Mikhail's Masterpiece (draft 2)

Mikhail’s Masterpiece

by Casey Martin

As Mikhail Ifson made his way down the cold stone steps and through the door into the garage he reflected, Driving never used to be so much more enjoyable. He left his thought hanging in the back of his mind like all the other thoughts that ended in sighs while he pulled his car keys off their hook on the door and shifted his usually cheerful self around the door and closed it behind him absent-mindedly. He checked himself once more to make sure that he had everything, “Keys. Wallet. Phone,” Mikhail thought to himself out loud as he went through his well-rehearsed routine. Today’s routine was different, however. After becoming almost sure of himself that he was absolutely prepared to leave, Mikhail unlocked his vehicle and proceeded to squash down behind the wheel.

Mikhail hated his car. He didn’t think that “hate” was too strong of a word, in fact he wished that there were a far stronger word than “hate” but the only words that came to mind were, “loath”, “evil”, “absurd”, and “novelty”. As Mikhail gazed at all that surrounded him in his vehicle, he began to ramble bitterly, “Too complex,” he muttered behind his large mustache, “Too many lights! Why do I need ambiance? I’m driving to work! God forsaken gizmos!” Mikhail’s bitterness was not at all like the empty or easily explained bitterness like so many others. He knew he hated his job. He knew he hated his car. However, it did not used to be this way for Mikhail. Mikhail was obliged to Bey-Doth by personal moral integrity that had been established by strong family ties.

Mikhail came to Bey-Doth with promises of freedom and choices as described by those from his home land back in the home land of Cain and by his brother who was currently residing in the outskirts of Bey-Doth. Mikhail’s brother, Nikolai was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer and Mikhail was his only other living relative. Mikhail was and had always been close to Nikolai and they loved each other. The two brothers always helped one another when in turmoil. Mikhail once was in an accident and was bedridden for an entire month and Nikolai refused to leave Mikhail’s side. They ate together, talked about many things, fought about many things, and shared many games of cards. After their parents died (of natural causes), they didn’t have anything else to live for besides each other. So Mikhail gladly picked up his things and spent all his money to move to Bey-Doth and help his brother in his sick days.

It wasn’t soon after Mikhail moved that Bey-Doth began taking on a whole new direction that came as a surprise to both Mikhail and to his brother. Mikhail became bitter and stuck like a mouse caught in a trap just out of reach of the cheese - just barely living as the trap did not kill him but (out of some strange phenomena) kept him alive and ever reaching for that delicious and aromatically sharp cheddar. Oh, how it reeked! 

Mikhail worked as a barber back when he was living in his home land and Bey-Doth promised to retain his position only after he acquired citizenship. It all sounded so promising to Mikhail that he agreed. He became suspicious, however, when he arrived at the building wherein he would be working. The building was enormous like those that surrounded it and it was all icy concrete with a gleaming chrome interior. The halls were too wide and others were too narrow. It appeared to be an office building of some kind which Mikhail found an odd place to keep a barber shop. He walked in reluctantly into a large open lobby with different hallways breaking off of it and a double doorway leading to stairs with an elevator conveniently placed next the stairs. Mikhail spotted a wall where the building’s floor plan hung. If it wasn’t in any particular order it would have taken Mikhail several hours to locate his room. It was a touch screen navigation system much like a book search computer at a library or book store. It was almost as if each one of these buildings could have been a small city. There was everything from grocery stores to hardware and even living quarters all neatly and frighteningly organized into an enormous concrete/chrome cube; just a blip in Bey-Doth among thousands more buildings all lined up with streets between them in a graph-like pattern. 

Mikhail navigated his way to his promised occupation to find a narrow and long room behind a door that blurred its contents and read, “Hair Salon”. The name was uninspired and appropriately so, the contents were just as uninspired. Inside the hostile and stiff room were more than a dozen barbers and stylists working on an assembly line with specific tasks on people getting their hair cut, colored, styled, or somehow altered. The workers all had awfully cold expressions hiding behind policy enforced smiles. Aching faces twitching over impatient customers without regularity. One worker would cut one side of the hair and afterward, the customer’s chair would slide along a small narrow railway to the next worker who would cut the other side. After cutting, they would slide to yet another station where color would be added amongst other chemicals. If one could imagine the most organized and self-sufficient salon with machinery working and operated by the employee with an uncomfortable atmosphere of “customer service” matched with the blinding efficiency of the assembly line, this would be it. This might as well be a place for tires! Mikhail thought. Mikhail was appalled and yet he was forced to work here as a blade sharpener. He was not allowed to bring his own personal tools. Mikhail’s job was to ensure that all blades (scissors, razors, etc) were all shave and cut ready. All his tools from his business back in Cain would sit at home and begin to collect dust and Mikhail’s face would be sore from smiling after shift. This was all a part of Bey-Doth’s “Newcomers Initiative”.

