Human Masquerade

My nanowrimo 2012.
Johan Linde is getting sick and tired of his mother. The only escape he has is found in a patient from his mothers hospital. A girl he have never meet in real life, but whos voice he knows better than he own.


3. The Magican

Chapter 1. – The Magican

Johan Linde


The human has a natural ability to adjust.

But we also have a natural ability to the opposite.

Our consciousness can only be extended with our own help.


                      “No! Stop it! Its lies! It can’t be true. You can’t prove anything. Stop it, don’t’ ruin everything! Why know?”

                      A place in my consciousness my mom is yelling at my dad. I don’t understand why and can’t do anything. I can only think that he have just done something amazing and terrifying. Mom doesn’t understand it.

                      Soon it’s not real anymore, but a flickering of memories that slowly vanish away. The memories living strings lets go and everything turns black.

My gaze is fixedly forward while my fingers absent minded strikes the guitars strings. In my head I’m playing ‘Paradise City’ by Guns N’Roses on stage, to perfection, of course. In reality I stare vacantly into space with an empty glance, possibly with some drool on my chin.

                      I have a vague buzzing in my head. The rest of the richly colored drugs effect, presumably. The feeling of restlessness though listlessness. This is a single, happily, moment of thoughtlessness. I don’t have to do anything. I’m sitting leaned against the chilly windowpane.

                      A car door gets banged outside the window.

                      She is home, my mom.

                      My grip round the guitar tightens instinctive but I don’t turn around. In my head I repeat the chorus of the song with full volume while the audience is going crazy. I’m still watching an indeterminate point over my bed, like my gaze could burn the wall into ash.

                      Right for me, near the overfilled desk, my best friend, Fabian, trots around. He gathers the empty bottles and throws them in a black plastic bag. The sound of a clink Everytime a bottle hits one of the previous. He is always so decent, the law-abiding citizen.

                      I put the guitar down before I plants my feet solid on the floor. Nausea comes over me with the wonderful bittersweet aftertaste of alcohol.


                      Fabian looks at me. No, that would be wrong to say that because Fabian doesn’t see; he observes. So he observes me with his narrow, grey eyes.

                      “Are you out of the haze?” he asks.

                      The gaze is our definition of being high.

                      The black eyebrows furrow a little. His deep voice doesn’t seem to fit him. I nod doubtfully and take a few staggering steps. My brain is working on high pressure. Produces millions of words at once, which neither connects nor make sense.

                      Like this it’s always with Fabian; nothing fits him. It’s the same with the rest of his persona. Fabian is tall and lanky, but meanwhile slim and fit to look at. His hair is smooth, long and black. It’s colored off course. In reality he is just as red-haired as the dude from Harry Potter. The black hair is piled-up in a small ponytail, which along with the pale skin and distinctive face, makes him look like a beauty example of a goth-guy or an extra from Twilight.

                      I repeat my speechless nod toward him. In reality I have no idea. The inner of my head is still buzzing like a beehive. Forgotten thoughts intrude while the reality catches its cold hands around my brain.

                      I become suddenly insecure of my nausea and moves toward the bathroom.

                      Fabian continues his cleaning of my room with his long and elegant movements. You should think he danced ballet instead of cleaning up our ‘two-men-party’. He pats my back in passing as support. What a hangover.

                      “Your mom is home,” he concludes, while he predominantly holds a half empty bottle up in the light. I snatch it out of his hand and deplete it fast. I hand it to him and continue to my bathroom.


Without any thoughts I get myself dragged under the shower and switch the cold water on. My steaming skin gets cooled down. I’m actually freezing before long.

                      I remain in the shower, forcing myself to get control of my thoughts. In my mind I see distant memories: my dad, my mother and myself. We are all standing in our living room. A memory from back then.

                      The memory of my dad is vague. The only thing I see in my mind is a stage which fills up my soul with fear.


His eyes watered when he bends down to hug me. I lean forward in expectation. He nearly touched me but them I’m ripped away. Mother probes her fingers deep into my arm while she ripped me behind her back.

                      I only caught a glimpse of her face and it was more than enough. It was red and swollen. She had cried long and inconsolable now. Her hair was nearly wet of tears and sweat, like her skin.

                      Dad did a tiny approach. A tiny tiny gesture and an even smaller step. She uttered a horrifying scream which reminded of a predator. A sound which send a chilly shiver through me. If she hadn’t had a grip in my, I would have escaped.

