Mirrored

Ohhhh my gawd, what the fuck is this guy doing!? thought Patrick, anger twisting his face as he stepped to the left for the second time, attempting to by-pass the man that was mirroring his own steps.

(having trouble with the tenses of this sentence)

Previously, Patrick had been walking along the street on a relatively quiet Saturday morning. The sun offered warming rays of light, the sky offered calming shades of blue, the birds offered chirpy upbeat tunes, and the intermittent wind offered gentle refreshment. A fine day; rejected by Patrick.

Patrick, coming back from a long session of drinking, socialising, and courting at a friend’s party, was bleary eyed and dishevelled. He felt as if his brain was attempting to make an escape through the sutures and his stomach through the mouth. Additionally, running through his mind was the memories of an originally promising courting attempt that, spiralling through frustration, exploded into disappointment, the shrapnel of which still caused him suffering. All this combined to make it extremely uncomfortable for Patrick to walk on the footpath - to walk at all - and made him intensely desire the sanctuary of his bed. It was no wonder he rejected the offers of the sun, sky, birds, and wind. Actually, he was not even paying attention to such offers, nor was he paying attention to the cars, nor to the few people walking on the opposite side of the road, nor the... He most definitely was not paying attention to the individual that was walking towards him, directly opposite, from across the street.

Regardless of whether he was paying attention to him or not, regardless of whether he wanted to pay attention to him or not, Patrick was forced to give the man a pinhead of attention when he stopped directly in front of him, not allowing him to pass.

Huh!? What!? Patrick thought, as speedily as a drunken Ox as he automatically came to a stop and slowly raised his head to look at the man. The man looked very ordinary. He was about the same height as himself, dressed in jeans, and a plain long-sleeved shirt. His hair cut was short and plain. His facial features were plain. His general demeanour was plain. It was almost as if he was created to not be noticed, to blend in; hard for Patrick to do considering he was an obstacle on his path.

The man, The Plain Man, looked at Patrick, clearly surprised to see that another individual would be walking in the same line as himself, and that they could meet directly in front of each other without noticing. His dark, blue eyes – the only characteristic of him that was not plain, but rather brilliant – widened and his pale red lips formed an ‘O’ shape. He spoke, saying “opps”, sounding unfamiliar to him; his voice flat, dull, and monotone. He continued “sorry about that buddy, I was walking, and did not see you there, my apologises, have a good day mister” This phrase sounded like it had created and rehearsed earlier, just in case it could be of use in a future.

“oh” slopped Patrick “uhhh, dat’s okay... I guess” not intending to give the man a second glance, he put his head down, made a step to the left, and, being drawn back into the disappointing drama of this morning thought Geez, I cannot believe her, why would she -

This thought was cut short, however, as The Plain Man took the exact same step; literally mirroring it. Everything about the step was the same as Patrick’s: the alignment of the foot on the ground, the direction of the knee, the slight downward tilt of the pelvis, the slight hunch of the upper back, the dangling of the arms, the...

uh, what the? Thought Patrick, the drama being overtaken by surprise and disbelief; compelled to give the man another glance, one that offered a flat hung-over look that accurately expressed the ambiguous, and distracting sense of surprise and disbelief he felt.

“oh geez, sorry again!” laughed the Plain Man, his face brightening up to almost merge with that of the sunlight “how silly of me, enjoy you day, mister”

“uhhhh okay, yeah” said Patrick, the brightness of the man’s smile being rejected by him just like the offerings of the day. He then lowered his head again to go back on his way after, what Patrick considered, being waylaid far too long from his path that led directly to his comforting bed. For Patrick the bed represented a kind of vampire crypt in which he would sleep most of the day, hidden from the glaring sunlight, quelling the unrest of his brain and stomach and their attempt to escape from his body – well at least the feeling that they were.

