Inspiration

By William Blick

It hit Jimmy like a hurricane. Deep within. A whirlwind of inspiration. Chaotic, flashing thoughts of genius. Glorious symphonies. A danse macabre of mythical proportions. Dancing of the dead dreams and thoughts that had long since abandoned him. Yes, he would do it this time.

He walked to the grocery store and bought 12 eggs, a can of beer, some cooking oil, some dish detergent, some Nyquil, a deck of cards, and a small shovel. When he arrived home at his apartment he decided to cook a meal of scrambled eggs. He washed the dishes thereafter, took some Nyquil and proceeded to play a game of solitaire. He then drank the can of beer.

“Jimmy, open the fucking door you cocksucker,” someone yelled outside his door.

Within minutes they were inside pushing his face in the carpet.

“Where's my fucking money,” said the little one. The big one twisted his arm behind his back.

“I'm working on it,” said Jimmy.

“If you don't have it by the end of the day, I'm gonna rip your balls off and feed them to you. You got it!”

“Yeah,” said Jimmy. In a flash they were out the door.

Money. Who needed it? It doesn't mean shit. He had kicked the junk habit a week ago and he was setting out to work on his masterpiece. A fantastic reminder of what life was all about. He would finally do it. He would finally create a lasting reminder of what it was all about. They would know his name. They would remember Jimmy. They wouldn't remember the stone junkie who had burned all his bridges. They wouldn't remember the Jimmy on the nod, broke, useless, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. This time they would see. Inspiration had finally come to him. This lasting piece of art would collectively outdo all the greats that had come before him. DaVinici, Michelangelo, Dostoyevsky, Proust, Brahms, Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Goddard, Fellini, this piece of lasting art would incorporate all the mediums, film, theatre, literature, music, sculpture, dance. It would take all achievements in art and bring it to another level to create a new art form. This new art form would blend the classical with the postmodern, the archaic with the nouvelle, the ancient and the contemporary. This piece of art would rock this civilization to its core.

No time to think about Vinny and his gang of wanna-be gangsters. No time to think of the 10,000 grand he owed. This was time to think of the great embers of creative genius being resurrected. The great ones.

He lay on his bed and thought and thought about his work. He thought about the masterstrokes of a virtuoso such as himself. The day turned into night. He knew the thugs would be knocking at his door any minute. More like they would be busting in. He didn't have the 10,000, nor was he trying to get it. They would never get him before he finished his masterpiece.

The door smashed in. Within in instant they had him in the bathroom. They dunked his head in the toilet. The large one pulled his greasy hair back and put a knife to his throat.

Vinny stood against the bathroom door and asked, “Where's the fucking money, Jimmy.”

“I don't have it.”

The brute pushed his head in the toilet again.

“Why not, Jimmy? Do you think I'm fucking with you?”

“I'm in the middle of something,” said Jimmy.

They took him to the rooftop. It was a brisk evening. The large thug held had Jimmy in a full nelson hold and Vinny followed behind smoking a cigarette.

“Release me. Do you know who I am?” said Jimmy.

“You are a piece of shit junkie,” said Vinny.

He could feel the heat of the smoldering cigarette as it neared the skin under his left eye. The sizzle was a white-hot sensation. He could smell his fleshing burning. He screamed. The brute released him. Jimmy held his left eye, the large brute kicking him in the stomach with steel tipped boots.

“I am a genius,” bellowed Jimmy.

“If you are such a genius, there where is my fucking money, Jimmy?” said Vinny.

Within in an instant, the flashes came back. The chaotic maelstrom of creation was upon him. He was adding the final strokes. In his mind's eye. It was almost complete. It was beautiful. It was holy. It was sacred. It was a brilliant chiaroscuro of conflicting emotional states. The world would remember him by this piece. They would know his name. The knife came out again. The thug put Jimmy's arm behind his back and held his thumb to the knife. Then blackness.

The masterpiece unfolded. It was the most amazing piece of art. The world was shook to its core. Time and space folded inward. Reality was changed forever. No one would ever look at things the same way.