“The
only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.” -Oscar Wilde
“What
a piece of shit,” he thought, as he removed the book from its display. He’d
stumbled upon it by accident as he was strolling through the bookstore. Claudio
hated books. The only ones he’d ever read were in school, where they were
forced upon him. But even then, he would at most read a chapter or two before
he inevitably turned to summaries posted on Sparks Notes or Wikipedia. This novel in particular though was the one he
despised above all the others; it was long, tedious, and almost
incomprehensible.
Claudio
shuffled the pages of Homer’s The Odyssey.
He thought back to when it had first been assigned to him. It was his sophomore
year of college and he was required to take some humanities courses as prerequisites
for his degrees. He chose a class on classical literature, assuming it would be
a breeze. It was a one-hundred level course, after all. However, Claudio soon
discovered this was not the case. The class was not only difficult, but was instructed
by an overzealous lecturer, Professor Byron Xavier Karras, who, every Tuesday
and Thursday afternoon of that fall semester, forced Claudio to share in his
odd fixation with useless prose, spending two grueling hours expatiating his
lust in a manner which could only be described as prudent fanaticism. Claudio
thought Karras was a pretentious dingbat, a man whose obsession with the
scholastic was most likely the result of multidimensional insecurities. It
probably began at childhood, he surmised—a complete inability to connect with
others on a social or romantic level, which caused him to dedicate his life to
the pointless study of archaic works that offer nothing in terms practical skills
necessary for survival, self-improvement, or the general advancement of society.
As
he was flipping through the manuscript, something caught his eye. He was at the
part in which Odysseus and his crew encounters the Sirens, beautiful winged
women who resided on an island of jagged rocks from which they would sing
melodies so enchanting that spellbound sailors would crash their ships into the
atoll, perishing under the sweet sounds of the temptresses’ harmonies. Claudio
did not remember much about this epic narrative, as, during most lectures, he
was either on his phone or enthralled within his own thoughts. However, for
some unknown reason, the instructor’s sermon resonated deeply that day.
Professor
Karras, in his usual eccentric manner, flung his back against the desk and
pretended to be bound, furiously struggling to free himself from invisible
ropes. This was his attempt at imitating the scene on Odysseus’ vessel. The
King ordered his men to clog their ears with beeswax while he was tied against
the ship’s mast, for he alone wanted to experience the intoxicating sounds of
those alluring, yet ominous creatures,. Upon hearing their songs, Odysseus lost
all control and did everything in his power to unbind himself. He wanted to
jump overboard, to swim to them, to be with them forever. The fact that death
would certainly follow, that he would never again lay eyes on his home of
Ithica, or his wife and son, was immaterial. Odysseus’ intellect and
rationality had been conquered by unquenchable desires.
The
saucy Karras then gave his analysis on the spectacle’s deeper meaner. Claudio
knew that like a priest following the reading of a Bible passage, English
teachers from middle school to the university level relished the moments when
they could give their subjective interpretations of text, thus showing off
their intelligence. But this wasn’t the usual braggart diatribe. This was
different. Karras’s inferences actually made sense. Claudio replayed the
lecture in his mind as he sat waiting for his friends.
The professor began his lecture with
a discussion of the human brain—one of the most powerful, yet mysterious
instruments known to any biological organism. “The human mind,” he said, “was
capable not only of contemplating complex theories, establishing moral
principles as well as the rule of law, and conceiving marvelous inventions, but
also of generating self-consciousness, i.e. awareness of our positions within
nature and the greater cosmos. This advanced cognition was what made mankind
masters of the Earth, unique amongst any other species which has ever traversed
this planet. Yet the human brain is a duality, a contradiction if you will. Sure,
our brains may be capable of higher thinking and some forms of self-restraint.
But in the end, no matter how advanced and intelligent we become, our old
mammalian cortex, the ancient part of the brain which fabricates such feelings
as lust, passion, jealousy and hatred, will always, in some shape or form,
supersede our sophisticated, analytical
abilities.”
