The Lighthouse

The more complex the machine, the more likely it is to malfunction. Hobbs sat drawing in a lungful of weed smoke, held it for a second, and then exhaled. Azazel sat totally glazed over in the sixties orange swivel chair, Artie and Rose sat slouched on the sofa. Everyone was wasted from seven hours of smoking. There was a film on, they didn’t know what it was called but they all were staring at the screen, the dialogue was;

“Ok shoot me for talking like this”
“Hey it’s two in the morning, you can talk any weird shit you want”
“Good cus’ what are we doing here? Why do we exist? Why does anything exist, Us, birds, trees, water”
“Could be God, Hobbes”
“Yer, could be, but I have a hard time believing were part of a huge moral experiment created by a being greater than we are, a being greater than we are shouldn’t give a shit about us. Five billion human beings, Were like ants man, do we care what ants do, from a moral standpoint?”
“Ants? No.”
“But if there’s no God. How did we get here. See what I’m saying. Go back to the beginning, the very beginning of time, the big bang or whatever you want to call it.”
“Ok I’m with you, the beginning”
“Right, what came before?”
“Nothing, it’s the beginning”
“No, no, sorry, something as big as the Universe doesn’t just appear out of nowhere; somebody or something had to start it. It’s like even if there is a God…who made God?”
“I’m following you Hobbes, but at the same time I’m losing you.”
“That’s what I’m asking you. If there is a purpose to life, we better figure it out.”
“Maybe if you figure it out, you die, Heart attack, Stroke, like, if you know what’s what, you’re not allowed to stick around anymore, you get promoted!”

Through the curtains shone the first rays of morning light and through the window they could hear enthusiastic chirping of birds celebrating the new day. Rose suddenly jumped as she felt herself dropping off to sleep, “Jesus I’ve got to go to bed, I’m knackered,” she said. Artie slowly turned to her and rubbed his eyes, “Yup, lets go up.” The two of them left Hobbs and Azazel with a half hearted high five to Azazel and a nod in Hobbs’ direction. Hobbs lent forward and crushed the spliff into the already overflowing ashtray, I’m going to bed too he murmered and with much effort stood up, Azazel yawned and said, “Yer,” but didn’t move. Hobbs went through to his bedroom which was where the lounge would have been in their 1930 semi, if this wasn’t a student house. Hobbs shut the door and collapsed into bed fully clothed.

Eight hours later Hobbs emerged from his room, Artie and Rose were at Uni, they tended achieve the remarkable to Hobbs, which was to smoke gear and also make a half decent attempt at attending lectures, Hobbs hadn’t managed this for months, but his smoking routine had improved no end. He wandered into the lounge, Azazel was sitting in the Orange chair blowing smoke into the air. “Morning, sir” said Hobbs
“No not quite, you missed it again.”
“How long by, this time?” Asked Hobbs.
“Fifty-two, no fifty-three minutes” replied Azazel
“Started without me I see, good man,” answered Hobbs sarcastically. Azazel passed him the spliff, knowing it was Hobbs’ gear he was smoking, but not feeling guilty about it.

The tele was on in the corner, and as usual Azazel was watching cartoons, they were the house favourite, currently screening was Ren and Stimpy. Hobbs finished the spliff and leaned forward to roll another. About four hours and nine spliffs later Azazel suggested their normal afternoon game of Chess, the board was got from under the coffee table, and they both rolled a joint, lit them and the game began. As always, Azazel soon took the lead with Hobbs losing his Queen in an opening gambit. Hobbs hadn’t beaten Azazel for a couple of weeks and they had played most days for over a month. Azazel had, on the quiet, been to the library weeks ago, and withdrawn a number of Teach yourself Chess books. He had applied himself assiduously, Hobbs on the other hand, had tried to figure the game out for himself, while Hobbs pondered his move and finally took his fingers off the Bishop, Azazel moved his knight and Hobbs, yet again was in checkmate. Hobbs knocked his King over in frustration, Azazel sat back laughing at his mate’s anguish.

Azazel swivelled in the chair in triumph taunting Hobbs at every turn. During this display of gloating Artie and Rose came in from Uni and smoking started in earnest. All four of them set to work rolling there own signature spliffs, Rose utilised three regular blue rislas the result being a stiletto thin joint which was not too heavy with papers, Hobbs’ design was a two paper stubby little joint which was quick to make and entirely functional. Arti’s was very similar, Azazel had no particular style and partly down to incompetence favoured a rolling machine which the others often complained resulted in too tighter smoke. Hobbs had kept the house supplied with Grass for as long as he could remember and although Rose and Artie always provided as well, Azazel always pleaded poverty, what could they do, he was a house mate and it didn’t seem right not to pass him the spliff when it did it’s rounds. Anyway Hobbs could afford it, his parents were keen for him to do well and he had a healthy weekly budget, having said this, he still left University with a larger student loan debt than Azazel, but Hobbs never got to know this. While they worked the usual conservation transpired about what Hobbs and Azazal had missed at lectures today as usual it was decided to be not much.

