Why does anyone do anything?
That’s what I ask whenever I do something moronic or whenever I feel sad. Why did you do that, you stupid asshole? Why are you wasting your life away being such a shitty writer? How the hell did you even manage to let spelling mistakes slip past so many proofreads, anyways? Was detoxing really that distracting? Are you just that stupid? And why did you take that bartending gig?
Yeah, that’s something I did last week. It’s part of the big thing I have planned. I think people need a decent bartender now more than ever. Hey, there’s a reason. I could probably spend all day trying to pinpoint why I, or anybody, does what they do. But the definitive answer is most certainly too messy for a guy like me to fully wrap his head around.
What isn’t messy, however, is today’s entry. (Lame transition, huh?) I say this every time, but I’ve been rewriting these old journal entries from 1981. My estranged uncle Myles wrote them in a juvie chock-full of unusual things. He frequently called them oddities. I’ve rewritten a few previous entries, which you can check out on your own accord. And as the title suggests, this is another two-parter. I really despise this fact, because most of it just feels like bullshit now. But I can’t change it; sometimes it’s okay to let silly bullshit be silly bullshit. The next part will be out this upcoming Monday. With that necessary evil out of the way, here is today’s journal segment. I hope at least one person out there gets a kick out of it:
…A few days ago, I spent every waking moment doing essentially nothing. Nothing meaningful, anyways. Just staring at dirty walls with a hazed mind and half-lidded eyes. What else was I supposed to do? How else are you supposed to react after learning everyone around you could potentially be in a cult?
The two people I deal with regularly certainly are. In all honesty, it suited Trotsky. The warden was right; he’s no good. But speaking of that bastard, I was still stunned at my discovery. The warden was most likely one of us, gifted with an astonishing ability beyond most. His pompous attitude was completely and utterly unjustified. He was no better than anyone after all. For fucks sake, he was linked to a cult!
The more I thought about this cult, the more I was plagued with dread. If what Trotsky said was true, did that mean I was soulless as well? Was I truly in debt to the Roman god of war? I groped around my neck frequently, looking for the slightest sign I shared that symbol engraved onto my cellmate. Something about this supposed cult connection seemed heinous. The thought of unknowingly being tethered to some sick group of psychos made my head spin. So I went stagnant for a few days, doing little other than processing everything. Not just the cult revelation. Overwhelming images ofthe teeth hurling inmate still flashed in my head…
One day, after another teeth-related nightmare, I awoke with a groan. Then Trotsky laughed, realizing I was awake.
I peered up to discover him looming over my bunk. Was I supposed to find him intimidating or unequivocally attractive? Obviously the former; he’s awful! But I wouldn’t be alive without him. Maybe being dead would be for the better?… I couldn’t even think about Trotsky without pulling my hair out.
He smirked. “When are you going to stop sulking?”
I didn’t dignify him with a response. He didn’t care.
“After breakfast, I will go to prison library. You are welcome to join me.”
Silence filled the air once more. The soviet shrugged, humming some strange song as he distanced himself from me. Little did he know, his question echoed in my mind.
When was I going to stop sulking?
It wasn’t like the world would stop spinning and bring me happy delights. I’m in a weird, careless prison full of cultists. The warden is a cultist. My cellmate is borderline insane. There’s an ugly clown going around causing actual insanity.I’ve seen a dude throw up teeth. If the world wanted to bring me peaches and rainbows, it would’ve done so weeks ago. I needed to get over my sorrows and do something. So I did.
That day, during free time, I bumped into Venus Eve. Of course I did; not a single worker cared about separating the sexes. It certainly wasn’t a bad thing for me. When Venus saw me, she ran up to me and clung to my arm.
“Myles! Where do you go when a girl needs you the most?”
It was nearly instinctual to let her do what she wanted. But concepts of the cult had been brewing in my mind for dozens of hours; they weren’t going away that easily. I pulled back.
Her stagnant frown drew lower, and she raised an irritated brow. “What’s all that about?”
I took a moment to think. Could I confront Venus about the cult? I mean, out of everyone, she was the least sinister. Even if given a chance, she wouldn’t attempt to escape this dump. If this cult was as gruesome as I suspected, she most likely didn’t share that malevolent quality. It would be too much work for her. Plus, despite all her unusual aspects, she was honest. What did I have to lose?