“Hence,” he
continued, “the notion that we possess free will is, in many respects, a myth,
as even the most virtuous and lucid among us succumb to primal urges, longings
which originate in the ancient portion of our brain’s and often fly against our
own self-interests. For what is desire? It is power, the power to make people
do what they otherwise might not. And that is what we are witnessing here—King
Odysseus, a man of immense authority, prestige and respect, has capitulated to
his impulses. His subconscious brain’s longing of pleasure has completely cut
off his rationality and reason. This internal struggle between Odysseus’s
primordial desires, and his rationality represents something which holds much
relevance to our lives today. It is an unfortunate reality that we live in a
day and age where the societal norm is to seek never-ending stimulation, being
constantly bombarded with images, messages, advertisements, videos, etc. We have reached a point where functionality
and merriment have become intertwined with connectivity. And what has been the
end result? I’ll tell you—capitulation. But now, objects, which normally would
be banal or almost meaningless, have become an essential part of our existence,
thereby giving these contraptions enormous power over us. In other words, those
inanimate objects which give us some measure of pleasure, now dominate our
existence. We are slaves to our desires, now more than ever.”
“What’s up,
bro!” Claudio heard the familiar voice exclaim as he felt a firm slap on his
back.
He lifted his
eyes and looked at Julius.
“What are you
doing!?” asked Julius. “You reading!? Man, I didn’t even know you knew how to
read!”
“Oh, go to
hell!” Claudio snapped back.
He flung the
book back on the table.
“Where’s Mark?”
Claudio asked.
“He said he was
coming. I guess he got out of work a little late.”
“I don’t know why
he wanted to meet at a book store,” Claudio groaned. “It’s not like we’re gonna
pregame here or anything.”
“I don’t know, man.”
Julius replied. “I think he just likes scoping out babes here. It’s not a bad
idea if you ask me. Chicks are always expecting attention from all direction at
the bars, and they are too focused at the gyms. But here, it’s perfect. They’re
off their guard and there ain’t nothing here interesting enough to grab their
attention for too long.”
“Sorry I’m late,
fellas.” Mark said as he strolled up to them.
“Bout time, son,”
Julius remarked as he embraced Mark. “I caught Claudio here getting a hard on
reading some classic lit.”
“Go to hell!” Claudio
shot back.
Claudio turned
towards Mark.
“So what’s the
plan tonight?”
Mark pulled his
phone out of his pocket and glanced at it.
“I was thinking
we’d stop by Hounds, get some food and a few drinks, then head to
Scottsdale.”
“Alright,”
Claudio said, “but let’s try to get there at a reasonable hour this time. I
don’t want to show up at the clubs past eleven and have to wait for hours in
line.”
Mark remained
transfixed on his phone, his thumb slowly sliding against the screen as if he
was softly petting some small rodent.
Julius leaned
his head forward and glanced at his friend’s device.
“Bro, what are
you looking at?”
Mark’s eyes
remained fixed on the screen.
“Dude, you guys
got to check this chick out,” he said.
His
friends sauntered over to either side of him and looked at his screen
Claudio’s
mouth dropped. Mark had his Instagram open, and there, situated on the screen,
was an image of a young woman clad in nothing but a pint-sized, scarlet,
bikini. She was leaning back on her elbows against a stone balcony, peering
back into the camera with a lustful look, as if she was trying to seduce them through
the phone. Behind her were tall cliffs covered with thick, green, shrubbery,
along with an ocean which shimmered like a sapphire ornament under a cloudless
sky.
Claudio
was normally accustomed to these types of photos. Almost every decently
attractive women he knew from college and who was under the age of 24 used
their social media platforms to post risqué, quasi-sexual impressions of
themselves, as if they were displaying their talents at some sort of modeling
combine. But this girl was different. She was perfect—perfect in every way.
Her
skin, fair and succulent with an olive tone, radiated under the sun’s rays. She
had long, dark, wavy hair which, despite its dusky brown hue, somehow appeared
to sparkle. Her body was magnificent and unparalleled by any other Claudio had
ever laid eyes upon. She was perfectly portioned; her torso and appendages were
toned, but not overly muscular as to attack his visceral sense. Her breasts
were perky, just the ideal size for her body type and her hips, which were wide
and voluptuous.