They both stepped back to the centre but, as if intertwined in an invisible sticky web, they both stepped to the right at the same time as each other. This strange dance continuing one more step. Even though Patrick was one of the participants he wanted to exit as soon as possible, but could not because, as with the previous steps, he was drawn back into the dance by his current step. It was as if The Plain Man wanted to continue this strange dance even though Patrick did not want to. Even if he did want to his body most certainly would not be able to keep up, considering the state he was in at the moment.

Without batting an eye lid the Plain Man laughed again, this time more loudly, which reverberated through Patrick as if he was in front of a church gong. His brain, feeling as if it had just seen a ghost of its Christmas-past, nearly escaped from his skull and his stomach heaved over like it had been on a fishing ship during The Perfect Storm. Patrick lowered his head down, and closed his eyes, taking a few seconds to regroup. Then at The Plain Man and offered him a restrained smile that represented the seed of annoyance that, even though planted last night at the party and watered this morning with disappointment, was being fertilised with each step in the street-dance they performed.

“oh, look at us” said the Plain Man “how silly do we look, I’ll just be on my way” his face, hardly changing, still bright and smiling despite of the look that Patrick gave him, and despite the sickly sweet smell that drifted off Patrick.

What the hell is going on here? thought Patrick, the mornings disappointing drama did not even have a chance to arise in his mind, instead it was unintentionally relegated to another part of his mind that would deal with it later. At the moment Patrick needed all the resources he had to prevent the possible escape of two of his most important organs – brain and stomach – and, at the same time, to deal with the situation The Plain Man presented him.

“Yeh” said Patrick, through his restrained smile “no worries mate” his breathing terse, his forehead leaking alcoholic sweat, and his eyes even more bleary than before. All of which went unnoticed by the Plain Man.

As we already know neither of what the men said came close to the truth. The Plain Man most certainly would not be on his way, otherwise he would not have mirrored Patrick’s step and, Patrick was most certainly not ‘no worries mate’, otherwise Patrick would not had been thinking Ohhhh my gawd, what the fuck is this guy doing!?. This thought was the fruit of the tree that sprouted forth from the seed of annoyance, a fruit that he had not yet bitten into. This fruit hung innocently off the tree as Patrick and The Plain Man stood face to face mirroring each other in form though not in appearance. Patrick’s beer breath drifted around the unaffected Plain Man’s face his smile not fading at all, remaining bright like the sun perched on its morning angle. Patrick’s cracked red bleary eyes lazily gazed at The Plain Man’s eyes whose nondescript clear blue eyes held steady like the bright sky. For a microsecond they looked like two cowboys face to face for a show down.

Then Patrick moved and The Plain Man mirrored him and Patrick bit from the fruit.

“Whaaaaaa thav fuck are ya fucking doin!?” suddenly screamed Patrick; exploding with a vicious fury, fuelled by his hangover, his disappointment, and the current intolerable street tango. Uncontrollably, Patrick gnawed at the fruit, relishing its sweet juices like a man feverish with hunger that, following the verbal explosion, resulted in Patrick exploding physically. His arms jerked out, wildly grabbing the Plain Man by the arms, clamping them to his torso, and then, spasming to the right in a lunatic twisting motion, he threw The Plain Man to the ground. He fell straight to the ground without any resistance whatsoever, all the while keeping his ordinary smile shining and bright non-descript blue eyes looking forward.

Alerted by the sudden outburst of anger some people across the street stopped dead in their tracks and turned to look at Patrick, surprise or annoyance jumping on their faces that quickly turned to panic, concern, or anger as they saw The Plain Man hit the ground. From the perspective they were standing they were unable to perceive the strange reaction The Plain Man made as he hit the ground. Patrick, at first, was unable to perceive the reaction either, too consumed by rage as he was, standing stiffly over the Plain Man, mumbling cuss words through his teeth and breathing heavily.

“oi” screamed a man across the street, the sharpness of their voice pricking Patrick out of his rage, as turned around to see a man walking across the street and a couple angled to him were looking at him discussing something.

