Purgatory

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Moody?"

Here we go; thought Dean. Couldn't they have just thrown him in jail?

"Court order" He replied curtly, not bothering to look up.

And why would he look up? He was there against his will, and he was determined to be as petty as possible. They could only force him to physically be there, but they'd never be able force his mind to cooperate. Mentally, he was humming the guitar solo from Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird... and having such a great time doing it that he found it difficult not to bob his head or air guitar it.

Halfway through the solo -which must have been around the 40 second mark- the doctor spoke.

"Fair enough. I know you're here against your will, but there's nothing either of us can do about it, since this is indeed a court order... so what do you say we actually have a conversation?"

Dr. Snow was a stereotype; tweed jacket, beard, glasses, clipboard and pen, certificates on the wall, calm and composed demeanor, minty breath, the whole nine yards... but what Dean found the most intriguing was the striking resemblance he bore to Dr. James Wilson from House M.D, a TV series he used to watch in his youth. He made a mental note to save the jab for when the doctor got too invasive.

"What can I say, doc? It's just something about handcuffs that makes me less talkative... but it does make me frisky as hell, you kinky beast" He replied with a sly wink.

Dr. Snow showed no signs of annoyance at his comment. Instead, he responded by opening a folder on his side table.

"I find your background very interesting, Dean. May I call you Dean?" He asked, pausing to keenly watch his response.

"Baby, I think we're way past “Dean”... but I don’t care how "interesting" you think my "background" is; I'm not into assplay " Dean replied, holding his gaze.

Dr. Snow continued as if he'd replied with a simple "yes".

"You've had a lot of run-ins with the law, Dean... almost too many for a man in his mid-twenties. Arson; burglary; blackmail; vandalism" He listed absently, vaguely gesturing towards the folder. "And now armed robbery... you've done it all".

"Yeah? Does that turn you on? I could tell you were into bad boys the minute I walked in"

Surprisingly, Dr. Snow smiled. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?" He asked pointedly.

"I'm hard to get; if you want this sweet ass, you're going to have to work for it" Dean replied inconsequentially.

"Homoerotic undertones aside, what interest me the most aren't your crimes... see, I've met a lot of scumbags in my line of work, Dean... but you don't strike me as one" He said, leafing through the pages of his folder.

"Careful, doc... all this sweet talk is making me wet" Replied Dean, moaning and rubbing his groin with his cuffed hands as a girl would rub her clitoris. He was rewarded with a quick flash of anger he would have missed if he'd blinked.

"Yeah, you're not a scumbag... I have your SAT scores here; you could have got into pre-med if you'd wanted... you were a grade A student up until high school; all your teachers agree"

"I was a nerdy kid, so what?" Dean asked defensively.

"Not only were you academically successful, but I can see here that you've done a lot of volunteer work, and none of it was court-ordered... moreover, I've looked into your record, and all of your crimes were either due to poor anger management, or petty theft in order to support your family in times of trouble. Is that correct?" The doctor asked.

Dean averted his gaze and took an interest in a bird nesting on a branch outside the window.

"I thought so. And that's why instead of standing idly by and watching your partner shoot that old woman, you took a bullet for her and landed yourself in a coma for weeks... I ask you, are these the actions of a deranged lunatic and a threat to society?"

Anger flashed in Dean's eyes.

"Robbie should never have tried to shoot that old lady. That wasn't part of the plan. It was supposed to be a clean operation, in and out; no blood and no fuss... but he panicked and shot at her, and I couldn't let her die" Dean wasn't sure how he'd survived getting shot in the chest at such a close range, and he still cursed Robbie for being such an amateur.

"Exactly my point. Even your hobbies; all I had to do was open your Facebook page... you're into poetry, music, weight-lifting, skiing-"

"Long, romantic walks on the beach with your mom" Interjected Dean.

For the second time, Dean saw a flicker of anger on Dr. Snow's calm face. He was getting somewhere.

"I have yet to meet a single person who has more than 2 solitary hobbies who isn't trying to hide from something or run away from his demons. You obviously aren't the hardened criminal you would have me believe... so what happened to you? Why are you acting out?"

"Oh I'm definitely "hardened"... touch it if you don't believe me" Dean replied with another hostile wink.

"I know there's a good person inside you somewhere, Dean... and that's why when the DA sent your partner to jail, he didn't send you too... you're a good person on some level; you have to see that!" Snow gestured wildly. Dean was finally getting on his nerves.

"I can assure you there's no one inside me, doc, but who knows... if you play your cards right, maybe there will be inside you"

"What was your childhood like?" Asked Dr. Snow. Dean could almost swear his voice was shaking now. "Did your mother hug you much?"

"Yours did a lot more than that" Replied Dean with a ruthless laugh.

... and in the blink of an eye; before Dean could even process it, he was pinned against the wall.
In one fluid motion, the doctor who was seconds ago calmly trying to find a weak spot in his armor was suddenly red in the face, panting with rage, with a blade in his hand fixed under Dean's neck. Dean felt the first pangs of doubt and fear... what was going on?

"Oh baby, you know I like it rough" Oh well... as last words go, that wasn't so bad.

Dr. Snow just stood there, pinning him to the wall and angrily staring him down with all the hostility in the world radiating from his eyes.

"What, you want to call out to your parole officer? Trust me, he doesn't get paid enough to care... and even if he does, the door's locked. Are you a betting man, Dean? Because I bet you I could tear out your throat before he gets to you... and trust me, I know where to cut" for emphasis, Dr. Snow pressed his knife up against Dean's neck, drawing blood.

