“So what do you suppose I’m here for this time?,” the hollow voice reverberated throughout the quiet room, an avid reminder of his dilemma.

“To destroy me.” He replied. The he, Rafael Bancour. A madman. A madman whose subconscious came out to haunt him ever so often. It was here now. To destroy him completely.

His subconscious, a snake with a quick mouth, was always ready to burden him with the murderous onslaught of “real life”.

“Why, yes my dear old Riff-Raff, you are correct. I am here to destroy you…completely this time, but only if you let me. You won’t struggle too much will you?”

The truth is, his subconscious was a nasty piece. A nasty piece that thought naughty things, did naughty things, and called him naughty names. Riff-Raff was one of those nasty names snake contrived to break him. The thing was, Riff-Raff was not so bad a name for him at all. He was indeed old riff-raff, his entire life an unpleasant mix of failure and disappointments.

“I’ve been waiting for you snake. I’ve been waiting for you to come destroy me….fully this time”.

A wistful smile played upon his sad lips, he lay immobile, refusing to make even the slightest of efforts to get comfortable in that weathered old sea-weed green couch that reeked of rat piss and stale beer. “What an ugly thing,” he thought, “such an unpleasant color to match an even more unpleasant smell.” He refused to move nonetheless.

“Are you afraid of it?” asked the snake.

Should one fear it? The unspoken question lingered.

“Afraid of death?” replied Old Riff-Raff, “no of death I am not afraid, but life I do fear. There is complete control–complete peace in death. In life there is no such thing”.

“Well,” said the snake. “ I have come to give you life. Will it destroy you?”

“ I refuse,” cried Old Riff-Raff. “ I refuse!”

Old Riff-Raff lay immobile still. Tiny slits of light had begun to make their way intrusively across the room as he laid there in his tiny dark space. “How unpleasant,” he thought, “unpleasant and intrusive.” This bright light in his dark space.

He lay there, a sorry victim to the unpleasantness. The unpleasantness of the ugly thing and the nasty smell. He lay victim to his own loss, his own failures, reveling in them as he felt the unwelcome presence of his subconscious subside. It went away quietly, as it always did. But he would be back, snake always came back. As Old Riff-Raff drifted further out into the dark fitful sea of broken dreams, he could hear snake’s whispered promises of, ” I will be back. I will destroy you next time.”