Patrick turned back to The Plain Man, who had not moved from the spot he had been thrown, and as soon as he laid his eyes on the man he was struck by The Plain Man’s strange reaction. Not only was the man as stiff as a board, lying on his side with his legs in a v-shape, one pointing up into the air and the other parallel to the ground, but he was leaking. In the position he fell into, his shoulder had hit the ground first, which caused the side of his head to smack against the concrete around which gathered a pool of liquid. Not blood, but liquid. A greeny-brown coloured liquid almost like the colour of vomit.

“hey, what are you doing??” said the same man as before, this time closer. Even though the sudden, angry exertion put enough stress on Patrick to intensify his hangover to the point that it felt like he was going to vomit and his brain was going to explode, this strange and curious revelation cast all that into background noise. Ignoring the voice Patrick bent down to take a closer look at the liquid that was pooling around the Plain Man’s head.

When Patrick reached arms length from The Plain Man, his nostrils were burnt by a smell that took the background noise of his stomach and brain to dead centre of his experience. They screamed at him like a rock concert. The smell, like off cheese combined with used socks, forced him to jerk back, cover his nose with his tee-shirt and attempt to withdraw his head backwards; all of which made him lose his balance. Patrick, in a state of nausea and disorientation and falling to the ground, shot out his arm and grabbed The Plain Man’s stiff leg which was enough to prevent Patrick from face planting the concrete though not enough to keep him upright. He fell down to one knee while The Plain Man rolled onto his back. What Patrick saw on the side of the man’s head pushed Patrick over the edge.

“oi, get away from him!” screamed the man, right behind Patrick, and along with it a hand on his shoulder that tightened as soon as it touched him. But as soon as he saw what had become of The Plain Man’s head, his grip became weak and limp.

The side of the Plain Man’s head had become a cavity from which was oozing the vomit coloured liquid, the smell of which had now formed a cloud of stink around Patrick. The cavity bubbled at the edges like boiling vomit, moving from the edge inwards, unevenly consuming all the structures of the face as it did so; bits of flesh dropped to the ground with a fleshy splat only to be consumed by the vomit coloured liquid on the concrete that also bubbled. What remained of The Plain Man’s face still held its bright grin that looked monstrous now due to the fact he was missing half his face, though one of his clear blue eyes still shone like the sky that it mirrored.

“oh my fucking god” said man, his hand dropping off Patrick’s shoulder, hanging limp at his side. Instinctively Patrick turned to his left, one hand over his mouth, to find a safe place for the contents of his stomach that were rapidly rising up his oesophagus, however, he tripped over the Plain Man’s leg. As he did his hands reached out to break his fall while thick chunks of vomit, like thick pea soup, drooped out between his lips, slopping on the ground and splashing over his arm.

The smell started to overwhelm Patrick; on all fours he frantically tried to escape from its oppressive, poignant, maddening stench. Wobbling, he bumped into the legs of man, vomit dripping from the sides of his mouth, put his right hand into a blob of his vomit, and hit the ground face first. This severely jarred Patrick. His previously manageable escaping brain was now throbbing painfully against the inside of his skull with every beat of his heart that was now pitter, pattering at a frantic pace. The pain of kissing the concrete and the overwhelming stench stimulated Patrick to release the contents of his stomach over the ground again; thick, chunky, foul smelling pea soup that forced its way out of Patrick’s mouth and pooled around his face, up his nose, and into his eyes. He started to weep and moan.

“oh my god, oh my fucking god, oh my fucking god, what... what...” whispered the man, paying no attention to the struggle of Patrick at his feet, his eyes entirely fixed upon The Plain Man’s head that was now eating into the other half of his face and skull. He could not look away, he was transfixed upon the bizarre spectacle before him, though his body knew he had to move away, get out of there somehow; so, instinctively, his feet made tiny backward steps.

