Madame Kurz Sells Time part 2.

I’ve written some more, and here it is, for your criticism and/or enjoyment. I don’t care, don’t do it for profit anyway.

P.S. For the newcomers: Here’s part 1. http://torquemadastark.wordpress.com/2011/04/21/madame-kurz-sells-time/

Madame Kurz Sells Time

Whomever said that winning isn’t important, that it’s the road to victory that matters surely hadn’t experienced a war. Striving to understand what was going on, i went to the front of the bus to inspect the body of the driver. He didn’t breathe and had no pulse – and was strangely cold. That means, he (well…we, to be precise) had been lying here for a couple of hours at least.

That was irritating to say the least. It didn’t seem likely that no one had noticed the car crash and called the police. I continued to read the book, as i had nothing better to do.

At least, it was warm here.

The orange cube had a warm, lovable feeling attached to it as well.

Half an hour passed, and i finished the chapter about the world war one. It’s a sad chapter really. It’s a shame that Germany lost, they seemed so lovable, and if they’d won, there would be no Soviet Union and no Hitler. And no France too, as an added bonus. Decided that it might be a nice time to have a smoke. I suppose, as i’ve waited here for some time, the police wouldn’t object if i waited for them right beside the bus, while having a cigarette.

Did you know, that sleeping takes you elsewhere? Well, i was there now. Still am. It’s a superposition of time and non-time.

I couldn’t open the door. It seemed stuck, even as i pulled the emergency switch. It was a stupid idea anyway, who could punish me for smoking in here right now? As I searched my pockets for a lighter, the bus driver took a long, sad look at me, and asked: “Looks beautiful, doesn’t it? Am doing this tomorrow, you know. I hope it’ll look natural enough.”

“Natural for what exactly?” I asked him back, while my cigarette fell on the floor, as my expression became gradually filled with surprise.

“Suicide, my imaginary friend, what else? It’s weird that my subconsciousness doesn’t know what i’m planning.” The driver’s smile was getting creepier by the moment, and his delusions got me scared. I didn’t know how much sense it made back then.

“Subconsciousness, yes. Indeed. Of course. Right. Well, seeing as you’re alive and almost sane after all, i’d be pleased if you’d tell the police that i’ve had no involvement in this, and would let me out so that i could walk home perhaps?”

The man laughed – he did that in the way that reminds you a clown in a kids party, except the clown is a mass murderer and the kid’s party is a bunch of police officers. And the police officers are all locked inside a bus. And the bus is on fire.

“You’re the strangest dream i’ve ever had. Usually, i get people talking to me when i’m sleeping, but this is funny too. So, my other me, explain me, why do i see and hear you, while i’m daydreaming on a bus? This is going to be over tomorrow, and i want to know while I still can.”

Instinctively, trying to get my phone, I checked my left pocket. Of course, the phone was still dead. And i had forgotten that i had put the phone in my jacket, to free some space for the glowing orange box. Now I occasionally  wonder, how it is like to forget something. Simple, enjoyable things are best left outside of pockets and in plain sight, lest we forget their importance, take them for granted and then they are irreversably lost, finding their place in the oblivion, next to our childhood dreams, past lovers and whatever else destiny has deemed necessary to be replaced by suffering.

Panic is never a good option…and the orange box seemed to calm me down. Hell, I had just bought some time. Sure, this was strange, but what the heck, if the man’s crazy, at least i’ll have a good story to tell. Besides, my glowing cube, although frightening and strange, was still cute, because it was orange. Orange things can’t be sad, you know. It doesn’t have any buttons too, so it’s protected from the people the likes of which can’t even press buttons properly.

Thus, i just grabbed a seat, lighted my cigarette and took a deep breath of the poisonous nicotine. I took my had off too, as to look more polite. The gush of redwind surrounded me for the first time ever. This wasn’t my world. This was his. All of it, he had lost more than his will to live, he had nothing else in his world but this damn bus. “So…this suicide. Tell me more about it.” If I were to be someone’s consciousness, i’d better be a responsible one.

“Nothing special, really. You know, i used to be a driver for an ambulance car. There went my dreams of becoming a race driver, kid.” He started to recognize me as something foreign to his world, but he wouldn’t have the ability to toss me out, even if he wanted to. I walk where I want. I’m the Offlock.

“Failing to reach childhood dreams, I see. Have a family?”

“Yeah, used to. Not much left, though. Wife left me and took the kids with her. The usual story about me, not achieving expectations. Didn’t earn enough money, didn’t arrive at home on time, didn’t raise children well. And now, i’m here. Alone with you in this tree. Doing this tomorrow. Last buses are perfect. Would have done this today, but i don’t want to take anyone with me, you know. The lad looks smart, is reading some sort of a book – i’m not that good with foreign languages, can’t tell. Would be a shame, really.”

