When I read “one of the funniest things I’ve read yet on here” it made my day. Thank you very much, and I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Short Story / Inside My Head
You know how sometimes you find yourself searching for a word and you just can’t remember it. You know it’s in there somewhere, if only you could reach in and fish it out. ”It’s on the tip of my tongue” you’d say, when in reality that’s the last place you can bring the stubborn little term to. Well I guess it must have been because I was sick of feeling so frustrated at that feeling of having something deep inside my head--some brilliant idea or some eternal truth that refused to come out--that earlier on I decided the only way would be to go on in there and drag it out. So I split my head open.
It was disconcerting at first, trying to figure out how to do it, and realising that the chances of finding greatness within seemed slim if I couldn’t even figure out how to get started. Of course, I’d never done anything like this before, but I still felt somewhat embarrassed at my amateurish commencement in what had at first seemed like a brave and ingenious endeavour. I tried running head-first into a wall, but it hurt like hell and made me feel like an idiot for having done it. Then I started poking at my head with a knife, but soon lost the lust for that. I felt like giving up. Then I discovered that I could, with a little effort, dig my fingertips in between the parietal bones, just far enough to pry them back a little, and they just opened out the rest of the way by themselves as if my head had been designed to do this and I had never known.
So I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my topless face, wondering what the next step would be. I’m not sure how I managed this, because all I remember is that I yawned for what seemed like a long time, and the next thing I remember is that I was standing on a crest of bone at the top of my head, looking down into a deep, empty void. The view of the room was panoramic, and I took a moment to take in the sight of the colossal bed and the canyon of carpet that spanned the ground. There was a wrought iron staircase spiralling down along the interior of the skull. I began my descent, deeper and deeper into the gloom. It was nothing like what I’d have expected. It was cool and breezy, and as I descended further I remember a faint smell of mildew, but other than that it was pretty unremarkable. When I made it to the bottom, there was just a pinhole of light visible above me. I remember the floor had a shallow pool of water, like rainwater, and there was a heavy, old door. It reminded me very much of the closes you find in those old Glasgow tenement buildings, and I thought how it’s so typical that you seem to find places like that everywhere. Then I opened the door.
Inside was a fairly large room lit by fluorescent strip lights. It had a concrete floor. It wasn’t at all what I would have thought the inside of my head to be like. I would have imagined some sumptuous mansion with plush carpets and rare works of art. This was more like an abandoned hospital. At the centre of the room I saw my head. It was another head of mine, apparently. A head inside a head. And it was just a head. It seemed about five feet tall and its eyes were closed, as if sleeping. I approached it in a state of intrepid disbelief, but I really didn’t feel as strange you would expect. It didn’t feel as if it was my head I was approaching.
So what to you do when faced with your own head? Will it talk to you? Do you talk to it? Should you introduce yourself as you would to a stranger, or are your own thoughts already inside the other head? I mean, I didn’t know. So I just walked up to it wondering what to do. When I was close enough to feel that one of us should probably say something, I saw a small man climb up out of the top of it. It was another me, a smaller me, and I asked him “So what did you find in there?” He looked at me as if I was crazy. I mean it was a real look of suspicion, like he wanted to say “what the hell is wrong with you?” I didn’t like the way he looked at me at all. He looked shifty and I felt unnerved by his presence. For a moment we stood there, staring at each other in mutual suspicion. Then the little fucker ran up and kicked me in the shin. He kicked me! That was me and he kicked me hard enough for me to cry out. And just as fast, he scuttled off down a corridor at the other side. I started to run after him, telling him to stop, to come here, shouting threats. For a little guy he was absurdly fast. He ducked round a corner and I chased around to find another stairwell, again like what you’d see in a hospital. I could hear the echo of his little feet slapping down the cold steps, and as I started after him I heard a door slam down below. I was already getting out of breath. I got to the bottom and there were two sets of double doors--the swinging kind you push a gurney through--and one closed door that looked like an office. I tried that one. Locked. Tried to force it, tried banging on it, no good. It might as well have been made of rock. I put my ear to it but there was silence. I guess the little fucker escaped somehow. I looked around me, at the double doors, wondering where they might lead, but after a couple of minutes I decided I should probably climb back upstairs and talk to my head.
