-I broke all the bones
in both my hands in a freak cook off accident, rendering my typing a jumble of
clunks and clanks.
-I was summed for jury
duty.
-The police arrested me
and placed me in custody, eventually releasing me, citing a 'slight
misunderstanding'.
-Lady problems.
The list goes on and
with enough literary tact perhaps I could have sold you any one of the bunch.
But in the case of explaining my absence from the Meat Log Blog, truth and
painful honesty must reign supreme.
I figured I had nothing
to fear on Saturday, February 15th. Julius Caesar had no reason to be wary of
the Ides of February so, naively, I figured the same. I lay in bed,
enveloped by Kafka On The Shore, as afternoon rain steadily
fell. The need for caffeine struck and with great effort I pealed myself from
my nook and made my way to the kitchen. As coffee brewed, I watched as each
raindrop selflessly sacrificed itself in the name of earthly hydration. The
world is calm when it rains. The coffee maker had finished its duty and began
calling for my attention with its customary gurgle. As I turned from the window
a shadowy figure in my peripheral sparked alarm. A man, dressed in all black,
stood behind me in the kitchen. He smiled slightly as our eyes met; he seemed
to relish the fear that had jolted up my spine and into my face. In an instant
my world twisted to match the color of his clothes.
Darkness finally faded
and as my eyes fluttered open a harsh light, accompanied by the sweet smells of
barbecue, quickly replaced it. I was naked and alone, lying in the middle of a
grass covered room. The base of the room was roughly 8x8 with walls stretching
upward to a height of at least 20 feet. Every inch of the walls and floor were
covered with lush green grass and from the ceiling hung a series of grow
lights.
"Welcome," a
voice from nowhere echoed out.
I called out, demanding
answers. Demanding an explanation. Demanding my release. I received no
response, only a showering from a sprinkler system mounted on the ceiling. As
the watering concluded a door, cut out of the grass-covered wall, opened. Two
men entered, they both wore black from head to toe, just as the man in my
kitchen had. But, unlike the man in my kitchen, both men also wore masks, one
of a pig and the other, a cow. The pair also carried two other distinct
differences. The pig-masked man, who entered first, carried a dark green drink
in a clear plastic glass. He slowly stepped into the center of the room. The cowman
entered second carrying a large assault rifle. He quickly closed the door
behind himself.
"What do you want
with me?" I pleaded from my retreated position, huddled in the far corner
of the room.
"Do not worry,
drink up. It won't kill you," the voice from nowhere stated. A slight
smile hung in his voice.
"Fuck you," I
loudly protested. "I'm not drinking any of whatever that shit is. Let me
out of here!"
"As you wish,"
the voice responded. And with that the cowman knocked twice on the door behind
him, which opened immediately. The two men promptly exited into the darkness
beyond the doorway, shutting the door quietly behind them. I jumped to my feet,
rushed to the door and began slamming my fists against it, screaming for my
release. I eventually tied of this futile pursuit and set about searching the
room. The door had no handle and the cracks that denoted its outline were
almost nonexistent. The rest of the room offered even less hope. I was trapped
in a grass prison.
The strong scent of barbecue
was unrelenting as I slumped down with my back against the wall and stared at
the door. I stayed in this position for quite a while as time crawled past.
Suddenly the grow lights above me shut off. Darkness instantly took over,
taking with it what little calm I had been able to collect. Hysteria gripped me
and I thrashed and screamed with unrestrained fever. Eventually, as with many
things during my time in the grass room, I lost the energy to continue and
broke down into a pile of heavy sobbing. Some time later, the lights once again
turned on and with them, so did the sprinklers. As before, once the sprinklers
had finished, the two animal men entered, carrying with them the same glass of
green juice and the same assault rifle. They silently assumed the same
positions and then the voice began to speak.
"You are in need of
purification and we are more than ready for the task. Your worship of meat is
an abomination, an evil that must be eradicated. Reparation is in order and
repentance is inevitable. You will pay for your transgressions. We will make
sure of that."
"How the hell does
me eating meat affect you psychopaths?"
"Simply. You
espouse, glorify and disseminate falsified information through the writings of
your Meat Log Blog. Your filth poisons the minds of millions. You are a problem
that needs to be rectified."
"You people are
fucking insane."
"Far from it.
Please, have a drink."
The smile had once again
returned to his voice.
Anger boiled inside of
me as I responded, "I thought I told you. You and your drink can go fuck
yourself."
"As you wish."
And with that, the two
masked men left as before. Replaced, once again, by the strong smell of
barbecue.
This patterned
continued. The end of darkness is pronounced by the sprinkler, which is
followed by the two masked men, always holding the same two objects. Their
departure marks a period of light, which eventually switches to darkness. Wash,
rinse, repeat. All the while, the stench of barbecue pervaded the air except
when the cow and pig are in the room. I repeatedly told the two men to fuck off
to which the voice would always respond, "As you wish".
