Act 2: spinal knives and foreign worlds

an introspective narrative:

you remember it clearly, after all it was the after fajitas, you were in a perky mood and the current problems and suspicions seemed trivial and foolish, things of a more irresponsible past. the first half of the shift was great, you swung that ancient wok like a mighty battle axe from atop an armored horse. veggies galore, a dash of garlic and a tablespoon of water, the chicken lightly browning at the bottom of the cooking pan. you were alerted of the meal's completion by the strong smell of sizzling garlic and teriyaki sauce that hung over the smoking alley. the restaurant's atmosphere is so clear in your mind: soy sauce, along with other hardened food sauces, frozen in the act of dripping down the sides of those grey trash containers, beautiful dishes just emanating sterility in the form of heavy clouds of steam, and the servers bustling busy bodies darting from front to back, empty handed or loaded to the T with various plated foods and dishes. the last positive image in your mind.

you talk shit with your co-worker while effortlessly flipping the food in the wok, you update her on the current, hopefully deceased drama in your life. she started by asking about the women in your life. you then gave her a lengthy speech about handling women, caring for them and such. she rolled her eyes and you laughed, a great big throaty laugh that now seems so forced when you recall that last happy moment. she then asked you how you chose your girlfriends, their qualities and physical characteristics to which you responded with, 

"i like my girls like i like my coffee. ground up and in the freezer." 

speaking of which, you then felt the urge to order more espresso.

the amount of caffeine running through your bloodstream helps to loosen the tongue on such touchy subjects. your heart pumps massive amounts of euphoric, life giving oxygen to your over active brain. you think, for a second, about the word pharmakon with its double meaning, existing both as a cure and a poison, and how oxygen is very much like that. it's then that your eye twitches and your tongue stills. 

the corner of your eye, the periphery, alerts you of a new, foreign presence in this reality. the periphery, as you know, is the dubious realm where shadows and slights, colors and ghostly forms lurk. there are laws and regulations separating the two realities from one another. the only way you know it exists is the casual fluke, the occasional slip of the curtain, between the two opposing worlds. when this happens one is able to see into the mirror realm known as the periphery. but something must have went wrong, horribly wrong, for that was no ordinary shifting shadow, that was real and very much present. a glimpse is all it took for you to take notice of the impossible, so impossible was it that you actually began to blame the negative effects of the abundant oxygen in your brain. the glimpse revealed an abomination, a blue veneer peppered with boom boxes and microphones, childlike designs found decorating a toddlers blanket or underwear. perhaps, you think, it was just that, a glimpse. it never hurts to double check, though, just to confirm that this projection was nothing more than the product of an over active imagination. 

casual, you tell yourself, casual and calmly that is how this must be approached. you tell yourself this but your gut revolts, it tightens up painfully. 

you weaved your way through those same darting bodies you noticed, mere obstructions now and nothing more. the pronged racks lined neatly with their array of china and soup bowls have a purpose that could work as an excuse. you grab at  the dishes that belonged up front, an excuse for leaving the confines of the kitchen. you speed through the darkened hallway that connects the back room to the front with the tower of plates in your grip precariously swaying back and forth. the front is bustling with activity, tonight it seems, is a popular night for the restaurant. you now see why the servers hurried so, but this is of no concern to you at the moment, you have to identify the imminent threat. 

while placing the dishes in their appropriate slots you casually run your eyes over the dining area, the fleeting projection tattooed to your minds eye. you halt, fearfully, in the middle of the bar. there, confidently staring directly back at you, was the strangely decorated sheet you wished were not there. not one of the servers seemed to realize the threat, they generously served the abomination sake and beer. he swallowed, unseen gaze never leaving your face, it's expression seemed to scream: that's right. i known you can see me, i know you know what i am. a fictional creature, an improbability in your rigid reality. i escaped the boundaries of my restrictive world and there is nothing you can do about it. i am impervious to all your mortal weapons and tools, but are you to mine? well, you'll find out soon enough what damage i can do. do you dare confront me or the matter at hand? 

you smiled, not simpering, but certainly not assertively. just a simple smile of recognition, take it as you will you evil sheet. after all, you said to yourself, who am i to play judge and jailer? a mere mortal man, not a supernatural bone in this body. but, beneath the calm, frozen surface of Europa, swirls a frothy sea of horrible thoughts and negative emotions that you know will haunt your every action for the rest of the evening. it continues to spin the entire shift on, a maelstrom forms beneath your icy exterior. you wait on the edge of your toes, expecting the satisfying gurgle a toilet makes once it has successfully swallowed the shit you fed it. but you are disappointed, that's for sure, and your eager toes begin to burn horribly after a while. your stomach voicing a 'here, here' in response.

the night draws to a close, you hope the diaphanous specter remains up front. you hope to god it doesn't approach you in the back and break another boundary. oh, but he does. it reappears, beer coiled in it's corner, and mockingly saunters back to lean against a nearby shelving unit piled high with various kitchen storage items. you wonder if this creature can even speak, much less drink. whatever looks or telepathic thoughts are exchanged are lost to you for you remained composed under the frozen surface of Jupiter's moon. you never once met his challenging stare. 

how could this shade break the border? why does the strange pattern on the sheet seem so oddly familiar? has it haunted you before, or maybe it was something related to it, some distant kin. you decided to see how it would play out, the most unwise choice you could make. did it occur to you that this abomination might have already put it's mischievous plans into action? no, you told yourself, you were hoping to confront the living or nonliving shit out of it at a later point in time. big mistake, friend. already it's evil deeds were at work.