The tears of no one
By Georgia
Moonlight struck through the museum of modern art at precisely 6.o’clock on the 6th of July year 2006. This ray of silver light flooded the museum like a long silver peacock feather floating breathlessly in the wind. The security guard standing beside the beam gradually grew entranced by the mystical beauty that the light portrayed. Slowly the light drifted along to where he was standing; found his name tag and shone with all its glory highlighting the name…Judas. The security guard looked down and where the light was shining and shuddered at the sight of his forsaken name. “Who the hell would call their son Judas!” he thought, Only his deranged mother who spent most of her days staring at spiders in her cushy asylum for dangerous women and decrepit grandparents who had been fobbed off everywhere else. “What a role model! How could I ever live up to her high expectations? Visit her for once? Buy grapes?” He contemplated sarcastically. Judas had never really been the family type; he had never even received a birth certificate. Technically he didn’t exist- a blank space through time and within nature. He didn’t tell people his name and liked it that way, if no one knew him no one could ever judge him. That until his final hour of course, when the day of judgement would sweep down upon him like a hawk to a field mouse. He never made any friends kept himself to himself confined to an empty social identity, making his way through life by reading political books by authors like George Orwell. Then there was his painting. Many times he would gaze up to the pictures in the gallery and dream of doing the same, but too scared to in case of being frowned upon by society. Reading and painting was his life, but to a visitor of the museum he seemed to be a normal security guard with an unfortunate name. They probably thought that Judas had a normal home to go to instead of some filthy motel room infested by rats and constantly suffering from leaks. The motel room was a plantation for disease however strangely enough Judas never caught a disease in that room. In fact Judas never had caught a disease not even the common cold no matter how common it was.
It was cold in the museum, the staff never thought about him so they never left the heating on for his night shift, even though they knew he had a passionate intolerance towards cold temperatures; he always liked the temperature to stay at 60 degrees. However the staff and visitors felt otherwise. Even with his strange thoughts on heating it was a cold night, the temperature had dropped to -20 degrees over the last hour. He felt a cruel chill run up his stubby spine (he was very short) and an icy draft scratched at his arms and legs. “Great I’m standing guard in the artic to make sure that no one steals some crappy paintings with as little thought put into them as an episode of hollyoaks! And all on my birthday the 6th of July-today! Nobody not anyone got me a card, not even my deranged mother, although to be fair I wouldn’t want one of her seeing as her cards are a piece of discarded newspaper with “hapy bifdy” spelt out in her own shit. I wonder if she just pretends to be mad to spite at me, maybe one day the mad old cow will choke on her own bile-I wish! “He thought contemptfully.
The many eyes in the pictures all seemed to watch him at that precise moment. “Judge me why don’t you, you bunch of bastards I’ll rip you all to pieces.” He yelled to no one, well technically no one!
“Wow that’s healthy, talking to pictures I wonder what that will look like on my psychiatric report!”
One of the paintings looked at him sympathetically. Judas took a hip flask from his night bag it contained strong whisky; he liked whisky it had a strong fiery texture to it like comforting flames massaging his throat. Alcohol was a comfort to him an old friend, a cat too his lap, a dog to his rug and salt to his meat. To take sips from his special hip flask was a regular thing for Judas and seeing as his breath usually stank of the contents approaching women would quickly turn on the spot and walk away with the occasional disgusted glare! This rarely bothered Judas anymore though, he had persuaded the sexual side of him that women were but mere tempts of flesh, manipulative and the root of all evil.
A black silhouette appeared out of bleak shadows to only reappear as…Colin the next security guard to take over his shift. Colin was nice enough but could never really take in anything that you said. Like the scribblings of a 3 year old over a whitewashed wall, Colin’s thoughts were illegible and purial. “Hiya dickhead!” Colin shouted cheerfully to Judas. Judas began to pack up his things whilst Colin took out his usual issue of “Titastic!” “What a surprising insult, must of took him ages to think of it. I wonder if he asked that pervert bother of his to help him out, well he definitely didn’t pick the magazine for him unless it had a special section on small boys!” He thought wearily. Judas yarned and stretched, then went over to the door to go back to the cesspit he called home. It was a shady route back and Judas was wary of the type of thugs that lived here. The type that thought that if you swore and called people “luv” enough they might be impressed enough to bail you out of the slammer occasionally.
