Percy Thrillington
The Mad Hatter
- 4,425
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Seen Jan 1, 2023
A cheap acoustic guitar could be heard from the background as Deryl wrestled with his brain's right hemisphere for a drink. He refused to give up and the pressure applied by both hands was enough to throw the glass at the wall. Deryl sighed and closed his eyes, knowing that was just one broken glass of many that had happened and many that would happen. Slowly, he lifted his hand and dropped it over his right hand before stroking it lightly and tenderly. It was Deryl's way of telling his brother that there was no bad blood between them; that everything was alright.
In front of him, the barman was already picking up the broken glass. Deryl didn't frequent this alcoholic hideaway and was well aware that the barman did not know how to handle him.
'I will pay for that, of course!' Alex told the barman cheerfully.
Deryl opened his eyes and rolled them upwards. His entire life was an upgraded version of Alien Hand Syndrome. At least those who had to suffer through that syndrome got sympathetic looks – and when they didn't, it was because the people had enough common sense to leave them alone. Deryl and Alex were constantly stared at while a billion questions went unanswered. Why weren't they separated at birth? Do they even like each other? Do they work in a circus?
Deryl started leaning his head against his good hand. He used to compare his life to the Royal Family; he had been born into the world as a spectacle; something for people to look at to cheer themselves up. Now, he realised he had nothing in common with that family. He would never have the normal life he could have – in order to acquire that, he would literally have to sacrifice Alex, something he would never, ever be willing to do.
'I don't think we can,' Deryl apologetically said.
The barman looked at him with an expression on his face that was hard to read. 'Well, what are you going to do about it then?'
Deryl quickly raised his hand to object but Alex got there first. 'We can't be the only customers to accidentally break a glass! I obviously should have checked to make sure we had money to pay before I said we would and I'm sorry about that but you cannot expect us to do something to get more money, can you?'
The barman shrugged. 'Except that this was no drunken argument – you were fighting with each other. And besides, you're not exactly a usual customer.'
Deryl's breathing pace increased. He despised people referring to his brother and himself in the singular. They were two separate minds. Well, medically speaking, they were really one mind and a half. That said, it was the same principle. He closed his eyes as Alex pondered aloud about what the barman could possibly see them doing.
The barman contemplated what to do for a couple of seconds and then said, "You should go up there and sing a song."' He pointed towards the abandoned stage; the previous act had been booed off half an hour earlier for their arrogant lead singer and their out of sync drummer.
Deryl could see Alex shaking his head. For two different heads, their minds could be awfully similar when the time called for it. He appreciated that Alex wasn't completely out of control tonight.
Realising that the way to appeasement would be through Alex, the barman started complimenting his voice, saying he was mighty certain that they'd be good singers. Alex turned to Deryl, 'all we have to do is go up there for a minute. I'm sure someone will spare us some change by then. It'll mean we won't have to come back here tomorrow.'
'You really think I'm coming back here tomorrow?' Deryl slammed his fist on the table.
Oblivious to objections, Alex had already started walking towards the stage. Knowing how bad it would look if Deryl intentionally he compromised his brother, his leg followed the other, even if it went against what he stood for. Once they were on the stage, a guitar was picked up and Deryl quietly began tuning it. The barman suddenly appeared from behind them and raised his hands as a way of telling the audience to quiet down.
'Tonight, all the way from an island afar, we have a very unique, independent act performing for all of you! An improvisational act; a revolutionary act; an act never quite picked up by circuses all around the globe! I give you the improvisational wonder that is the Two-Headed Boy!'
The lights were bright and they shined down on both Alex and Deryl as they strummed a G chord nonchalantly. They both raised their hands to protect their eyes and the sound of the guitar died down. Someone obviously got the hint because all of the lights were turned off apart from the main spotlight. The two started strumming again and Deryl began making up lyrics, hoping that once the melody became clear, Alex would finish his sentences.
'He gives and he takes and sometimes if you get double, you lose both.'
