Artwork by Chris Cartwright
Somebody once said a very profound thing to David Benning, something that stuck in his mind for years to come. This was uttered by a work colleague when they were discussing life, the world, and generally psychoanalysing themselves as best two administrators can psychoanalyse themselves!
At the end of the day, Davids work colleague had said, we are all just fodder for maggots.
Five years later, when the disease swept across Britain and the suicides began, David recalled those words. The work colleagues name was forgotten, David had moved on in his career. But the words he spoke remained, as though etched in David's mind somewhere.
He was sat in his living room watching the news, sipping coffee. It was early morning and he was about to set off for work. Doctors were baffled by this disease, named the Suicidal Daze by the tabloid press, and sometimes just known as The Daze. The whole country was discussing it, flights were being prevented from leaving the airports and no one was allowed into the UK. Of course the disease would spread inevitably, but a cure was supposedly not far away.
So far the disease had taken the lives of around a thousand of the population. People feared for their lives, feared for the lives of family and most were not venturing out at all. The government had come up with its normal NO NEED FOR A CRISIS and DON'T PANIC warnings... that it was not as bad as it was made out to be. But most people in the country were not taking any chances.
David Benning, however, had work to do, and he had to go out, disease or no disease. He looked out of the window of his detached house. The black Audi was waiting patiently. On the news a female reporter was sat asking questions to two important-looking men. So, tell me, Doctor Farthing, what exactly happens when a person gets this Suicidal Daze?
A balding man with a beard and a tweed coat (obviously some expert) said, Well, from what we can gather, the disease spreads right through the blood cells and causes the sufferer to undergo roughly three or four minutes of hallucinations, then he simply finds the quickest way to kill him or herself.
Mr Major, the reporter turned to the other man. Is it true that the Prime Minister has been placed under surveillance so that he doesn't decide to top himself?
Mr Major, in black suit and cream shirt, laughed quickly. I wouldnt say that, but we are obviously taking precautions!
And the Royal Family? Have precautions been taken? Surely you cannot watch a person all the time and if someone suffering from this wants to kill him or herself they are going to find a way, no?
Lets hope this doesn't happen, said Mr Major. 'There are signs, anyway, that a major breakthrough is imminent.'
The reporter put a finger to her right ear as though listening. I have just heard that this morning there have been three hundred more cases. People having killed themselves during the night. Doctor Farthing, is the government offering enough money for you to find a suitable cure?
David Benning switched off the TV and headed outside. He opened the door locks to the Audi with the remote locker and jumped behind the wheel of the car. It purred into life and David thought briefly of how his career had soared in the last few years. He was at the top now and was earning more money than he had ever thought he could. And money meant nice things and that included women; he could get any woman he wanted. They all went for the cash and the sleekness he liked to show off, the charm was secondary.
He sped off down the street, enshrouded by dance music. He jumped through lights that were barely on amber. He latched onto the bumper of an old Ford and waved his hands in aggression when the Ford driver stuck to 29 miles per hour.
Bloody half-wit! he shouted.
David sped past him when he saw an opening and headed along Bath Street into the town centre, where his office was. He parked up in the car park and went to the pay and display, getting a ticket for all day. A man in his twenties who David soon realised was a beggar appeared to come from nowhere, asking him for some change.
Sorry, Im broke, David said, and walked towards the office. The beggar walked away and David muttered something about how the young man should find himself a job. That you did not get anywhere in life through sponging off people. The beggar did not hear him, of course.
It was as David had left the car park and was heading across the quiet street to the office that something landed on the ground three metres in front of him. It hit the floor with a loud thud and with a brief spray of blood.
At first, David did not quite believe what he had seen. He first thought the body was a sack of discarded rubbish, having been thrown at him. He stopped in his tracks, looked at the floor and put a hand to his mouth.
Jesus Christ, he muttered, fucking hell!
It was a body. There was a mass of red hair and a pool of slowly-spreading blood. He was unable to discern if it was male or female. David felt weak at the knees and quickly turned around looking for help. There was no one about. The beggar seemed to have disappeared, too. David looked up to the top of the office block. The person must have thrown him or herself from the roof.
He reached into his pocket and pulled his mobile out, pressing the digits for the emergency services with great effort, his mind a mist of fear and horror. The dialling tone began and David looked down at the body. Blood was slowly spreading towards his feet. He took a step back, not wanting any of it on the soles of his Gucci's. He realised he was shaking.
Just then, he heard a squeal of tyres, then a loud bang and the sound of smashing glass.
The phones dialling tone continued to ring in his ear.
