Smokeshow Inferno

“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