It could have been bad guitar playing; it could have been out of tune singing; it could have been that nobody could see anything under the intensity of the lights... or it could have been that the audience found the freaks of nature performing in front of them to be hilarious. Whichever it was, laughter suddenly filled the room. It was an overwhelming, mechanical sound. There was no emotion; no joy in that collective laugh. It was pure, sociopathic, holier-than-thou laughter. It drowned out the sound of both performers on the stage. After thirty seconds of hoping for the best, Deryl realised the barman's plan was never for the broken glass to be paid for but to get a cheap joke out of an otherwise boring night.
His throat stopped producing sounds and Alex got the hint. The guitar was thrown onto the stage and it exploded in a cloud of splinters and string. Unsure of whether it was his rage or the Alien Hand Syndrome, Deryl started to run out of there. Alex followed suit.
When the boys were younger, their father had warned them not to lean back on their chairs, that life wouldn't be worth living if one or both of them ended up paralysed. Deryl tried very hard to restrain himself from saying that his life already wasn't worth living.
He wasn't sure what was causing it but his index finger was rapidly tapping the kitchen table. 'I can't do this anymore, Alex.' His brother remained quiet for a couple of seconds so he continued on. 'Humanity pretends to itself that everything is so sophisticated. We aren't the barbarians that lead wars against their neighbouring countries centuries ago; we're not the people who set up concentration camps in the late 1930s. We're not the people who would sadistically enjoy watching someone get brutally get beaten up. We're the people who know their good from their bad. We're the people who know we should treat everyone else equally.'
In his peripheral vision, Alex shook his head. 'If only it was true.'
'They aren't the only ones lying to themselves, Alex. Look at us. We won't ever be able to live normally; ever since we were born, we've been compromised.' Deryl calmly looked his brother in the eyes and stroked his left hand. 'Alex, I know it sounds crazy but there's a way out of this. It wouldn't be hard to pull off. All we'd have to do is -'
Alex held up his hand to silence his brother. A minute passed. Deryl wasn't willing to persuade him. This was a spur of the moment idea; if Alex shot it down, there was no going back. If Alex authorised it, however, there was also no going back.
After what seemed like an eternity, the younger brother shook his head. 'I think we should go back up the mountains. Find that view over the entire city.'
Deryl's facial expression was torn between happy and sad. 'We can watch the stars shine up there and we can see the city lights shine down there.'
It was Alex's time to stroke his brother's hand. 'It might feel bad now and maybe the cons of our lives outweigh the pros but there'll always be the beautiful moments that make it worth living. We'll get over this.' He gripped his brother's hand as tightly as he could without hurting him. 'We'll get through this life together.'
In front of him, the barman was already picking up the broken glass. Deryl didn't frequent this alcoholic hideaway and was well aware that the barman did not know how to handle him.
'I will pay for that, of course!' Alex told the barman cheerfully.
Deryl opened his eyes and rolled them upwards. His entire life was an upgraded version of Alien Hand Syndrome. At least those who had to suffer through that syndrome got sympathetic looks – and when they didn't, it was because the people had enough common sense to leave them alone. Deryl and Alex were constantly stared at while a billion questions went unanswered. Why weren't they separated at birth? Do they even like each other? Do they work in a circus?
Deryl started leaning his head against his good hand. He used to compare his life to the Royal Family; he had been born into the world as a spectacle; something for people to look at to cheer themselves up. Now, he realised he had nothing in common with that family. He would never have the normal life he could have – in order to acquire that, he would literally have to sacrifice Alex, something he would never, ever be willing to do.
'I don't think we can,' Deryl apologetically said.
The barman looked at him with an expression on his face that was hard to read. 'Well, what are you going to do about it then?'
Deryl quickly raised his hand to object but Alex got there first. 'We can't be the only customers to accidentally break a glass! I obviously should have checked to make sure we had money to pay before I said we would and I'm sorry about that but you cannot expect us to do something to get more money, can you?'
The barman shrugged. 'Except that this was no drunken argument – you were fighting with each other. And besides, you're not exactly a usual customer.'
Deryl's breathing pace increased. He despised people referring to his brother and himself in the singular. They were two separate minds. Well, medically speaking, they were really one mind and a half. That said, it was the same principle. He closed his eyes as Alex pondered aloud about what the barman could possibly see them doing.
The barman contemplated what to do for a couple of seconds and then said, "You should go up there and sing a song."' He pointed towards the abandoned stage; the previous act had been booed off half an hour earlier for their arrogant lead singer and their out of sync drummer.
