Suit monkeys don’t have it easy. They may have the high-end car and the expensive clothing, but that doesn’t suppress the continual stress of the white-collared world. Amand cares about his health, and his work-life balance isn’t helping. A strange man with a golden ring provides him with a unique superfood that promises to aid his struggles, oddly aligning with the time Amand hears concerning whispers in his mind.

Everlasting Health

Everyone hears a voice, or voices, in their head. Logic points to our minds processing consciousness, while many know it is entirely something else. Amand leans toward practical reasoning. He’s no believer in supernatural religious entities. He’s a monkey in a suit, living now on a Monday, sipping on his martini in a high-end bar at the base level of the skyscraper where he works. The glass windows let him observe the hustling downtown metropolis of Calgary.

His eyes are busy unravelling the bartender and waitresses forced to dress in “business standard” outfits. Yes, that standard is tailored to horn dogs like Amand himself: short and tight dresses with high heels. Sure, he’s heard all about how it’s derogatory, but Amand is a simple man. A businessman who just wants to unwind from a hard day at the office.

His phone is still buzzing on the bar’s black marble surface. They are probably work emails. Amand doesn’t need that kind of stress, at least for an hour. The monkey-in-a-suit is wise and lets the device sing its rumbles away as he sips on his classic vesper martini. Amand focuses on the after-work crowd in suits and high fashion who agree with him. There are dinosaurs and young bucks like him, and the gals stuck in a man’s world dress eerily like the bar’s staff. Perhaps Amand will get lucky tonight.

To his surprise, a slim man in a full black suit sits down a seat away from him at the bar. Of all the empty seats of the U-shaped counter he chose right here . . . bastard. The Prada shades concealing his eyes pull him in, noticing the intricate details of the man’s attire. His bald head is covered in floral black-and-red tattoos, running vines down his entire neck, disappearing under his Brioni blazer, and reappearing on his hands and knuckles. The man taps the marble surface with his gold ring with an intricate design of a naked woman. He must be in black-market nonsense to afford a lifestyle like this with that on his skin.

The man orders a drink and pays straight with cash. He then looks at Amand, raising his drink. “Long day?” He asks in an Irish accent.

Amand raises his glass. “Yep.” Great, just what he needs, some gangster talking to him.

“I have something that might interest you if that martini ain’t cutting it,” he says.

“That so?” Amand already knows its drugs.

“Yeah, something that will elevate your mind.”

“Look, I’m not out for any psychedelic trip or speed supplies. I’ve done plenty of that in my college days.” Amand turns his shoulder to the man, taking a swig of his martini.

“No, no. I’m not talking about party supplies, my friend. What’s your name?”

“Amand,” he says. God, why do I keep talking to him, Amand thinks. Truthfully the man does have a magnetism to him.

“I’m talking about long-term health and rejuvenation. You familiar with the eastern methods of healthcare?”

“Yes. I am. Working from the inside will affect your outward health. Unlike Western, which is fast and invasive.”

“You do know your health, my friend.”

 “Look at me; I’m in fine shape. Plus, my father is into crazy alternative health stuff.”

“Nothing crazy about your father’s wisdom, Amand. You’re fit, still young, and I can see the stress building behind your eyes. Do you know how quickly stress will age you?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Amand’s phone buzzes again. God damn, work never shuts up.

“Maintaining your health is important. Staying fit, getting good sleep, and reducing those martinis are great methods. But in today’s hustle and bustle, that’s not nearly enough. There’s a key secret that most don’t know about.”

“And what is that?” Amand downs the rest of his martini. It’s time to go.

“Superfoods. I trust you know of them. Unfortunately, most don’t know about the hidden one.”

“Help me understand this, man,” Amand says. “You’ve got a full tattoo suit under your expensive attire, all in black, not selling drugs, and pitching better health at a martini bar?”

The man chuckles, exposing his unusually sharp canines. “Precisely. You see, Amand, my family, comes from Scotland as pioneers.”

“You sound Irish.”

“European mutt. We migrated here and began in the Northwest Territories with unique plants that can offer far better health. My company is Northern Delights.” The man reaches into his blazer and pulls out a bag with black jellybean-sized seeds with a red stripe running down them. “I bet you haven’t seen seeds like this before.”

“And you want to sell them to me?” Amand asks.

“No. I will give this to you as a token of your good health.” He slides the small bag over. “This is a thirteen seed remedy for you to feel a revelation.”

“Revelation, huh?” Amand takes the bag, inspecting it. They look organic; each seed has slight variations in texture and size. He’s not sure why he keeps buying into this man’s nonsense. Maybe Amand is exhausted from the seriousness of his work. Perhaps Amand wants an escape and does want drugs. There’s a chance Amand wishes to live life a little more dangerously.