“Venus, you’re cool. Real cool. But I have some suspicions right now, and I need you to confirm something with me.”
“Okay, sure.”
“…Are you a cultist?”
She looked reasonably surprised. But then she shook her head with sincerity. “Of course not.” She sounded genuine. She was telling the truth, and it brought relief to my soul.
“Oh, thank God.” I embraced her with a giggle. “I should’ve never believed Trotsky. I’ve never been a cultist; of course our gifts didn’t come from some silly cult!”
“Oh, you said cultist? Whoops, I thought you said communist.” She put a finger in her ear, wriggling it around a little. “Never go off the radar again; I hate having to get replacements. Also, if you ever go gay for the stay, never hook up with Karl Sanches. He’s way too noisy. I should probably get my ears checked now or some shit.”
I. Was. Stunned. Apart of me wanted to ask if she said Carl Sanchez, but I assumed she would probably say something equivalent to “no, Karl Sanches. There’s no z.” So, I put this trivial thought aside with a twitching eye, scoffing instead. “Venus!”
“What were we talking about?… Oh yeah!” She laughed with a blank face. “Yeah, I’m totally in a cult.”
“Goddamnit, Venus!”
“What? Aren’t we all cultists?”
“No! I mean, I think?”
“What do you mean you ‘think?’”
“I don’t know!”
I sighed, turning around. “Look, can you check my neck and make sure I’m not…branded by an ancient Roman deity? Just don’t do anything weird.”
“That’s the first time you’ve said that.”
She touched the nape of my neck, examining it.
“Welp, good news. No branding here.”
“Thank…Mars, I guess.”
“Whatever rocks your cock. But you know what I don’t understand?”
“What?”
She looked at me with bold green eyes. “Why are you here if you don’t have any powers?”
“I have powers. I’ve had them all my life.”
“…Are you sure you’re not in the cult?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “No! Dude, I was the church’s piano boy!”
“Oh, are you like, a hardcore catholic?” She gasped, “did you get molested?”
“No and no. If you must know, I’ve never -really- believed in God. But that’s beside the point; look, you’re the only one I somewhat trust. I think-”
“Why did you play piano at church if you aren’t religious?”
“Venus…”
“I wanna know.”
I sighed. “I…wanted approval from my mother and Mr. Perfect.”
“Mr. Who?”
“Perfect. My eldest brother. Dandy. He’s always been Bitchetta’s favorite. And when we went to church, they would dress me up and straighten my hair, and mother would pretend my name was Paul.” I blushed, “embarrassing times…okay, anyways, I think the-”
“Why didn’t she just name you Paul?”
Goddamnit. I slurred my swiftly spoken words out of frustration. “Because she promised her ex that she would name me after him, but his name was Gaylord, so I got his surname instead.”
“That’s funny.”
“Uh-huh…look,” I grabbed her shoulder, “I think the warden has a gift too.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I saw a mark on the back of his neck. Like, some funky-looking symbol.”
“Holy shit.” She choked out in disbelief, “how come this isn’t the big word around here?”
“I assume nobody really pays attention to the back of his neck. I’ll admit, that’s kinda weird. But what’s weirder is that he’s a part of that cult!”
“Yeah.” She looked up at me with a hint of excitement in her eyes. “Do you think he’s some sort of evil mastermind?”
I raised a brow. “Are all cultists evil masterminds?”
“No, but think about it.” If we were in a sitcom, she would’ve pulled out a tinfoil hat. “He‘s in a position of power over everyone else like him. What if he’s trying to us send subliminal messages? What if he’s like, an evil demigod with connections to a darker side of the cult? I mean, he’s really chummy with some inmates, right? What if that’s how he gets into their heads?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, “wanna find out?”
“How?”
“Well, I was thinking about tracking the warden down and finding out what his deal is. You’re good at sneaking around, yeah?”
“I’d consider myself a professional sneaker.”
“So, are you in?”
“Sure.”
That was the type of nonchalant answer I would expect from Venus Eve.
