The EYE of the LOOKING GLASS

~~1a~~


Fuck where do I begin I have lost the concept of beginning and end; they’re simply interchangeable to me which might explain to you all why I am the way I am today and I don’t know what to do with myself anymore because getting help has not helped me one bit Ok, I think I got it here it goes, The rigid sun bounced from East to West.—wait that’s not right. Scratch that sentence I really don’t like it. Let me think ok this might be a better “start”---The dying sun rays run down the glimmering glass giants that caressed the sky with its points. The Hudson and East Rivers are suffocated with the elegant extensions of the sun, these rivers compete on opposite sides of Manhattan with the guidance of this light that meets at the bottom of the island and at the tip of this island, and Manhattan is where my story for the most part takes place. (Well I’m not entirely sure where my story takes place. I mean does it really matter where these types of stories take place, you, the reader don’t care about that so why I should care. It’s not like I fucking remember little details anyway. I’m going to try my hardest to piece things together so that I can even understand my sanity or rather my insanity). The rays pierced and seeped into the small adjacent holes through the antique window in the bathroom and it had just rained the other day and the tears from the sky remained on the windowsill. Like blood, the tears channeled onto the sink and into the black drain but actually, Sylvia’s Bell Jar eclipsed the dark drain gracefully that ultimately clogged my leakage. The sink of usual nature would more than likely be white porcelain but red occupied this setting and my tears and the leakage from the sky combined diluted the specks of blood that draped over the white like red curtains- as a matter of fact our sink was not white after all but black marble. I think. Anyway, that’s not really important. Oh geez, excuse my grammar. I will have to take my medicine so that I can try to be a little more coherent. (Note: Aaron decided that it would be best if I came back later on that night so that he could continue his story. He needed sometime to rest. The second part of his story is cleaned up to the best of his ability)

Hunched and dying over the sink, the mirror looked down upon me with disgrace. TIRED and distressed I wailed my pain and sorrow, “I don’t want to do this anymore! The sun is my sorrow and my enemy. Only the night will suffice, my friend, let me sleep peacefully and join my hand in misery.” John abruptly opens the door and witness what looked like an obvious attempt of suicide. I slowly lift my head up and stared at the eye of the mirror. So patient it awaits for me to respond to its mockery. Shaking and trembling, I ponder the image in the mirror. My mind is as blank as this paper I’m writing on. Sure it has words on it, my life, my story or whatever the hell you people call it.

John is still there. Staring at me… confused and disappointed. Then he speaks---

And then he speaks

Aaron!! What are you doing?

“Go away,” I screamed. You don’t belong here. Just let me be. For once just let me be!”

“The sun stares you in the face—LOOK at it. But you do nothing. Your face will set upon earth and never be seen. Who are you? Are you lost? LOST! Are you proud? Of course you’re not proud. Look at you. There you hover of the bowl that collects and drains your life. Look out side for goodness sakes!! Watch the sun set frown and mourn your soul. What was a pretty perfect picture portrait is now destroyed by your sadness. Don’t you have everything...Aaron?”

Before I continue my story I have to go wash my face. I first take warm water and wet my pores in a circular motion. I then allow a drip dry which is absolutely necessary. After that I apply a light cleanser to my face and let stand for two minutes exactly. I then wash off the cleanser very gently, counter clock wise motion and pat dry for one minute. I then have to apply a deep salt skin conditioner that will open my pores fully. Let stand for ten minutes. Wash completely off and prep face for toner. The toner must be applied no more than three minutes after the salt conditioner or else you have to do it again. After the toner I apply a light SPF 15 mango lotion on my face. Oil free of course but anyway where was I. Oh yeah bathroom.

With all of my strength I rose to stand as tall I could be, 6 ft 3inches. I quivered and sobbed. I thought it might be respectable to respond back to John. Shaking and bewildered, I starred at the mirror hoping that John could witness my face, the situation better. Better. “What? Can’t you see I’m busy? Yes I’m fortunate to live in a condo”- then I thought to myself about the time I stayed at this condo that one of my friends from college owned in Naples. Then there was Shelby.