Mikhail’s car was also a provision from the “Newcomers Initiative”. The package included simplified citizenship through standardized testing, a small home in a section of Bey-Doth called “The Grid”, and an occupational position working in compliance with Bey-Doth’s expansion programs. Since Mikhail received his new car from the government, it was naturally also full of problems. One of these problems being that every time that Mikhail went to start his car, he was forced to buckle his seat belt else the vehicle would not start. Mikhail also ruffled his mustache and wrinkled his eyes and nose at the horror that was his GPS navigation system. The thought of being tracked by satellite in his vehicle made Mikhail very uncomfortable. And the horrible voice that prompted his entry to his vehicle made him think many times about wearing ear plugs upon entering. “G.o.o.d. m.o.r.n.i.n.g. M.i.k.h.a.i.l. . . . H.o.w. a.r.e. y.o.u. t.h.i.s. m.o.r.n.i.n.g.? . . .” Mikhail often made it a routine to try and get into his seat and turn off the greeting voice before she could go on to inform him of the weather and the traffic information but she persisted, “T.h.e. w.e.a.t.h.e.r. f.o.r. t.o.d.a.y. i.s. . . . -. loading .-. . . M.o.s.t.l.y. c.l.e.a.r. w.i.t.h. c.h.a.n.c.e o.f. s.h.o.w.e.r.s. . . D.o.n.t. f.o.r.g.e.t. t.o. w.e.a.r. y.o.u.r. s.e.a.t.b.e.l.t.,” Mikhail had his seatbelt already fastened and rolled his eyes and swallowed his loathing for his car. “H.a.v.e. a. b.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l. d.a.y. a.n.d. b.e. s.a.f.e. . . N.o.t. s.o.r.r.y. . .” The voice trailed off as if withdrawing into a shell from where it somehow was able to witness everything omniciently. He despised the car’s voice. It wasn’t even in the same dialect as was normally heard in Bey-Doth. The voice was some sort of mechanical imitation of some other old or far away dialect that wasn’t even known to exist anymore. Cheap imitation. It was everywhere. 

Mikhail plugged in his authorized key code on a number pad that opened down from a compartment behind his visor - the keypad also had blue ambient light. After three tries and then having to look at a small piece of paper in his wallet that had angrily scribbled the code in dark heavily pressured graphite, the vehicle started with a subtle and condescending hum. Mikhail ruffled his mustache again almost too vigorously causing his thick whiskers to scratch at his nose making him wipe down the hairs to keep them calm. After a couple of deep breaths, he pulled out of his garage.

After pulling out of his driveway, Mikhail became aware of his neighborhood and his attention was called away from the bitterness that he had been focussing on his car. As Mikhail shifted into drive, he looked out on the town houses around him and was reminded of his home land. Mikhail scrutinized the street as he passed all of the houses. They all looked very much the same and were placed side by side all facing the city of Bey-Doth just past the horizon. The section labeled “The Grid” was obviously manufactured by Bey-Doth to appear reminiscent of nostalgic places where immigrants once found themselves in times not so long ago. Mikhail gazed out at the tall cedars and evergreens outside and remembered life back home. The images of the light shining through the trees made him see a simpler time. The scenery around him became filtered and he saw his old neighborhood. Mikhail’s memories became like a second layer of existence that moved with color - though dull and blurred like an ancient oil medium - and overlapped that with which he had previously had been observing. Children running and playing outside contrasted with no children at all or one child that seemed to be very upset with his portable electronic device. Men walking home from work with the daily paper and leisurely smoking a pipe overlapping a man with his shirt not tucked in, five o’ clock shadow, and fumbling to light his cigarette while shouting over a cellular phone. An old woman feeding the chickadees as they merrily flew to feast succeeded by a woman sitting next to a shopping cart clad in rags and guarding her bread crumbs from the birds. The scenery did indeed bring back many visions of Mikhail’s past though it was because of the contrast of the present. But Mikhail knew this and he decided not to care and to indulge in one of those brief moments of nostalgic catharsis that came along during his many many routines. 

