My Mate Phillip (One-Shot, or whatever you call it)
Howdy y'all! Though I've displayed in the past an ability to write that's at least passably eloquent, no doubt it's most interesting when I throw out some stream of consciousness stuff - and this is most certainly stream of consciousness stuff. I literally felt compelled to put pen to paper and just start writing here.
It's... weird, I know. When reading it to yourself, it's best to read it like an Australian bogan - the language is simple because it's narrated, you see. Marvelous! (On an unrelated note, I always thought marvelous had two L's. Go figure.) Bonus points go to anyone who can spot the nod to one of my favourite posts in TPM history.
WARNING: This fic contains frequent coarse language. If you're not fond of that sort of thing, you'd best steer clear; it comes early and often.
My Mate Phillip
I was on my way to the car one night and I saw a Pokémon. Yeah, that’s right. A Pokémon. No, I’m not shitting you. Plain as day, he was. Milling about in front of me letterbox, just helping himself to some mail.
So I say to him, “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?”
He looks at me, a bit shocked, and he replies, “Charmander.”
That doesn’t sit right with me at all.
“Sod off mate!” I tell him, “And get your own bloody letters.”
He’s got a couple in his hand now. He looks down at them, then up at me. He gives it a hard think, and then he nods.
“Right.” He mutters, “Sorry about that.” He plonks the letters on the ground, and stares at me for a minute.
“So then…” I say, a mite bit uncomfortably, because this isn’t quite right, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, dunno.” He says. “Stealing mail, I guess.”
“Nah mate,” I tell him, “I mean, you’re not real. You shouldn’t exist.”
“Bugger off!” he barks, “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” He points his little Charmander finger at me. “Maybe you’re not real!” he shoots back.
He’s got me there. He’s here, he’s talking, he’s stealing my mail, he’s as good as real.
This is alright, I guess. I was a bit of a Pokémon expert back in the day, I even started my game with Charmander. Beat the Elite Four and everything. Well, not with Charmander, that thing was shit. I had a team of six Mewtwos by then.
“How’d you get here?” I ask him.
“Bit nosey, mate.” The prick mutters, “But if you have to know, I walked.”
“Walked out of not being real?” I chuckle. He points a finger back up at me. That shut me up.
So then I spot me mate Gus next door, pulling up in his driveway. I wave at him, and he waves back.
I yell at him, “Oi Gus, look at this! It’s a Charmander!” He looks at me for a minute, and then walks towards his front door.
“Fuck off.” He tells me, “Not in the mood for shit.” Good bloke, Gus. He wouldn’t lie to me, he didn’t see any Charmander. It looks up at me, and shrugs.
“Well, bugger.” It says, “I’m not real after all.”
“Bad luck, mate.” I tell him, but something crosses my mind, “But if you’re not real, how’d you pick up me letters like that?”
This gives him a bit of hope. “Ah, yeah!” he picks them back up and holds them up proudly, “I am real!” he looks back at me all clever like, “I’m just invisible.”
“Fair enough.” I say with a nod as I get into my car. A Charmander is interesting and all, but I’ve got to get to work.
I start up the ignition and start to pull out of the driveway, but he casually plops himself into the passenger seat.
“You right?” I shout at him, as he does up his seatbelt.
“What?” he says, “I can’t have your mail, so I’m coming to work with you.”
“Mate, you’ll burn a hole through the seat!” I say, pointing at his wagging tail.
“Nahhh,” he says, as he holds it in both hands, “She’ll be apples, mate.”
It’s a pretty quiet drive. He’s just sitting there, whistling a little. Me, I’m not quite as casual. Call it a nervous tension if you will; there’s a bloody Pokémon in my car.
“So what’s your name?” I finally ask.
“Charmander.” He says without looking back at me.
“Right, you’re a Charmander…” I say, a smidgen annoyed, “But what’s your name? What do they call you?”
“They call me Charmander.” He turns at me with a puzzled look.
“Listen mate,” I tell him, “I may be a human, but me name’s not Human.”
“Why not?” he cuts me off, “That’s a good name. You’ll be Human, I’ll be Charmander.”
“I won’t be Human, mate, and you won’t be Charmander.” I take command, “Your name’s Phillip.”
“Phillip?” he repeats, “Do I look like a Phillip to you?”
“You look Phillip enough to me to be a Phillip.” I reply smugly. There’s a minute of silence, not ritual or anything, but like he’s thinking.
