placing the towel onto his bathroom floor, Robbie began cutting his hair, quickly and harshly.

Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, water could be heard running in the bathtub. He was too involved with his activity to notice, and continued shaving. The running water became more intense, crashing onto the bathtub with a loud splash, rustling over the imitation ivory. Robbie, continued snipping his hair, calmly now, not giving the invisible forces behind him the chance to run away with his senses. The water running became louder, rushing from the spicket with an impatience, seemingly trying to get Robbie to turn around and face it. His hands began to shake, and his eyes watered. The twin blades of the scissors began closing onto his hair, again fiercely. The scissors felt as if they had taken a life of their own in the ferociousness with which they were cutting his hair.

But, the bubbles in the bathtub could be seen rising behind him, and the quickening pulse under his skin forced his eyes to focus on the scene behind him. Using all of the courage his diluted mind could afford, he reached over to the curtain, and pulled it shut, leaving whatever demon hidden there behind it. This action had an unfortunate reaction. In times of danger, or extreme fright, the mind has a tendency to turn to its most prized memory. He was desperately in love with someone. That being the case, Robbie felt obligated to overindulge his lover with his emotions. He drove her away. He has never been the same since. Smiling, he pulled a picture of her from his wallet, stared at the photo, seemingly counting the pores on her face. After their breakup, she began dating again, he brooded in his bedroom, writing horrible poetry, ten pages long each. Morning was welcomed, if only for hope that she would call, if it was a great day, he would see her pass by. The thought of her swirled through his mind with each heartbeat. Sometimes, at night, he would silently pray that he would die, not out of depression, but to find out if she would come see him one last time, if she would cry. He was understandably insecure about these obsessive feelings, so he hid it from everyone, like a young gay man with his sexuality. Robbie pushed these memories from his mind and stepped into the hall, and looked toward the window at the end of it, staring, letting a tiny smile creep onto his face. Under this purely cosmetic smile, a sharp sense of dread crossed his mind, seeped into his heart. Returning to the bathroom, he prepared himself for the remaining shaving needed to be done, doing this, Robbie noticed the bathroom curtain was pulled. Again, he paid it no mind. However, he realized the dreadful feeling was still there.

With the fresh razor in his hand, and shaving cream in the other, he indulged his scalp with cream, and slowly began shaving the remains of the scissored attack off of his head. Patiently sliding the blade across his scalp, the memories of her refused to be calmed, and eventually toke control over his activity. The distraction became too much for Robbie to handle, and finally he cupped hands around his face as the tears rushed for an exit, and the roses hiding behind his cheeks unveiled themselves. He rubbed the corner of his eyes and again exited the bathroom, hoping a change of environment would startle his good sense into action.

His fingers rubbed harshly at his eyelids, making them feel raw and agitated. Forcing his hands and his fingers away from his face, he immediately began staring at the window down the hall. Fright climbed up his throat and stumbled out of his with a gasp, disorienting his body. Groping the wall for support, Robbie stumbled into the bathroom, again finding himself inside the room where dead memories would not be held in captivity. After erasing some of the confusion from the corners of his polluted mind, he pulled his weakened body up from the clammy ground. After stabilizing his legs, Robbie found the strength to run water over his face, to further cleanse his brain. His ears began to quiet to ringing exploding inside his eardrums, and in the living room, the television could be heard. Somewhere in the distance, the curtain could be heard moving.

Silence again took over. The curtain slowly moved, making a slow creak that roused Robbie to jerk his head up. In their rightful place, his eyes bulged as the curtain creaked, seemingly to voice their opposing the sight that they were inevitably going to see. Robbie slowly turned as the curtain again screeched along the rod, he saw a fold develop on the blue plastic. A scream grabbed onto Robbie's tongue, wanting to be let out, but any attempt to breathe was now forgotten. Another creak, as the curtain folded up bit by bit. He saw the rusty knobs, finally quieted, and whatever shine these old knobs held at one point went unnoticed by Robbie. The creaking of the curtain grew louder and louder as it inched closer to end of the rod, each screech raising their pitch each time. Robbie's eye's could no open any further, and the dryness of them was becoming painful, and at this point, Robbie unknowingly turned himself around, to attempt to phase out the phenomena behind him.