But the best
thing about her was her face. It was flawless: not too wide, not too narrow, but
perfectly symmetrical. She possessed thin lips and an elegantly shaped nose.
But what caught Claudio’s attention most were her eyes, which were wide and
rested beneath a set of narrow eyebrows. Claudio gazed deeply into them,
hypnotized by their splendor. They were a dark, misty green, like a dense
forest after a heavy rain.
Never had Claudio
encountered anything so beautiful, so alluring. He remained transfixed, lost in
his own fantasy. It was as if everything, his friends, the bookstore, the other
patrons, disappeared into the void along with the constraints of time and reality.
It was as if it was just him and her, standing there, gazing into each other’s
eyes as he slowly approached her, reaching out his hand and gently massaging
his fingers down her silky, luxurious form. He seized her waist with both hands
and pulled her in, their gazes never breaking as she clutched his shoulders. He
could smell her sweet aroma, which playfully assaulted his senses.
It was like
nothing Claudio had ever experienced—an ecstasy so profound that it overwhelmed
his entire being. His sensations were magnified, stimulated in a manner beyond
comprehension, yet he felt at ease. It was a strange coupling of inflamed
passions and tranquil ambivalence, which drew together like two, opposing,
magnetic charges. He pulled her in closer, their bodies pressed against each
other as if they were about to melt and combine into some new entity.
Claudio heard a
loud crack. He shook his head. Julius’ large hand was situated in front of his
face, snapping his fingers.
“Hey, bro, you
still there!?” he exclaimed.
Claudio shook
his head. He was slightly dazed as if he’d been suddenly awoken from a deep
slumber.
“Yeah, I’m
good.”
Mark scrolled
though some of her other photos.
“Damn, dog!”
Julius remarked. “Who is this chick? She a dime!”
“Her name is
Cathy Agrippa.” Mark replied. “Apparently, she’s a sophomore at Arizona Tech.
Her profile says she’s only 19!”
“Only 19!”
Julius bellowed. “Shit, son, I might need to re-up at Tech. Tell them I’m
looking into getting a second degree. Sociology or some shit like that.”
Mark closed out
the app and shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“Shall we go?”
He inquired.
“Yeah, man.”
Julius responded. “I’ll get us an Uber.”
The trio headed
down to Hounds, a somewhat rundown watering hole located near the
outskirts of downtown Tempe. They ate, had a few drinks along with a shot of
this horrid substance called Fireball, then headed off to Old Town Scottsdale.
It was a fairly
routine Saturday night. They arrived at Old Town around 11 pm, greeted by the
flashy lights and loud music coming from the various clubs that bordered the
main street on either side, while hordes of people traversed between them. It
was as if the clubs themselves were a group of suitors, lined up on opposite
sides, attempting to woo potential mates to their inner worlds by utilizing
extravagant appearances and ostentatious displays of grandeur. Each one offered
its own version of some alternate reality based on a particular theme or
culture. It was as if the moment you entered their portals you were magically transported
to an exotic new world, a divergent dimension oozing in decadence and lust,
free from the habitual stresses, anxieties, and pains which plagued our miserable
existence—a zone where hedonism and overindulgence are not frowned upon, but
encouraged as an essential element of the human condition. Lines into these
establishments could stretch for hundreds of yards, making it seem as if those clamoring
to enter were awaiting passage through the Pearly Gates, upon which they would
enter a sybaritic paradise.
But like all
things that professed a utopian reality, it was a farce, an illusion. You could
wait sometimes for over an hour, watching as “VIPs” and harems of scantily clad
females entered ahead of everyone else, as if they had, in a previous life, were
blessed with indulgences from designated holy men. Once inside, the “heaven”
that awaited them was nothing more than an expensive, overcrowded, disgusting, stench-ridden
purgatory. They were so packed in that it was impossible to move about, much
like cows stuffed into a cattle car. And then there was the music, which was so
obnoxiously deafening that you couldn’t hear yourself thinking, let alone
anyone else. The only way to mitigate
such an abysmal state was to drown it out through alcohol. The problem is that
even if you managed the absurd and laborious task of somehow reaching the bar
and getting a bartender’s attention, it cost what would be a month’s salary in
many, less fortunate nations.