She explained all of this later.  Madame Kurz introduced me to that damned picture, and that changed my life. I met her a couple of years later, in a completely different sphere. It’s important that you understand as well. We all live in our realities. You live, that is. Each one of us has their own sphere of reality, and we’re the authors there. Then, on a level above this, there are the spheres of our friends, family and colleagues. We have limited control over them, but they abide by the common rules, accepted in all the spheres where they are overlapping. Think of this, as an endless set of 3D Venn diagramms. In the grandest scale, our total sum of human realities interfere with each other, and produce our common reality, driven by our consciousness. The very real reality. The one where i live in.

And like crazy animals or primitive cavemen, the spheres are living in a world of eternal conflict, the bigger one’s consuming the smaller ones, and causing their extinction and alliances are being formed, as the smaller spheres often unite to overtake a larger one. And sometimes, there are spheres bigger than the reality itself. That’s why i must kill her now.

Not that you would notice this. The real reality, the common ground of all of us probably is where you spend the smallest portion of your day. Your sphere, i’m sure, connects to the reality through your society sphere, which is barely on the edge of it, and your own world is more or less on the edge on that one. And that is okay, otherwise we would all lose our individuality and would not care about such pity things as death. Or time. But now and then the spheres stray completely off our common sphere, and then we put the people in asylums and prisons.

And now, i have to kill her, the witch, the creator of the anti-sphere. She took mine, but now the redwind allows me to travel wherever i want. Due to the box, time has no meaning as well. And I don’t have a personal sphere where to hide in. I’m not the author. I’m not an author even. She was. Is. This man was.

Now, let me remind you that I was operating only on my instincts at that time. The box guided the way, and She wasn’t even there. And i hadn’t even heard of the redwind yet.

But still, even then, I understood that i had to do something, and I was about to do my best.

I’m still ashamed that it wasn’t enough.

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Madame Kurz Sells Time

This just popped in my head. More or less is a prequel for my Offlock – which is a series that will be continued, if you’ll enjoy the para-psychological idea and the real it’s-in-your-head horror.

There are some things in this world that make even a weird person like me smile. Sometimes, it is enough to add: “Enough of this self-pity!” to a sentence to make it awesome. Sometimes, you want to come out of your corner, and just stop crying about how much of a bitch the life is for a second.
Most of the times, the things and the times like that are women and when you meet them. Being happy in a relationship is fucking important. Other times, it’s more like the feeling you have, when you wake up in the morning, and the first thing you do after waking up is having a cup of coffee and lighting up your morning cigarette. Feels so good. Feels almost godlike. These moments are the wonderful, excellent, beautiful little things that make you feel invincible; it’s when the whole world spins around you, and you are on top of it, giving the orders and organizing your own life.

But that doesn’t happen often.

And they won’t let you build upon it.

And otherwise, everything sucks.

But i live for those moments, and crave nothing else, but to feel them now and then again. This must read terribly like something written by Chuck…with the weird surname, which i cannot pronounce. Too bad it’s just ugly little me.

And i’m in your head too.

It all started when i decided to visit that little store. It was a strange advertisement: “Madame Kurz Sells Time!” it said. Nothing like the other things i’ve seen. Sure, there were some interesting cases about selling the land on Moon and Venus and whatnot, but…time. Wow. It must make a great and funny birthday gift, i thought.
So i went to the location which the paper informed me about. It changed things. Changed me. Changed you too. Except that you’ll find out about it later.

Yes, this is a fucking diary. Fuck you. Fuck you and your cynicism. Fuck you and your idealism. Just…Fuck You! Written in all-caps this can be seen on every wall, every fence…everywhere. But then again, fuck me too.

The woman opened the door. She looked quite old, yet elegant for her age. About sixty, maybe sixty five, she wore a long dress, blue like the midnight and awe inspiring like the old Russian nobility. I could recognize her from somewhere, yet i did not know from exactly where – and not that it mattered. I told her the reason of my arrival, and that one was important. At that time.
There was a beautiful young woman, who would celebrate her 24th birthday soon enough, and i had to buy her a gift. I fancied her, and wanted to seem more awesome to her than I actually was.

So, what the hell, I though. Maybe someting fancy, but that would make her think i’m a stalker – and not like in the video game – or something. It had to be original, and yet, polite. So, i needed some time. For her. For me. For me and her, hell, i didn’t need time, i needed a gift, and Madame Kurz warned me about it. She told me that in my face: “You don’t seek time, you seek a gift. I don’t sell gifts, so, please, i can offer you some Tea, but don’t expect to receive what you haven’t come here for.”