Dean couldn't figure out why Dr. Snow had suddenly turned into a blood-thirsty psycho... and what's more, he had no idea what his endgame might be... but the anger he saw in his eyes was real, and it was personal; it was the kind of anger you had for someone very close to you who disappointed you in a significant way. Something was very very wrong.

"What is this; good shrink, bad shrink? What do you want from me?" Asked Dean, his mind racing.

"I want you to talk." Dr. Snow spat. "I want you to drop the whole smart-ass, macho act and just talk. If I'm satisfied with what you say, I'll let you live. Does that sound good?" He stared at him imploringly.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asked, curious in spite of himself.

"I'll tell you everything in good time, but you have to let me help you first... please." He eased his grip on Dean, but the knife stayed where it was.

Dean was just about to tell him to blow it out his ass, but the way the doctor was looking at him gave him pause... this was definitely personal for him, and he had to find out why. Besides, he could see anger in his eyes, but no hate. His gut feeling was that the doctor meant him well... or at least thought he did.

"Fine... you win, you bastard. Let me go and I'll tell you what you want to know" Replied Dean, defeated.

Dr. Snow let him go... and in the blink of an eye he was back in his chair, looking as sharp and calm as ever, as if nothing had happened. Dean dragged himself back to the stereotypical psychiatrist's couch, and lay on his back. Dr. Snow wrote something on his clipboard, which Dean imagined was a check mark next to "Break patient" on his to-do list, and he returned to his line of questioning.

"Tell me about your childhood"

"I was a nerd. I was bullied a lot... and no matter how good my grades were, my parents always expected better... so I eventually gave up, and I decided to live my life in highschool... but that's when my grandma got sick and I started trying to make money to pay for her chemo because my parents didn't earn enough... and it wasn't always legal. There, is that good enough for you?" He asked bitterly.

"You attempted suicide at age 17?"

"Yes... that's when the cancer finally killed her... and while I was struggling with her death, I met a girl who made everything better. She was there for me when no one else was, and she's the biggest reason why I got through it... but then she left me. She left me, broken and in pain, and that's when I realized that I was alone... so very alone. Everyone left; grandma died and my girlfriend left me, so I decided to kill myself."

"Except you didn't do a very good job of it, did you?" Dr. Snow replied scornfully.

"No, I didn't; my dad saved me, right on time... but anyway, that was way back then; I was a kid. I'm never going to kill myself; that's the easy way out. I have people who look up to me and depend on me... taking my life would be a slap to their faces."

"I must say, I agree. Suicide is never the answer." commented Dr. Snow. "Did you get involved in any other romantic relationships since then?"

"I did... but they all ended the same way. They never stay; it's like I'm cursed or something... but I've learned to be alone a long time ago; it's the only thing I know now" Realizing he'd said too much, Dean's voice trailed off and he stopped talking.

Dr. Snow allowed him a few seconds of silence, then piped up again.

"You mentioned people who look up to you; care to elaborate?"

"Yes; my little sister... she idolizes me. I'm her role model; her protection and her support. She needs someone to look up to; and someone to be there for her whenever she gets herself into trouble as she always does. There's nothing I wouldn't do for that kid; I'd die for her. Worse; I'd live for her."

"I see."

Dr. Snow arranged his folder and made some more marks on his clipboard.

"Let's talk about your mom" Said Dr. Snow, again watching his reaction closely.

"What about her?" Dean asked, starting to get angry again.

"Just tell me about her, please" Said Dr. Snow patiently.

"She's an amazing woman. A very simple woman... with her, what you see is what you get . You don't have to think about subtext... and she's always supported me and been there for me... never expected any more than I could give. She understands me; the real me. I don't have to justify my actions or change who I am for her to love me or to be proud of me"

"As opposed to your dad?" Dr. Snow asked shrewdly.

"Don't you say one word about my dad, you son of a bitch. My dad is a great man... he is always there for us; even when things got rough, he never left... his whole life, he fought tooth and nail to provide for us; give us a better life than his parents gave him... and we've always leaned on him; put more pressure on him than anyone can bear, and he's always taken it without complaint... even at the age when he should start going soft. No matter how bad things got, even when his mother was dying slowly of cancer, he never showed any signs of weakness or pain. He's unshakable; a solid rock... I will never be half the man he is"

"And how do you think he feels about you?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm not going to answer any more questions" Dean said, fighting to control his anger. "I don't see how any of this is relevant to my crime. Just let me go already; we're way past one hour anyways... where's my officer?" It made no sense that the session was allowed to go on for so long.

"Why did you save that woman, Dean? If you aren't suicidal, why did you do it?" His eyes beseeched him; begged him for an answer.

"I just did, OK? Let me out of here" The look in Dr. Snow's eyes was starting to worry him.

"I asked you a question" Dr. Snow said firmly.

"I gave you an answer" Replied Dean, holding his ground.

"WHY DO YOU WANT TO GIVE YOUR LIFE AWAY?" Yelled Dr. Snow.

Dean was at his breaking point. It all came out in a burst.