As Judas walked along one of the backstreet alleys wind whistled though his hair and prickled at his arms and legs. Everything went black. He tried to sit up but couldn’t it was like 100 hundred tons were taking a nap on his lower torso. Something was lying on him! He felt claws lunge into his shoulders and sweat crawl down from something into his mouth. It burnt the inside of his cheeks and tongue not in a good way like whisky though. Two black pitiless eyes stared into his and then it spoke. “Woe to you of earth and sea. For the devil sends the beast with rath because he knows the time is short.” The words licked away at his face at his personality scolding him into nothing. All that was left were his tears. The tears of no one!
Joe woke up, sweat dripping from his face and eyes bulging like tennis balls.
“Oh what a horrible dream and what a bitter man!” Judas choked through his gasps. He looked across to the other side of the room sure enough there was his sister Johanna; the same black rippling hair and snow white skin that he had always envied. Slightly reassured by the sight of his sibling Joe got up and walked to the window. The day was dawning, the great red dragon that lived in the sky was waking from his slumber.
“Well there’s no time like the present” Joe said cheerily, “If the sun has to get up now, so do I!” Joe slipped on his favourite slippers pulled on his scarlet dressing gown and headed downstairs to catch the early morning paper.
The pungent smell of peppermint tea, omelette, freshly squeezed orange juice and new cut lilac started Johanna’s morning. Followed by the sight of a smirking brother.
“What’s the occasion?” She asked knowingly as her brother set down the tray. Having him done something like this there must be something nasty waiting for her downstairs. Maybe he’d accidentally killed the cat or set the toilet on fire, or just anything that would seem ludicrous to anyone else but quite a normal outburst for her brother.
“Nothing.” He said pretending to be startled and taken a back! “Now unlike you my repulsive monster some of us have to get up to go to work, enjoy your day touching all those horrible feet!”
“Yeah yeah yeah, mock all you want, but who’s paying all the bills, the chiropodist over here!”
“Bye Johanna!” He said wearily turning on his step.
“Hey, this is really good what have you done!” She shouted back.
“Bye!”
8:00. Joe stepped onto the train, he had decided to use public transport (the slow option), well he didn’t have to be at the museum for ages and it was erm…interesting to see the kind of people that lived in his community. He was doing Sting proud- being environmentally friendly. It was a shame he couldn’t stress the second word so much, the train certainly wasn’t friendly! The place was packed with hobbit look alike youths. Finally he reached the museum, a new girl was starting today called Caron. When he looked at her Joe knew she was going to be difficult, she was one of those stupid cows who put a question mark on the end of everything, she looked up over her new issue of Bliss.
“Hiya Joe?” She said sickly sweet, stretching out her perfectly manicured hand.
“OMG! Joe?!” She shouted over her copy of Bliss, “did you know that Perez Hilton was caught eating a scone yesterday?”
“No I didn’t Caron. That’s really rather amazing”
“I know right?!” She answered excitedly.
It seemed that Caron didn’t quite understand sarcasm even though it was the lowest form of wit. Putting up with morons was very tiring, Joe fell into sleep before barely touching his seat.
Judas felt like he would die he couldn’t bare the wait anymore he closed his eyes and the wait was gone instead replaced by an itchy blanket.
“Oh just a shit dream!” Judas said. Annoyed and frustrated he needed something to take his anger out on. Pulling out some clay from a cupboard he began to make some clay men- he moulded them each with a tiny penis to make him feel good about himself. He made a king, knights, lords, parliament, servants and peasants, but no women just to bore them and get them all pissed off. Then he raised his fist ready to smash them to a pulp, but suddenly one of the men spoke. “Father why build an empire, then smash it into pieces that’s what fascists are for!” “Did I smoke something other than tobacco last night?” Judas contemplated disgusted with himself.
“No you didn’t get stoned last night. We are living things inside your imagination, but now we have a body unlike you; you’re still living inside someone’s dream and him inside another’s. None of us are unique we are all formed from another’s mind!”
“Oh go away you weed you, I’m already tormented enough as it is!” He yelled. And with that he brought his fist down onto the people. The clay melted away, screaming and pleading for mercy. Then the dead deformed bodies moulded together into tombstones and some into urns, depending on what their final wish would be. How depressing the second question you ask in your life, do I want to be buried or burnt? Life is cruel, but as life is an imagination it can be anything, minds are spontaneous unpredictable things you’ll never know what happens next.