“You know what I reckon I look like?” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“I look like a fucking Charmander.”
“Fuck ya, you little invisible bastard.” I snarl, “It’s my car, you’ll be called Phillip and you’ll like it.”
He looks up at me with his great big eyes. “Well Phillip thinks you’re a prick.” He tells me handily.
The rest of the trip goes without much conversation. We’ve both said our piece, no need to get all agro. We get to work, and I have to help him get his door open.
“Now I don’t want any rubbish from you, Phillip.” I say sternly, “It’s not an easy business, and I’ve got to pull an all-nighter to cover the graveyard shift. I wouldn’t expect you Charmanders to understand.” I open the door and we walk in.
“You serious?” he says with a laugh, “You work at a 7-11!”
“Shut the fuck up!” I snap. The day guy, Habib, looks at me in shock.
“Christ, not you Habib.” I mutter.
“For the last time man, my name is Reggie.” Habib says, pissed.
I look down at Phillip. “Delirious.” I tell him.
It’s dead as all hell that night. Just the usual people come in. Cabbies grabbing an energy drink, teenagers whacked out on bikkies buying some gum, a guy in a business suit grabbing some studded condoms. Nothing new. On the plus side, I had gotten a fair bit done by the time it got to 5.
“Phillip!” I shout, “You done mopping?”
“Nah mate!” he shouts back, “I’m sorting the confectionary.”
“Right, no worries mate.” I say with a grin as I lean back.
So really, not a bad night. I get to kick back, a Charmander does all my work and I leave a dead mouse in the till for Habib to find later. Fantastic.
Then it happens.
“Umm, Human?” Phillip calls to me, sounding a bit worried.
I say to him, I say, “What’s the matter, Phillip?”
And he tells me, “Well shit mate, I just lit a shelf on fire.”
So it takes about five bottles of Mt. Franklin to put it out, a right mess of things he’s made now. But I’m not too fazed, because Phillip’s invisible and all, on the security tapes the fire will just kinda start out of nowhere. Yeah, the supplies will kinda straighten themselves out and the mop will be floating around as well, but I’ll leave that one to their imagination.
By this time, the morning guy’s arrived – not Habib like I expected, but his brother Abdul. I tell him it was just something that happened on Habib’s shift, and the manager already knows about it. He responds with some garbled bullshit about not being named Abdul or him and Habib not being brothers, but I’m well knackered and I just leave him to his ranting.
We’re pretty pleased with our night, me and Phillip, so we engage in some pleasantries on the trip back home. I ask him which Pokémon is the biggest prick, he tells me it’s Graveller. I ask him which Pokémon is easiest to bash, he tells me it’s Caterpie. I ask him which Pokémon puts out, he tells me that he’d like to get into Chikorita’s pants.
It’s all good fun, but I’m beat. I hate leaving work when it’s dark and getting home when the sun’s coming up, feels like twelve hours passing in fifteen minutes. I pull into the driveway, help him out of his seat again and start walking towards the front door. But Phillip’s following me up the walkway. Doesn’t quite get it that it’s time for him to go. I figure I’ll help prod him in the right direction.
“Was good working with you, Phillip.” I tell him.
“You too.” He says back, smiling his Charmander smile.
“I’m off to bed now, guess you’ll be headed home too, eh?” I ask him.
He stops in his path and looks at me like I’ve kicked his mum in the knickers. “You’re shitting me.” He says, throwing his arms to the air, “You’re getting rid of me after all the work I’ve done?”
“Sorry mate,” I say, shrugging, “But if you wanted to crash at mine you should have told me – I can’t be fucked pulling out the couch. So you can just, you know, toddle off back to wherever you came from and maybe we’ll see each other again some time.”
“Come on, man!” he says desperately, “There’s got to be something you want me to do?”
It’s now that I begin to realise how much more I can get out of my day with a Charmander around. The lawn’s full of creeper and I can’t even find my cricket bat. I hate yard work. But Phillip, I’m sure he’ll love it. So I set him up on my pride and joy, my ride-on mower.
“No more fires, right?” I tell him firmly.
“Only the passion of mowing the lawn, Human.” He says with a laugh. Fuck he’s weird.
I hit the sack and have the best day’s sleep ever, hearing the lawnmower peacefully running outside, and the occasional backfire followed by laughter every time Phillip runs over a dead bird. When I wake up, I’m amazed to see that my room’s actually been cleaned. Socks are all sorted neatly on the floor, my undies are still dirty but they’re in their own pile too, my empty cans are stacked on the floor nearby… well shit, he’s just sorted things on the floor. But he tried, I guess.