The man says, “try it. Here’s my business card if you ever want more, and I guarantee you will.” He reaches into his blazer again and slides over his black matte business card. The text is in a vibrant red with an elegant typeface, respectable. He says, “eat the thirteen and wait two weeks before contacting me.”

Amand slides the card into his pocket. “Why two weeks?”

“The seeds need time to be digested by your body. They release unique enzymes into your system that’ll make you feel more alert and balance your mind and body. You won’t feel like a monkey in a suit with that pesky phone buzzing in your blazer pocket, generating more grey hairs on your head.”

Amand instinctually touches his hair. “I don’t have – okay fine. Thanks, man.”

“Any time. I look forward to seeing you again.” The man taps the counter again with his gold ring. Now Amand notices the naked woman has medusa-like wild hair. Her arms are raised with the hands turning into tree branches with leaves. Amand was so entranced with the ring’s intricate design that he barely noticed the man leave, heading to the elevator in the skyscraper’s lobby, heading underground.

That was obscure.

Why is Amand humouring this man? Still, he takes the bag and heads to his Mercedes Benz parked in the underground parking. A part of him wonders if he will see the man in the parking lot, but no such luck and the ride back to his condo is as mundane as every weekday.

No score with the ladies tonight. That discussion blended Amand up with disturbance, possibly the right kind. The unknown is a foreign concept to the man who follows his ridged routine daily, frequently ending in a few too many drinks. Just like the scotch he has now, sitting in his lounge chair in the dark, staring at the thirteen seed bag.

I shouldn’t take them, Amand things. He doesn’t know a damn thing about these seeds. A quick online search through his smartphone will do. His hand slips it from his blazer, ignoring the swarm of emails, a few texts, and one call and fires up the browser. Still, those notifications tighten his shoulders.

The online search reveals Northern Delights. The strange man is legitimate. Each listing on the search is for various farmers’ markets. There’s one in Edmonton, one in Calgary, Vancouver, Toronto . . . and the list goes on. The search results describe their thirteen seed remedy as to a lost superfood.

Perhaps these seeds aren’t that bad. With that, Amand decides it’s worth a shot. The worst thing that can happen is the seeds don’t sit well in the stomach, and he’ll take a weird shit. He would much rather have better focus and less stress. His judgement is sealed. Amand down the seeds, one of the time, taken aback by the bitter flavour of the pasty texture. He downs the remnants with the rest of his scotch and calls it a night.

Amand continues with the rest of his week, with his early scheduled run along Bow River that divides Calgary’s downtown into two halves.

The following week Amand runs on Monday before the week begins, knowing he has to wait two weeks before contacting the man again. Yet, he feels the same.

On his Tuesday run, there’s no less stress or better focus.

On his Wednesday run, his stomach gurgles a little. It’s unusual for him but no revelation.

On his Thursday run, his stomach continues to rumble intensely, and he tries to ignore it. He’s dizzy and stumbles to the side of the path, closer to the river. The bubbling ramps up, and he’s forced to stop, panting with sweat running down his face.

Embrace comes from a voice in his head. It’s more of a whisper from the back of his earlobe, piercing through the music coming from his earbuds.

A sharp pain pierces his stomach. Something is coming up, and he pulls out his earbuds, heaving violently into the bush. He thinks he sees blood mixed in the green goop drizzling down his lip, but hard to tell with all the black spots in the liquid. He spits out the remaining bodily fluids and wipes his chin, feeling relieved.

Welcome, brother . . .

That’s just exhaustion. He’s had a stressful week, and still no such revelation.

The rest of his day plays out mundane: he finishes his day job, heads to the martini bar, and hopes to get lucky. He wonders if he is being impatient and maybe the seeds need more time. Sex will ease his stress because clearly, these seeds are snake poison.

He sips on his martini, reflecting on the strange regurgitating experience he had. The voices felt right next to him. It must be the stress. He’d love it to be some sort of supernatural entity that will beam him away from the staleness he’s created. Amand is a practical man and ignores the nonsense in his mind, taking a chug of his martini to silence the chatter.

Leave here, comes the same whisper in his mind, making him scratch his ear. The voice speaks again. Grow now, return to our roots.

Okay, that was clearly happening inside his brain and kills his desire to get laid. He pays up, heads home and goes to sleep, hoping the stress will end.

On his Friday run, Amand moves off the running path and right onto the grass alongside the trees, feeling the gentle breeze against his sweating body. The leaves are beautiful, and the grass seems more vibrant today. In fact, he extends his hand while running by a tree, feeling leaves against his fingers.

Come to us, brother says the voice.

Amand is unsure why he’s being gravitated to the forest. It’s beautiful, and he stops running entirely, pressing his palms into the bark of the nearest tree, running his fingers in between the cracks. He is uncertain what he is doing but has never experienced nature so closely. He’s always been so focused on his career that he’s never stopped and appreciated the moment. Perhaps there is something to the seeds after all.