"BECAUSE I DON'T CARE WHETHER I LIVE OR DIE, ALRIGHT? BECAUSE I'M WORTHLESS AND MY LIFE HAS NO VALUE! WHY'S THAT SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND? I'M CONSTANTLY TRAPPED INSIDE MY OWN HEAD, MAN! THE DOUBTS, THE FEARS, THE SADNESS, THE ANGST, THE SELF-PITY, THE SELF-HATE, THE VOICES, THE FUCKING VOICES, ALWAYS TELLING ME THAT I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH; THAT I'M NEVER GOOD ENOUGH AND THAT I'LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH... THAT I ALWAYS LET DOWN THOSE I CARE ABOUT AND THAT I'LL NEVER MAKE THEM PROUD... THAT I DESERVE EVERYTHING BAD THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME... THAT I DON'T DESERVE LOVE... THAT I'LL LIVE ALONE AND THAT I'LL DIE ALONE... EVERY DAY IS A STRUGGLE; EVERY SINGLE DAY I HAVE TO CONVINCE MYSELF THAT IT'S ALL WORTH IT AND THAT I SHOULDN'T JUST BLOW MY BRAINS OUT...

GEE, I WONDER WHY I'D WANT TO GET AWAY FROM THAT? THERE ARE DAYS WHEN IT'S ALL I CAN DO TO STAY IN BED AND NOT SLIT MY OWN WRISTS... DAYS WHERE I ACTUALLY HAVE TO DUCK INTO A BATHROOM TO HIDE THE TEARS WHEN THEY FINALLY COME... DAYS WHERE I'M SO FUCKED UP THAT I LOCK MYSELF UP IN MY ROOM BECAUSE NO ONE CAN SEE ME LIKE THIS...
AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE USELESS FUCKING ADVICE; ON ALL THE PEOPLE WHO TELL ME TO "SNAP OUT OF IT" OR TO "BE POSITIVE" OR TO "STOP BEING MELODRAMATIC"... I'M SO FUCKING TIRED OF IT ALL, MAN... I JUST WANT IT TO BE OVER!"

Dr. Snow seemed nonplussed. He obviously hadn't expected this outburst.

Dean took a few moments to compose himself and sneakily wipe his face on his jacket, then he continued:

"Look, I promised myself a long time ago that I'd never kill myself... but if there's a way for me to save someone; to die for a person or a cause, and put myself out of my misery... then everybody wins. Is that so bad?" Dean asked.

Dr. Snow took off his glasses. Dean sensed that his part of the conversation was over, and he braced himself for some grade A meaningless psycho-babble .

"Dean... I recognize several personality disorders -anxiety, depression and bipolar disorders, for starters- and all of them are perfectly treatable... but more importantly, they're all rooted in your sense of self-worth. As a child, you've learned to use jokes to mask your true feelings, and you've never grown out of that phase... and as you grew up and watched your dad present a stoic, tough exterior to the world, it became your definition of manliness and the model you've been trying to emulate, your whole life... you cling so hard to outdated macho ideals to mimic your dad and be the man you think he'd be proud of, never allowing yourself to show weakness to anyone.

You cloak your feelings in denial and bury them in distractions, but that's only a painkiller, not a cure... and your inability to open up pushes people you care about away. I'm willing to bet that you've personally sabotaged every meaningful relationship you've ever been in, not to mention pushed away countless friends, as if you're always trying to see how much you can get away with.

That's unsustainable. Your low opinion of yourself and refusal to open up will eventually cost you every person you hold dear, and they are the reasons for your abandonment issues... but let's be fair; how can they love you when even you don't love you? Your obvious desire to sacrifice yourself to give your life meaning points to that... you hate yourself because you feel you aren't good enough to earn your father's pride, and that is the single most repressed feeling you're trying to run away from.

Listen to me carefully, and believe what I say; you're locked in a cage. You keep looking for ways to break out; drinking; hobbies; distractions, but nothing works... and believe me, no amount of therapy or drugs can help if you don't want to be helped... only you have the keys to the cage. Your misery doesn't define you; stop feeling sorry for yourself and being miserable out of some misguided, romanticized notion that that's your lot in life. You can find peace, and you can find happiness... if you only forgive yourself, and stop holding yourself to such impossible standards. You're your own harshest critic and your own worst enemy."

Outwardly, Dean gave no indication he'd even heard anything... but every word resonated within him.

Dr. Snow was right.

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, until Dr. Snow decided to break it.

"You've asked me what's going on, and I promised I'd tell you in good time... well, it's time for the plot twist... and I've got to say, only a subconscious as fucked up as yours would add a plot twist... you have the soul of a writer" Dr. Snow said mysteriously, with an outlandish glint in his eyes.

That didn't sound right to Dean at all.

"Excuse me?" He inquired.

"Come on, Dean... you know what this is. There's a reason why I look like Dr. Wilson from House, one of the TV characters you can relate to the most; same reason why my name is Snow; and why I'm speaking in Morgan Freeman's voice; and why this room is so full of cliches, since you're a melodramatic drama queen... we could have been anywhere... This could have been the Playboy mansion and I could have been Hugh Hefner, but you chose a shrink's office..." Dr. Snow sighed exasperatedly, then he continued:

"Anyway, I'm your alter ego. A figment of your imagination. You never woke up from that coma. You've been unconscious for hours, days, weeks, years... I have no idea. But what I do know is that you have a choice now... I just had to make you face your demons so you can make an... ahhhh, informed decision." Dr. Snow -or whoever/whatever the hell he was- spoke matter-of-factly, as if explaining to a toddler for the hundredth time that 2 plus 2 makes 4.

"Yeah? And what choice is that?" Dean asked, struggling to process this new information.