                      Dad took a step backward. He held his hand defeatist up while he stepped backwards. He collected the bags and flanged his leatherjacket over his shoulders.

                      His mouth was open, like he would say something. I really wished he did. Mother took the word before he did: “Go away! Leave us alone!” she yelled.

                      “It’s okay Susan. I’m leaving now. I don’t want to hurt you.” He said and backed towards the door.

                      The door went open and closed, without I saw him move. In my eyes he was still standing in front of me. Yet without words, before he was blown to dust by the hash. The last thing I ever heard from my dad was the words: “I’m leaving now.”

                      The memory got foggy and I lost the connection. The only thing left was a distant quarrel which seems as dim as when you look through a keyhole.


The door to the bathroom becomes open and Fabian shut in a cold morning. He stands suddenly in front of me with the same grey eyes, which observes me. I’m filled with fascination by his gaze.

                      How do they observe me? Which feelings are behind the colorless façade? I know I’ll never get the answer. Fabian and I are friends on the basis we don’t need to share feelings in earnest. I can be around him and he will understand but nothing say.

                      That and then our common passion for music. We have a small company which replaces band members who can’t perform. We’re still working on a name but is a success in our small city where there is parties every weekend and people loves the live music more than anything.

                      Fabian size my shoulders and looks thorough at me.

                      “You could at least take your clothes off.”

                      I’m starring blindly back at him. I can hardly hear him. His hands unbutton my shirt and get my shirt off me. The rest of my clothes follow without me noticing it. Fabian washes my hair with soap, switch on the hot water, still without I move the slightest.

                      My brain is in coma so it wonders me how I get to wear my school uniform and get my hair combed. Fabians work, definitely.

                      I look at myself in the mirror and pull faces.

                      “Remember to brush your teeth.”

                      Fabian stands in the door, full dressed and with his bag under his arm. I do a rude gesture but accomplish his order.

                      I look short at myself in the mirror. My reflection stares dim back at me. My blonde hair is combed back; dry wisps are already backing to the rumple bird’s nest of a hairstyle. There are insensible purple circles under my round, blue eyes and my lips are dry.

                      The only thing that really runs for me is the giant spot, forming on my nose. Fantastic Monday. I look like Rudolf the red nosed reindeer.


I support myself to the railing down the stairs. Fabian is right behind me, he carries the, now full, plastic bag. He is so close I can feel his breath on my neck and feel his fingertips on my back, so slight, like they aren’t there. Once again, that is his tacit support.

                      My mother stands in the hall. She has changed from her formal business outfit to a more normal looking doctor coat. She wears her round glasses. The one with the thin frame in silver. Her blonde hair is piled-up in a bun on top of her head. Very professional. Everything about her seems minimalistic and clinical just as her personality. When she wears that suit the only thing it can mean is she is already on her way to job.

                      She smiles cordial to me and waves to Fabian. I force myself to smile back while I walk down the stairs.

                      “There you are, boys. You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.”

                      She sniggers for herself and forces a hug from me as soon as I’m down the stairs. She even gives Fabian a slight hug. The hug is an idiosyncrasy. My mother is never really happy for my friends. Fabian seems to be the only one passing through. She praises him always for his politeness and complains about all the young people’s lack of it. I am included under the category; all the young people.

                      I smile and acts against the front door.

                      “We have to go now, mother. So we can talk later.”

                      “I just have the time to follow the two of you out. Then you can tell me about your exciting weekend! Did you get to play some classic music?”

                      “Yes, it would be pleasant Mrs. Linde. Unfortunately we can’t give a huge summary while we are in a hurry, as You pointed out.”

                      Fabian saves me again. Polite and precise. Mother looks from me to him with an affectionate look. She rumples my hair further. She has to stay on her toes to reach my hair.

                      “Well, see you later. Have a nice day in school.”

                      “That’s a deal and thanks!” I say while start to jog.

                      I went out of the door in a hurry. I couldn’t take her clinical kindness. The polite undertones in every single sentence. With Fabian right on my heels I hurry out of the front door and down the stairs. First when we are outside we get hit by the fresh ice-cold air, right into our lungs. Fabian dumps the black plastic bag in our dustbin and we can continue in school as the normal young people we are.

                      We jump on either of our bikes and turn out from the courtyard. I don’t look back.

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