But like many before
them, Claudio, Julius and Mark endured this agony in hopes that their suffering
would eventually lead to something more: a fun time, cherished memories, and most
sought after, the company of a young, beautiful, hopefully somewhat amoral, woman.
On any other occasion, Claudio would’ve been on the prowl—conducting incursions
with his friends into female entourages, attempting to entice them with offers
of free drinks, using primitive lingo in an attempt to convey a sort of
aloofness, a lack of emotional depth which is oddly alluring to younger members
of the opposite sex.
But tonight was
different. Claudio couldn’t focus. No matter how much he drank or how many
women crossed his path, his mind was fixated on one thing, Cathy Agrippa. No
other girl he saw that night even slightly compared. Her image had somehow
latched itself onto to his mind as she was present in every thought and emotion
Claudio had that night.
He kept removing
his phone and glancing through at her photos.
“How could
anything so perfect actually exist?” He wondered.
It was like God,
in a great display of his infinite power, had constructed something so extraordinary
and flawless that even the most ardent atheist would have to admit that some
sort of divine entity had been responsible.
Claudio was spellbound,
his conscious engrossed within a prison of his own desires and obsessions. There
was a loud chime. Claudio looked up. It was already last call. He had only been
looking at his phone for what he thought was only a few moments, yet several
hours had passed.
Claudio scanned
the bar, finding Julius and Mark drunkenly chatting up several inebriated
members of a bachelorette party.
Claudio
approached them. When he was within several feet of them, Julius turned and saw
him. Julius stumbled over to Claudio and flung his arm around his neck.
“Bro!” he shouted.
“Where the fuck you been!?”
“Just been
checking out the scene.” Claudio replied,
listlessly.
“Shit, son!” he
remarked. “We’ve been talking up these hunies for the last hour! They’re here
for the weekend, visiting from Monterey. We’re trying to see if we can convince
them to invite us back to their hotel room. You game!?”
“I’m actually
kind of tired,” Claudio responded. “I think I’m just gonna go home.”
“Your loss,
bro!”
Julius turned
towards the others.
“What say you,
ladies!? We keeping this party going or what!?”
Claudio strolled
off before he could hear their reply. He walked outside. Two in the morning in
Scottsdale was quite a sight to see. It was like watching a zombie movie as
heaps of intoxicated, semi-conscious lifeforms attempted to gather themselves up
and either go home (or someone else’s home) or to acquire a late night
snack.
Claudio walked
to a more remote area of the street, summoned an Uber, and left.
He arrived at
his condominium at around half past the hour. Claudio lay on his couch,
nestling the back of his head against the small pillow near the arm, then took
out his phone. He opened the app and went to Cathy’s account.
She had posted a
new photo within the last 30 minutes. She was wearing a tight, red dress which
went down to her mid-thighs. Her long hair draped over her shoulders. The photo
was taken from an angle and her head was slightly tilted towards the camera,
her eyes peering out towards him. He stared deeply into them as if they were
the world’s most precious gems.
He suddenly
pushed the phone away. Claudio shook his head and began blinking. He glanced
back at the image then turned away again. He could have sworn...did he just? He
looked back at the phone.
“No,” he thought
to himself, “that wasn’t possible.”
Claudio observed the image more intensely.
He was just
tired. Yeah, that’s all. It had been an exhausting day. There is no way a photo
could have winked at him. His eyes were just playing tricks. It was his body’s
way of demanding that he get some much needed sleep.
Claudio placed
his phone down on the nearby coffee table and closed his eyes. He drifted off.
His final thoughts were of her.
Read the rest of the story here- https://www.amazon.com/Smokeshow-Inferno-R-M-Thornton-ebook/dp/B07CQ5XYK9/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1525456432&sr=1-4&refinements=p_27%3AR.+M.+S.+Thornton
©
Copyright 2018 by R. M. S. Thornton
