Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

have, Wayne. This year, I want to take things a different route. At the direction of our ‘management’, we want to explore some unfamiliar territory. Would you care to join us?”

“You know I would!”

CLICK.

I don’t remember that episode. What’s going on here?

Wayne Wallace sat voiceless and sightless, confined to the depths of his cell.

A scratchy and whiny voice called out from above, “You hungry, fella? Here you go.” Creeper Joe dumped a bucket of sweet-scented animal feed from above. ”Help yourself.”

Thanks a lot. What is this? Deer corn?

Attempting to sink his teeth to split the kernel, he felt it give way, and he spat it out along with a tooth.

“It’s not kind to the teeth, is it? What’s it matter? It’s not like you can taste anymore, you once-babbling fool. Go on. Eat up! Just swallow it whole. Heh-heh.”

Wayne munched on the feed while fumbling around until he found a small door.

Maybe there’s a way out of here. What gives? I can’t see anything.

Walking toward the door, he heard the soft-spoken voice of another man, “I’m Dale. Dale Creensteen, Markets Broker, Riverton Financial. Well, I was.”

He spoke through the bars next to Wayne, “What you in here for?”

I can’t answer you. Don’t bother trying to talk to me.

After seconds of silence, he moved toward the man’s voice as it became apparent the man could see his maimed face.

“Ugh. What in the name of heaven happened to you?”

See for yourself, dumbass.

Wayne opened his mouth and pointed to his missing tongue.

I know I look wretched, but that doesn’t mean you have to wretch. Come on!

“I have a weak stomach,” Creensteen said. “I can’t do this. Take a drink. This ought to cure what ails you.”

Wayne reached toward Dale’s pathetic voice, grabbing hold of a pewter cup and sipping from it. The remaining piece of his tongue relieved in swelling, and his eyes grew back.

What in the world?

“That’s better. It’ll take some time. We’re punished, but we’re not hopeless. I’m going back to my side. See you later.”

Wayne maneuvered around the walls of the cell with his back pressed against it.

His mind flashed to the past.

He sat at the kitchen table, drunk and disconnected as his wife berated their son.

“You see this, Joey? Anytime someone tries to get something out of you, it always ends the same. They heat the water up on you until they choke you out and do you in, son…”

Her eyes expressed an unending dreariness as she took a swill of the Old Tymer’s whiskey that sat to his right — her matted hair still in disarray from illicit activities around town.

“Life’s not fair, is it?” she asked. “I hate this place… this life… this miserable existence, Joey. Don’t you ever be the frog in the kettle. Look out for yourself. Choke out the people that crank the heat on you when you aren’t ready. Do what you think is justice. Let it be poetic. Let it be harsh. Leave ‘em to rot. This world isn’t the way it should be anymore.”

His mother kept her right hand in the kettle as she held the frog underwater, and it came to a slow boil.

“Pain, Joey. Pain. Experience it. Punish yourself. Punish others even more. Know the pain… It will be sweeter. My daddy taught me that best when I was growing up. He would take me out behind the barn and bruise me senseless. I never did nothing wrong, nothing at all. That didn’t matter to him, though. He just took out his rage the only way he knew. That was all. Generation after generation of drinking and beating. One day, you’ll be doing the same thing, son. It’s just a way of life.”

The frog lay immobile as she pulled her withered and pruned hand from the kettle. She flicked the top layers of her boiled skin onto the kitchen floor.

“I’m made new now, brand new. These hands can work again. Bend over. Lift your shirt and show me your back.”

She poured the scorching water all over his back and rear end. He shrieked and fell to the floor.

“Now you know the pain, the pain I feel every day. A numb world is a real world devoid of meaning. It won’t hurt as bad the next time. It won’t hurt as bad, son. I promise.”

Tears flowed from Joe’s eyes as he whimpered, unable to elicit sympathy from his mother.

“Dry it up… now! Do you ever pay attention to Reverend Selsky?”

“You have more admiration for that hot-headed windbag then you ever did me,” the man said. “You’re both obsessed with that fire and brimstone philosophy. Maybe you two deserve each other? You been seeing him beyond Joe’s counsel? Incorporating some business with pleasure?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Henry. Stay out of this!”

Joe interrupted as he wiped the accumulated perspiration from his face, “Why… did you … do this to me?”

“Don’t ask me that again, boy. I just told you why. Do you want me to show you?”

“No… No. I don’t, momma! Leave me be.”

“Get out of here… now!”

She threw the boiled frog at Joe as it splattered on the back of his wet and well-woven white shirt.

“Go!” she screamed.

The woman stared at her inebriated spouse in disgust as she yelled, “Well, don’t you have anything more meaningful to contribute, or do I need to boil you up a little and set you straight?”

.     .     .     .     .

 

Wayne came back to the moment. He tried to scream, but there was only a puny guttural sound. His speech would take some time to heal and restore to its original state.

There’s something strange about that drink.

He collapsed to the floor, attempting to escape the terror of his current reality.

The walls of the cell crumbled around him, smothering him beneath. As he worked to dig himself out, deer corn rained from above and rats circled around him munching on the feed. Diminishing in seconds, they gnawed away at his skin. Creeper Joe appeared behind them, hissing into the air and they scattered.

“Wayne… Wayne… Wayne… a taste