I laid down a vague plan in front of her. It was simple; we would find the warden and spy on him. Though, we had to make it quick. Free time was the least shackled part of the day. Besides, most security guards were in populous areas, preoccupied with more problematic inmates. If we were to execute this plan any other time, we would certainly be caught. So, we made finding the warden an immediate process. After that, as creepy as it sounds, we just…followed him around.
A lot of it was mundane. He would roam the halls, occasionally bickering with inmates or instructing them on what to do. I got a better look at the back of his neck. A faded scare was indeed on display; I didn’t imagine things that night. He had a symbol on his neck, though it differed from Trotsky’s. Sometimes the warden would pull out a notepad and jot something down. Venus insisted he was figuring out the best way to take over the world. I wasn’t as easily convinced.
The warden seemed to be an individual trapped in a torturous cycle of content. I vaguely recognized it. Perhaps at one point, he had been more energetic, only to burn away overtime like a short-lived star. His age was hard to estimate, but he had most likely been stuck in this routine for quite some time. Possibly even before I was born. If he was actually evil, he should’ve taken over the world decades ago.
But that’s not to say I found him completely innocent. No. There would be these small, ominous moments—ones where he would look around before muttering something indistinguishable, or do something slightly suspicious. Questions bubbled and boiled in my brain. Was his morally upright attitude just a facade?
I would find out in the staff-only room.
It was difficult to follow him there. Technically, we didn’t. We just peered outside from a crack in the door, and I strained my ears to hear. The warden walked up to a long counter displaying various household items. There was one moment when he looked in our direction with a scowl, and I swore we were spotted. My heart raced, and I froze in one place. But then he turned around with a casual pose, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I saw him grab the telephone and dial a phone number with prompt precision. Then he waited, tapping an impatient finger before the person seemingly answered.
He started talking, and I picked up his voice with muffled uncertainty.
“Yeah, sure.”
Pause.
“Hm? Oh! No, no. Nothing like that.”
Another pause.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m thinkin’ something much worse….”
What?
“He’s gonna be too much of a hassle, especially with Puck and Trotsky both out of SC.” He snickered, “I say we just get rid of him while we still can. It’s not like we can toss out those other lowlifes; Boss needs them.”
I gasped. My stomach churned as the warden cocked his head in the door’s direction. He was fast. I froze, trying not to shake as he turned back around, oblivious to my presence. The warden hummed, reaching over to press a button on his coffee maker. It looked brand spanking new.
“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll meet you in the staff-only room tomorrow, ‘kay?”
Another pause. This one was menacing.
“Same time around this? Maybe a little later?”
After a few seconds, he laughed. “Okay. You have a good day.”
Click!
He glanced at his coffee maker. I didn’t stick around long enough to watch him pour a cup. Gently closing the door, I yanked Venus’ sleeve and raced down the hall. Then, we came near the cafeteria with a sudden stop. We caught our breaths, and Venus directed her gaze toward me with confused eyes.
“What happened? What did he say?”
“Something about getting rid of someone!” I tried to process it all. “He mentioned my cellmate and this dude named Puck. I think he was the one who fought the Lightning Guy?” I shook my head, “he talked about how they’re important to his boss. Like they’re objects, not people. And whoever else he was talking about is a disposable object.”
“Fuck…”
Venus had a look of disbelief in her eyes, though this was quickly silenced by a glimmer of excitement. “I was right! He is an evil mastermind!”
“Well, he needs to be exposed!” I smacked my fist against my left palm, “tomorrow, he’s gonna have a chat with someone in that same room. We should bust in and make him talk before they meet!”
“Do you really think that would work?”
“I don’t think he can legally hurt us unless we actually get physical. We can probably blackmail him. Like, if he doesn’t give us answers, we’ll tell everyone about his little connections to the cult.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It’ll be fun, alright. Finally taking that damn warden down a peg and calling him out.” My heart fluttered simply thinking about it.
Venus and I began to walk back towards the cells, creating idle chit-chat all the while. The floor was cold. I could feel the icy concrete through my shoes. One step, and then another, shoes meeting the frigid floor. One step, and then another…grazing upon a squishy surface.
It started hissing.
I jumped back, panicking and pointing at what I had just stepped on. Venus saw it too, eyes widening as she recoiled.
It was a snake. Plump with dark brown scales, slowly slithering in no particular direction. Venus and I freaked the fuck out.