As he drove, Mikhail’s thoughts wandered still as his mind left reflection on the past and led him into who he was at the present. Mikhail lived for his past times. He was a man of many indulgences and cultures. He relished the aromatics of tea and coffee from far away places.  He took pride in a close shave as he produced with a single straight and eternal razor. He spent many an afternoon and evening behind a ritualistic pipe of tobacco and a glass of scotch philosophizing to himself and tuning out the new world around him with smells, sounds, and a natural smoke that slowly swirled about him - and in his mind. 

Leaving “The Grid” of the city, Mikhail exited onto the freeway that would put him closer into Bey-Doth. He switched gears. Again. Again. Again. And again - until he was driving in synchronicity with all of the other vehicles on their routine commute. Mikhail often thought of the city as a kind of monster. As Mikhail thrust onto the freeway he imagined himself like a small mechanical red blood cell being pumped through arteries that were a part of Bey-Doth’s vast cardiovascular system. He looked at other cells in front and on all sides of him and imagined their contents, (which would normally contain only oxygen), being transported to other parts of the body of Bey-Doth in order to keep Bey-Doth functioning. But why? thought Mikhail, Why must we all participate like cells in the body of a monster? He geared down as traffic began to build. 

The lanes were narrow. Mikhail was in the center lane of a three lane highway. The speed limit was 75. His eyes darted from rear view to speedometer; from speedometer to side mirror; the car behind him kept flashing Mikhail their head lights. His eyes squinted and he cursed to himself while still imagining Bey-Doth as a giant monster. He focussed on his frontal view through the wind shield; the monster became more complex and very real to Mikhail as he imagined it. It crawled and devoured everything and grew larger and larger. . . Until what? He thought. The man behind him flashed his brights again and Mikhail irritably ruffled his mustache as he thought, Well this monster of Bey-Doth is certainly suffering from severe hypertension with all this traffic moving at the speed that it is. I suppose, perhaps, that Bey-Doth does not pay any mind to health with arteries made of steel and concrete, he thought. 

The man that was just behind him had made his way to the side of Mikhail and was throwing up rude gestures as he attempted to pass Mikhail, however, to no avail as the traffic to the left of Mikhail’s vehicle began to slow. The man swore and began pounding his steering column; spitting. Mikhail continued his thoughts as he shook his head, And these people like oxygen in the cells are dumped at work and elsewhere carrying energy to various other parts. The brain is like a beehive running mechanically supported by a frame of countless arms and legs of people made from human creations like steel, concrete, and plastic. A grotesque and berserk image; an amoeba made gargantuan with hundreds of men’s and woman’s arms and legs stomping and crushing on all that surround it and work the palpable mush into a vast and immeasurable  mouth with sharp rows of teeth and slopping and lusting with a gluttonous tongue; thick, long, and tasting everything; even the air around it. Bey-Doth. . . He thought; the man still spitting as he yelled at the traffic in front of him hindering him from moving in excess of the 75 mile per hour speed limit. Mikhail gritted his teeth and swallowed his irritant and continued, Born of jealousy, envy, pain, lust, pride, cold revenge, and hot temper. It grows and increases in size and strength from eating its surroundings until there is nothing left; nothing at all. It is suspended by its own existence without even ground to walk upon. Ultimately, Bey-Doth slows and vomits. There is nothing left to do now but to consume what it has already destroyed and digested and repeat itself until it is dead.

Mikhail reflected on the horror that is Imperialism and how he too was feeding this monster and partaking in the inevitable demise of a society through his operation of a business that brought in Bey-Doth’s Imperial currency. Currency that Mikhail would then use to support Bey-Doth through his own necessities; eating, entertaining himself, caring for his brother. . . In the middle of Mikhail’s thoughts, another vehicle behind him flashed their brights and Mikhail grunted loudly in a raspy spit as he tried to focus on his thoughts. Mikhail thought and thought hard about how he might curve this support by growing his own food and hunting but his society made this impossible as everything was controlled; hunting tags, weapons, tools, land to farm on. All of these things proved impossible to attain because there were either laws against them or they were too expensive to use regularly. Why should I continue to do these things? Mikhail pondered forward while finally adjusting his rear view mirror so that the car’s brights behind him were no longer visible.

While pondering the rear view mirror, his support of a monster, and how the supporting of his brother, Nikolai, only further empowered the monster, Mikhail remembered just last weekend when Mikhail had his weekly lunch with Nikolai. They ate at a strange cafe that served multi-cultural foods at inexpensive prices all made from the same ingredients. They were served in a bright atmosphere by matching ornate trays that are suspended by a kind of mast projection that runs along a narrow rail much like the line that the chairs run along where Mikhail works. Every weekend after Mikhail’s work week, he would visit his brother and they would go out to eat at this place called O’Bryan’s. It was the last weekend in particular that stuck with him because of their discussion.