"Well, to borrow heavily from such popular series as Harry Potter, The Matrix, Supernatural and even House M.D. in that one episode; you can either choose to slit your wrists with the knife I introduced you to earlier, and I don't think I need to explain what that would do; you could walk out that door, wake up and carry on with your life... or you could go back to sleep, and take your chances with the coma.

I know your head is a dark place to be... but you have to promise me that you'll try to help yourself, if you do decide to go out that door... Ultimately, your friends, your ex's and even your family's opinions are irrelevant. You don't owe them anything; you don't need their validation, and your self-worth is definitely not conditional on their approval. The only opinion that matters is yours... but you won't see it; you're too proud to change or to seek help... and we'll both find ourselves back here very soon."

Dr. Snow stood up and headed towards the door... but a sad, knowing smile on his face as he said that last sentence caught Dean's eye. He had to ask.

"Doc?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Have we been here before?" 

Dr. Snow smiled.

"More times than you'll ever know, kid."

He left his knife on the side table, opened the door, and left the room.

Dean sat there for what felt like days, thinking about his impossible choice. He finally had what he wanted... all he had to do was kill himself, and he'd be free from his demons forever. It was all finally so easily within reach... he only had to reach out for that knife... but what kind of person would he be if he abandoned his family to fend for themselves?

His choice was clear.

Dean walked to the door, inwardly cursed himself, opened it and walked out.

And just like that; he woke up gasping for breath in a hospital bed with no recollection of what happened... once again trapped inside the cage in his head, screaming himself hoarse where no one can hear him.

**************************************

In the memory of Chester Bennington, a man who got me through a lot of tough times in my life, and whose death shook me to my very core.

Rock-solid

Disclaimer from May 2018: In truth, this was written about one month after the break-up in question, so I was still very much in the frankly unreasonable "anger" phase of the five stages of grief. After posting it back then, I rightly thought the blog post was too bitter to be published publicly, so I deleted it... and now I'm posting it again for the sake of completeness, but I'd much rather no one reads it, to be perfectly honest.

I'm declassifying it as a final symbolic gesture, if you will.

******************

I don't think you'll ever end up reading this, but true to myself and my need to write my inner thoughts where I can later access and re-live them, I'm choosing to write this post anyways. It isn't a bitter post I'm writing with manly tears streaming down my ruggedly handsome, bearded face- I'm over it, and I've been over it for a while... but I won't rest until I've expressed these feelings in some form... and to be honest, I don't think I want you or anybody else to read this at all, which is why I'm not going to share this post on Facebook. I just needed to get this off my chest so that hopefully in the future if I ever feel lost or nostalgic, I'll read this and realize why things never really worked out between us.

You never loved me.

Sure, you were attracted to me. I was a shiny trophy for you to start your collection with... but let's call things what they are; it wasn't love. Call it lust, call it chemistry, call it a double cheeseburger with extra jalapenos for all I care, but don't insult love by pretending otherwise. All those memes you sent me, claiming that "you're the one" and "I want you as you are with all your flaws" etc etc... yeah, these were lies you wanted to believe. You just wanted to live a fairytale love story, and I was the idiot with a God-complex and illusions of grandeur who wanted to make your wish come true.

You stayed with me during the oxytocin-fueled first months, when you actually felt that high and got "butterflies" in your stomach every time you saw me, as you liked to call them. You stayed with me as long as you could show me off to your friends as an older, charismatic successful guy with a job who pampers and spoils you. You stayed with me while it was all googly eyes and late-night chats. 

You stayed with me while it was convenient. You stayed with me while it was easy.

But when the shine was off the apple and you had to face the ugly reality... the reality that I was actually just a man -a simple kind of man, as it were- full of flaws and doubts and fears and expectations; you couldn't handle it. You preferred to throw away what we had rather than compromise, and that to me shows that you were not ready for me or for any kind of serious relationship... because guess what? Real relationships need work. If everybody broke up with their significant other over their first fight, the entire world's population would be single. I was prepared to radically alter my career path for your sake, but you couldn't imagine making a commitment as small as a promise. Yes, towards the end I was going through depression and possibly not dealing with it in the best way; and yes I was the first to express my doubts, but I still wanted to try until the last breath, and that's the difference between us. You quit. I didn't.

And that's why I'm quite positive that you didn't love me. I believe you thought you did, or that maybe you wanted to... but you didn't; because when you love someone, you can't imagine your life without them, and it takes a hell of a lot longer than two weeks or a fight for you to fall out of love and move on.

That's everything I wanted to say. Future me, please learn to be more skeptical when a girl claims that she's in love with you... at least until she proves it with her actions.

I believe we had something good. I won't insult all our happy memories by pretending we didn't... because we had some good times, and I actually did love you... and I'm not writing this to hurt you or to make you angry; this isn't some kind of petty revenge post... it's just me realizing some cold, hard truths I'd been selectively blind to. I genuinely hope you find someone whose flaws you're actually able to tolerate, but in the meantime if by some chance you should feel confused and decide to stalk my blog and happen to read this post, I want you to ask yourself, and I mean really ask yourself if 

you were ever actually in love with me... because I think our brief relationship needs real closure, not lies and cliches. 

At any rate, this is all academic. Like I said, you probably won't ever read this post, and even if you do, it's over and nothing is going to change that. I've made my peace with it, because this was completely your choice, not mine... I was perfectly clear about wanting to give it another shot, but you closed the door on that, for better or worse. 

This is the last blog post I will ever write about you; I've officially written you out of my life. Good luck; I wish you a long and happy existence with someone else.