“What do we do?”
I gulped. “I dunno! Kill it?”
“Okay, so kill it!”
“I don’t just run around with flowers in my pockets all the time; I can’t kill this thing with that gift. If I get rid of it, I’d be taking you down too!”
“Why can’t you just step on it?!”
“That’s dangerous!” I bit my lip, “come on, Venus, don’t you have some sort of ability that can take it out?”
The snake squirmed around, sending us into a fearful frenzy. Venus stuttered out an ashamed answer.
“No!”
“Well, you’ve probably handled more ‘snakes’ than me. Why don’t you step on it?”
“Fuck you. You’re supposed to be the man! Also, if you’re implying what I think you are, we’re actually tied.”
The reptile writhed ever closer to us, cold and foreign. Sharp, menacing teeth spurted from its crooked snout, and fiendish beady eyes met mine. Its unpredictable nature made me sweat, and I imagined it lunging at me. How would that feel? To have those dry scales coil around me, to feel the venom coursing through my veins with just one bite. To hear its dreadful hiss as my vision went black. I couldn’t have that.
Reluctantly, I stomped on its head as hard as I could. It thrashed around in ways that looked impossible. Venus planted a foot near its center, and a loud crack echoed through the halls. The snake throbbed and twitched, barely clinging to the embrace of life. Trotsky would’ve killed it like a bug.
But Trotsky wasn’t there, so we left it half-alive. Well, we would’ve.
But then the snake crumbled.
I don’t know how else to describe it. Its somewhat normal appearance shattered, and pus seeped through its scales as they…scattered. Then I realized those weren’t scales.
They were spiders.
Leave it to Ophelia Hollow Prison to make nightmares come true.
I didn’t even question the logistics behind it. One moment I was dealing with a snake; the next, I was dealing with hundreds of tiny spiders. Okay.
They resembled little wandering spiders. Their oversized fangs were covered in hair, holding onto that dark brown color they displayed in their snake form. Unusually long legs skittered across the concrete, and Venus screamed.
“Ew! What the hell?!”
I pushed her back. Carl Sanchez had once gone on an hour-long rant about spiders. He mentioned how South America’s wandering spiders were highly venomous.
“Venus, if these things bite you, you’re fucked!”
She groaned, “some more powerful gifts would really be helpful right now!”
By all means, she was right. But there wasn’t time to think about such trivial things. I stepped back, making sure none of the spiders got on my legs. I didn’t even want to imagine the faint tickle of those hairy things crawling all over me. It would be the fingers all over again. I managed to squash one, producing a faint whisper of a wheeze as the creature died. Fizzing pus covered my shoe, and I wiped it off on the ground. It smeared the floor, and I gagged. I crushed another one, resulting in the same bubbling, thick liquid. White with a dingy yellow tint.
Suddenly, my skin crawled. One spider had crawled up my leg, and at that moment, I knew I fucked up.
It really was the fingers all over again. But at least those ashy fingers didn’t have hairy, poisonous fangs.
I jumped around, wincing and praying I didn’t fall victim to its venomous bite. Its small ugly eyes looked up at me. The creature seemed unreadable as my vision blurred with trepidation. The spider stayed still, and its spindly legs felt torturous. I waited for the slightest movement, the slightest hitch, the slightest sign it would bite me.
But Venus came to my rescue. Taking off a laceless shoe, she smacked it away, and the sole bumped into my leg during the process. The spider fell to the ground, twitching before I offed it with a stomp. It made a crunching noise.
When I raised my shoe, I expected to catch a glimpse of grotesque, mangled spider remains. But I didn’t see that.
All the spiders…fell apart as if they had barely held onto their previous forms. Their bodies disintegrated, and this curse didn’t spare any arachnids. Dead, alive, under my shoe; it didn’t matter. All faced the wrath of this…disease. And as disturbing as it was, it meant that Venus and I were safe.
Venus muttered some swears as I crouched down to examine what was left of the spiders. Small specks tinted that hauntingly familiar dark brown. I picked up a strong, bitter scent, not entirely unpleasant. Were those-
I plucked a few specks from the ground, rubbing them against my fingers.
Coffee beans.
I ran back to the staff-only room. Lightly moving the knob, I did everything in my power to make sure I peeped silently.