Deryl could see Alex shaking his head. For two different heads, their minds could be awfully similar when the time called for it. He appreciated that Alex wasn't completely out of control tonight.
Realising that the way to appeasement would be through Alex, the barman started complimenting his voice, saying he was mighty certain that they'd be good singers. Alex turned to Deryl, 'all we have to do is go up there for a minute. I'm sure someone will spare us some change by then. It'll mean we won't have to come back here tomorrow.'
'You really think I'm coming back here tomorrow?' Deryl slammed his fist on the table.
Oblivious to objections, Alex had already started walking towards the stage. Knowing how bad it would look if Deryl intentionally he compromised his brother, his leg followed the other, even if it went against what he stood for. Once they were on the stage, a guitar was picked up and Deryl quietly began tuning it. The barman suddenly appeared from behind them and raised his hands as a way of telling the audience to quiet down.
'Tonight, all the way from an island afar, we have a very unique, independent act performing for all of you! An improvisational act; a revolutionary act; an act never quite picked up by circuses all around the globe! I give you the improvisational wonder that is the Two-Headed Boy!'
The lights were bright and they shined down on both Alex and Deryl as they strummed a G chord nonchalantly. They both raised their hands to protect their eyes and the sound of the guitar died down. Someone obviously got the hint because all of the lights were turned off apart from the main spotlight. The two started strumming again and Deryl began making up lyrics, hoping that once the melody became clear, Alex would finish his sentences.
'He gives and he takes and sometimes if you get double, you lose both.'
It could have been bad guitar playing; it could have been out of tune singing; it could have been that nobody could see anything under the intensity of the lights... or it could have been that the audience found the freaks of nature performing in front of them to be hilarious. Whichever it was, laughter suddenly filled the room. It was an overwhelming, mechanical sound. There was no emotion; no joy in that collective laugh. It was pure, sociopathic, holier-than-thou laughter. It drowned out the sound of both performers on the stage. After thirty seconds of hoping for the best, Deryl realised the barman's plan was never for the broken glass to be paid for but to get a cheap joke out of an otherwise boring night.
His throat stopped producing sounds and Alex got the hint. The guitar was thrown onto the stage and it exploded in a cloud of splinters and string. Unsure of whether it was his rage or the Alien Hand Syndrome, Deryl started to run out of there. Alex followed suit.
_ _ _ _ _
When the boys were younger, their father had warned them not to lean back on their chairs, that life wouldn't be worth living if one or both of them ended up paralysed. Deryl tried very hard to restrain himself from saying that his life already wasn't worth living.
He wasn't sure what was causing it but his index finger was rapidly tapping the kitchen table. 'I can't do this anymore, Alex.' His brother remained quiet for a couple of seconds so he continued on. 'Humanity pretends to itself that everything is so sophisticated. We aren't the barbarians that lead wars against their neighbouring countries centuries ago; we're not the people who set up concentration camps in the late 1930s. We're not the people who would sadistically enjoy watching someone get brutally get beaten up. We're the people who know their good from their bad. We're the people who know we should treat everyone else equally.'
In his peripheral vision, Alex shook his head. 'If only it was true.'
'They aren't the only ones lying to themselves, Alex. Look at us. We won't ever be able to live normally; ever since we were born, we've been compromised.' Deryl calmly looked his brother in the eyes and stroked his left hand. 'Alex, I know it sounds crazy but there's a way out of this. It wouldn't be hard to pull off. All we'd have to do is -'
Alex held up his hand to silence his brother. A minute passed. Deryl wasn't willing to persuade him. This was a spur of the moment idea; if Alex shot it down, there was no going back. If Alex authorised it, however, there was also no going back.
After what seemed like an eternity, the younger brother shook his head. 'I think we should go back up the mountains. Find that view over the entire city.'
Deryl's facial expression was torn between happy and sad. 'We can watch the stars shine up there and we can see the city lights shine down there.'
It was Alex's time to stroke his brother's hand. 'It might feel bad now and maybe the cons of our lives outweigh the pros but there'll always be the beautiful moments that make it worth living. We'll get over this.' He gripped his brother's hand as tightly as he could without hurting him. 'We'll get through this life together.'
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