And as always, I remain unshakable; you might even say... "rock-solid".

A Bittersweet Ending

One day,
Way in the future
As fate will have it,
We'll meet again.

I'll be a nerdy dad
Fussing over his kid's stroller...
Happily walking down the street,
My wife's arm hooked in mine.

You'll look vibrant
In a beautiful black dress;
Your make-up complimenting
The contours of your face.

And by your side
Will be someone who's merely
A shadow of me, but it's only fair;
My wife's a copy of you.

And as we draw closer
Walking our separate ways...
Our eyes will suddenly meet,
And we'll go back in time.

To when we were in love,
With not a care in the world...
We were so sure we'd make it,
But fate had other plans.

Your face will look different,
But I will still remember;
Your scent; your taste; your touch...
And the loving look in your eyes.

Those eyes will search mine
For any sign of residue;
Love, hate, lust, or pain...
Anything but indifference.

And I will find in yours,
The answer to my question;
Of whether or not you forgot...
And if I'm ever in your thoughts.

Your face will arrange itself,
In the approximation of a smile...
You'll introduce your man,
I'll introduce my wife.

And through the pleasantries,
Our eyes will still probe...
While we both try to mask,
The raging storms inside.

But then the moment's over...
And we part ways again.
It doesn't hurt this time;
We've both done it before.

And as I walk away,
You look back, but I never see it...
As I assure my wife
That you’re just somebody that I used to know.

******************

Note: the title has been changed from “Somebody That I Used To know” to “La La Land”, “Serendipity” and finally to the current title.

Eagle

Spread your wings and soar above,
Cast your shadow on terrified prey
Be it rodent or pigeon or dove,
They scurry for cover, or else they pay.

The majestic flight of winged death,
Power and pride in mortal flesh.
With every wing beat and steady breath
Spreading fear in the hearts of foes afresh

But the eagle was old and not as strong,
For time leaves a mark, even on a king
Dull talons and beak can not belong,
To the proud eagle, so he took wing.

To the mountain top, where he was purged,
The pain was such that he might die
But our friend persisted and thus emerged
Once more a king; and took to the sky.

A defiant screech shook heaven and Earth,
Terror in the hearts of lesser beasts
King of the skies, by right of birth...
The mighty eagle has been released.

*************************

Eagles are amazing creatures... everything about them is inspiring and regal, but perhaps none more so than the fact that old eagles tend to pluck out their own feathers and break their own beaks and talons in order to sharpen them. It has always fascinated me that eagles can subject themselves to such pain rather than live as shadows of their former selves... or it would, if any of it were true. Eagles don't in fact do any of these things; this has been a long-standing myth popularized by motivational speakers which has absolutely no basis in reality. However, it serves the themes of rebirth and pride very well... also, it gives me a good excuse to be an insufferable know-it-all. Anyway, your suspension of disbelief would be appreciated.

The Center Didn't Hold.

Been a while hasn't it? Miss me yet? I'd always suspected that unhappiness is what triggers my creativity, and since I hadn't been truly "happy" in years, it had been a difficult claim to verify... but now after a brief interlude, I have a refreshing gust of miserable tailwinds in my sails and I can confirm that theory.

Right, so this blog post is very different; it's a song I've been working on since November... well, putting off since November. For better or worse, it's an almost 100% personal effort; I wrote the lyrics and wrote, played, recorded and edited literally all the instruments... and just FYI, I used a very low quality amplifier (a 10W LTD amp for any guitarists reading this) and my laptop's voice recorder to make all the recordings... and I can't stress how difficult the editing was as well, especially since this was my first time.

For everyone who's not that familiar with editing or how music is recorded in general; usually each track is recorded separately (guitar, drums, bass, vocals, etc.) and then compiled and glued together on editing software. The agony of listening to the song over and over to make sure all the instruments were in sync and re-recording some of the tracks tens of times because of a small mistake here or there is one that will likely keep me up at night for days in the future with this song stuck on repeat in my head like elevator music in my own personal hell.

The point I'm trying to make here is that the quality is not perfect, but a) this was more of a proof of concept to prove to myself that I'm an actual musician -so I had to forego superior quality for the sake of doing everything myself- and b) it's the best I could produce under the very strict $0 budget I've allocated for this project... so go easy on a busy corporate musician who barely has an hour or two to work on this stuff every day.

Anyway, now that I've lowered your expectations as much as humanly possible and hopefully shamed the trolls away, the link to the song is below, and you can see the lyrics below as well. Little did I know when I wrote them 6 months ago that they would prove to be eerily prophetic.

https://soundcloud.com/mahmoud-bondok-149713244/the-endless-loop

Before I leave you, allow me to give a shout out to Mona Bassel, whose angelic voice made this whole project possible and who is the only reason why the few of you who are going to actually listen to the whole song won't attempt a very messy suicide to escape the agonizing torture that is my voice. I also can't forget Mohamed Abo Hussein and Yehia El Sherbini, who provided helpful artistic suggestions along the way and whose feedback -while brutal at times- was invaluable.

And finally, don't try to decipher the title... it might not seem to have anything to do with the song, but trust me, it does.

****************

The Endless Loop

 <Verse 1>

She Woke up in the morning

Feeling sad & drained

Must have dreamt of him again last night

Like she does almost every night

Barely drags herself out of bed

Trying very hard not to think about him

Looks at her phone one more time

But she won’t be the first to break

<Chorus>

She will not be the one...