He turned around to see a car had smashed into another car on the car park and there was a mans body sprawled over the bonnet. This was about twenty metres away from where he was standing. He could not make out if the body was moving at all.
The mobile phone continued to ring.
What the fuck was going on?
He redialled the emergency services and ran over to where the car was. It was an old Fiesta and it had bumped into the side of a red Rover. There was a lot of glass. The driver, a middle-aged man (but who could tell for sure?) looked dead.
The phone continued to ring.
Come on, someone please, he said, his voice a scared whisper.
There was another thud behind him, and he saw another body on the floor, next to the other. Another suicide. It was the disease. Everyone was committing suicide! He wondered if anyone else had phoned the emergency services.
No, a voice in his head spoke up. They havent, David, because they are all committing suicide... they all have the Suicide Daze and you will be the last one left alive, amongst a million rotting corpses.
Sure, he thought. But he could not stay here; he needed to get into the office, where there were people. Where there was life,
Don't bother, go home, or just kill yourself now
He gritted his teeth. There was another thud, another body landed on the floor in front of him. Funny, he thought. They did not call out, did not make a sound as they headed for the floor and squash.
Christ, was he getting used to this?
He looked up and was alarmed to see that the roof was lined with people ready to jump. Its the Suicidal Daze. Most certainly. He rushed towards the building, and made it to the doors. Thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud
David did not look behind. He entered the doors of the office building. They shut behind him. David stood rigid, looking all around him. Hanging from light fittings, and hanging from any other hooks imaginable, were bodies. They were young and they were old, they were both men and women. Some eyes were closed, but some were open, and they appeared to watch his entrance with caution. Slowly they swayed from side to side, like carcasses in a boneyard. He recognised some of them: Lenny from dispatch; Carl, a programmer on the third floor.
Over at the reception desk, a woman was sprawled across the desk with a knife sticking out of her head. Anna, the receptionist. He had asked her out once. She said he was an emotionless prick and that she would rather go out with Beelzebub.
Who was the emotionless one now?
David mumbled something inaudible as he walked backwards. Outside, he looked at the carnage about him. There looked to be at least a hundred bodies lying on the ground, each soaking within puddles of blood. There were crushed skulls, limbs sprawled at impossible angles, and there was death all around.
He reached for his mobile once more and called the emergency services. This time he received a recorded message: Thank you for calling, all our operators are busy right now Busy, sure they are busy. Busy jumping off roofs, busy swallowing pills, busy sucking in exhaust fumes, busy eating double barrel guns.
Busy killing themselves.
He was alone. David was alone. But why had he not contracted the disease?
He walked back to his car, stepping over bodies, strangely, horrifyingly getting used to the corpses. He sat behind the wheel and flicked on the radio. Radio One was a blur of static. He tried Century: it was the same.
He pressed the auto tune and after a moment heard:
Kill yourself Suicide Daze appears to have taken over the country; everyone is either committing suicide or attempting to commit suicide. It is pretty certain that if you are listening to this, then you too have the disease and that you are hallucinating. To break this hallucination, doctors have come up with the perfect solution. Kill yourself and be free from the hallucination and free from the disease This is a recorded message. Repeat this is a recorded message. You are hallucinating. Kill yourself. This is a recorded messageKill yourself to break this hallucination you are experiencing
David flicked the radio off. Kill yourself? Sure. But why say kill yourself if that was not the answer? And if he was hallucinating what else had he hallucinated? The bodies, the suicides? He ignored the questions as they raced in his head. He drove off. He left the car park, just as the beggar who had asked him for money ran in front of his car. David braked, but he hit the beggar full on. The tramp rolled on the bonnet and onto the side of the road.
He stopped and looked down at the beggar, then drove off. Leave him, he thought. He has the Daze. He wanted to kill himself; he has succeeded.
Unless, it was just part of your imagination, a hallucination. He decided it better not to think like that and drove home. Three people ran in the road in front of him as he headed home. He saw people leap from roofs and onto the footpaths. He heard the sound of guns. Pop, pop, pop. People sat in doorways, bodies slumped.
It felt like the end of the world.
He made it home, body shaking, and his breath tight. Although it was not much later than ten in the morning, he reached for a half bottle of Bells and took a heavy shot. It felt good. He had another.
Kill yourself you are hallucinating. Kill yourself and break the spell.
He sat down and put the TV on. But all stations were blank, save for Channel Five who were showing re-runs of an ancient American sitcom, and several cable channels. He checked out the news channels, but all these were blank also.
He reached for the telephone and called his mother. The phone rang out. He tried his brother. No reply.