Friday evening, Amand is a little tipsy. He returns home from the same bar, this time bringing a dame with him. Truthfully he’s forgotten her name after four or five drinks. That doesn’t matter because he’s about to release his pent-up frustration.

As she unbuttons his shirt, his greedy hands have already begun to unzip her burgundy dress. His mouth conjoins with her bright red lips, tongues coiling around each other and tasting their partner’s liquor-infused mouth.

Conjoining sister comes the whisper. Oh great, his mind chatter is just what he needs. He pushes this annoyance aside, knowing it’s just his own psyche. The drunken stacked pleasure will remove it.

He takes command, sweeping the girl off her feet. She laughs as he takes her to the bedroom, dropping her onto the sheets. He crawls on top of her, and the two initiate their mattress mambo, kicking off their undergarments.

We can bloom as one, the whisper says as he enters her. It’s irritating that the familiar sensations of sex are dwindling. He uses all his will to push the whisper aside, thrusting aggressively, slamming his lips against hers.

She lets out a long moan, then a yelp. He feels a prick in his mouth and figures she bit him. Another prick rings in his body, far lower, right inside his own prick. That’s far from normal, and instantly he wonders if he has an STD. He’s never felt such a heated sting come from his lower region. It’s not like a burning piss at all. Far too many thoughts are buzzing in his mind to enjoy his feisty partner.

Amand lifts his head, and it pulls her with him. The gal swats at him, slapping his face. Another sharp pain erupts inside his mouth as he tries to free his tongue. She pushes his face away, dragging him with her and slicing the inside of Amand’s mouth. An excruciating sting follows from inside his urethra and causes him to collapse on top of her.

Under the moonlight, Amand can see slimy black vines with tiny sharp thorns in between their mouths. She screams through her liquid-filled mouth as he attempts to say, “what the fuck?” Only gurgles come out of his mouth as a mix of drool and blood flows down his lips and onto her cheeks.

The girl cries while kicking and punching him. He barely feels it, trying to pull free from the girl, which only sends more stabs into his throat and cock. He pulls out of her, looking down to see a tiny black vine peeking out of the piss hole of his red member. Shining red smothers his partner’s thighs and pubic hair.

Both are screaming and squirming, proving their efforts futile as more black slimy vines slither out of her mouth and his, coiling around the other’s skull. Thorns pierce the skin, pulling them closer to each other until their faces are smashed together.

The burning pain rings deeper into his urethra, running into his pelvic region as something inside his flesh pushes against his skin. His partner whales as her stomach peels open and vines move out of her insides. He can’t believe his eyes as his intestine flop out of his innards, mixing into the black slithering monsters as their tiny thorns shred into the organs.

This can’t be happening to him. The pain is beyond anything he has experienced, and he can only conclude that this isn’t real. This is some nightmare, and he is simply a passenger watching. Whatever willpower or supernatural element controlling him guides his eyes to his doorway frame.

In the shadows stands a man in a full black suit. The moonlight eliminates the top of his floral tattooed head and the gold ring on his knuckle.

The World Mother welcomes you, says the whisper.

Amand tenses up as something rips back from the inside, and giant black and red petals bloom from his spine as immense pressure pulls on his skull. The bones crack as his neck peels from the torso. A stream of red flows onto his partner, drizzling over the bed. Her head is ripped free from the body by various vines coiled around each other from her mangled torso. Amand’s head follows her’s and both erect towards the ceiling, twisting around each other and giving them a bird’s eye view of Amand’s bedroom.

Welcome home, children, come a thousand whispers ringing inside Amand’s head.

The suited man steps forward as two more individuals wearing hooded black robes walk into the room. One of them is holding a wooden stick, waving it at the mangled mess that has become Amand and his partner.

The tattooed man snarls, exposing his sharp teeth and kneels beside the bed. He leans into the puddle of blood resting under the corpses and guzzles the blood, leaving no drop.

Yes, this is a dream because Amand no longer feels pain. He can see for just a little bit more as all sound dissipates. That suited man lifts his head, fangs fully extended, as he lets out a silent shout with blood dripping off his chin.

Eventually, his vision of his mangled corpse with black and red petals flowing from it fades into blackness. Still, he is alive.  Many thoughts run through his head such as: is he truly alive or experiencing life after death? How did the tattooed suited man get into his condo? Was he really drinking their blood? He feels his partner is close to him, far closer than he’s ever been with anyone in his entire life and he still doesn’t know her name. It doesn’t matter because they are one and the same. He can sense the three in the room with him, and eventually, he can sense more plants around him.

That blood-drinking individual was correct. Amand does feel far healthier without having to worry about his phone buzzing all the time. He is no longer a monkey-in-a-suit.