The eyes were open this time. I remember that was the first thing I noticed because it made me stop dead. I felt in danger, as if I had just accidentally walked in on a murderer during the act, or as if those huge, dark eyes could see right into me. I was ashamed for having things I wanted to hide. I felt as if I was face to face with some ancient god, or some terrible oracle that could kill me instantly if I failed to appease him. The eyes remained fixed on me as I walked about the room, and that was a truly unsettling feeling: one I don’t ever want to have to go through again. I tried to say my name, I don’t know why. It seemed like such a stupid thing, to just say my name to a head that was me. I guess I felt like I’d be asserting myself, claiming my identity so I might feel in charge again. As it turned out, I mewed my name in a whimper that was barely audible. I was shaking wildly and my throat was parched. The eyes just continued to stare a dull stare, as if there was no mind behind them to apprehend my behaviour. I guess I had the mind. I started to let go of my fear, bit by bit.
The ideas that began to occur to me came thick and fast. Look at my big face. It’s me. I felt as if I was somehow famous. As if my identity was, in a way, the identity. After all, I had a big head to prove it for me. I wondered if it would feel me touching it. I wondered what would happen if I punched my head as hard as I could. I thought of setting its hair on fire. Or poking its eyes. Just to see if it would do anything. Or if I’d feel it myself. But I knew what I really had to do. I climbed in.
This time it was pitch black inside, and I couldn’t see anything. I kept banging into what felt like boxes lying around. I tried to feel for a light switch, but if there was one, I couldn’t find it. So I walked. The ground was soft and boggy. At first it was a downhill slope, but it evened out after about twenty yards or so. I called out, but my voice was muted in the heavy, humid air. I felt as if this might be a breeding ground for some horrible swarm of insects. As I went further in, I started to get a pain behind my eyes. I didn’t notice it much at first, but the further I went, the more acute this pain became. I must have been wandering around in there for hours.
I started to get worried after a while because it seemed as if there was going to be no way out, and for the first time since I’d charged head-first into the wall earlier, I felt like I’d done something incalculably stupid. People don’t do this sort of thing. Only I would think it would be a good idea to go on such a deep journey of self-exploration. The more I walked, the more I noticed the pain was changing location. It seemed to be moving from behind my eyes and along the side of my head, from front to back. Then it dawned on me that I was getting a headache because I was walking around inside my own head. Well duh! I was about to take off my shoes when I thought of two things:-
i) I could use the moving pain to navigate myself to some orifice, such as a nostril or my mouth, and thereby escape my own head. And,
ii) I wasn’t sure what the after effects of leaving a pair of old shoes inside your head would entail. Probably not a good idea, anyway.
After hours of shuffling around in darkness, growing tired and hungry, I eventually made it back to the temporal lobe of my left hemisphere. The temporal lobe is the seat of memory, I thought, and if I could find the ultimate answer I was looking for it would almost certainly be there. It was just then that I fell into a boggy hole.
When I came to, I was in a dimly-lit room with a bookcase, an armchair, a modest table, and a heavy-looking chest. Upon the chest, embossed in bright gold letters, was the legend: THE ANSWER YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR. I opened it with feverish haste, and what I saw inside there puzzled me greatly. I will come to that. I knew that I still had to free myself from my terrible head, and having considered the alternatives, I decided that the ear would probably be the most efficient route. The nasal passage would have involved having to squeeze through a network of sinuses, and considering how bad my allergies have been, I didn’t relish the thought. The mouth just seemed way to complicated to even think about, anatomically speaking. I considered that by crawling along the optic nerve I could probably slip out of an eye socket easily enough, and I still think that if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, that would probably be the best way to go. But what can I say? I had no experience in this type of thing. I was in the temporal lobe, so I did what seemed sensible at the time. I opted for the ear, and I regret that now, but hey, what do you do?
