A Journey Into the Unknown (Book Excerpt)
then, but those times had passed. Adopting the same methods or even more advanced methods couldn’t rekindle those flames.
It took some time for me to realise that I had in fact moved up a notch. I had in fact made it to the middle and though it was far from enough, I was starting to get the feeling nothing would ever be enough. The obsession had taken its toll, a toll that was indeed essential for my progress, but one which would be hard to be freed of, if at all it was possible.
Every ‘pay packet’ sparked an even bigger hunger for more and every hunger for more came with a passion, a passion for evil, a craving for speed and the need to slow down- another excuse for some more alcohol, cigarettes and Mary Jane, topped up with yet another happy ending massage session.
Chapter 8 Waking up each day
By this time the authorities were hot on my trail as I was spotting the very fruits of labour they would see if I was guilty of the crimes they were trying to solve.
Everyday big bill earned now only spelled a bigger sentence. My mode of operation was unique. I was a pioneer. I only did things people would never do because they were too risky and the necessary precautions wouldn’t have been taken by victims because it would appear as though only a fool would risk such crimes.
Like instead of a bank with loads of security, breaking into a police station, no one would ever think of it but think of how much illegal substances could be found lying around, how many weapons would be at ones disposal. And to think all one has to do to get in would be to get arrested…but this one would never happen. I forgot I would then have to break out of the cell first to be able to get around.
Waking up now came with reluctance while hugging the sheets tight. It became just another journey into the sick world, another stressful rendezvous, another avenue to spend money. In the words of a famous comedian, “soon as you get out of bed you are spending”. You‘ve got to eat, take a bath, and now even breathing costs smokers- some would even pay with their lives and it won’t be because they ran out of money.
My whole life became an ‘issue’ to be addressed. Of course I wasn’t praying for death. To me I was dead, praying for life. Nothing was as should be. I slept most of the day sometimes and came out at night time, with the foxes, crickets, owls and snakes. Moonlight was peaceful, peaceful and discrete. Though it left most of the brightness hidden, it also kept most of the darkness hidden. There was no good or evil in my eyes, just life, or death as it were. Everything was, in a way neutralised, just like my character. There were no peaks and troughs or if there were, they weren’t acknowledged. They would make no difference.
Most of the time I would try not to smile just to fit in with the crowd where ever I went because though they had everything I wanted, most of them were lacking the only thing I had, the reason for my death, the root of my evil. Everyone was either coming from work late and tired or working the night shift. I wouldn’t smile much so as not to induce any ‘hatred’ or jealousy and in tougher neighbourhoods, armed robbery or plots to catch me sleeping. One could say I had nothing to smile about because I had nothing I needed on the inside, but in the world today, having money always appears and usually is a better position to be in than not having it regardless of what else one had or lacked.
I remember days stranded outside at night in possession of thousands worth of merchandise, but no raw cash to get me a place to sleep or even get me to a place to sleep or at least to my dealer. I was never one to sell stuff on the streets in such cases for small amounts just so I could get by, if I had to I would sleep in the sewers then walk through the city in the morning not giving a damn until the money was in my hand. Then, I would worry about how much I stunk and all that crap. Everything had a price, and each price to me was now like a piece of my soul, hence, I wasn’t selling for anything less.
I later came to realise that in a bid to maintain a steady flow, never addressing peaks and troughs like a money making machine, never smiling or frowning just stacking and counting, I had in fact created this lukewarm lifestyle with no substance. Everything was regulated to fit the schedule and the schedule was twenty-four hours, leaving no time for anything.
At a point I became some sort of sex addict but I grew out of it slowly. It became too monotonous; once I was done I was gone. I wasn’t the type that would go all night or for hours, and then maybe talk after, or cuddle or try new stuff or bond or whatever. I was the type to hit the showers immediately after feeling disgusted thinking “man, what a slut”, or “damn, can’t believe I put my finger in there”. I had no more regards for the feminine