At the end of what must
have been days, with my energy thoroughly depleted, I conceded and took a sip
of the green drink.
"Good. That wasn't
so bad, now was it?" the voice from nowhere cheerfully interjected.
It was vile. A vicious
concoction of Mother Earth's rejects, but it was sustenance. It was my only
option for staying alive. And if I managed to choke it down slowly, it meant a
healthy recess from the haunting smell of barbecue.
As I regained strength,
I began to plot. An 8x8 cell does not leave much room for anything besides
scheming and like the egg snuggled warmly under a chicken's bum, my plan
eventually hatched. My plan would get me into the utter darkness beyond the
grass door. From there I would have to act quickly and decisively. But first,
my plan needed to be tested. Each time the darkness made way for light and the
sprinkler began I would stand slightly to the right of the middle of the room
facing the grass door. When the sprinkler had run its course the pig and cow
always entered. Each assuming their normal role, the pig stepping within a foot
of me while the cow stood guard. With my right hand I would take the drink,
raise it to my lips and slowly choke it down. This pattern continued for many
cycles until the waters were perfect for testing. The sprinklers had ceased and
the animal-masked pair had assumed their positions. This time though when I
grabbed the viridescent drink I did not bring it to my lips, instead I cocked
back and threw it with all my might. The glass and its contents flew within
inches of hitting the pig before slamming into their resting place against the
far wall. The pig didn’t move a muscle and besides the cow’s slightly tightened
grip on the rifle, the pair remained unmoved and stoic as ever.
“Our guest is a bit
testy today,” the voice from nowhere said in jest. I glared upward in defiant
response. “Oh well, no worries. You may do as you wish.”
And with that the pig turned,
walked over to the juice-splattered wall, collected the glass and left quickly
along with his partner. Perfect.
My routine returned to
as it had been before the outburst. I stood in the same spot for each feeding.
Dark and light traded off at measured intervals and the smell of barbecue
pervaded. Wash, rinse, repeat. Everything was the same but for the hope that
had taken root deep inside me. Many cycles passed as hope, daring and
confidence quietly grew. Finally, the time for action was ripe and as I sat in
darkness I pulled grass. By the time the lights and sprinklers turned my left
hand was a tight fist, neatly reinforced by a well-packed ball of grass. I
stood and assumed my usual position. The sprinklers ended and the pair entered,
filling their assigned roles as they always did. Everything was ready; the cow’s
rifle would soon be mine.
I took the green drink
from the pig with my right hand. My muscles, now acting on adrenaline and
autopilot, calmly brought the drink towards my mouth. Once my right hand, and
its accompanying beverage, reached shoulder height my synapse snapped into
action. I cocked back and threw the drink with all the fury I could muster. As
the drink flew through open air my left hand jumped into action. Knowing just
where it belonged, my fortified fist found its way straight into the pig’s gut.
The drink careened towards the cow’s head, and like my fist, it met its mark. The
animal-masked pair fell to their knees; the cow’s rifle fell to the ground, unprotected
and ready for a new owner. I lunged past the crumpled pig. One small step
towards freedom; that’s all I got before being confronted with one giant roadblock.
My one step landed me in the perfect viewing position for admiring the rifle’s dark
unblinking eye.
“You should not have
done that,” the smile that was usually hung on voice from nowhere’s words was
notably absent.
The smile had fled to
underneath the cow mask and it shone clearly through the plastic exterior as
the cow introduced the butt of his rifle to the side of my face.
I awoke face down in the same god forsaken grass prison as
before. The cell was perfectly dark but the ominous stink of barbecue made
mistaking where I was impossible. Pain streaked down the right side of my face
and as I tried to bring my hand up to check the damage I quickly realized that
both my wrists and ankles had been bound together. I thrashed about, exerting my muscles until they screamed,
but to no avail. I was trapped in a whole new way but I was still free to weep.
The lights and the sprinklers came on and the sudden change
from darkness was just as jarring as it always had been. When the sprinkler had
run its course the pig and cow entered, joined this time by a man in a chicken
mask. The usual pair assumed their usual position while the chicken made a
beeline for me. With practiced motions he brought his knee down on my back,
using his other leg to pin my legs. With his hands he grabbed hold of my head,
turned it in the direction of the pig and forced my jaw open. I fought, spit
and cursed as the pig poured every last drop of the green drink into my open
mouth.
As the feeding concluded the voice from nowhere began to
speak, “You brought this upon yourself but if you so desire to thrash about and
reject your feedings you may of course do as
you wish.” The voice from nowhere had his signature smile back.