Finding my way to the inner ear was relatively easy, and the cochlea had enough ridges for me to be able to clamber along it without too much awkwardness, But it was so fucking loud that it almost drove me out of my mind (no pun intended). The middle ear was at least spacious and relatively airy, but I got a sharp jab in the ribs from one of the ossicles. Of course I ended up facing my own eardrum. All I can say is that nobody can possibly imagine the earth-shattering noise you are subjected to when you have to break through your own eardrum. I made it through and plopped instantly onto my bedroom floor, grimy and exhausted. What pisses me off is that I’d been meaning to syringe my ears today as well, but I forgot.
So what did I find in there? What was the ultimate answer? Well I’m still not sure what to make of it. When I opened the chest I saw a window, and through the window I could see a garden with an empty wooden chair. A pipe was smouldering in an ashtray perched on one of the chair’s arms. There were a few nice flowers, and in front of the chair, an old dog sleeping. The dog woke up, looked at me and said “Is it me or does this always happen?” Then he went back to sleep. That was it. I don’t know what it means.
At least the headache’s gone, though.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
July 22, 2006
Deleted User
Review of Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This 116 word review has not been unlocked.
Monday reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Loved it. Great story. I love the surrealism you employ throughout, especially having the little you kick you in the shin. Don’t know what all of it means and that’s half the fun of reading a story like this. I’m glad you didn’t try to explain everything or spell it out. Let the readers come to their own conclusions. The ending was prefect. Just more trippiness for us to try and figure out.
- add/view comments (0)
UberKaterz reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
What an odd little story. I liked it. This is definately not the typical thing I’ve read and reviewed on here. It reminded me almost of a textual version of Escher. My only negative comment on it is there are a few grammar errors in it thatneed to be fixed, but other than that this was amazing.
Ozzymandias reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I love this piece. This is one of the funniest things I’ve read yet on here. Sort of like a mini-version of the Fantastic Voyage. I like all the desciptions of the room in your mind and how they are furnished. I enjoyed this a lot.
MikeLawson reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This stream of consciousness stuff isn’t incredibly easy to read.
But the content is pretty good here. I’d work on formalizing it a bit—that would make it more publishable.
The imagery is wonderful in this piece. You do a really good job at describing the fantasy elements.
classicdrm reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Wow, the imagination and imagery in this is awesome. I am very impressed! Now the part about splitting the head open, although comical, made me cringe when the narrator dug his fingers into his scalp. shivering But it fit, so I am definitely not complaining. YOu have a superb command of the language! Awesome job!
easaraby reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Hehehehe… I laughed out loud at this. What a wonderfully creative way to think of diving in to one’s subconscious. There are a couple spelling errors, but not nearly enough to take away from the idea in the work. I enjoyed this very much.
allecto13 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This is like a cross between a scene from the Big Lebowski and something our of Monty Python. It’s surrealist, theater of the absurd, and not nearly as depressing as Edward Albee. Yes, more like Tom Stoppard. I found myself chuckling along with this, having flashes of Hitchhiker’s Guide and The Meaning of Life swirling in front of Jeff Bridges floating around. It’s well-machined, lucid (as in not the product of licking a “funny” postage stamp), and pitch perfect. I like it.
matthewsouthern reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
laughs I think what it means “for the sake of writing” is we write to perhaps prove to ourselves that we can, that we’re still able, and even to test our skills. Well for a piece that was written just because, you didn’t do half bad a job hmm? Heh. Few small spelling mistakes here and there, but your writing itself is…well…quite good I must say. Despite being a writer/fan of fantasy/sci-fi I still enjoyed your work.
Matt
Showing 1 - 9 of 9
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
9 Reviews 6 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: about 1 year ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 0 Times
Skipped: 0 Times
Ratings & Rankings
