Chapter 1: x<human
'INNOCENCE IS NOT AN EXCUSE' in blood-red lettering was etched atop the brown, seamless stained walls of the alleyway in a font large enough to be seen from the corner. But just as Florian Genes was about to notice it, a bum — his clothes ragged and soggy with vomit and shit — sat down near it, blocking his view.
'Christ, he smells,' He thought, as he reeled back in shock. The extremely-foul, 'balmy' odor emanating from the man made his stomach churn, but he remained still in case pretending he wasn't there would make the stench vanish.
Frowning, he turned to stare at the dim moon, his lips creased into what seemed like an upside-down 'smile'. The streetlight nearby abruptly flickered on, and flooded the alley with a bright flash.
"W-what..?" The bum, his oily face marred with scars and mud, jolted awake. His brown eyes shifted up and down, as he creased his brows at the tall stranger before him.
Florian, on the other hand, observed what the man was wearing: a matte-black trenchcoat — something that bore an odd resemblance to the black trash bags lined up near the road — and blue pyjama. His smile widened, as he kneeled, satisfied with what he had seen.
"H-hello...?" The bum added, his breath sour like a bottle of rancid beer. "W-what do you need?" His voice was broken in fright. One look at Florian's angular, extremely well-defined face and tall stature was enough to make him cower, especially at a time like this.
"Hi," Florian extended his hand towards the man. "Florian Genes. What's your name?"
The bum's frown deepened at his obviously foreign name and accent. Without accepting his handshake, he answered, "Julian...Carlos."
"Mr. Carlos," Florian addressed the man. "what do you need? Do you need some money? Some...food?" He was almost about to choke by the time he had finished speaking.
Carlos, fifty-ish and disgustingly more obese than an 'obese' cow could ever hope to be, hopefully nodded. His lustreless eyes and writhing lips told Florian that he was either drunk or drugged — which made him imagine a very comedic scene of the man plugging a brick of cheap Hashish up his ass.
The bum only stared at him. Confused as to what he wanted, Florian reached into his suit and tried to take out a ₱1,000 note, but immediately decided to take out a ¥
₱100 note instead. "Is this what you want — is this what you need?"
Carlos's eyes flared up, as he began to sob and nod. "I-I need...need money. Anything...I lost my job...please..."
"You lost your job? Is that why you're here? Christ, look at yourself, Carlos. You're wearing a trashbag. You...you smell like a bag of rotten tampons." He waved the note about with a good-natured smile.
"I'm so lonely...I need food...money...my dog starved to death a few days ago..." Carlos sobbed, as he caressed the torn trash bag crumpled near his waist.
"First, tell me; how did you lose your job?" Florian asked, the note still in his hands.
"They...they didn't want me anymore." Carlos looked away in turn, embarrassed.
"Hah, there are a lot of jobs out there. Go outside and get hired, Carlos!" Florian snickered, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I know why you don't have a job anymore. Have you ever tried taking a shower? I mean, look at yourself!"
"...Food…please."
"Shut up for a second, will you? I'm trying to help you out; I'm giving you advice for God's sake. You know what, Carlos, I'll help you out. I have a job just for you."
" Really? God...God...mister, thank you so much. You're so...kind... so kind!" The old faggot sobbed, and tried to stand up.
"Argh, you smell like shit. I can tell you have a bad personality. Have you ever tried being yourself?" Florian parroted, enjoying himself in a way he had never thought he would. "Maybe that’s why your dog died. It just couldn't handle your terrible personality, Carlos."
"Thank you, mister...thank you so much!" Carlos wheezed and tried to touch Florian's shoes in an effort to convey his gratefulness, but he evaded just in time.
"Don't thank me yet. Now...come along. I can help you, my friend." Florian smiled good-naturedly and walked out of the alleyway with the bum in tow.
Waiting just around the alley was a black sedan backdropped against the neon-blue city. Florian opened the doors, and tucked the man inside. Although his heart rate nearly tripled when he noticed the man rub his shit-stained body all over the white-leather seats, he closed his eyes and told the driver — a temporary hire — to drive home.
“Come in, come in!” Forian opened the door to his apartment, and waited outside while the bum rushed in. And then, almost immediately, he dashed inside and snapped the door shut.
“Y-you have...a really nice place, mister…” Convulsing, the bum sat down on a lounge chair overlooking the open ceiling-to-floor window near the balcony. The thick sheets of plastic and newspaper covering every inch of the floor, walls and furniture slightly shook in the wind.
“I know,” Florian snickered, as he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Say, Carlos, would you like a drink? Wine? Beer? Lemonade?”
Confused, hopeful and drunk till he couldn’t walk, Carlos slobbered all over the chair and replied, “Wine! I want...hic...wine!”
“Good choice,” Florian mixed an oz of bathroom cleaner with a bottle of bitter melon juice and gave it to Carlos, who drank it in one gulp without even bothering to taste it. Giggling, he then smacked his lips together as if he had tasted something...delicious...which surprised him.
“Enjoying yourself, I see. Now, tell me — do you like music?” Florian asked, before walking up to the huge stereo sound system near the door. “Have you ever listened to Joni Mitchell? I vividly remember the first time I heard her voice; it was a rainy afternoon and I instantly flinched in horror, having some sort of allergic reaction to her beautiful, almost heavenly voice.”
The wall-mounted speakers around the bum immediately started to buzz, making him flinch. He burped; a bit too intoxicated to even comprehend the tunes, and lyrics of the melodious song.
‘
Oh, I hate you some, I hate you some, I love you some~
Oh, I love you when I forget about me~'
“The sound quality is so crisp i can’t believe it's from the seventies. ‘Blues” was an extraordinarily soul-baring album—from the head-over-heels melancholy of "All I Want" to the crushing chipperness of “River.” Accompanied by spare textures of acoustic guitar, piano, and dulcimer, Mitchell's voice soars to feathery highs and somber lows, crafting vignettes of restless love and lingering heartache. Years after its release, I still find myself dancing to its upbeat, happy tunes!” Florian shook his head back and forth, and scurried into the bathroom where he draped on a translucent Tyvek suit, a pair of nitrile gloves and polycarbonate glasses.
‘
I am on a lonely road and I am traveling~
Looking for the key to set me free~
Oh, the jealousy, the greed is the unraveling~
It's the unraveling~’
“Argh...I-I don’t...I don’t feel so good…” The bum groaned, barely able to speak. He held his stomach and keeled over, probably unable to cope with just how delicious the music was.
Dancing and swiveling his hips back and forth, Florian came closer to the Bum. The music muffled out everything, as he took out chainsaw from underneath the couch and just as he was about to turn it on, he looked at the bum’s eyes and felt a trace of empathy burn through his heart.