I am the last man alive, he thought suddenly. Everyone else has contracted the disease. They have either killed themselves or are about to kill themselves. He put his head in his hands.
Then he looked up.
But if this was true, if he was the last man alive, how could that be possible, really? Surely there were others? He thought again about the radio and what he had heard. Kill yourself Suicide Daze appears to have taken over the country
Was he hallucinating? he asked himself again. Could he have the disease, and was the only way to counteract it to kill himself? Obviously, he would not actually be killing himself, if he was hallucinating, would he?
It is pretty certain that if you are listening to this, then you too have the disease and that you are hallucinating
Could this be certain? He felt scared. It seemed plausible, but also implausible at the same time. He stood up, made himself another drink. He walked to the window and looked out at the world outside.
To break this hallucination doctors have come up with the perfect solution. Kill yourself and be free from the hallucination and free from the disease
How?
He looked through his window as a neighbour came tumbling down his roof and landed on the floor. Mr Watson - he drove a new Beetle. He lay there for a moment, writhing in pain, then lay still. David peered across the road at the Maddens place and through the window saw John Madden hanging from a noose.
You are hallucinating... Kill yourself This is a recorded message
A loud banging at the door interrupted his thoughts. Glad to know that there was actually someone else in the world who was not trying to kill him or herself, David headed for the door and answered it. He opened it just a crack and then slammed it shut again. He took in a deep breath, his hands shaking and his heart racing.
David opened the door slightly again and looked out. The doorstep was empty. He stepped out and looked around. For a moment there, he had been certain he had seen what he could only call some sort of monster standing on his doorstep. A green rubbery monster with slime racing down its body, staring with wide, crazed eyes.
He closed the door, hearing screams from across the road, the screams of suicides. Before the door shut, however, he noticed how it was growing dark outside. He checked his watch and was surprised to see it was seven forty-five. Where had the day gone?
Nowhere
How could it be so late? He closed the door proper, and locked it, fearing the darkness outside. Fearing what was there, amid all the death and the dying, the suicides and the frightened men and women who had watched on as their spouses took their lives, knowing they would do so next.
The day has not gone, you are hallucinating.
Well, the sight of a Doctor Who type creature on his doorstep reinforced the fact he was probably hallucinating, that he had the Suicidal Daze.
Kill yourself
Suddenly there was a scream from upstairs. A loud scream that lasted for about a second, but seemed to last for much longer. David was unable to discern if it was male or female. He turned his head and peered up the stairs. The darkness up there seemed solid, as though it had a form. David reached for the lights and switched them on.
Hello? he called. Whos there?
There was a shuffling sound that seemed to be coming from the spare bedroom, then another scream. The scream was the sound of someone in pain, horrible pain. David began to ascend the stairs in a rush. At the top, he turned into the bedroom and stopped dead. In the middle of the room, next to the bed, was stood a man. Not an ordinary man by any means. He was tall, and had long black hair and had tattoos across his face and chest. Naked, he held a hammer in his hands.
He lifted the hammer into the air and sent it crashing down on his own head.
That was when David knew he was hallucinating. He had the Daze. Inevitably, he would kill himself. He backed out of the room as the man screamed again. He went back down the stairs, his head in a spin. He was going to die. But
He remembered the words the man has spoke on the radio.
Kill yourself
He looked down at the floor. The carpet had turned to a strange treacle type of substance. His shoes half sank into it. He made his way to the living room, where the floor was normal again.
He went into the living room proper and had another whisky. There was a packet of pills on the coffee table. He did not remember putting them there. He felt a choking desire in his chest, a strange yearning and desire to die. To end it all. This must be the Daze. This was the Suicidal Daze.
He looked at the packet of pills. They must be an old pack. Thirty-two aspirin. They only came in packs of sixteen nowadays, so that people were not tempted to kill themselves
Would thirty-two be enough? The desire, almost a craving, gnawed at him like a thirst for nicotine or alcohol. He had another drink of whisky. He sat down. He popped a pill, and another. He had a sip of whisky, poured another glass. He popped another pill.
The man had said:
It is pretty certain that if you are listening to this, then you too have the disease and that you are hallucinating. This is a recorded message. Repeat this is a recorded message. You are hallucinating... Kill yourself This is a recorded message
Oh, yes, he was going to kill himself. But would he be killing himself to live... or to die?
He popped a pill. He thought of that old Vietnam film. The Deer Hunter? His head was thick.
Killing himself to live. Fodder for the maggots
He looked out the window and into the dark night. Somewhere a dog barked, but only once.
Lets wait and see then, he mumbled. He sipped whisky. Lets wait and see