To beckon the Crow

I
I looked at the wall. It read to me, like a Monet was on it. Every swirling color, every detailed pink, or purple, or large storm cloud. I was navigating it like it was inside my soul, inside the spleen, or bloody liver that occupied this battered human form. Yeah, Monet was cool. It's the kind of person I read about in books, in black and white movies from the 1920's. I liked all those things.
My bald head felt itchy. I took a comb from the drawer in front of me, and without realizing, I poked it around my clean head. I was guessing there were very miniscule hairs, close to microscopic that the comb could distress. Then I put that comb on the desk. That empty desk, filled with burnt cigarettes, and ripped articles on violent attacks in schools.
The worst I felt was coming. My head was shaven, I hadn't had a bath in a week, and there were rats somewhere in the ceiling. Those rats came jangling about at the middle of the night, just right when some REM cycle is suppose to awaken, and somehow that has turned me into a virtual zombie. I became obsessed with energy drinks, and not in a one a day kind of way. I drunk about five of them, sitting in the kitchen, in the morning when the clocks look like a faded and dead Dali painting. Add to that, I somehow found it in my fucked up liver, to drink tons of rum, and vodka. Oh yeah, there was also room in the afternoon for cocaine trips.
The wall was still staring at me. Was I the dog, the devil, that the wall could not even speak to me? Had I not a soul to bereave as a form of human should bereave? No. Life was cold, and it was callous. I felt every bit of it straining inside my brain, inside that thing you called a mind, a soul. Bloody hell, the fucking heater made some obnoxious noise that tempered at my mind, like I could just beat the shit out of it with my bare hands, leaving me with bloody knuckles, and I wouldn't even care. I would just go in the shower and try to spew the blood off, making me feel more pain.
So, the clock was reading nine thirty. The time when the streets below and around my neighbourhood began feeling alive. Alive with the stink and filth of people. My place was filled with idiots and druggies. Yeah, I did cocaine, but these assfuckers were different.
I remember around the time of the new millenium. I don't remember what age I was, but there was this incident, a tragedy if you will. I was at the library. The place stunk of a lot of things, and so I perused the "violent", "hate', "homicidal", sections of the library. There were none. Out of a possible billion novels, I found one or two that tugged at my heart, understanding my loud alienation, and violent mind.
As I went to the place to checkout my novel, there was suddenly a large shriek outside. At first, and for a very quick while, it sounded like something from nature, a thunder bolt in the overcast sky, or lightning hitting a tree or the ground real fucking hard. I was alone though, as in nearly two seconds, as my mind was in a gaze, the patrons of the library began flocking to the entrance. I went and looked out the doors. A bloody car accident had taken place. Blood. Lot's of it. So it wasn't like the movies, or stories. Considering I was standing atleast fifty feet from the road, and seeing blood from a mortal form, it blew something up inside of me.
I will remember that day. I thought my life was in pieces finding a book to shroud my amusements, but looking out that window, my heart became even more wretched with hate.
Nine thirty five. Now was the time to get out and hit the lobby, maybe go to the bar and buy a few drinks. I needed enough to make me feel like I wasn't there, but enough so I could talk at least a little intelligible.
I put the comb I used into my pocket. I went to the elevator from the fifth level, and went down. No one came to comfort me in the elevator, just the idiotic words scrawled in red or whatever on the elevator walls. What kind of scumfucks scrawled this shit? My mind imagined a shotgun pointed to the temple of "one" of these assfuckers. A little smile came out of my face. So ugly.
I made up my mind coming out of the elevator to hit the bar. It was just around the corner, so I jetted out, and walked in.
"What's up Charlie?"
"Ah, fine. Just heading out."
"That right? What will it be?"
A calm silence and weird moment of fortitude came over me. How long had I been here? How long had I kept up with small talk with the patrons of this bar? Just to get a few drinks, blow my fucking mind into pieces. I kept everything under very small wraps, and it felt bleak just knowing it. My outlook on life was near ugly trying to get a few drinks and standing in the hole of a wretched place like this.
"I'll just have one water."
Yeah, this time I needed a clear mind. A clear, patient, mind that hung above the clouds of my drunken, violent idiocy, that I could sometimes be. Yeah, one water. A clear fucking journey, with a good start.
"Really?"
"Yeah, just need something refreshing for my job."
After that stain of water, I headed out into the lobby. The ceilings hung so high, and the place was filled with decorated homely paintings. The desk for reception was near the entrance, and the girl with blue eyes stood far from me, behind it. I think her name was Ilya. Russian, or something. A girl who worked here almost every fucking night and day. It made her look like a zombie. Except she wore the most irritating glasses, that looked way too big for her. Her nails, were filthy. They were a different color every fucking time I saw her.
I walked up to reception pretending to not be disgusted by this whore of a person.
"What's up?"
She was also a little retarded. I spoke up one more time, emphasizing some of my words to get her attention.
"Hi, Charlie!"
"Yeah, I need to know that no one calls my room while im away this night, okay?"
"Sure!"
II
The words sprung out, leaping from my mouth like fierce dragons. Yes, this fucker made me very impatient. Only this time, I calmed myself before I could get really outrageous, and silenced the violent part of my mind. I walked more closer to him, and put my hand over his filthy shoulder.
"Here, this is two dollars. Not much, but just buy something with it, other than a fucking drug, okay?"
I walked away from that moment looking straight ahead, thinking how much this fucker would just put those two dollars into his pocket, not even remembering who or where it came from. He would wake up in the morning, and use it along with his other stash of quarters, and pennies, to buy some really fucked up hard drug. I would probably see him in a week again, with his eyes fucking pale, and mind blacked out, just his two legs standing making him look "somewhat" alive.
I walked a mile or two, before seeing half a dozen other idiots just like the other guy. I walked past, thinking some of their stink, and rotten behavior would spill over on to me. I just quickened my walk, and turned left, until I saw a few lights. I immediately felt a hush of coolness come over me. As soon as I saw the pharmacy, with it's civilized, and clean sheen look, I felt relieved. A near fifteen fucking minutes, walking from the bar, or outside of my hotel lobby, and to the pharmacy, feeling like a lazy, dingy, sold out garbage whore while getting there. I smirked a little, and a very evil laugh chuckled in my throat. I looked very calm and sterile on the outside though, like that made me even more mad.