Anti & JJ’s Flat
A simple looking flat with seemingly one man living inside. One bath, two beds, a living room and a kitchen, nothing more. His neighbors sometimes question what a kind-faced, single, disabled man would need a second bedroom for. ‘Why, for the demon of course,’ answers the cackling voice in their shared brain.
Jameson’s bedroom is fit for a dollhouse, lacy and floral. Anti’s is a blend of punk and bastardcore that would make a tumblr kid orgasm. They switch the bedroom when they switch the body.
Living on a diet of coffee and pills, Jameson’s frail body is allowed no hobbies, and only in the later months of his life was he allowed exercise. Those runs around the small Irish town are his heaven on Earth, his paradise, his euphoria. Wind brushing against his perfect curled hair, the grass and pavement and buildings rushing by him. If he’s been good, maybe the demon will let him buy a hot cocoa from the coffee shop!
Anti spends his time in control meticulously, obsessively coding and hacking in an effort to hide his new treasure from those bastard “egos”. He will get Jack’s body back. He will. He. Will.
Jameson spends his time in control watching telly, sleeping, and not much else. There is hardly anything at all to do in the house in the first place. Cook? No food. Music? No radio or records. Computer? He is not allowed to touch what belongs to Anti. He sighs and turns back to the telly.
It should be a good life. A house, hot coffee, a pretty little bedroom, runs in the cool Irish autumn. But his muscle aches and dissociation from Anti’s possession scream at him nonetheless. He is trapped without being trapped at all. Perhaps hell is something you carry with you, he signs to himself, to the laughing voice in his frontal lobe.
