My Neighbor Bill

[ForEverAfter]

December 22.

I don’t know my neighbors. Those voices I hear from over the fence – stray syllables, words, phrases – they could belong to anyone. Not that I’m unusual. We’re a miserable bunch, all separated and afraid of each other. Hiding ourselves like icebergs, only glimpsing fragments of each other’s lives. Thank God for the yearly Mass. If it didn’t exist I don’t know what we’d do. The new neighbor, Bill I think his name is, he smiled at me today. Either we’re close enough to it to connect to each other, or he’s a friendly.

Mass. Just around the corner. It’s going to be the best one ever but that goes without saying really. I always top my previous efforts. You have to, really. If you don’t enjoy Mass you don’t enjoy life – as they say. Some people don’t get it, the infinite potential. They try to score more pill than Ration allows. They don’t realize you only need one. One little pill, once a year, to keep you going. That’s it. This new guy, Bill, or whoever the fuck he is, he better not be a friendly. I’m sick of ungrateful bottom feeders ruining it for the rest of us. Smug cunts think they ought to get more than one.

December 23.

He caught me watching him dig through his trash, over the fence. Bill. Smiley Bill. Fucking cunt. I don’t trust him. He’s got one of those faces that you just want to sculpt into a statue of Satan. Probably got a whole bottle of pills.

December 24.

The package arrives. Before I can get it inside the postman is already next door, at Bill’s.

December 25, Mass.

I can feel the shackles starting to loosen already, all this anger inside of me dribbling down towards the ground. It’s not just me. Everyone is feeling it. The entire population of the planet, at dusk, popping their little pills. It’s so beautiful. I feel immense joy. Love. Adoration.

Then I see him. My neighbor, Bill.

 

[herbavore]

wow, that is scary! Is there more?

 

[ForEverAfter]

Bill carefully seals the plastic with a candle. "Have you met the neighbours?"

His wife nods, concentrating on the task at hand.

"He's a bit weird."

"Who?"

"The guy. I forget his name."

Bill's wife stops what she's doing, placing the razor blade between her lips. She speaks like a ventriloquist, hardly moving her jaw. "Weird, how?"

"I don't know," Bill says. "He just looks at me funny."

The razor blade back between her fingers; she presses down, hard.

"Like he knows something. Like he can see right through me."

Bill's wife scrapes the chunks into two piles. "You're paranoid."

Opening the valve on a half litre separatory funnel, Bill watches the murky liquid dribble down into his boiling flask. It moves slowly, a milimeter every minute or so. "Maybe I am," he says, collecting broken pill segments in the palm of his hand.

"You are," his wife corrects him. "There's no maybe about it."

They continue to work in silence for a minute or so. Bill, alone with his paranoid thoughts. His wife, double-tripple-checking. "Bill?"

The separatory funnel closed, he responds. "What?"

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?"

Replacing the boiling flask with an empty, Bill flicks the valve on his funnel.

"You took the wrong fucking pile."

"No, I didn't," he replies, leaning over to take a look.

"You're supposed to take the half with the letter n."

Bill stops to consider this for a moment. "Oh."

The rubbish bin is difficult to access. Putting rubbish in is simple enough. Getting it out is another story. The council makes them like that to help with the raccoon problem, but the raccoons still manage to get in. Bill, being - as he is - less cunning than your average raccoon, is about an inch away from breaking his arm. A plastic bag brushing against his fingertips, he strains - almost dislocating his shoulder - and grabs hold. Before taking it inside he opens it up to make sure. Rummaging around inside, for half pill segments with a letter 'n' on them.

"Hello."

Bill leaps back towards the house, clutching the bag against his chest. Heart beating so hard it is making him convulse.

His neighbour is leaning on the fence, watching him. "Bill, isn't it?"

Bill smiles. Says nothing.

"Dan. We met the other day." The neighbour - Dan - casts his eyes down to the plastic rubbish bag clutched against Bill's chest.

"You startled me." Lowering the bag to his side, he adds, "Beautiful day. Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dan replies, face straighter than a line. "It's not too bad."