The warden had disregarded his cup of coffee, which rested on a dark blue desk. I don’t think he took a single sip. He didn’t even give it a glance as he jotted something down in his notebook. The warden focused intently, not paying attention to anything else besides the paper in front of him. I didn’t need to see more. I came to my conclusion.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped, letting go of the knob. It closed with a slight thud, and I turned around.
Of course, it was only Venus Eve.
“What’s going on?”
“I think the warden’s coffee maker did that thing with the spiders.”
“What?”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I grabbed her hand. We walked down the hall at a trot. Then, deciding we were far enough from the staff-only room, we slowed down.
“This is gonna sound stupid, but I think that coffee maker has some…magic coffee beans? Like, they can shapeshift into different things.”
“Do you think the warden knows?”
A few days ago, I would’ve said no with absolutely zero hesitation. But suspicions about the warden had been stirring and bubbling up all day.
“He probably does. That bastard…we’re gonna mess him up real good tomorrow.”
“But not physically, right?”
“Of course not. Mentally, I guess.”
I was going to make him talk, and I was going to get answers. I contemplated telling Dolly. She wanted answers, too, despite supposedly knowing everything. I think her phrase was just a bluff, just a way to show that she still saw herself as superior. I don’t think she’s superior to anyone. Not because she’s British or most likely gets sunburnt real easily, and not because of her pathetic height. No, she wasn’t superior due to her connections to the cult.
If Venus was a part of it, Dolly was most likely as well. I didn’t want to believe it, but she had to get her gift somehow, unless she was like me. That didn’t seem to be the case. Why was I some sort of exception? Even Venus wasn’t, despite being the arguably more suave and interesting of us two. She was just a cultist who sold her soul for a gift.
….
“Venus?”
“Yes?”
“What is your gift?”
Venus looked ahead, shrugging. “It’s hard to describe. I’m sure it has some fancy official name. But basically, when I’m around someone, there’s a bunch of info that floods my head.”
“Like what?”
She made a slight noise. “Every wanton thought, every fantasy. Every kink, every turn-off. Every lover. Every good kiss, some bad ones, and most certainly every pleasure-soaked moment. Sometimes I learn names. I always learn about V-cards; when someone willingly lost it, or if someone still has it.”
Oh wow. That sounded like a bad joke. Was that really true? Did she know all of that? I stopped in my tracks.
“Wait…” I choked, coming to a dawning realization, “does that mean from the moment we met, you….”
“Yup.”
“Oh God.” I trembled with embarrassment. “So you know everything?”
“Pretty much.” She turned around to face me. “You’ve had fifteen serious partners and…let’s just say a lot of unofficial ‘lovers.’” She winced, but it was clear she was enjoying herself. “I think if I said the exact number, you would hate yourself.”
“Jeez, you’re too late!” Fifteen? Had it really been that many? I lost count by the fifth failed relationship.
“I will say, you’ve ‘associated yourself’ with some pretty controversial characters—transgender women, black men, hippies who do LSD to rebel against their parents. And you’re a bit of a homewrecker, huh?” She snickered, “you slept with your brother’s girlfriend. If I were in New York, I could probably connect you to multiple breakups.
I paused with a pale face, thinking about two words—brother’s girlfriend.
Sleeping with Clarissa Baker was one of my lowest moments, but not the lowest. One of those dark times where you stare at your self-hating hands in the shower and think, “this is rock bottom. I don’t think it could get lower than this;” only to discover a few weeks later that it does, indeed, get lower than that. But in my defense, I was really sad, and Clarissa was going through a fight with Will. It was just a way to hush out any negative emotions with meaningless sex.
Wait, no, that’s not an excuse, you stupid piece of shit. You still slept with your older brother’s girlfriend, and you’re awful for it.
Venus snapped me out of my thoughts with a laugh. If she were a normal person, she would’ve been smirking.
“You’re like, the definition of easy.” Her blank stare met mine. “If you were a woman, I would totally make jokes about you being passed around more than a joint.”
“Okay, well-”
“Like, you’ve probably been inside more people than places.”
I sighed, “very funny, and…really gross, but-”
“Who’s touched more greasy chicks, you or Colonel Sanders?”