This routine went for the whole of the summer term with Hobbs growing more nervous about the approaching exams. In that time Hobbs also became uneasy about things in general, the gear was getting to him. Azazel relished his friends growing delusional condition. Laying in his bed at night, Hobbs could not get the picture of ants crawling into his mouth out of his head, choking him while he slept, it got so bad, he would try and sleep sitting upright in bed so they would have further to go. He started smoking even more to ensure sleep would eventually come, in doing so the image of the ants became more real and the more tired he became, the delusions grew worse and worse.

Things for Hobbs got unbearable, paranoia was rife in his misfiring mind, it was the night before their exam in which they were required to write a three thousand word essay on a subject relating to Public administration, social inclusion and the environment, the exact question was unknown to them at this point. In preparation all four of them had written two essay plans on various elements of the subject and everybody read each others to attain broader knowledge. This had been particularly difficult for Hobbs, who had only been to two lectures that year. Azazel had recently been attending University regularly, but Hobbs’ mental condition had prevented him from leaving the house and he sat at home smoking alone. More and more the thought of sitting in an Exam hall for two hours horrified him. He was dreading the exam and tried to put it out of his mind. The only way he had been able to revise was to get one of the girls on his course to photocopy all her lecture notes and bring them round, Barbara had a huge crush on Hobbs, he felt guilty taking advantage of this, but he had no choice.

“Right, it’s ten thirty.” Said Azazel, “I’m through with revision, do you want a smoke?” He asked Hobbs.
“Did anyone say the magic word?” asked Artie strolling in with Rose.
They made themselves comfortable and started to roll, after a few joints, the mood was unusually gloomy, everyone had noticed Hobbs’ hadn’t been himself for weeks and Artie sat watching Hobbs looking distant in the corner of the room.
“Ready for the exam then, Hobbs?” Asked Artie. Hobbs looked up and tried to smile.
“I was just thinking about something.” He replied.
“Thinking about what?” Asked Rose, who missed the old Hobbs.
“About taxation.”
“Do go on Sir” said Azazel, looking forward to his mate saying something irrational, this developing part of Hobbs’ character allowed Azazel to pounce with a quip, usually attracting a “Cuckoo” from Azazel when Hobbs was half way through.
“Well, Kings and rulers introduced taxation at the dawn of time.”
“This is good!” exclaimed Azazel, getting comfortable in the swivel chair.
Hobbs continued, “mainly to fund their wars, for expansion. Then it became something that was claimed to protect their citizens. Then something to allow citizens to live better lives and generally improve their standard of living. The general concept I suppose is, you work, earn money, but are only able to do so because the Government provide the framework for you to do so, therefore you pay a percentage of your wages for the Government to maintain this framework.”
Artie was interested in where this was going, “So?” He said.
“Well, these frameworks are and have always benefited certain groups more than others, currently those groups include big business who themselves, through their need for people to buy their products are actually destroying the viability for those frameworks to exist by plundering the enviroment.”
“Woow, how much have you smoked today?” Asked Azazel.
“No, what I mean is, there is no encouragement for people not to consume needlessly.”
“Yup, I see.” Knodded Rose
“Well, the average person pays about forty-three percent of their income on various taxes, but more than half of that is on income tax. Instead of that, what if income tax was reduced greatly and instead VAT was the main taxation.”
“Then people would have more money to spend and be encouraged to be self-sufficient, and not buy so much crap.” Said Rose.
“Exactly.” Said Hobbs, “and, I’ll tell you what else I was thinking.” Added Hobbs, totally enveloped in his idea, “Each person could have a VAT card and if they choose to use it, they pay more VAT but a percentage of that VAT would go into their own personal VAT pot which they then have to pledge to either a political function or a charity.”
“You’ve lost me,” said Artie.
“Look, if you don’t use your VAT card you still pay more VAT than you do now, but it just goes into Central Government, you have no control, they use it for their everyday functioning, whatever that may be. But if you do use your card they get a lesser amount for their pot, and you, although paying more VAT overall get to have a say on what your bit gets spent on.”
“Right I get it, so if you’re a smoker, you can pay more for your fags with your card than you would without it, but you can then pledge that extra VAT to cancer research and treatment.” Smiled Rose.
“Yer” replied Hobbs.
“Like a civil loyalty card” chipped in Artie.
“That’s brilliant!” He added.
“It would be like, personal representation by having an opportunity to pledge funds to different causes, charities and the voluntary section, their funding would explode and it would be a fairer distribution of wealth. People would have voice in things that mattered to them and it would make people think twice about buying stuff they don’t need.”
Everyone was excited by the idea, the previously gloomy mood was gone.

