WE MARCH UP the stone steps to the black glass doors. There is no reflection. Even the light is absorbed by the surface.
One of the many Monsters grabs the handle of the door and yanks; it’s locked. He braces himself and rips the whole door off of the frame; part of the wall comes with it.
The Monsters cheer. I have to admit, I cheered, too. It’s not bad hanging out with these guys; they know how to have a good time.
A moan emanates from deep within the pyramid; it sounds like a cry of pain. It sounds like Monster. He’s going to be doing a lot of that real soon.
We step into the building, and everything is different from the last time I was here. The complete layout has been rearranged. Even the smell is different—sulphur.
This building represents the Monster I kind of knew, the one who ate me; the one who is not cool at all, no matter the muscles and cool clothes—I mean, not cool clothes—crappy clothes. He dresses like a businessman surfer dude; there, I said it!
I have no idea what I’m doing. I am just running on pure adrenaline at this point. I hope that ‘Kind of Good Monster’ can fight better than me.
Somebody is whistling a rap song from the early two-thousands. I was a little kid at that time, so I have no clue what song it is.
We all turn to find the source. It is another Monster dressed as a security guard.
“Sorry fellas, no pass, no enter.” He says, not even looking at us.
Three of the Monsters dive over the counter and wrestle him to the ground. A pass flies out from behind, and ‘Kind of good Monster’ catches it.
“This way,” he says.
He is leading us to a security door. His hands present the door with a wave, and the Monster who ripped the front door off makes quick work of it.
We are overrun by Ghouls. They spill out of the hall like a tidal wave. We are crushed to the ground, and bony feet trample over us.
I try talking to them, but there is no reasoning with them. They are trapped in some kind of madness. Nothing I do seems to soothe their never-ending pain. What did Monster do to them?
I feed them my energy, but that does nothing. I’m beginning to realize something. I feel something else at work here, something sinister. It almost feels like an evil invisible smile is happening in this place.
Sometimes I forget that this is not a place at all; it is a person with all of their complexities and problems. This is a person full of sadness, pain, and regret. Monster will claim that he is unaffected by life’s jabs, but he has no immunity to it, and neither do we.
In a movie, Sylvester Stallone said: ‘Life will beat you to your knees, and it will keep you there if you let it.’ This line is right.
The Ghouls are not really here; this is why I can’t communicate with them. This mad mind I feel is Monster. He is falling apart. To take him down now will be a mercy; he is like a mad dog, foaming at the mouth and barking at everybody. If you get too close to him, he will bite, and in my case, eat you!
“The Ghouls aren’t real.” I state.
‘Kind of good, Monster’ looks at me, then back at the Marauding Ghouls. He socks one in the head and picks him up, then throws him at a group of them, knocking them down.
“They sure feel real.” He states.
“They are extensions of Dark Monster,” I say.
“Oh, no problem.” He says.
His eyes close, and the Ghouls heads smoke. A moan cries out from deeper in the pyramid, and they fade away. Even though they weren’t real, I still felt bad for them. One was watching his hands as he fades into nothing.
The stairs are clear. I look up the floors, and there are full wall guards blocking my view. They are made of the same smoky glass. If there are people waiting on the stairs, I can’t see them. Not even circulatory systems; no peepers.
The path is not well lit. We must be cautious. Monster can sometimes be unpredictable, and this is sure to be one of those times.
We slowly make our way through the shadows, one step at a time, mindfully snaking up the stairs into the unknown. What waits for us in this temple? A Monster.
THE OLD HOUSE
I remember this couch. I’m sitting on it in the living room I had at the townhouse I grew up in. My homework is scattered over the cheap paper-mache coffee table.
“FINISH YOUR HOMEWORK!” My mom’s voice, but not my mom.
Monster is playing with me. She enters the room, her face demonic, her clothes tattered and worn out.
This is the poor work of Monster. I guess he wants to scare me, and he’s going to use my memories of my mom. I did the only thing I could do,
First, I forced myself to age up. It is my imagination he is playing with, and I won’t let him dictate anything. Then, I stripped naked and swung my pants over my head. I started dancing around the room, leaping from the sofa to the chair.
A bookcase crashes into me and knocks me to the ground. This is a bad idea. I was hoping to embarrass him, but he doesn’t care. Dark Monster just wants to hurt me. He tried to crush my body.
Just for a split second, I saw myself. I am standing very still on the stairs. Many of the Monsters have walked on by, except for ‘Kind of Good Monster.’
I’m back inside myself. I can hear Dark Monster’s laugh as he is burying me in the cheap furniture of my childhood house. His evil laughter is shaking the inside of my skull.
I close my eyes. I am no longer trying to fight him. A hand grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the rubble. I am face to face with ‘Kind of good Monster.’
He looks down and back up to my face.
“Where are your pants?”
I shrug, and he lets go of me. I land feet first on the rubble and stumble a bit before I find my footing.
“Why does it curve?” He asks, pointing down. (John Cena.)
I shrug again.
EVER UP
I soon find myself with ‘Kind of Good Monster,’ making my way up the stairs.
We come to a landing, where all the Monsters sit. I gaze upon the sea of faces; all those beards.
I quickly look down. My grey sweatsuit is back. Good, I didn’t want to hear any more comments about my John Cena.
“Why are you all just sitting here?” ‘Kind of Good Monster,’ asks.
The Monster who broke the front door of the building motions with his hand.
“The top of the landing is walled up.”
I look up and wedge my way between them. Some stand and make room. Sure enough, I come to a white stone wall. I slide my hand over it. Dark Monster is on the other side.
“I need the Monster who likes breaking stuff.” I state.
“I tried.” His voice carries to me.
I can hear them shuffling on the stairs. They are making their way to me. Soon the sea of green muscle is before me.
“What if we try together?”
We try to make room for each other and pound on the wall. It is quite noisy and makes no headway.
“Stop,” I command.
All eyes are on me.
“Let’s shoot lightning at it.”
All together, the bolts crash into the wall. Cracks are starting to form. Again and again, lightning crashes into the wall from us. Fissures are splitting through the stone, but the wall is not coming down.
I’m not sure what to do. In life, this always happens: you get only so far before things begin to block you, and the world tries to make you give up. I am not going to stop.
Kill everyone. Destroy my home. Take everything from me. I’m still here, Monster, and I’m not going away!