~~2a~~

The palm trees swayed and stood proud on the streets of Naples. Naples was a beautiful place that usually attracted old retirees. That’s what really bothered me about Americans today. They work so hard and then every old American gets the same bright idea to move to “tropical” Florida. The abnormally long state is beautiful don’t get me wrong but it is so cliché these days to hear that grandma is going to die in Florida. Plus who honestly wants to walk around half naked with grandma watching you. Kind of sick I know. But this is where I met Shelby so I shall tell you my story in Naples. Well, I didn’t meet Shelby in Naples. I guess I didn’t. SHIT I remember now, Shelby went to my college but she was in the School of Music. Though my school is so small (2,400 to be exact), hardly anyone knows the kids from the School of Music. These kids lived and breathed in the studios. Anyway, she was a Music Education major or something like that. Let’s just say she was in the School of Music and leave it as that.

Anyway like I was saying; the palm trees swayed and stood proud on the streets of Naples. My friend and I guess my fraternity brother Kevin has a condo in Naples. Kevin was a rich spoiled bastard. Usually at the age of 20 most students around the country don’t even own a car let alone a fucking condo. His dad bought it for him because he managed to pull a 3.0 his first year in college. I mean I guess I should give him some credit because he is a pre-med major. The sciences and mathematics courses are really tough at my school. I took several math and science courses and struggled getting an A in them. (I went to a science and mathematics intensive school in New York). But I had other plans. I, Aaron Michael Collazo did not want to go to college for security. I took risk in my life unlike most students of America. My parents don’t know that I’m quitting my economic major to become an English Literature and History double major. I don’t think I’m going to tell them about my new majors until the end of my junior year. They had all these plans for me for what they wanted Aaron to be. However, I realized after two years of being in college I needed to create my own path. All that matters is that I’m doing well in college (My accumulative G.P.A was currently a 3.8 and I was under review to be a part of Phi Beta Kappa). My parents were well to do but they did not buy me a condo. Anyway, Kevin was a good kid and one of my friends (with reservations of course)

Kevin awkwardly stood out in the crowd because of his height. He played basketball for our college and was really good. (I know my college is Division three but I guess it is worth to mention) This dude had black curly hair with natural blonde eyebrows. It was kind of bizarre to see a guy with no eyebrows. (This is how he looked like from a distance or excessive sunlight) He had style. All he wore was either Lacoste or J. Crew and wouldn’t be caught dead with any other brand. Kevin was my type of guy to associate myself with. He was also very wealthy. (He had many Rolex watches, three cars, and an expensive wardrobe and paid the full $37,000 to attend Indiana Harrison College or I.H.C) Everyone knew that his dad owned several banks in Indiana and wanted some part of it, mainly girls of course. There was a joke at my college that many of the girls at Indiana Harrison College attended this prestigious institution for their MRS. Even though I come from a family that has money I always associated with people that had more. Reputation is very important in my family. And since the scandal that occurred last semester I had to redeem myself. I had to prove that I was still a part of high society. I started hanging out with one of the richest students at my college, Kevin.

I had nothing to do for spring break so I decided to take Kevin’s invitation to Naples for the week. There was about eight of us that would stay at his condo. The moment we arrived at his condo I noticed that his condo was crumbling. The columns that faced the beach struggle to stand and were not proud like the palm trees. (This was probably because of the hurricane) I remembered the lame saying “one should never judge a book by its cover” but this was not me. I really didn’t care how the inside looked like. People see outer appearance before they see your soul. Walking by this structure people would just assume and rightly so that this condo was a piece of shit. As a gentleman would do, Kevin apologized for the appearance of the condo. But he promised that we would still have a good time and that his place was fully equipped. When we entered his condo by no surprise his condo had every new invention. I counted six plasma screen TVs. I wondered why a person would have so much stuff inside but have no worries about the outer appearance. I mean the structure from the outside didn’t even look like a safe place to stay. Boy I tell you some people are just so backwards.