Of course, i thought she was joking. She wasn’t. Not that it mattered – i thought she’d sell me a card or something of that sort…the rather-pointless-gift shops are full with crap nobody needs, nor wants, yet people buy those things like the mindless drones they are. I asked for tea. A black one. With two spoons of sugar and some milk. We sat in her comfortable living room, she taking the comfy purple velvet-covered chair next to the cofee table, while i sat on the sofa – it seemed that all of this furniture was old. Really old. Ancient, yet, well preserved. I didn’t know what to say, so i kept my mouth shut, and waited for an offer of some sort. Maybe three euros, maybe four – i don’t know how much fancy greeting cards cost these days.
But she said nothing; she was just sitting there and silently looking at a painting of a beautiful blonde lady on the wall. Almost like a photograph, the painting was fascinating beyond all doubt. I’ve yet to see such a beautiful woman in my life, her blonde hair slightly covering her pale face and, of course, sapphirre blue eyes. Madame Kurz looked at me, and decided to speak. “What do you like the most about the picture?” An unexpected question indeed, yet, i’ve been through all kinds of trouble, and this seemed like a nice adventure to tell to your pals in a smoky, poorly lit bar over a pint of beer. So, i honestly answered, and waited what would happen next: “It’s the eyes, i suppose – they seem so lifelike. And it’s true that men are drawn to beautiful women, and by my standards, this one is extraordinarily charming one.”
She smiled, and replied with almost no sound coming from her lips, the answer was more silent than a whisper, i could barely hear it, yet i understood everything completely: “It’s my grandmother. Good old days when the artists were more precise, and didn’t draw such incomprehensible things. You’ll meet her in due time, and I assure you, nothing of that beauty is lost.”
That was weird, and made me feel terribly uneasy – like in the horror movies, when you’ve no idea what will happen next, because you know that the movie you are watching is not a random slashterpiece, but instead a quality film, probably from Spain, probably directed by Guillermo Del Toro.

Chose to ignore the remark.

Asked for some time instead; I had to give that girl something she’d remember, something awesome.

And i got some time. All the time in the world, even. No gifts. Like she promised. And it wasn’t that nice either.

Time feels like when you’re taking a shower, but then the hot water gets turned off and the soap gets in your eyes, but at the same time you’re getting the most genius idea ever.
She sold me that feeling, packaged in a small, brightly orange cube. I bought the cube for about 20 euros, but at that point, money started to lose all value. The small cube seemed to be made out of plastic, i wasn’t scrathcable, and was extremely lightweight. Madame Kurz smiled like it was her birthday when she gave that to me. She also said that people who are not allowed to, don’t see the advertisement – or, more precisley, they don’t see the advertisement when it’s not their time to see it. And it made sense, as…she literally sold me some time.
Not that surrealistic, if you ask me. You buy the mass of meat and vegetables, the lenght of a movie, the experience of a thrilling ride in the fair…why can’t people just buy a little time for themselves?
It’s the time that the soldier who received that bullet could’ve lived. It’s the time that the person in the bed next to yours in the hospital could’ve had, before the cancer got him. Time doesn’t care, and it doesn’t flow either. It is. And it can be lost, found and obviously sold. And i bought some.

I promise, i’ll never do that again.

And she’s better off with someone else anyway.

It’s hard to explain this to you, as you read this sentence by sentence, letter by letter, but i’ve made it as a complete text, as a monument to whatever made me understand how things are and whatever will happen next – or before.
Basically, i just took the small cube, said thanks, paid the money and left the Madame’s apartment. The picture of her grandmother still somehow remained in my head, and although it was a shame that i didn’t get a neat card to enhance my awesome gift, the thought was original, and now i had a story to tell.

But to whom?
It was dark, when i left the old lady’s place. I went to the closest bus stop, i needed to get on the 31st one to get back home. Walked to the stop in a hasty pace, because i wanted to play some games before going to sleep. The stop was empty, and i didn’t know what time it is….was. I must have spent more time looking at the picture and drinking tea than i should, but the last bus leaves at 23.45, and i was pretty sure that it wasn’t as late, because the store where i bought cigarettes while coming here was still open.
When the bus arrived, it was empty. I was too lazy to buy a ticket, so i decided to cheat some money out of our beloved government, and ride without one. Not that the driver cared, he surely has more troubles than caring about a single passenger in one of the last buses.
The drive home usually takes about 40 minutes from the university, and this was a bit further. So, i had some time to read – buses are ideal locatons for your studies, because then your annoying roommates aren’t disturbing you, and while your mp3 player is working, you’re immune to most outside effects. I took my book on the history of warfare and started studying it again.
But the bus crash soon after made me forget the original intent…the driver was dead, and everything around me was blue as a midnight and awe inspiring as old style Russian nobility. We had crashed into a tree. And the orange cube began glowing. It would do so every time it stole someone’s time – but the first time was horrid. My phone was dead, i couldn’t call the police – so, i decided just to wait here, until they arrive themselves – because running from a crime scene is never a good idea.
Except the times when it is.

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