For a while I did do exactly that. I put up a righteous
fight during feedings, yearning for the chance to get my hands on the chicken
so that I could tear him limb from limb. But, as always, my effort proved
fruitless. I conceded and during feedings I would simply turn my head towards
the grass door, open my mouth slightly and calmly drink down the green
concoction. The chicken was no longer necessary; regardless he faithfully continued
to perform his duty.
Time passed at a painful pace but as I lay facedown in my
grass cell I found solace. Underneath me were hundreds of lives starving for
the grow lamp’s nourishing touch and like a vindictive god I took great
pleasure in depriving them. I could feel the life leaving each blade. And as
each blade slowly transitioned from green and lush to brown and dry I absorbed
the energy given off. While I worked on methodically murdering the grass below
me I stared at the grass on the wall nearest me. Being bound in an
8x8 cell does not leave much room for anything besides staring. I would start
by focusing on a single strand, letting my vision beyond that point relax. My
vision contracted and expanded, blurred and focused, and in this action I found
worlds. My eyes were creating stories and if I stayed calm and unblinking they
would play out before me. The wall danced while I silently demanded encore
after encore. With the lights on my imagination acted out the play it had
written but when the lights went off, my imagination went wild. In the dark my
whole world was a blade of grass. I was on the inside and all around me raged a
world completely beyond my control. Vision was no longer tied to seeing and like
a man drowning in the open ocean I would often yell out for the helpful hand
that would keep me from going under, only to receive no response. The walls
were knocked down but I was too terrified to venture out. I was a single blade
of grass on a great plain begin whipped about by an unrelenting storm. The
dawning of a new cycle brought relief with it, but the inevitable return of
darkness haunted the well-lit room.
My life and, from what I could tell, time
continued at the same jagged pace. My body was perfectly still yet my mind
franticly spun as light and horrific darkness played tug-of-war. Wash, rinse,
repeat.
The sprinklers were just finishing when the voice from
nowhere finally broke his long spell of silence.
“Our time together has been lovely, unfortunately it must
come to an end.”
I was stunned. I sat silently as tears flowed down my cheeks
and the voice continued.
“We will be sending you back but before you may go, we have
one final task you must complete.”
The grass door suddenly swung open as if to place an emphatic
period at the end of the voice’s words. As usual the chicken, pig and cow
entered, but this time the first two carried with them foreign objects. The cow
brandished the same cold rifle but the pig’s green drink had been replaced with
a plate with a sandwich on top. The chicken carried with him a small end table,
which he set in the middle of the room before continuing on towards me. He
pulled from his pocket a small X-Acto knife. As he slowly pushed the blade
upward I could feel my heart rate rising along with it. But, to my surprise,
the chicken stopped inches of my body and swiftly cut loose the ties that bound
my extremities. My wrists and ankles sang out in celebration of their new
freedom but as I moved my arms and legs my joints screamed out a violent
protest. The pig placed the plate on the table and then the trio left as
quickly as they had entered. The smell of barbecue was at a crippling new
level.
“Before you may leave,” the voice from nowhere started in
again. “You must finish every last bite of the sandwich that sits before you.
As always you are in control, you may eat as fast or as slow as you wish.”
With great effort I pealed myself from my resting place. My
muscles were atrophied and the smells were sickening but upon looking back at
the dead patch behind me I couldn’t help but smile. The table that sat before
me was roughly two feet tall, white and devoid of details. The plate on top of
it shared many of the same traits. The sandwich, upon closer examination, was
pulled pork and without a doubt it was the source of the smell that had
tormented me for so long. With shaking hands I took the inaugural bite.
Instantly I threw up. As the bite left my body it brought with it a healthy
pile of green vomit. As I stared at down at the puke covered grass I was
shocked by how similar the liquid that had just left my body was to the liquid
that I had been forced to drink. As if for good measure, I dry heaved a few
times before turning back to the task at hand. Each of the next few bites
yielded the same results but eventually I was able to keep a bite down. The
process was long and arduous but the lights stayed on throughout and eventually
I choked down the final bite. As I swallowed the sound of the sprinklers began,
but this time no water made it down to my body.
I awoke in my bedroom. I was wearing the same clothes as I
had on the day of the kidnapping: same ratty Mariners t-shirt, same shorts,
same underwear and socks. To my left lay my cell phone, wallet and my copy of
Kafka On The Shore. Underneath me the bed was neatly made. Had it all been some
twisted dream? I rolled over, picked up my phone and checked the time. It read
10:42, on Tuesday, April 1. A small chuckle leapt from my belly and escaped
between my lips before I could manage to close them. What a bunch of sick
fucks. This really was a joke for someone, an elaborate prank to make me the
April fool.