Who will beg for his love.

If he wants her at all,

He’ll be the one to call.

Deep down she knows he cares...

He will come crawling back.

All she can do is wait...

All she can do is hope.

<Verse 2>

Busy day at his work

But all he does is think about her

Her smile lights up his day

Her laugh is the music of his life

He can’t take this anymore

Looks at his phone one more time

But he’s too proud to ask twice

He will never be the first to break

<Chorus>

He will not be the one;

The one she will ignore...

The one that she’ll forget...

She’ll be the one to call.

Deep down he knows she cares...

She will come crawling back.

All he can do is wait...

All he can do is hope.

  

<Outro>

She will not be the one...

Who will beg for his love.

If he wants her at all,

He’ll be the one to call.

Deep down she knows he cares...

He will come crawling back.

All she can do is wait...

All she can do is hope.

 He will not be the one;

The one she will ignore...

The one that she’ll forget...

She’ll be the one to call.

Deep down he knows she cares...

She will come crawling back.

All he can do is wait...

All he can do is hope.

Yo ho, yo ho, The Sidekick Life For Me!

It's never easy being a sidekick.

Tales are sung of heroes, not of their faithful companions...

How many times has the brilliant Dr. Watson been sidelined by Mr. Holmes? 

How many people hated Ron Weasley in Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire when he tried breaking away from Harry's orbit?

How many times were Samuel Gamgee's motivations and sexual orientation questioned because he was true to his friend Frodo?

It is truly a thankless job, and isn't it ironic how every one of those sidekicks is infinitely more interesting than the main protagonist?

Isn't Jon Snow all the more relatable because he started off as a sidekick?

Being overshadowed makes one grow, like a tree branch growing ever longer, eventually poking out triumphantly from underneath the shadow and into the beautiful, bright sunlight.

Instead of being handed things on a silver platter, a sidekick develops themselves and works hard to earn their place in the sun.

Sidekicks are excellent, faithful friends. They never complain or waver in their support. They are always there for the hero through thick and thin. They graciously accept living behind the curtain; to support their friend and help them grow too... but here's the plot twist;

Because sidekicks have to work so hard all the time, they grow up to be much more likable than the hero... because while the hero just needs to smile and charm, the sidekick has to learn to be diplomatic at times, tough at times, caring at times, and sometimes a little vengeful. They're also usually the comic relief in most stories, so you can bet that they're funny too.

Sidekicks are always humble; never egotistic; never narcissistic... always there to offer a helping hand and a reassuring smile.

And you ask why I prefer sidekicks?

Because they give and they give and they expect nothing back.
Because they never flinch from their duty or grow to resent the hero.
Because they know how to put someone else's needs before their own.
Because they know how to be selfless and how to love unconditionally.

And when that sidekick's tree branch finally finds the sun,

Oh, how they glow!

***************************************************

The reason I'm writing this is a girl
More beautiful than she knows, both inside and out.
She seems to thinks she's still a sidekick...
But she has unknowingly already claimed her place in the sun
And overshadowed the hero and the whole tree, in my book.

You know who you are.

Whiskey Lullaby

"Next round's on me, guys" Jared said, already heading towards the bar counter.
"Damn right it is, bitch... last round you got us was back in our freshman year" Quipped Sam with a smirk.
"Oh, blow me" Replied Jared irritably.
"Don't mind if I do" said Emily with a sly wink to a chorus of rowdy hoots and catcalls...

It was going to be a good summer.

After weeks of all-nighters and a strict Ramen noodles and Redbull diet, finals week was over and he was finally looking at a full 3 months of non-stop partying and gaming without a constant feeling of guilt because he wasn't studying for an exam or writing a paper for a course... and to kick it off, Jared and his friends had decided to get some drinks at their usual bar. Curiously enough, although their original plan was to get completely hammered and wake up with vicious hangovers and no memory of the night before, when they'd reached the bar they realized that they were far too tired for hard liquor and instead decided on having a few beers and turning in early. They had the whole summer, after all... there was no rush.

It being a Tuesday evening, the bar was almost empty. As far as he could see, there were only two men at the pool table; a kissy couple who seemed to be transitioning from second to third base and a fidgety middle-aged blonde woman who seemed to be nervously waiting for someone but who kept stealing glances at a well-dressed man sitting alone by the bar; whose formal attire made it seem oddly obscene that he should be drinking on a Tuesday night rather than sitting at a negotiating table somewhere, or shouting at a subordinate or poor person.

The bartender was a pretty girl who looked to be in her early 20s. Her wavy brown hair cascaded elegantly in an artful tumble over her collarbone and down almost to her tiny waist, and her black, low-cut tank top emphasized firm, shapely breasts which he couldn't help noticing even in the dim yellow light. He briefly considered flirting with her until he noticed that her green eyes were fixed on the same young man at the bar, almost as if she were trying to catch his eye. As he drew close, she shifted her gaze to him with a forced smile.

"Hi, what can I get you?"

"I'd like 4 Coronas, 2 Blue Moons and a Guinness, please"

"Coming right up!"

As she went to get the beers, he started fumbling for his wallet but he couldn't find it, and after several seconds of vigorously frisking himself he was forced to accept that maybe he'd left it in his jacket pocket back at their table. The handsome young man was looking at him, his eyes twinkling with dry amusement.

"Lost your wallet somewhere?" He asked with a smile. If he'd had to guess his age, Jared would have guessed mid to late 20s.