“Dude, can you-”
“If you were a Victorian, you would be-”
“Alright, I get it!”
We stood in awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then, with a flushed face, I spoke.
“….Would it be weird if I asked about Trotsky?”
“Is he the storage closet guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Considering what I know, not really.”
“Okay, well…is his-”
“His sadism isn’t a sexual thing, no.” I looked at her with amazement. Did she know what I was thinking too?
“Inflicting pain is like heroin to him, not a fetish. Though, if my memory serves right, he’s done some super gross things.” She shivered, “but his fantasies are surprisingly chaste.”
“Wow…knowing all that about everyone must be really overwhelming.”
“You can say that again.” She groaned. “It’s not even useful half of the time.”
“Still, I didn’t know Mars could give people powers like that.”
She went silent for a moment. Then her brows knitted together in a surprisingly serious fashion. “…I sold my soul to Aphrodite.”
“That’s a weird name for Mars.”
“‘Cause, it’s not his name, dummy!” She produced a frustrated sigh, “my name is Venus. I’m conventionally attractive. I’m basically a sexual psychic! How did you not see my connection to Aphrodite?”
That didn’t make sense. Trotsky said all prisoners were in debt to Mars. Well, maybe that was just Trotsky being an idiot. But there was still one thing bugging me. “Aphrodite is in a completely different pantheon than Mars!”
“Not really. Mars is just respectable Ares; Venus is just Aphrodite. Same shit, different day. Same gods, different names. The cult is so widespread that members worship both versions.”
I remembered that Trotsky was from a different nation. The one my country happened to be feuding with. “Is it like a regional thing?”
“Pretty much. The Greek gods are more popular in the states.”
“Huh.”
We started walking again. I paused before clearing my throat. “Was it worth it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Becoming a ‘sexual psychic.’ Was it worth selling your soul? Why did you do it to begin with?”
And just like that, Venus Eve stopped in her tracks. She turned around to face me with an offended frown. “That’s very personal.”
“From the moment we met, you knew a shit ton of personal things about me! You know some of my biggest regrets! Don’t I deserve this one thing?”
“No.”
“Come on, I just wanna know! Like, do you ever regret it?”
“Only when privileged, vapid little boy toys remind me of it.”
I scorned with a sense of pain in my chest. “Oh, don’t be like that. I just wanna get to know you.”
“Why?” She snickered, walking once more, “it’s not like you’ve ever prioritized ‘getting to know’ who you stick your dick into.”
Ouch.
I hung my head low. I’ve received some verbal kicks to the balls before, but I would’ve never expected one to be from Venus. Especially one so personal. This reaction drew a remorseful sigh from her lips as she came to a halt.
“Everyone has their own reason for selling their soul.”
I perked up, attempting to look as thankful as possible for her response. Venus seemed to appreciate this. But of course, she was still Venus Eve. Any emotional vulnerability would be drowned with ambiguous wording and aloofness that rivaled some of the meanest senile old men.
“You only get a vague idea of what your gift will be. I…hoped that mine would make me ‘good.’ So good that life would give me the things I wanted.”
I could tell that didn’t happen. I couldn’t help but wonder what she wanted. Love? Beauty? Was that why she did something as extreme as selling her soul? I don’t think she thought about the consequences until after the deed had already been done. But this was all, and still is, speculation.
“I only got maybe half of what I wanted. But I’m doing better now.”
Venus didn’t say anything more on the subject. I didn’t press her for any more details, either. At the end of the day, I was happy she even told me a fraction of her story. Free time was nearing its end, so we needed to depart fast. And we did, eagerly waving goodbye as I thought about the day ahead.
That elitist asshole was about to get what was coming to him. I swore something sinister was happening behind the scenes, and I would figure out what.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. I think Trotsky told a distasteful joke about the death of Elvis. Or was it a bad joke about alcoholic fathers? Abusive mothers, maybe? Wait, no, I remember now. “What do Americans and stars have in common? They both love shooting up. Ha! Get it?”
…I swear, juvie days are like a swing. They’re either painstakingly slow or so fast and fuzzy that it feels like you’ve overdosed. The in-between moments are scarce and unmemorable.
But I don’t think I could ever forget what I awoke to the following day.