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Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored;
Light dies before thy uncreating word...
-Pope, The Dunciad
ÜÜ ÜÜ
ÚÄÝÛÝ ÜßÜÜÞÞþ ÜÝß ÜÝß ÜßÜÜÞÞþ ÞÛÞÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³ ÝÛÝ ÝÝ Þ ÞÞ ÞÞ ÝÝ Þ ÞÛÞ ³
³ ÝÛÝ Üþ ßÛ ßÛ Üþ ÞÛÞ Sick ³
³ ÝÛÝ ÜÝß ÞÞ ÞÞ ÜÝß ÞÛÞ ³
ÀÄÝÛÝ ÜÝÝÝÜÜÜÝÝÜÝÝÜ ÜÝÝÜ ÜÝÝÝÜÜÜÝÝ ÞÛÞÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
ßß ßß Volume II, File XI [110294]
Writer: Freedom Fighter
Coughing tore through me, causing excruciating pain in my
chest and a mild numbness in my brain. Moments later, the
fit was over, and I rejoiced in the thick stupor that
lingers after a particularly powerful sneeze, or a prolonged
fit of coughing like that which I had just suffered. It was
heavenly - except for the pain in my chest, of course.
Reality came back into focus, elbowing its way past the
honeycomb-like image that had materialized before my eyes.
I spat a vile bit of phlegm into a black ashtray conveniently
resting on the coffee table.
Damn, was there no way at all to enjoy a little numbness
without some undesirable side effect? I admit that a little
phlegm is better than a splitting headache, but still.. a man
should be able to enjoy a good buzz every once in a while
without sufferning consequences afterward.
That got me thinking.. maybe if I were to somehow induce
incessant sneezing, the satisfying numbness that follows
each sneeze wouldn't have a chance to fade before the next
surge of numbness.. until I died, of course. And that would
be the end of consciousness; therefore, I would no longer be
numb.. I'd be dead. Damn.
When my brain returned from its unsuccessful quest for
true oblivion, it found its primary visual nerves intent
upon the off-yellow, amorphous ooze in the black plastic ash
tray. Having nothing better to do, my brain - being the
productive mass of neuro-material it is - concentrated on
that fascinating bit of visual input for a few moments,
idly wondering how the stuff was produced.
It soon gave up, and I found myself lying back on the
couch, staring up at the ceiling...
A few hours later, I woke. Sometimes I wish I could
sleep forever. Even nightmares are better than real life.
They're so much simpler. So there's something chasing me,
so I'm falling off a cliff, so my sister burries a hatchet
in my forehead.. so what? There's none of the prolonged
waiting and uncertainty that makes real life so bloody
torturous.
My deeply philosophical contemplations were interrupted by
the not-so-glorious sound of the phone ringing. Thinking
that it might be the doctor's office calling to confirm that
I did indeed have some sort of incurable, deadly disease, I
rose a bit too rapidly and found myself consumed for a few
moments by another fit of coughing. And that time I didn't
even get to enjoy the numbness.. I had to answer the damned
phone.
"Hello?" I croaked, almost picturing the pert, sorrowful,
and sympathetic young nurse on the other end.
"Hi. How're you feeling?" It was my bloody girlfriend.
"Oh. Shitty. Come over."
"I don't have a car."
"Oh yeah." My brain worked furiously for a few minutes.
"Uhh...I'll come get you," I said finally, feeling quite
the genius. Maybe I would run into a telephone pole or
something on the way and die a tragic death.
"No, I really don't think my dad'll let me." Her dad was
an asshole. Shithead didn't even have a job. He made his
wife work while he sat around at home drinking beer the
whole damned day. You'd think someone like that really
wouldn't give a shit about their daughter.. haha.. if only
life were that simple. The asshole never let her out of the
house.
"Shit." I took the cue to cough up a bit more phlegm and
glance with sincere regret at the ashtray on the other side
of the room.
"You don't sound so good. Maybe you should get in bed?"
"I've been in bed. Hey, you said you'd take care of me,
remember? You lied to me." She had. She really had. I
asked her one night, and she said she'd nurse me back to
health if I ever got sick. I didn't believe her then,
either.
"Oh, don't do that. You know I would if I could! Listen,
I gotta get off the phone. My dad wants me. Bye." Click.
I didn't bother hanging up. Another fit of coughing took
me, and I just let the phone drop. I stumbled back to the
couch and fell onto it. I closed my eyes, but sleep was
being a bitch and wouldn't come.
My dad wants me. I could almost picture him sitting in a
big lazy chair, in front of an old TV, guzzling cheap beer
all day long while his wife was working her fat ass off.
Cocksucker probably molested his daughter.. maybe that's why
she didn't put out. And the worst part was that he had a
buzz.
Arrgh. What the hell. Life was supposed to be great. I
had a car, a job, a girlfriend, and I was free of my parents.
And life still sucked.
I turned the television off and concentrated on ignoring
that sound the phone makes when you don't hang it up.
Sleep soon came, but it was no relief; and that, of course,
was because I didn't die.
I got 'better'.
__
(o__\
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