As he wept and moaned to himself – the man consumed in his own struggles – Patrick made a great effort to get to his hands and knees, though he was entangled with the stiff legs of The Plain Man. Finally, he got some footing against one of the Plain Man’s legs and pushed off it, though that caused The Plain Man’s leg to be torn from his torso and for Patrick to fall to the ground again, his chest landing in the pool of vomit and a shriek being released as he fell. The Plain Man’s stiff leg spun and was stopped by the man’s two legs which caused him to glance down, shriek, stumble backwards, and fall to the ground on his ass. This seemed to knock some sense into him and he quickly jumped back up.

“oh shit! Fucking hell” he said, with deep concern and guilt “sorry, buddy, fucking sorry, are you alright? Let’s go, let’s get out of here, that fucking smell” he bent down to grab Patrick by the armpits who was still struggling to get up and had vomited again as he saw The Plain Man’s leg be snapped off by his own effort. Even though the man was helping Patrick, he still could not stop looking at the Plain Man’s bubbling disappearing head – now his freaky half smile was gone and the corner of his eye nearly dissolved. Pulling Patrick up by his arm pits the man dragged him forward until a couple of steps later Patrick found his own footing.

“come-on, mate, up ya get” said man, throwing his arm around Patrick’s back, who was still crying and moaning a little, and slinging himself along. The more Patrick moved away from the stench and was active the more lucid he became. Four steps he stopped moaning and crying. Six steps he had wiped the vomit from his face. Eight steps he looked at the man to say “thanks mate”, his vomit stink breath burning the nostrils of man. Ten steps, he staggered down to the ground “I’m fine, I need to sit down”. The man looked at him with concern though allowed him to come free from his grip saying “sure mate, whatever you want”, he turned around to look at the Plain Man’s body which was surrounded by a pool of the bubbling liquid, his clothes flat except for his shirt but becoming flatter by the minute as his body slowly dissolved.

Other people walking along the street came to investigate but steered well clear of the The Plain Man, or what was left of him, because of the stench. Patrick, with his head down, was on his hands and knees again breathing deeply attempting to calm his throbbing brain and churning stomach, not yet attempting to process what had just happened. In the background he heard the gossipy chatter of the man telling the gathering people what had happened, but not really being able to tell them, not really being able to find the words for what happened; just some vague generalities, bits and pieces. Anyway, he did not remember much before getting up to help Patrick. Piercing the chatter was a siren coming closer and closer until it broke up the chattering and with one last close yell it stopped the chatter completely. Patrick heard the man yell to ambulance offices to come over to him and he heard footsteps, rapidly approach him. Then someone touched him on the shoulder.

“Are you okay sir?” asked a soft female voice. The feeling of disappointment arose in Patrick’s heart as he slowly lifted his head up to the voice, saying “Shelly?”

“oh, my gawd” returned Shelly “Pat, what the hell happened?” She bent down, concern flooding her voice and face, to help Patrick onto his butt.

He looked at her with blood shot eyes, dried bits of vomit still on his face, and wet bits of vomit holding onto dirt. He looked a right royal mess. His brain was still attempting to escape but calm down as he looked at her, his stomach churned less now. But it was replaced with a different churning - “I’ll tell you over coffee”. An attempt of a smile appeared on his face that looked more like a grimace, but Shelly gave him the benefit of the doubt and smiled back looking a bit surprised and flattered that the first thing he could think of in a situation such as he was in was meeting up with her.

She cackled and looked around motioning to her partner, who was hovering around them, to move away. “Sorry about last night Pat” she looked him in the eyes “I was not myself, I had a few too many, too early and I was...” she sighed, scratched the back of her head “being a bitch... there have been a a few personal dramas that I have been caught up with, ya know?”

Patrick laughed, his head shot through with pain, and the the acrid smell of vomit enveloped Shelly who scrunched up her face “shit sorry” said Patrick, tilting his head down slightly and covering his mouth so Shelly would not be hit again “but that is okay, so what do you say?” he asked again, his eyes directed towards Shelly’s, looking as if he was playing coy.

“Well I don’t usually say yes to men covered in vomit, but if you clean yourself up I’ll make an exception”. They both laughed.