Ticket
It molests you without warning. A sudden jolt to your psyche. Sometimes it’s the fog in your eyes. Maybe a zing on your tongue. A unique sound. An eerily familiar feeling. And with no time to pack your bags. With no time to prepare, you’re there. In the living room watching their last breaths. To your home town street where you rode like kings down the block on your larger than life bikes. To that storefront where you ran into him. Or simply to that swing where you saw the setting sun kiss off the trees frolicking in the wind. And it makes you stop. No matter where you are no matter what you’re doing. It grabs you and yanks you into another dimension you thought never existed.
A place where the universe stores your most treasured moments. Only to be accessed by the keys you have no control over.
The oddity remains, that in order to truly force it. In order to hand and foot push your way through that door waiting not for the arbitrary trigger of your senses, you’d have to press yourself to relinquish them all. You’d have to threaten the very existence of your senses all at once. Some say there is only one way to truly do that. And so hopefully that is what the papers will say. That he didn’t care for it at this moment in time. That it was the perfect opportunity for a unique science experiment to tickle the curiosity of eternity.
I didn’t know if it was the three walls closing in on me in the paper pushing icebox? Or if it was the constant reminder that my deepest cravings ultimately will come to be suffocating, consumed to detesting engorgment. But surely it was the realisation that consistency in this world or the next was too much to ask of anyone. That the laws of self-governing seemed to have disappeared from existence leaving disarray and inter human warfare that would soon erupt long before he tried and persist long after he failed.
And so maybe the papers will say that too. Maybe they will paint him in the light not of a martyr or a prisoner of seductive nostalgia, but rather just some guy who wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere but here. And the only way to guarantee that was to push his way through.
On February 11th, 2019 Henri Poin, while heading west on Efil road toward the Grand Bridge at about 6:42 pm found himself at the end of the line and the beginning of a travel of a lifetime. To all accounts it has been made clear that Mr Poin forced his way off the bridge sending his black convertible into the near freezing cold waters of the Efil lake.
He left behind no other accounts except for this recording made two days prior.
“It’ll come. And It will be everything I wanted. My touch will fade in the cold. The pressure will collapse sound to excruciating silence. The deep will darken my sight. The water will drown my smell and the murky will shock my tongue. But maybe the best part is when I’ll finally get to see it all.
The reel that I paid for with my existence. A flicker of the past. And on my journey I’ll go. Back to that simpler time when the lights in the cul de sac flickered signalling to head home. When I’d look down at the white shirt I had ruined from the mud war I waged with my mates from the neighbouring subdivision. How I had felt so complete. How I knew the ride home was not the end of it all but just half-time until I could get back there. To the futbol match played in the abandoned park. To the fake treasure hunts I led in the deep forest. To the time I hurt my knee and the first one to come to my aid was a little blonde girl named Lucy. How we bonded over our scars. How I went to sleep that night not thinking whether or not I’d have to wake up and fight for my existence, but rather how much fun I was going to have the next day. The movie will be beautiful, and the ending will have been worth it.”
The Efil Times – February 11th, 2019 5PM