I walked around the condo for a bit. I was very impressed by the interiors of the condo. You would have never guessed that something with such a horrible shell would be so beautiful within. I then became very bored and immediately dropped my stuff in one of the four bedrooms. I needed to go to the beach to relax, alone. I wanted to get away from everyone else because some of my “brothers” were full of shit. I love my fraternity don’t get me wrong but people are so phony sometimes. Sometimes I wonder whether they were nice to each other just because of the title of “brother” or because they genuinely wanted to be. For me it was easy to separate the real from the fake. You can clearly see this in how one dress in society. People wear polo’s, pop their collars, adorn there necks with fifty style pearls and throw backs but the question is does this approach accurately portrays ones life? I believe that if you have the money wear it on your sleeve. People that are not rich don’t try to conform to appear to be wealthy. This is phony. Just make sure to be yourself and most people will respect you. Beach, that’s right. I need to go to the beach alone so that I can relax. I said my goodbyes and off to the beach I went.

With my towel in one hand and The Bell Jar in the other I walked down the beautiful streets of Naples. I was very content at this point. Suddenly I felt the beaming rays on my shoulders so I reached in my pocket for my sun block. “Fuck, I don’t have my sun screen with me.” For a minute I thought that I had left it in my back pack at the condo. I decided to walk back when I realized that my sun protection was in my Burberry Travel bag from my other trip to Costa Rica this past January. I usually travel with that bag but I was rushing because I decided to go to Naples at the last minute. I had to buy another sun block lotion- not a big deal. I then proceeded to walk toward the direction of the beach.

The beach provided the sand, water, beer and many little high priced stores. I decided to go find a store that would have sun block. After five minutes of walking on the pier I finally found a store “Rico’s Beach Parties,” don’t ask. This is where I met Shelby. When it came to sun block all I knew was that I needed to get the highest UVA/UVB protection as possible because I didn’t want to burn in the sun. After scanning the shelf for 20 minutes I finally found what I was looking for and headed towards the register.

There was a long line of people waiting to make their purchase. Rico was having debit card machine trouble. (This was not good news to me because all I carry with me is my debit cards. Cash is for poor people). After about five minutes of waiting in line Rico finally got his machine to work. Thank God. I became extremely restless though and accidentally shuffled on Shelby’s flip flop. As a standard I immediately apologize for my carelessness. She turned around, and smiled. “Ha no need to apologize, so you go to I.H.C?” asked Shelby. “How did you guess?” I asked and then I glanced at my shirt and laughed. “I guess that was a silly question anyway” I said confidently. I then realized that John was with me. I was not too worried about John coming with me to the beach. The guy was ok though at times he could be annoying as FUCK.

Her back was towards me.

She made her purchase really quickly and left. She seemed extremely disturbed. I don’t know what her problem was. Girls at I.H.C were like that especially some of those sorority girls on my campus. Shelby must have been an Alpha Delta (the Alpha Chapter of all Alphas’ in the United States. They were called this because their social organization was the first female fraternity to use Greek Letters) because she was obviously from “old money” blonde and snobby How dare this girl, Shelby, be so rude to me? Does she know who I am? I guess not. She reminded me of Jessica Simpson so I had to have her. Girls that played hard to get were my favorite to get involved with. I don’t think it would be too hard to hook up with her. I’m handsome with a swell personality. Plus I always get what I want. The cashier rudely interrupted my thoughts “Sir, aren’t you going to pay for that? Sir! Are you here?” “Yes, I’m glad you asked Rico. I was just thinking whether I wanted to buy this sun block or your store” I snapped. Usually I don’t tend to be a prick but sometimes you have to when people try to degrade you. At such a high price store you would think people would treat you with respect. One would also think that the owner of the store would be presentable as well. He bared his chest full of hair-what a forest. He was a walking sin- his body was the size of a whale. How gross. I proceeded to give him one of my checking cards. Rico had the audacity to ask me to show I.D for my debit card. The gluttonous pig insisted about three times. Every time I insisted that the purpose of a checking card was to make a quick and smooth transaction without I.D check. Finally I gave in. I had to forgive him internally because he did not know any better.

Her girlfriends were playing in the ocean while she tanned on the shoreline.