“So, how are you this week, my brother?” Mikhail started as they walked toward the bright and distracting building.

“I am not so bad.” Nikolai replied with a gaunt look. Mikhail knew that his brother was dying. He could see it in his eyes. He talked less and pondered more and that was unlike his brother. Paired with his appearance, Mikhail could clearly see that this might be the last weekend that they spend together eating.

They paused and shuffled inside out of the brisk Winter air and ordered their coffee after sitting at their regular booth. The ornate tray replied, “T.h.a.n.k. y.o.u. f.o.r. y.o.u.r. o.r.d.e.r.r.r.,” as it whirred off to fetch their beverages.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Mikhail said breaking the biting silence.

“I know what you mean. I’m tired of telling my toaster over and over how I like my toast. It doesn’t seem to remember. I hate all these speech recognizing gizmos.”

There was another long pause. The tray returned with their coffee and left without a word. The cafe was empty besides the two men which was a little strange but nothing to pay attention to. Mikhail’s thoughts were all too focussed on worry. Nikolai broke the silence this time,

“Brother,” Nikolai interjected quietly with a solid look in his eye that pierced Mikhail almost like hypnotism. “Do not be afraid of me dying. It is of no consequence. I know I have become sick and it is because of this city that I do not care anymore. If we were back in Cain, I would have everything to live for.”

Mikhail was struck, “But!-” He tried to interrupt,

“No,” Nikolai retorted, “Let me finish. I came here to Bey-Doth with foolish intentions. I had not considered that Bey-Doth would be teeming with parasitic liars and crooks. I knew that I could multiply my earnings here and that I would return to Cain a millionaire where I could retire with everything that I have supplied by my wildest dreams. It was stupid. And now, because I came here and suffered the consequences of my own selfish actions, I have cancer. I have done nothing but pondering since I was diagnosed last year and this is my lesson.” Nikolai spoke quietly and held back wheezes and coughs between sentences. 

“Brother. . .” Mikhail couldn’t utter a word. It was all so much. He realized just how cold everything was in Bey-Doth even on the hottest days of the Summer and thought about it all as deeply as he could though he was blind-sighted by his brother’s realization.

“This is why I am not afraid of death. I have thought long and hard on this and this is what I have come up with. Bey-Doth is evil. I never have experienced evil like this since I have moved here in search of fortune but it is the greatest of all evils. Our very existence is fueling this machine or monster that Bey-Doth has become. I find that the best way in destroying this monster is by letting ourselves become destroyed. In this way, Bey-Doth will fall.”

“But what about everyone else? Won’t they see this plan and disguise it as pure incidence?” Mikhail challenged.

“No and this is why. If I allow myself to die and refuse to support Bey-Doth, I will be robbing Bey-Doth of that much power and if my revelation will spark or inspire others to let themselves become destroyed also then we may have a fighting chance. Even if we cannot inspire those, at the very least we can be satisfied in ourselves to know that we will no longer be supporting an evil tyrant on men and woman and the earth. Let’s face it,” Nikolai took a deep drink of coffee like it was his last meal though he was sickened by it, “we cannot return to Cain. We haven’t the earnings. We’ve lost and it is my fault. I understand my mistake and I am eternally sorry to you, my dear brother. But we cannot continue to live here either. . .” The memory trailed off in Mikhail’s mind like the end of a film strip played over and over until worn. Mikhail looked around in his car and remembered the letter he had found and the very letter that he had written that was tacked to his front door. His thoughts returned to his home land.

Mikhail knew that Nikolai regretted leaving and thinking that there could be anything better for him and felt foolish as he remembered the smell of the trees; piney and sharp. The sounds of the birds; sweet and merry. Other creatures and the woods. It all was in existence because of the respect of the people. The sound of the stream and the smell of natural growth from before drove him to tears. “What have I d-done?” Mikhail silently stammered as he fought tears. He knew he could never return. He had used all that he had to move to a place that Mikhail was certain to reenforce his own money and multiply it. Just like his brother only with selfless intentions so that he could help his brother and move back to Cain. Nikolai did not appreciate what he had in Cain before and instead wanted fortune to feed his materialism. But instead of becoming a tycoon and retiring with a large plot of land with a big house back in Cain, Nikolai contracted a cancer that robbed him of his money and of his life after Mikhail came for him.

