“It all started with a face.
I was young, even younger than now – say, 15 or something. I was at this party back at the End, and some dude said, like, want some pills for free, brother? And who am I to disagree?
It kicked very quickly. I heard whispers behind 2k Watts of music, saw faces behind people faces. One gal even tried too give me some, but I just couldn’t stand her face. It was blinking, like she had one normal and one shiny and light, constantly meeting and crossing each other. She was eager to make it alright, but I was so scared there were no such option as sex, not to mention normal orgasm. Fuck, it took me several years to get ahold of the feeling.
And I started to enjoy it. I see your souls, and I see your wishes. I see your desires, sins and regrets.
I’ve never felt anything even remotely close to this, except for the first time.
Faces. Eyes as a soul mirrors? Fuck that, your face can tell me more than you can tell sitting next to me, wasting the time of your stupid lives.
I see it all. I can touch it. I can touch a girl, and she won’t remember a thing, athough her throat would be as soar as a garbage bag.
I can touch things you can’t even prove to be existing. Well, mates, they do. And I enjoy myself with this fact.”
He clicked “Publish” and watched the view numbers grow up and up, higher and higher each time.
It was hilarious. Every next time he got more and more, doing nothing, telling strangers story of his life and lying about almost everything in it. And people bought it, he was offered several book contracts and magazines’ colomn. No, not like that, he thought. He found himself in the Internet, and felt pretty comfortable about that.
Phone – zero. Any kind of network – zero.
The higher numbers go, the more you cherish old, thought he. Fuck this, fuck it all, if only he could have one…
…call.
“Hello?”
“Never”, replied synth-like voice.
“No, not like this”, thought Robert, switching his phone off.
Another call. Unknown number..what is it, asian? What language is that?
He opened up the body of the phone and threw the battery out of the window, leaving the phone as it is – and still ringing.
He opened up the stash and took several sparky pills. Then he opened a bottle of gin and mixed it inside. World changed the way he wanted to. He should sleep it off, get laid and write something else. Yes, that what would be tomorrow….
Desert.
He kept seeing the desert in his intoxicated dreams for years. Pyramids, wrong sky – he got used to it, thanks to the pills, – and no one around. That’s the way he liked. Alone.
“No one cares”, screamed he against the dusted wind. “Nobody cares, so neither would I. They fucked it up! They did, not me! Why should I be the one responsible? I’m not some Chosen One, I’m not some hero with his thighty costume every conscious man would laugh on!”
He woke up. For a second, he saw the desert reflected in the surfaces around him.
There was something coming. He felt it.
He looked up.
Sky had its own face now.
Pill, gin, pill, pill, gin, good ol’ friends.
He slept well that night. And of course he spent it in the desert.
Until he heard somebody crying as nobody ever did. It was almost inhuman.
In the morning Robert made three tattoos : Rose on the one palm, Eye on the second and their veins and roots mixing on his chest. There was a huge deal to paint in, but he somehow new he had to make it.
He was on his way home when he looked down and saw it.
Tattoos had now faces too.
That was the last day pills, drinks and random sex ever happen to relief his soul.
root 
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