Grasping his consciousness, he put the razor down and stared at his reflection. Apparently sensing this, the curtain raised its tone, nearly bursting Robbie's eardrums, and making each sound dig into his brain. As the wall behind the tub exposed itself so did a long pair of legs, perfect in every sense. This sight heightened Robbie's attention, and he turned around just as the legs were uncrossing themselves. As the creaking started up again, the curtain folded together with increased speed, exposing more of the curved body. He felt his manhood stiffen as, in the background, the hall window broke. Unexplainably the razor jumped into the air, and crossed Robbie's still lathered skull, slicing a deep gash. This event brought reality back into grasp in crisp colors. Shocked, he began to gently touch the wound on his scalp as blood trickled down his forehead. His index finger moved back and forth across the long slash, as he reveled in the gore that now graced his head. The stroking eventually found a sensitive spot, and with that brought a scream, and all the torment that this day had brought him. Tears were released down his face as the love of his life stepped voluptuously out of the tub, shining and dripping with water. The pain above his forehead vanished, and his heart sailed. As her hands reached for his neck, he turned away in shyness.

In the mirror, the truth presented itself in stark quality. She did not have beautiful, curly, brown hair, scissors had maimed her scalp with apparent harshness and viciousness. Sections of her body had given way entirely to rot, turning her once olive colored skin into different shades of grey and green. Her frighteningly gorgeous face, the blue eyes, her mouth, had brutally been removed, again, a dulled pair of scissors seemed to be the culprit. Oozing from her empty eye sockets was some type of gel, making Robbie's stomach lurch inside him. Mud and grass covered her, with clumps of mud collected around her toes, and tangling the remnants of her lovely hair. Her breasts showed deep lacerations covering them, each nipple ripped off. A puss seeped from her wounds, slipping down her rotting body like a slug. The disgust in front of him was too horrible to bring his mind to let his stomach vomit. Nearing unconsciousness, his mind returned to the previous night. Everything that occurred had been forgotten, with the exception of one irrelevant memory.

After arriving home, Robbie did as he always has, he turned on the local news and pretended to be concerned about the world outside of his door. After the weatherman stated the obvious, it was going to be cold the next day, a disturbing story was told. A young woman had been abducted from her boyfriend's home the week before, and a struggle seemed to have taken place before the kidnaping. Without reason, this infuriated him, and questions ran through his mind. Why would anyone want to harm their loved one? With that memory, he remembered his loved one. Closing his eyes and screaming to release the tension in his heart, and the fright in his mind. To his surprise, either good or bad, she was no longer upon him. The horror she brought was not entirely bad, as his heart felt empty and cold with her unexplained vanishing. His lungs began working in a somewhat normal fashion once again, and his heartbeat slowed, but these things, however welcomed, brought a deep nausea with them.

Trying to bring the rest of his world back into normalcy, he walked out of the bathroom, praying to some God silently. His head half-shaven, the blood from his scalp wound had dried and caked his forehead and ears, he looked and felt as if war had just taken place. Once he had his prized possession in his hands, his body and mind would return to normal, and he could forget about the insanity just witnessed. When he looked for his trophy on the night stand, it was not there, and the heartbreak made his legs give way. Collapsing to the ground, he prayed again to never need to move from this spot. His stay would, however, not be long, immediately after landing, Robbie heard sirens surrounding his house.

His numerous tortured screams had brought the local police. Pounding could be heard, and soon afterwards, the breaking of his front door presented our hero with increasingly fewer options. With intruders in his home, Robbie jumped up from his sacred ground and ran for escape. A jump over the recliner residing beside his bedroom door, and he never slowed his speed as he ran into the hall. His mind registered that the dreaded window had been broken, and sensing a route of escape, he ran for the demented window. With loud shots being fired in his direction, and Robbie's body exhausted from the previous day's adventures, he simply continued his journey toward the window. A final loud bang was heard in his mind. With his life leaving his body swiftly, he managed one last look at the cursed window. Smiling, with the only rays of light in the sky this day focused on this macabre piece of art, was the face of his dead love hanging beside the now broken window seal.

©David Oakley