“Have you bought some different grass” Asked Azazel.
“No, the same as always” replied Hobbs
“Had a brain transplant?”
Hobbs knew where this was going, “Nope” replied Hobbs
“Hmmmm.” mused Azazel, “It’s good, but I think you you are a little..Cuckoo”

Everyone laughed at Hobbs’ and he felt it as though it was a physical pain, Hobbs’ obvious rush ebbed as he sat thinking about his idea.
“You would, in effect, be abolishing Government you know.” Suggested Artie.
“Not really, taxation would remain the same as current levels if people chose not to pay the extra VAT through their card and with the reduced income tax, taxation would still add up to around forty percent of most people’s income. The difference would be that people could choose to use their card and utilise a voice, Councillors and MP’s would be, if only partly directly controlled by the extra funding from VAT card pledges which they would have to win by a proven track record and their ability to get the job done. People would only end up paying more tax if they bought more things. Those who became more self sufficient would actually be better off than they are now” asserted Hobbs, trailing off slightly towards the end and feeling an approaching panic attack creep into his psyche.
“And, if you couldn’t afford the pledges, and chose not to be more self-sufficient, you would be just about as well off as you are now with the same representation as you have now.” Said Artie.
“But, wouldn’t you, if you used your card and still consumed a lot, be rewarded with a louder voice. In effect being more powerful” Azazel, as usual, was putting a fly in the ointment.
“How do you think it works now? You have more money, you have more power” snapped Rose, “this would be enable a fairer distribution of power, not to mention wider funding for the voluntary sector which in itself is justification enough.”

Hobbs found himself struggling to hold off the surprise panic attack. Fighting the attack, Hobbs focused on the television in the corner of the room, while the others argued in the background. It was a programme about Smalls lighthouse, which had a two man team, they were Thomas Howell and Thomas Griffith who were known to quarrel, when Griffith died in a freak accident, Howell feared that he might be suspected of murder if he discarded the body into the sea. This guy has the fear, thought Hobbs, like me. As the body began to decompose, Howell built a makeshift coffin for the corpse and lashed it to an outside shelf. Stiff winds blew the box apart, and the body's arm fell within view of the hut's window, this in turn caused the wind to catch it in such a way that it seemed as though Griffith was beckoning Howell to join him in hell. In his struggling delusional mind Hobbs thought, Griffith is Azazel. The programme’s narrator went on to say that working alone and with the decaying corpse of his former colleague outside his window, Howell managed to keep the lighthouse lamp lit every night until he was finally relieved from the lighthouse, the effect this ordeal drove him mad and when the relief boat finally arrived his hair was white and he had a terrible look on his face, it was said to be so extreme that his friends didn't recognise him.

Hobbs’ panic attack got worse, he felt like Howell amidst a Storm in the middle of the sea, hanging over the abyss with Azazel, the dead and the alive mocking him. All he could think about was swallowing his tongue, he couldn’t swallow, he couldn’t allow himself too and he was sweating and shaking. Then Rose laughed at something said in the room. It was about him he thought, what had she said, it must be obvious he was mad and frozen to the spot, in some sort of miasma of fear, he struggled to pull himself together and managed to shakily get up. “Where you going” Asked Rose. Hobbs couldn’t speak, if he did, his tongue would definitely go down his throat. He stumbled into his room and shut the door. His heart raced for what seemed an eternity as he kneeled on the floor with his head forward hoping gravity would keep his tongue from his throat. God help me he thought. How could he rationally explain this to anyone when it had no reason. He was lost at sea. In the midst of his mental storm he heard Azazel in the other room say, “Just leave him, he’s bloody lost it.”
Two hours later he woke up on the floor, the lights were off and the others had gone to bed. At that point he swore to himself that he would leave. He packed his stuff with tears trickling down his face, he had the fear, the storm raged on. He didn’t have much stuff, some of it he left behind, at the front door he paused and looked around the hall, he didn’t want to go outside, neither did he want to stay, he left to go to the train station. He got there in time for the first train of the morning back to his parents house, it was nightmare journey which would have been thoroughly ordinary for anyone else. When he got to his parents house that is where he stayed for the next fifteen years. Thankfully, the medication his parents arranged for him left him numb but able to survive, the diagnosis was cannabis psychosis, strangely his condition being given a name helped him, it was the only bit of rationality in his whole existence. During this time he often thought about giving up his life, what little there was of him left. But it was always hope and the thought of Howell managing to keep the lamp of hope lit every night that gave him strength, the strain on him exhausted him over the years, he wondered if his friends would recognise him if the relief boat finally arrived.
On the morning of the exam the other three searched for Hobbs but eventually had to leave for the exam, they realised they had no way of contacting him, so a few days later when he hadn’t turned up, Rose reported it to the University admin office, they told her he had dropped out of University the day before. They wouldn’t tell her why, but she knew. When the term finished Artie and Rose lost contact with Azazel. They heard that he had accepted a position in a government think tank, a result of his ground breaking governance paper at an exam. Rose and Artie were married and were soon fully occupied with their two children, they swore to tell their son Hobbs and their daughter Gretta, at the appropriate time, about the dangers of drugs.
Azazel didn’t do well in the think tank, with no new ideas or concepts being forthcoming in his employment there, he was terminated after two years. Within this time he had however made his fortune on his brilliant original idea. When he was leaving the building for the last time and with a smile on his face at the thought of his wealth and early retirement, he chuckled to himself, this is the beginning of everything. Then for the first time in two years he wondered what had happened to the person who had got him here. That idiot, Hobbs.