I debated with my best friend John whether I should go over there and talk to Shelby. We both agreed that I should apologize about the incident that happened in the store. Though I’m a man and could handle these situations on my own I decided that I would bring John over there with me to talk to her. The sand was unusually burning hot but beautiful nonetheless. Shelby relaxed smoothly on her beach chair. Her long blonde locks hung behind the chair and so did the strings from her Juicy bikini. Her beautiful green eyes were upstaged by her oversized shades that rested on her beautifully light freckled face. I have actually seen her around campus but we never talked. She was hot but I didn’t know she was in the School of Music. I won’t get into the details of our conversation. Rather I don’t even remember what we talked about. You know girls these days they talk and we don’t listen. We just relaxed-talked-skinny dipped and then went to the bar. She was fun to be around. She was a good dancer once she was a little drunk. I think I was I was fallen for her. Shelby was after all gorgeous and she was really into me. I mean most girls are. As the beautiful burning sun sets so do we. We hooked up.
We went back to her condo that she rented with some of her friends. I don’t remember where exactly the condo was located in relation to where I was staying. However, the walk from the bar was extremely long. (Maybe because I was a little drunk) As soon we entered the door she started biting my neck and began to rip my clothes off. (I was upset that she ripped my J. Crew swimming trunks but I thought it might be worth it) She then striped from her daisy dukes to her juicy bikini to nothing .Her body was unbelievably perfect. She waited at the doorway of the room where she was staying in for the week. Next thing I knew I was on the floor and she was on top. She was incredibly good until she went mad. She started grabbing my penis and shoving it in her vagina to the point of hurting me. Shelby tossed, turned, stroked and moaned like no other. She then proceeded to scratch my chest but I stopped her. This situation was beginning to be weird.

All I kept on thinking was that she was going to break my Rolex because of her over aggressive stupidity. Some points were really fun while others were way too intense. I felt like I was being taking advantage of. Hah, its funny I know but men can feel like this as well. Again, I thought about how angry I would be if she broke my Rolex. The sex was too violent for me so I had to finish quickly and leave. Or probably just fall asleep so that this would stop. After we had wild sex (I don’t even know how to classify what Shelby and I just had but scientifically I guess it was sex. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman”—ha Clinton makes me laugh and sick to my stomach all at once) I decided to leave. I try to wake her up to let her know I was leaving. Once again I didn’t want to be a prick but she didn’t wake up. I then decided that I should just leave because I wasn’t entirely comfortable waking up to her next morning. I left her my e-mail address with a little note. All I remember writing is “whatever happens in Naples stays in Naples” (I did this so that I can control the communication between us). What I thought would be a great night with Shelby turned out to be a horrible one. I will always remember her- for all the wrong reasons. (But she was hot and I couldn’t wait to tell John about my strange encounter with Shelby)


~3a~

I decided that it would be a great idea to kill myself in Naples.

I’m a lost solider marching back and forth in Kevin’s condo in my CK boxer briefs. I’m frantically searching the entire condo for something. I shuffle, throw, trash and scream at the empty condo. My friends left me. I don’t know why they would do such a thing. I couldn’t even recognize some of the bags here. I approach the bags and ask them where did their owners go? Those rich bastards wouldn’t even respond to my questions. It seems like everyone is either leaving or ignoring me these days. I dig in one of the monogrammed bags in hopes of finding at least one of my friend’s where about. To my surprise I find something that excites me. I don’t even know why it did so but I felt like a little kid in a toy store. “Aha,” I shouted. “Could this be the thing I have been looking for? There is only one way to find out.” I rolled out the long bathrobe belt with joy and looked up at the ceiling. I knew it was time. I couldn’t live like this anymore.

It turns out that I suck at making knots. After about an hour of struggling I finally found the perfect knot that would secure my fate. I couldn’t even find a sturdy place in the condo. It pissed me off that I couldn’t find one pipe for my belt. I searched and searched and was not even successfully. I tried to pull the belt firmly around my throat but I just couldn’t do it. I would pull, turn blue, choke and loosen the belt for fresh air. Thinking about killing yourself and actually doing it is a lot harder than I thought. As I gently place the noose around my neck I saw small newspaper captions on the floor. I immediately picked it up and realized that it was March 23, three days after we arrived at Naples.


“Indiana Harrison College Student Missing”

I then decided to read further into the article.

