Breakthroughs: A Short Story

What you’re about to read is chapter 1 of a short story I’m writing. But, really, it’s not a real short story. Not in my eyes, at least. I like to think of it as a scene from a TV series, just, you know, made of words and not on your TV.

“What kind of story is it?” you ask.  It’s a ghost story. Kind of. Just read it and you’ll see. If you like it, then look ahead to the great beyond that is next Thursday when I post chapter 2. I think it’ll be three chapters in total. I think. I’m kind of making this up as I go.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter 1: Breakthroughs

“This room needs a fresh coat of paint,” I thought, as Tati and Usnavy screamed the scream of people so scared that they feel like they have to get all fussy and scream about it. “Of course,” I continued, like an idiot. “It would need a primer first. That’s what went wrong here. No primer. I bet I can peel off a good foot-and-a-half of paint in one long strip. Like a big churrasco or something.”

I, of course, had no idea what I was talking about. I’ve never painted a room in my life. I watched my friend’s dad do it once, though.

“For the love of Christ, Alex! Where the fuck are you?!” yelled Tati, from the other room; objects clanging around, crashing to the floor. This was followed by Usnavy’s threats of violence, which, in retrospect, are really quite ironic. At least I think it’s ironic. I don’t know what to call what I did, then. I think it might fall in to the realm of “Scientific breakthrough,” but that would take away from the unabashed badassary of it. I guess it was the adrenaline that held this thought off until now, but it’s only after the fact that I realize that I had done something that, as far as I know, no other corporeal being had ever done.

Ever.

In all of ever.

Thinking about it is like trying to wrap my head around the vast expanse of the universe. Every time I try to think about how big it all is and how small we are in comparison, I swear I can feel the two hemispheres of my brain slowly sliding apart like it’s Pangaea.

After hearing the crash of what I assumed was my laptop, I stopped thinking about paints. I, instead, looked in disgust at the bucket of supernatural snot that lay on the lab table before me; this weird collection of greenish-brown phlegm. Back when I smoked a pack a day, I’m pretty sure I coughed up shit that looked exactly like this. And I think the snot knew I was thinking about how gross it was, as a bubble rose to the surface and farted out a barely audible bloop.

“You’re gross, man,” I said to the snot bucket. It did not reply. I was saddened by this. If it had, I would have had yet another reason to procrastinate just a bit longer as my friends were about to be killed by an other-worldly apparition in the next room.

I dipped my index finger in to the snot bucket. Until then, I hadn’t ever willingly touched it. I pulled my snotty finger up to eye level and gave it a look over, smearing it around. It was a little sticky, and it slid down my hand — like a slightly more liquidy version of Nickelodeon Gak. Vomiting was something I was going to have to do later, you know, when it was more time appropriate.

Without wanting to, I started to think about the snot. Not the look or feel – but its purpose, its function. “If A equals this shit, and B equals this shit allowing a ghost to come in contact with the physical realm…then…,” I held off on saying the last part, even though it was the most important part. I thought that if maybe I didn’t say it, the mysterious forces of the universe wouldn’t hear it and I wouldn’t feel like I had to act out what C equaled, and just pretend C never existed. C sucks. But, a wise man once told me something that I will never forget. It is perhaps the single truest piece of advice I’ve ever been given, and never once had I followed it. Until now, of course. This wise man said, “History is written by those willing to say ‘Fuck it.’”

I’m the wise man who said that. More specifically, it was me via Zadeen, the Wizard of Galatha – the main character of a fantasy novel I started writing in high school.

So, taking my own wizard’s advice, I said “Fuck it,” and I dipped my hands in to the bucket of snot, right up to the elbows.

What happened next was one of the greatest things any human had ever done, and, most importantly, had ever said. But, then again, I am a bit biased, considering the fact that I’m the one that said and did it.

“Hey, ghost! C’mere! I have a theory I wanna test!” I yelled. “I wanna see if I can punch the shit out of you!”