I head out the front. Just as I hoped, the lawn’s been done. There’s a couple places he missed here and there, but it’s not too bad.
“G’day, mate.” He says when he spots me.
“G’day, Phillip.” I say. “Nice work on the yard there.”
“Yeah not too bad.” He agrees, “Sorted your shit, too. Came in through the back. I tried to do the dishes, but water stings like a bitch so I just put them down next to your dog.”
“Ah good, you know the routine.” I approve.
“So now what?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Dunno, mate.” I say, shrugging, “Haven’t got anything planned today.”
“Still have time left in the arvo…” he decides, looking at a watch I don’t recall giving him, “Let’s go to the park or some shit.”
“Well why not?” I say with a grin, “I’ll grab the VB’s and the eskie, gimme a tick.”
So my mate Phillip and I go to the park. We sit on a bench, drinking, chucking cans at birds and then at little smartarse kids who mouth off at us.
“Not a bad day, eh Phillip?” I say after I’ve had a few.
“Been a bit of alright, I reckon.” Phillip agrees.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve spent this much time with someone and didn’t get pissed off.” I ponder for a moment.
“Bullshit you haven’t been pissed off, you’ve been more pissed than a cut snake.” He says, and we both laugh.
“I tell you what, Phillip?” I say finally, “You’re alright with me, mate.”
“Yeah, you’re a top bloke yourself, Human.” He tells me. He looks at me then, and the look in his eye is a bit scary. I don’t know what, but something about him suddenly seems empty. “Just a shame I got to do this to you then.”
I get distracted and look away when the pigs roll up with their sirens on. Looks like things might get exciting. They rock up the path, looking around like they’re trying to find someone. They point at me and start to hustle. Dumb piggies asking for directions to Donut King, I guess.
“That’s him. Alright, just give me your hands mate and come with us.” One of them says.
“Fuck off,” I tell him, “What’s your problem, pig?”
“Mate, I don’t have time for your shit and I will take your arse to the ground.” He says, stepping closer.
“Oi, easy mate…” I ease up a little, “What’s this about?”
“Lighting your workplace on fire was a nice start.” The other one says, “Then running a mower through the fence into the side of your neighbour’s house, that’s not quite right, mate.”
I can’t quite get my head around all this.
“And finally,” the first one holds up a bag, “Not a bad haul of speed here; sorted neatly on your bedroom floor, thanks.”
“Well shit fellas,” I say in a panic, “I’m sorry about all that, but it wasn’t me, right? It was Phillip!” I gesture wildly towards him, but when I look at the spot on the bench next to me, he isn’t there.
“Phillip?” I shout, “Phillip you fucking bastard!”
I stumble up to my feet. When I find that little prick, I’ll kill him. But before I can take a step forward the pigs tackle me to the ground and cuff me. My alright day’s turned to shit in a hurry.
The legal proceedings are messy. I keep telling them to watch the security tapes, but when they show them to me, Phillip’s not there, invisible or anything. I’ve got a pack of matches in my hand, and I’m lighting shit on fire, plain as day.
But they’re alright about it. They tell me that it’s some sort of mental stress or some shit. I’m not behind bars, but I’m sent right to a psych ward.
And it’s boring as all fuck. Dickheads walking around muttering to themselves, derros drooling on the table and shrieking about their cabbage going off. My room is clean, which is nice. And it’s not like I’m in a straitjacket or some shit. I’m just here in my room. There are a couple shitty books to read if I feel the need. But I’m not in the mood to read. I’ll just wait around until they let me out – after a while they’ll see I’m alright.
I can wait it out. I don’t have work to worry about, I can sleep as long as I want, and sometimes the table talks, so I’m never lonely.
…Yeah, I’ll be right.
Originally Posted by Oslo
It's horrible to have schizophrenia, think you're all normal, and not be aware that you have a mental condition. I liked the narrator's character. Nice whatever-go-along-with-the-flow type. It's cool how you didn't name him (if it's a her I'm sorry, just read like a masculine voice to me, especially the Chikorita part). I also really like how you never mentioned the word "schizophrenia" in there but we can tell because of the details you present, from the narrator's perception and then from what other people are saying about the same events. Good work, but man, that was a sad story.
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