Grotesque Times for Addicted People
It was a small bathroom. At one end was a typical white bathtub with a limescaled shower and greygreen plastic shower curtain pulled towards one end. A typical sink with a hot and cold tap and a soap dispenser bottle that was decorated with pictures of flowers. Directly above the sink was a mirrored bathroom cabinet. After the sink and cabinet is the toilet. Inside the toilet was some yellowed water and a scrap of tissue paper floating on the surface. No smell. Clean white carpet on the floor. And I was there, standing in front of the toilet trying to make my opiate-relaxed muscles squeeze the urine from my full bladder.
After about 20 minutes I have managed to squeeze half the piss from my bladder and decide that will do. I push the handle and there is the sqealing-whooshing kind of sound from the old pipes and the bowl starts to fill with water. It’s not flushing, it’s filling and it keeps filling and I watch it impassively. My urine diffuses in the new water so you would hardly notice that it is unclean, the tissue paper is circles on the surface then the system gurgles to a stop. The water has stopped just shy of overflowing and the toilet bowl is a full, white enamel and the dark opening below. It looks like the still open eye of a corpse.
I shut the ceramic lid and forget about it. It is late at night and my three housemates are sleeping-off their night in the local pub ready to wake up and go to work in the morning. I return to bed and watch my consciousness skirt the edges of sleep. Now I am standing up in a black room and my head is being replaced by a wooden mask with the face of a dog except the crown opens up and the wood splinters and flares out into a circular shape. As the mask is placed over my head from above I feel my face and head begin to disappear. I begin to panic and scream as I realize that instead of filling the mask the emptiness inside slowly erases me. The sound of my scream wakes me up. I get up and head back to the toilet and notice that the water level has returned to normal.
I wake up properly at around 10am the next day. The single skylight in my attic-room has no blind and lets in a soft-grey light. Each of my limbs feels deadweight and I drag my sack of guts to the edge of the bed and manage to put both feet on the ground motivated only by the thought of coffee and scoring for the drug.
The drug slows my bowls. The constipation gives me a sharp pain in my abdomen, my gas smells like rotting vegetables and when I finally shit it feels like I am releasing a pineapple through my anus. It takes two flushes to get the bastard down into the system.
When I return, the white carpet is grey and damp around the base of the toilet. I open the toilet and find the bowl close to overflowing with clear water. I grip the plunger with a choke hold and pump the system. Nothing. At least it doesn’t smell.
I untangle a wire coat hanger and poke it down into the depths. I can’t feel anything but the water is not going anywhere. I head to the hardware store and shoplift some caustic soda. I return home and fill the bowl with it. Still nothing.
I open my third bag of Heroin. It has been two weeks since I could last call myself sober. I dump its contents onto the foil and heat it until it turns into dark blob that reflects light from my bedroom’s single bulb.
When I return later, the water has drained down into the darkness. The level looks too low to my hazy sight. I grab more caustic soda and pour most of the contents of the bottle into the toilet and tug at the flush handle. There is a rumbling from deep in the bowls of the system which quickly becomes resonant growlgurgle… foul smelling sewage spits up from the depths accompanied with a pale vapor like that given off by dry ice.
A brown water begins to rise up in the bowl with little pieces of shit spinning and floating in it and there is a smell like hundreds of rotting diapers. Then the water drains and there is a sound as if the old water pipes are violently coughing and then a spray of brown liquid squirts everywhere. It’s on the white carpet, my clothes, the walls are spotted with shit. I turn and gag and retch into the bath.
I do the best I can with toilet paper and a damp cloth. I manage to turn the brown stains to dark grey stains. Then I return to my foil and lighter and forget the whole sorry mess.