I drew the blinds and reached behind my bed to open the
window. The air was crisp and distinctly alive, and the sunlight that found its
way to my exposed skin was vigorously soaked up. The raw sunlight seeped into
my bone marrow and rushed throughout my body as if it were an honorary red
blood cell riding my heart’s waves. For quite some time I stayed still, letting
my body adjust to the new world around me. It was just after noon when I got
up. As I stood next to my bed I stared at the door across the room from me. I was
free to pass through the door and I had done so countless times before but now,
in the comfort of my own room, my
feet felt as if they were incased in cement. Fear weighed heavily on my mind.
From what I could see the world that I had been stolen from a month and a half
ago still carried on, but all I could imagine behind the door was unending
darkness. With heavy steps I made my way across the room. The air in the room
seemed to grow thinner as my hand slowly reached towards the doorknob. My heart
raced but as my hand grasped the cheap brass handle the dull, ordinary feel
comforted my nerves. Quietly I turned the doorknob; the carpeted floors and plain
white wall that peeked through the opening were a tranquil sight, like an empty
beach at sunrise. With soundless steps I worked my way out into the living
room. The house was calm. The TV was off, the living room was cluttered as
always, and in the kitchen my roommate, Seth, stood, a cup of coffee in his
hand, as he stared out the window, lost in thought. He looked like an inept
sketch artists’ crude rendering of the moment of my kidnapping, and I was the
man in all black. A thunderous wave of nausea rushed over me, nearly knocking
me backward. Once I had regained my bearings I muttered a quite greeting. Seth’s
head whipped in my direction. I tried my best to smile reassuringly but my awkward
grin did little to put him at ease. His jaw dropped, followed shortly there
after by the mug full of coffee.
The next couple days were a daze. Friends, Romans, clergymen,
family members and a whole host of physicians all passed through my life while
I unsuccessfully tried to adjust to my new freedom. Everything was moving too
fast for me to keep up with but during this time, there were two constants. For
the first handful of days my mother never left my side. She slept in a sleeping
bag next to my bed, always there to comfort me when the second constant reared
its ugly head. Fear and unease were a perpetual burden. During the daytime I
managed something close to normalcy, although the stream of visitors was disorienting
and disconcerting in its own way. It took me time to readjust to a world with
people beyond myself, but the world that I found when I shut my eyes was one
that I could neither control or come to terms with. My imagination was a rabid
dog, trapped in glass jungle gym, violently redecorating my dreams as
nightmares crafted in its own twisted image. Even when I wasn’t asleep, which
was a rare state; the nighttime brought with it heightened anxiety. The world would
collapse inward and become coffin shaped. Every night I took an unwelcomed trip
back to the grass cell. Terror would grip me tight and my mother would try unsuccessfully
to pry me free.
Food was yet another issue during this time of newfound
freedom and in some ways, it could be considered a third constant. Textures,
flavors and smells overwhelmed me. My palate had become so frighteningly accustomed
to the stench of barbecue and the even consistency of the green drink that
anything else was off-putting. I had trouble choking anything down but
eventually, through experimentation and intuition, we, my mother and I, found
that baby food was best. The even texture and bland flavors of pureed sweet
potatoes, peaches and peas made up the majority of my diet for many days. That
is, until I met Dr. Asher.
My mom brought Dr. Theo Asher to my room on either the third
or fourth day after my release. He sat on the edge of my bed and we spoke. Over
the course of a couple hours I relayed to him the entirety of the story that
you are reading here. I spared no details and his attention never wavered. Theo,
as I came to know him, was quite for most of the time, only speaking up to ask the
occasional clarifying question. I was drained by the time I concluded telling
my story, much as I am now. Theo could see this and as he stood up to leave he
offered the same reassurance that countless people before him had passed my way
- You will get through this. Only
this time, I believed what I was being told.
I began meeting with Dr. Asher every other day. Each time we
would bring the demons that had been haunting me to the surface. Each meeting
was grueling but at the end of each meeting Theo would leave me with a task and
with each meeting I got stronger. In hindsight, the tasks were small but at the
time the molehills were mountains. Normalcy is at the top of a big hill and I
have no choice but to diligently crawl upward. I have made progress. I can get
down solid foods now, people no longer overwhelm me as they did at first and
even the darkness has become less dark. These steps forward have not been
without slides backwards and even now, as I conclude this task, the task of
publicly documenting this horrific story, the thought of going to sleep after I
am finished shoves a ball of fear back into my stomach.
But, I am going to get better. I am going to get over what
happened to me. I have promised that to myself but still my fingers shake with
doubt. The grass room will always be a haunting part of my identity but I can’t,
and I won’t, let those twisted fucks that held me captive, keep me captive.
Gary Mustard will rise again. Gary Mustard will write again. There are more Meat Log Blogs to come.
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