The Royal Boot-Out

There was a time when Malcolm used to imagine about mutilated bodies, decapitated heads, bodies being inserted into gigantic grinding machines and crushed to powder, which would be mixed with an appropriate fluid, mostly semen or something bearing a similar value of viscosity coefficient, and hardened into the shape of a penis, if the body was a male, or a beautifully carved breast, if the body was a female’s.

Malcolm had imagined further, even bordering on insertions at some point, and his mind would seem to snap, as if some higher power inside his consciousness was restricting access to thoughts crossing a definite vulgarity value. Malcolm would have assigned a value of 9.9 out of 10, for the thoughts he was having, and wondered whether the scale stretched any further, since it seemed his mind was incapable of accepting how depraved his thoughts had become lately. He blamed this situation on his abject laziness and wanton procrastination. After all, which person aspiring to a decent life, a life of well-being and moderate financial security, and joyous companionship, would permit himself to such a disgusting low. His mind was in a vicious loop of thoughts mired in the sins he’d once read about in Dan Brown’s book, Inferno, where the Italian Philosopher had painted his masterful work of portraying Hell itself in visual form, depicting the fates that awaited individuals guilty of the seven unforgivable sins.

Malcolm gulped. Mentally, he had committed them all, however, in physical capacity, he was guilty of only two – Lust and Gluttony. He was worried about the former. It manifested itself in ways into his senses, that it was difficult to exert any sense of self-control. He cursed. Why had he let himself into this rut? He had lost his job seven months ago. That was almost two-thirds of the year. He couldn’t believe it, it had been so long. His companion’s generosity meant, the rent was taken care off, after Malcolm had sworn to pay him back in full once he got another job. He suspected he was on life support, which technically he was. He was a burden on the economy, in terms of his productivity. He was amazed that his girlfriend had stood by with him for all these months. She was the light of his life. She had a magical healing effect on him, like the joyous bliss of water passing down a parched throat.

Malcolm sat bolt upright. He had to set things right. This couldn’t go on. He was blessed to have at least two persons who were supporting him financially and emotionally, he couldn’t and wouldn’t let them down. He put aside today’s disastrous interview session aside for a while, from his thoughts. He regretted it now, he had called the woman interviewing him a judgmental harlot, after she had pointed out the vague smell of cigarette on him. He had smoked it, after three bottles of beer, which in retrospect he didn’t regret, it had made him feel good. He changed his mind, he had slurred his words slightly. What the hell was actually wrong with him? He decided to have a word with his two supporters, he would ask them for their advice, they liked him, they would be glad to see him make use of his potential, much like a venture capitalist investing time in managerial thoughts.

His phone rang. It was her. He rushed to pick it up.

“Hi!, I was just thinking about you”

“Hey Malcolm. You cleared the interview right?”

He wondered if he was imagining it, he prayed he was imagining it. Her voice was slightly tense, as if gauging the situation before making a sensational announcement of some sorts. Malcolm felt a dreadful premonition. This wasn’t good. He decided to stick to the truth.

“It went great, but I wasn’t accepted. You know what, love? I have been thinking about us for the past few hours, and I want to let you know that I haven’t been doing justice to your belief in me. Today is the beginning of the new me. My old life ends today. right now. Trust me love, I have changed, and I will prove it you in my next interview”

“Malcolm, this is the seventh time you’ve said this”

Her voice tailed away at the end, Malcolm felt a weird kind of chill move up his spine. He detected the soft undertone of her breath, struggling to say something of meaning, maybe encouraging words, or…

Malcolm heard her sobs, welling up gradually but surely. In that moment, he knew his life would never remain the same again. He had made a mistake one too many, and somehow, he knew he was going to pay for the last seven months, with everything but his sorry life.

She heaved an almighty sob. Her voice cracked over the phone. Malcolm froze.

“Malcolm, I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, please forgive me”

She had said it, and Malcolm felt a stab in his chest. He screamed, she cried even more, and in a few seconds which seemed like a lifetime, she hung up, like a rain soaked cloud in its wrath condemning a region to drought for eternity. Malcolm felt empty, his eyes sore, his stomach in a lurch, heart beating erratically. He heard a key being inserted into the house door. His eyes didn’t move from the empty patch of white paint on the wall. He felt bereft of the spirit which had propelled him to get out of bed all these months. His roommate entered and stared at him like a master pitying his dog.

“You’re high aren’t you, Malcolm. Why do you do this man? You know, I think you’re loosing it man. This city isn’t for you. You better get home asap. Trust me, you’ll feel rejuvenated”

Malcolm stirred from his daze, albeit with difficulty. He hoped he had misheard.

“What do you mean…..Sins?”

“I’m getting a new roommate. Get the fuck out”