"I must have left it back at the table" Jared replied with an exasperated shake of his head. "I'll go get it". He was turning back when he heard the man say "don't worry about it, I've got this- hey sweetie, put it on my tab"

He imagined a bartender as pretty as her must hear similar comments all the time, so he expected her to snap back at the man or at the very least give him a cold look... but what he didn't expect was that the girl would blush bright pink and murmur "sure!" while twirling her hair. Damn, that guy was good! All the same, he wasn't about to lose a gallantry fight in front of the girl, so he had to at least try to turn the man down.

"I can't accept this- hang on, I'll get my wallet" He said aloud, but making no move back towards his table.

"Don't worry about it, man. Enjoy!" He said, raising his scotch glass in a toasting gesture.

"I swear I have money, there's no need! I'll run back and get it" Jared said, inwardly hoping he'd insist. Money was tight and free beer was free beer.

"I'll tell you what, have a drink with me and we're even. Fair enough?"

Jared was checking out the bartender again who was still staring at the man and evidently in the midst of a wild 50 shades of grey-esque fantasy. Any man who could do that to a girl that pretty deserved a drinking partner.

"Deal. I'll just go give these beers to the guys and be right back"

He took the beers to their table, and after a quick "be right back", he went back to the man who seemed unusually interested in the wall opposite his face in spite of the bartender's obvious interest in him.

"Dude this girl is into you, you should ask for her number" Jared murmured to the man as he seated himself on the stool next to him.

The man replied "Not interested" with a bored, dismissive yawn.

It figures, Jared thought. Someone like him probably got all the girls he wanted without even trying. Everything about him screamed "rich"; his black suit was visibly expensive and obviously tailored since it seemed to perfectly complement his tall frame and muscular build, and he didn't even want to think how much his golden Rolex must have cost. Even his face had an air of regal nobility about it; from his slicked and side swept black hair to his tightly cropped reddish brown beard which emphasized his square jaw and prominent jawline. His cheekbones were so high they jutted out from directly under his sparkling blue eyes, and his teeth were so white and perfect they made Jared's look like he'd just walked out of a boxing match with Mike Tyson.

"So how come you're here on a Tuesday night? Don't you have work tomorrow or something?" Jared asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

The man gave him a warm smile that didn't quite reach his sad blue eyes. "I'm celebrating! It's the seven year anniversary of my marriage"

"Oh, you're married! I'd have never thought... so your wife is here?"

"No we've always had this tradition where I'd get drunk and go home late after she'd gone to bed"

"I see. Trouble at home, Mr. ...?"

"Ted" Answered the man, extending his hand and curtly shaking Jared's. His grip was firm and business-like.

"Jared"

"Nice to meet you, Jared... and yes, I'm not exactly on great terms with my wife"

"What happened?"

A pained expression flashed across Ted's face for a split second, only to vanish without a trace as it returned to its previous look of bored elegance. He gestured for the bartender to bring him another scotch as he pondered the question, evidently having an inner struggle of some sort.

"Sure you want to hear this?" Asked Ted, his gaze still fixed on the wall in front of him.

Jared was almost sure he did not. He felt like he was intruding on the man's private moment, but Ted clearly needed to talk to someone and it didn't seem right that he should leave him. Besides, he had paid for the beers... Jared was in his debt.

"I'm all ears" Jared replied dutifully.

Ted didn't respond at once. He didn't look at all like he wanted to talk about it either, but after a few awkward seconds had passed he reluctantly muttered "she cheated on me".

The silence stretched on for what seemed like years. Jared knew he had to say something, but how do you console a half-drunk man whose name you'd only learned a few minutes ago? He was just about to make some sympathetic noises when Ted continued in a flat voice:

"I love her. I really do... that's what hurts, Jared. I gave her everything she wanted, everything I had, everything I am... but it wasn't enough for her. I love her, and she cheated on me, and I still love her, and isn't that just pathetic?" His speech was slurred, but he spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, like he'd had sufficient time to process her betrayal. Jared guessed it must have happened quite some time ago.

"How long ago?" Jared asked as Ted emptied another scotch glass in one gulp and asked for another.

"Months, years, decades... who cares? The important part is that it happened... and you know? I used to blame myself. Doesn't that just make you want to punch me in the face? She cheated on me, and the first thing I thought of was that it was somehow my fault. But you know what? It really wasn't. I was right there with her through thick and thin. I remembered all the events and the anniversaries, I spoiled her with gifts and traveled everywhere with her, I wrote songs about her, I nursed her back to health when she got sick, I turned down a great job offer to stay in town because she didn't want to move. Can you believe that? I lost the opportunity of my life for her sake, and the irony is that it turned out that the reason she didn't want to move was because her lover lives here. I ruined my career so she could get to cheat on me some more. How the hell is it my fault?" He finished with a sour laugh.

"Of course it's not your fault... but why are you still with her, then?" Jared asked, involuntarily empathizing with Ted and hating his wife.

Ted grunted and continued as if he hadn't heard anything:

"The next few years were tough. I didn't file for divorce, because I think a small part of me always expected us to make up eventually... but I left town. I took a job abroad and I threw myself into my career, and life was fine for a while... I made some friends, traveled the world and tried to convince myself that my random hook-ups meant that I was over her. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I did something I hadn't done in years- I checked her Facebook profile. It was the worst thing I could have done, Jared. She was happy. I was miserable and in all that pain, while she was dating someone else and not thinking about me at all. That was rock bottom for me, you know? I started drinking, neglecting my job... almost got myself fired. I hated myself for not being enough for her. Maybe it really was my fault... maybe I just wasn't good enough."

