An Idle Mind is the Devil's Workshop | By: Huck Finn | | Category: Short Story - Twilight Zone Bookmark and Share

An Idle Mind is the Devil's Workshop




The silence is almost unbearable. Well, almost-the silent hum of a muted television crept slowly through the air from the room across the hall.

Thoughts raced through my head as I blankly stared at the wreckage.

Where the hell did it come from?

Jeez, I could have died if only that-


Should I call someone?

Yeah, call someone, anyone-

Who the fuck is going to believe me?

Shit, anyone is going to think I'm out my fucking mind. No, calling wont work.

I had to get it, whatever the fuck "it" was, out of my house.

The trouble with having an indescribable object crash through the roof of your house turns into even bigger trouble when your humble profession is cooking methamphetamines in the basement of your already piece-of-shit house in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, GA. Hell of a time to start praying for forgiveness.

What the hell was it?

I was calmly watching good, quality edutainment on the PBS channel. It was shark week, and several clips of great whites leaping into the air had graced the screen when something made a crashing sound. It wasnt too loud; then again I was listening to my recently finished collection of Misfits 7 inches through 2x15 and 4x10 speakers at a comfortable 115 decibels. Its amazing what people will trade you for crank. Fucking twackers. I personally dont care for the shit. A couple of Steel Reserve 211s and a pack of Pall Mall Full Flavors, and I'm good to go.

I curiously got up and switched off my stereo, then waited. If it was the cops, I would have heard more noise by now-but there was nothing.

I walked into the hall and saw light coming from the room opposite my den. It was sunlight-apparently some asshole decided I needed a new skylight. Fucking beautiful.

Something smelled odd. Walking into the room, I saw the intruder. It had cut a perfect hole about a foot in diameter into my old and until this point efficient rooftop. The object on the floor was an intricate sphere with a blue-red tint. That's the best description I had for it, anyway. Normally objects reflect light and whatever is absorbed produces color. The object was abnormal in a way that it didnt absorb or reflect any sort of light-it was just there. It seemed to just exist without explanation. It was staring with a cold stare that I unhesitatingly returned.

And it was quiet.

And getting quieter...

I had excused the humming as the television, and had no reason for the odd smell, but soon I am beginning to realize the humming was the only sound coming into my ears. The smell weakened and was gone. My feet made no sound as my wore out Adidas hand-me-downs crossed the room to get a better look. I barely felt my feet touch the ground-almost as if I was gliding across the floor. The heavy, concentrated breathing going through my chest and out my nose was seamless and silent until I couldnt feel myself breathing at all. The only thoughts coming through my mind were why did this happen and what do I do now. And after what has seemed like five or ten minutes of immobility (I cant quite tell, the concept of time has left, but its not a concern right now) I am starting to realize whats happening without having a clue what is going on.

I stopped hearing.

Rather, I stopped listening-and that wasnt all.

I stopped smelling, stopped feeling-my senses slowly dissipated and I was trapped inside my thoughts. The edges of my vision were turning white-no, not white, just nothing. Fuck, I have no clue-everything has slipped into nothing.

But my thoughts are still going-and going, and going.

No alarmed feelings, no emotional worry, and no irrational panic.

Just thinking.

And wondering.

Wondering what the hell was going on.

I am alone in my subconscious, and it seems like the train of thought metaphor is becoming literal.

What have I been doing?

I have been living a life creating chemicals to speed up the lives of its abusers. Self-abusers, more like it. And in the process, I had slowed down my own life. What happened to my plans? Did I ever even have any plans? Sure, the drug money has paid for my self-education and private research. Although the only test subjects for my social behavior studies were all twack freaks and weird-os, and I had produced plenty of interesting insights into the concerns and preoccupations of modern man, anything I would ever produce in written form would only attract new-age crazies. The moral intellects had no interest in rational thinking- they liked the fact that people were easily manipulated. It gave them more power to do whatever they wanted.

Not to say this isnt hypocritical thinking; I take advantage of people everyday by selling them a destructive poison. But Im not forcing them to buy anything-damn it, I need to change some things. Get a real job. Start small and work my way up. I had done some labor in the past-moving, cleaning cars, whatever-hard work wasnt so bad. It felt good-and the pay was enough to get by. It would definitely give me more status and respect to start going somewhere. Maybe breeze through some mini-courses, where you go learn a whole semester in weeks. No problem.

This is all so fucking weird-one second I'm staring at some globe thing and now Im planning to fix a life I may not even have anymore. What is going on?


That humming sound, it sounded like frequency-like a muted television or a radio station with no service. Just ambient electronic noise. I didnt start to realize that I was losing touch until I recognized that hum was foreign. Has this object disassociated me from my physical body? Am I dead?

No, I dont want to be dead-lets not think about that. I feel certain that Im not dead-in fact, all my thoughts seemed very planned. Like something is compelling me to figure out what is going on-and to fix myself. Something wants me to keep thinking.

So what could this be? Someone-or something, or somewhere, or what fucking ever-has the technology to take my mind from my body.

Aliens? Im no stranger to the sci-fi, and maybe its not so fi after all. They could have sent these things through outer space to enslave humanity, maybe even downloading our knowledge into some extraterrestrial database, and collecting knowledge about our planet

What the fuck-am I going crazy? Lets think a little more rational before we go that far. Maybe the almighty all-evil all-controlling government has possessed our minds so that they can have perfection according to their laws. A mindless utopia of brainwashed citizens who support the American way. Or maybe its a new form of social reengineering. Trapping us inside our thoughts until we decide to change our evil lifestyles. I do feel compelled-almost convicted-of all the things Ive been doing recently. This really is no life to lead-albeit an easy one.

Maybe that's it...

Maybe God wants to give me a second chance. Maybe he wants me to realize that its time for a change. Realize that instead of harming others and profiting off their misfortune is not the reason he put me here. Maybe he wants to destroy this planet and start over again, and maybe Ive been chosen to be a part of a new society-Ive got all the right ideas, I just need to change what Ive been doing. Destroy what is there and rebuild it. Russian nihilism, essentially. The traditional views of nihilists put forth the idea that existence is meaningless-there are no set rules of morality, no ultimate deity-we are here, and then we are gone. The Russians who began this whole idea of nihilism used the term to describe revolution; they were upset with the current government, decided it was meaningless and had no purpose, and that the only way to fix things was to destroy it all and start over again. And as a result we had Lenin and the fall of the Russian Czars.

It seemed logical that God would want to utilize this idea. One look at the world around us today-hell, one look at my own life-and it is easy to see that everything has gone to shit. Kids are shooting kids. Drugs are everywhere. Corrupt governments locking people up for getting high, saying it is a problem and we need to fix it, then turning around and selling drugs to the inmates so they can (a) make money off someones addiction, and (b) turn around and keep them in the prisons longer. Its fucked up. Its life.

And mine is now floating in my subconscious, bodiless, darkness.

Something isn't right...

My thoughts are starting to...I'm not sure, its hard tosay...think... whatever...

I cant remember...can't...






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