* * *     

Dear Mikhail,

I will get to the point of it. I love you. You know this. I regrettably moved to Bey-Doth with the promises of fortune beyond my wildest dreams and like a fool, I left the home land to pursue wild and idiotic dreams. I am now dying. I fear that after I mail this letter, I will crawl back into the bed and perish. It is what it is and I know that we have expected this as I have worsened. I know that you are doing your best but this place. . . This. . . Bey-Doth. . . It has destroyed us. It has torn us away from what we were before in Cain and made us into cells. We exist for no other purpose than to support a system of corruption with poisonous and parasitic intentions. I will not go on but grant you with a suggestion that you either move back to Cain (which I expect you cannot) or you tear down something with you. This place is evil and the other cells need to know. I am sorry that this had to happen to the both of us. We are doomed, my brother. I love you and pain for you but we cannot exist any longer. Our time is gone and it’s time we realize that.

Cheers. . . My Brother,

Nikolai

***

Mikhail recalled the letter that he had received that morning before he found his brother and how he had seen his body. It happened only two days ago and was still fresh on his mind. He walked into the cold residence after finding the note tacked to the door that gave way to his death.

***

I refuse! I resist! I will not live or support Bey-Doth any longer! Let it be known and to all other residents of Bey-Doth, I suggest you do the same! Let us all conform as free living cells with our own lives and accordance and show them that we can take our lives into our own hands and not be like puppets; our strings pulled by Bey-Doth. Let us cut the strings and fall together!

Down with Bey-Doth!

***

  Mikhail left the note. The air was as dry as a funeral drum and smelled stale. It was as if the residence was quiet as to respect its recently passed resident. All sound after the front door ceased to Mikhail as he entered a temporary tomb. He made his way down the hallway - eternal as it seemed - and passed the kitchen and living room where papers were scattered and there was a plate of food (half eaten). Mikhail stopped to examine the plate. He knew that this might have been the last thing he ate. Shame it had to be this, Mikhail had thought looking at the processed food resembling a cultural dish that was often eaten in their home land. Mikhail walked onward until he reached the doorway of his brother’s room. He turned the corner. His vision was a blur. His heart sank into an abyss and he stood ever hollow in observance of his dead brother slumped in his bed; his face frozen in a bitter and angry expression and his legs looking longer than ever. 

Mikhail remembered this as he drove. He remembered everything. He remembered writing his own declarative note and hung it on his door too and left a stock of them blowing in the wind behind him and loaded a box of them in his car fit snugly between multiple large containers of gasoline. With the equal amounts of anger and bitterness that he shared with his brother before he died, Mikhail bit his lip and gripped the steering wheel. No more! He exclaimed in his mind. Mikhail refused to utter another word. I refuse to exist if I cannot live! And Mikhail forcefully swung his grips hard left on a straight highway into the unaware man cursing at the cars in front of him in tight traffic moving swiftly at 75 miles per hour. Mikhail received the chaotic sounds of the crash like a symphony of shattering steel and screeching wonder and gripped left still harder. The car that Mikhail smashed into was forced left as well. Both vehicles were chaotically thrown into opposing traffic of berserk highway speeds. Violent bomb-like decibels throwing vehement panic before doom.

Mikhail’s last moments of existence was his own for himself completely in accordance without the support and in fact the absolute rejection of Bey-Doth. He lived in it brightly as he felt the power of himself in his own hands as they gripped tightly the wheel of fate. He smiled briefly and closed his eyes just before smashing also into oncoming traffic for a combined force of roughly 180 miles per hour. His elated euphoria put him before uninterpretable emotions and sensations and in that moment before inevitable demise. . . Mikhail “was”. He felt a part of something that he only wished he could have experienced for longer than this instant but to feel it at all, Mikhail felt and was privileged to be his own free man. Free from the bonds of a corrupt society. Free from social contract. Free in its most exhilarating and experienceable forms. Mikhail embraced his death and felt in a way that he was avenging his brother’s death as the scene revealed dozens of vehicles of all shapes and sizes; completely annihilated; bodies contorted and wrapped in plastics and metals; some graphed to their dead or dying bodies; all in flames and searing heat. Vehicles near and far echoed their robotic voices of caution, “W.a.r.n.i.n.g.: Y.o.u. a.r.e. a.b.o.u.t. t.o. c.o.l.l.i.d.e. . .” though it was far too late. If Mikhail had been able to see the after effects of his expression of freedom in its most raw form, Mikhail would have labeled it, himself, his masterpiece. Fire, smoke, steam, screams, blood, life, death, horns, materials, all erupted with force in expression of absolute existence. All were raw and shone with horrible and beautiful crystal clarity that shattered expectations and obedience to what is poisonous. What is alienating. And what is parasitic - What is Bey-Doth.