At that point, Ted must have had at least 5 scotches since they'd started talking... and Jared guessed he must have had a few drinks before. He caught the bartender's eye, inclined his head ever so slightly towards Ted, and then lightly shook it. The meaning was clear; no more drinks for this guy.

"Come on man, don't say that. That girl over there is practically sleeping with you in her head... your wife just didn't know what she had."

"Well she realized it later. When I saw her happy like that, I decided to be happy too. I stopped thinking about her at all. I began enjoying my life, and even started dating again. Life was looking up for me... and that was when she started trying to reach me. It was like a blitzkrieg; social media, phone calls, common friends, you name it. She even called me at work claiming to be a client once. But I was having none of it... My life was finally good again. I was over her. She could grovel after me for years but I was rock-solid... I'd show her what a grave mistake she'd made." He was so bitter, Jared could almost smell it.

"And then what happened?"

That was when a single, solitary tear rolled down Ted's face. He looked away, evidently furious with himself, wiped the tear away with a gracefully fluid motion you could have missed if you'd blinked, and continued with a completely expressionless face as if nothing had happened:

"She tried to get in touch with me for 2 whole years. Would I be a horrible person if I told you I enjoyed that? I enjoyed putting her through that pain. There, I said it. I figured she deserved it. It was my way of exacting petty revenge on her, and I think I was successful for a time. But then something terrible happened... she stopped. For a while, I pretended like I didn't care for the sake of my ego... but as weeks stretched into months, I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong... something was terribly wrong. When I checked her social media, her life seemed to have frozen a few months earlier. She didn't answer any of her phone numbers. For some unknown reason, I started panicking. I took the first flight home and came back to town. That was yesterday."

Jared tensed. Ted's story was approaching its climax.

"Turns out my wife had been diagnosed with late-stage cancer. She was trying to reach me for all these years because she wanted to make amends, apologize and tell me she loved me one last time... but I didn't make it in time to see her before she passed away." Ted's voice cracked as he tried to control himself. "I was so fixated on hurting her that I never heard her last words... they were screamed at me by her tearful mother at her funeral procession today, which I had barely arrived here in time for."

It suddenly made sense why Ted was wearing a black suit and drinking on a Tuesday night. Although his face was completely void of expression, tears were streaming freely into his beard now, and he made no move to wipe or hide them as Jared sat there frozen to his seat, with no idea what to say.

"You don't have to say anything, Jared. There's nothing to say. I love her, and she's gone, and we never made up. I never forgave her... never talked to her. I wanted to deny her closure... but you know what's funny? I didn't get any closure either... and now I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life. I know what she did was unforgivable, but why couldn't I have just talked to her? Why couldn't I have just ended things like an adult once and for all?"

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Jared decided to break it.

"OK, Try not to think about that now... what about all the good times? You must have been happy with her at some point, right?"

Surprisingly, Ted's lips curled upwards ever so slightly- the closest he could get to smiling, Jared guessed. "We were. It was like something out of a movie... we were inseparable. She had this thing where she was always getting super excited about things and then changing her mind about them days later -weeks if she's persistent. One day she's a painter, then she's a pianist, then she's really into football, then she's a painter again, you get the gist. I remember one time when she decided to be a cook, and tried to make us dinner. It was the worst thing I'd ever eaten in my life, somehow both under-cooked and burned at the same time- I think it was chicken, but I can't be sure. Anyway, it was only our fourth month as a married couple and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I tried to force it down and pretend it was delicious, and she sat there staring at me with her mouth wide open, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing... then she started laughing so hard, she fell out of her chair. Turns out she literally ruined it on purpose to see how far I'd go to pretend to like her cooking. From then on, we agreed that I'd always give her my real opinion on everything she did." Ted gave a snort. "No wonder she slept with someone else, huh?" He laughed, and Jared deemed it safe to nervously chortle along. He was starting to feel relieved that Ted seemed to be in better shape, but one look at his face told him that they were back to square one.

Ted must have read his mind.

"Nice try, Jared... I appreciate the effort, but it would take more than some nostalgia to get me over this one. This is the sort of thing that breaks you for life, there's no happy ending for me... but do me a favor, will you? You can't save me, but you can save yourself... don't make the same mistake. If there's someone you love, hold onto them as hard as you can, and when you can't hold on any longer, for the love of God, END IT or it will end you... as it did me."

Ted took out a wad of hundreds from his pocket, and drunkenly slammed them down on the counter top in front of him... it was at least twenty times more than what he'd owed.

"Thanks again for listening to me. All your drinks are on me tonight... and leave a generous tip for the bartender" Ted got up and staggered towards the door with surprising speed. Jared hurried after him, stumbling over his stool in his haste and crashing to the floor.

"Where are you going, man? You can't be alone like this!" Jared said to Ted's back as he struggled to catch up with him.

"You've done all you can, Jared. I'll be alright" Ted replied without turning around.

"At least let me call you a cab" A sense of dread took hold of him as he quickened his pace to a jog.

"They don't need cabs in hell" Ted said as he pushed himself outside the door, pulling out something from his pocket which had the gleam of metal.

Jared was running now. He had to reach the door. He had to stop him.

A few people outside the bar screamed. There was a gunshot.

He was too late.

They found a note in his pocket:

"It was all my fault"