“21 year old Jonathan, an honor student from Indiana Harrison College is currently missing. He was last seen in Naples on a spring break trip with his fraternity brothers…”

It seems like people these days are always “missing”. I never understood why people would run away until now. I mean I have never even heard of Indiana Harrison College or the dude but I knew it had to be societies fault to push him to the extreme of running away. It had to be. Even when you try to fit in with the crowd sometimes this task is unattainable. I then looked down I tried to figure out why I was wearing a blue Indiana Harrison College shirt. Similar to what Jonathan, the missing boy was wearing. Wait, maybe I do know Jonathan and the college that was mentioned in the paper. But why was I wearing the same shirt that Jonathan was last seen in. Then I realized that it was simply a coincidence and that I should get back to me. (This was my time now and I couldn’t worry about anyone but myself at this point. It eventually dawned on me that I attended I.H.C and that I knew Jonathan. I did care that he was missing but my head was too boggled with more important stuff, my end.)

Right when I was going to walk away from the papers of bad fortune I noticed another caption. Shelby’s picture was in the paper. I immediately dropped the caption on the floor and ran into the kitchen. My eyes traveled across the decadent row of sharp options. I scanned the row of death and finally favored one of them. I then reached and grabbed the knife from the magnet strip. I analyzed the weapon of choice. I starred and contemplated all the many ways I could kill myself with a knife. I could not see my own reflection. The blade sides gave me no satisfaction for one last look. I immediately dropped the knife to the floor. Damn it, I wish I had the guts to grab that knife again and plunge the steal blade into my flesh. But I just couldn’t do that. I realized that this approach was too painful and messy. I then found a way. But before I end my life, my internal struggles, and my insanity I had to write. I had to write a letter explaining why my life had to end. I was sick of living. Who wants to live two lives? I then began to write.


Loved Ones,

If you find this letter then I’m dead and I’m sorry. I’m writing this letter in plain English. I refuse to romanticize my life or death in this letter. Ever since I was little I always want to make everyone proud but I could never make my self proud. My confidence, my Casanova style and money did not do anything for me internally but only hindered who I really was. I know that I did a lot of hurtfully things to people in the past and I’m sorry. This letter by no means is a confession to redeem myself from sin. I wish I could remember everything that I have done to people but I just can’t. I struggle everyday to put the pieces together. I’m gone. Everyone around me refuses to pull the plug to end my life. But today I’m in charge of my own fate and no longer will I live for you all. I realized that my illness has not gotten any better. I can not live two lives anymore. Unfortunately, the only way that I could truly be myself is to end it all. Just remember that I love you all. You have been all good people and had nothing to do with my decision of taking my own life.


Shit, I guess that will have to do. I suck at writing letters anyway. I then proceeded with my marvelous plan of action. I placed the note by my right side and starred at the oven. This was another way and I thought that it wouldn’t be too painful. I tried to emulate my favorite writer Sylvia Plath’s end. I turned the gas on full blast. For some reason there was nothing flowing through my mind. I waited a few minutes so that the fumes could get thick enough. I gently placed my knees on the tile and began to pray. Then I stopped and realized that praying wouldn’t do anything for me. Taking your life is like the biggest sin in the Catholic Church. I just decided to scratch the praying and quickly put my plan to action. I placed my head in the oven hoping that I would suffocate myself. I waited two minutes and after the position became unbearable I moved to get some fresh air. After about an hour dipping in and out I decided to quit this attempt. I turned off the stove and placed the letter in my pocket for a rainy day. I headed towards the bathroom because I had to piss. I stood over the toilet seat and I noticed that I had deep scratches on my pelvic area. Of course I couldn’t remember how I got these scratches on my pelvic area so I just don’t care. At this point I really don’t care about anything.

The clock of death ticks to the drum of my insanity. I stare at the little mechanism that makes the sound of doom. I imagined myself being the little dial in the middle of that clock. The little and big hand continually rotate around the foundation of the device Time, people, society or just plain chaos spins around me. The time changes but I don’t. I stay the same. In the middle of it all, lost, confused and never completely balanced by the hands. With all my anger and rage I got up from bathroom floor and threw the clock into the eye of the mirror. The mirror shattered and so did I