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"I'll never sleep again! I'll never sleep again!"
"I'll forget your name in the noise,
until we meet again in the wind."
Head fuzzy, breath sputzy.
"What does the word," I begin with a slur, "sputzy mean?"
I can only assume I was asking myself. The singing and ringing in my ears didn't help matters.
"Dead men tell tall tales,
Carve their names in the bones of the whales
Today I saw the whole of hell,
Today I saw-"
The only good thing that has come out of this so far is my inevitable overdose. A fruit snack a day keeps the doctor away, that's what I always say. My battered arms hang loosely at my sides, and rain peppers my face. God was pissing on me, likely. As he should. The drug was already taking control of my senses, or what little was left of them, at least. Even so, something compelled me to take just one more bite. If I'm being perfectly honest, I can't exactly explain the taste of the fruit, or maybe I just couldn't taste it to begin with. Much of my face held a buzzing numbness of which I am well-acquainted with. I could feel the uncontrollable jolts of "vroom" traveling all the way back into the muscles between my shoulder blades and collar bones.
My fingertips slowly regained feeling, first of any of my feely parts. Next were my ears; and boy could I hear clearly. Every sound was very sharp, very pungent. By the time I could really feel the fibers of the fruit in between my teeth, I still couldn't taste the damn thing. I couldn't see either, but I've always just kinda wandered around blind prior to that development anyways. If anything, I could see better now than I could before. I giggle to myself and swing my head wildly in several directions until I find where the air was coldest.
"Kopaka?" I ask. Something was dripping down the side of my jaw, from my lips. I couldn't tell if it was blood or juice, and I had no intention of wasting the energy required to wipe it clean. The fro-yobot, judging by the rapid decrease in temperature, approaches me.
"Can you fight?" he begins. "Because you do not have a choice in the matter."
I nod with a vigor that might have slung some blood around the way an animal shakes water off of its fur. My eyesight wasn't pitch black; shapes come in and out of the light occasionally. The sight was best described as murky, with many colors missing. The grin on my face must've been unsettling, because he made a rather odd noise that I couldn't quite discern. His vocals sounded much more textured, for some reason, the depth of his sound making itself known to me in a way that I will likely never fully understand. We walk for some, uncountable amount of time. I don't know where I'm going.
"For what it's worth, ice-bucket, it has been a pleasure. Worth every second," I say. My voice does not sound like my own as it reaches my ears, but if Kopaka heard a difference, he said nothing about it. A rasp rides the coattails of my every breath, and I focus in on the robot's whirlpool features, doing my best picking my next words carefully.
"I'm gonna be checking out soon," I begin, unaware of if his kind has any concept of how hallucinogenics work. "Figuratively and literally. My body is giving out on me, as they do. I'm gonna keep blowing shit up, but I apologize if I appear a bit more unhinged than your average door."
If Jack Frost answered me, I didn't hear it.
"You didn't hear it because you're talking to a rock," a voice calls out to me.
It was the guy with the shiny hair and shiny arms. I could, for some reason, actually see him quite clearly. He looked very dapper in his wedding gown, and I was very excited for his big day. He had wildflowers woven in and out of various parts of his outfit, and a few in his hair. Simply stunning, he was.
"Yo, congratulations dude. Who's the lucky mate?"
Gildarts Clive gives me a funny look. And by funny look, I mean his right eye drifted up, up, up, until it and his whole ass eyebrow floated off of his face. Did this guy tell me his name? What's in a name? What is a wordage? I whip my head around and see the robot, ever on his march into nowhere. I suppose it's best to follow. More things need to blow up. More things need to blow up. More things need to blow up. The pain had subsided by now, everything. I go in and out of consciousness, or vision, or whatever you call this. My thumbs wipe at the grime from my eyes, freshly washed in the pool of water that I didn't know was by my feet.
"That's not water, that's a blackberry bush," the blackberry mage says.
"What the fuck are you, the Old Spice Guy?" I say with a cackle. My eyes are open, and I can most definitely see, brother. Gildarts gives me a worried look, a tinge of pity and disappointment in his eyes.
"Yer gonna be okay, kid," says what is probably Gildarts, but maybe Kopaka, but also maybe a figment of my imagination. Drugs. He says some other things that are probably kinda important, but I can barely hear him. It's not my fault, it's not his fault, its just the way things ended up. We both come to accept this.
All I can do is sigh in response. I kinda believe him. I've always wanted to believe it when people told me these things. I was walking at some point, but now I'm sitting. I don't feel like moving. Why would I ever? Moments later, it feel's like someone slid a solo cup full of ice cubes down the back of my shirt, and suddenly y'know, I feel like moving. Before I hit that old snowy trail though, I go over to the nearest tree and carve some shit in it with the jagged, broken edge of the guitar neck for funsies.
I WROTE THIS SHIT HERE FUCKED UP
-J
Huh, I think to myself after finishing my masterpiece. Do I know any jays?
With blank thoughts, I bury the guitar piece as well as I can beneath the shade of the tree and follow the robot.
"I'll forget your name in the noise,
until we meet again in the wind."
Head fuzzy, breath sputzy.
"What does the word," I begin with a slur, "sputzy mean?"
I can only assume I was asking myself. The singing and ringing in my ears didn't help matters.
"Dead men tell tall tales,
Carve their names in the bones of the whales
Today I saw the whole of hell,
Today I saw-"
The only good thing that has come out of this so far is my inevitable overdose. A fruit snack a day keeps the doctor away, that's what I always say. My battered arms hang loosely at my sides, and rain peppers my face. God was pissing on me, likely. As he should. The drug was already taking control of my senses, or what little was left of them, at least. Even so, something compelled me to take just one more bite. If I'm being perfectly honest, I can't exactly explain the taste of the fruit, or maybe I just couldn't taste it to begin with. Much of my face held a buzzing numbness of which I am well-acquainted with. I could feel the uncontrollable jolts of "vroom" traveling all the way back into the muscles between my shoulder blades and collar bones.
My fingertips slowly regained feeling, first of any of my feely parts. Next were my ears; and boy could I hear clearly. Every sound was very sharp, very pungent. By the time I could really feel the fibers of the fruit in between my teeth, I still couldn't taste the damn thing. I couldn't see either, but I've always just kinda wandered around blind prior to that development anyways. If anything, I could see better now than I could before. I giggle to myself and swing my head wildly in several directions until I find where the air was coldest.
"Kopaka?" I ask. Something was dripping down the side of my jaw, from my lips. I couldn't tell if it was blood or juice, and I had no intention of wasting the energy required to wipe it clean. The fro-yobot, judging by the rapid decrease in temperature, approaches me.
"Can you fight?" he begins. "Because you do not have a choice in the matter."
I nod with a vigor that might have slung some blood around the way an animal shakes water off of its fur. My eyesight wasn't pitch black; shapes come in and out of the light occasionally. The sight was best described as murky, with many colors missing. The grin on my face must've been unsettling, because he made a rather odd noise that I couldn't quite discern. His vocals sounded much more textured, for some reason, the depth of his sound making itself known to me in a way that I will likely never fully understand. We walk for some, uncountable amount of time. I don't know where I'm going.
"For what it's worth, ice-bucket, it has been a pleasure. Worth every second," I say. My voice does not sound like my own as it reaches my ears, but if Kopaka heard a difference, he said nothing about it. A rasp rides the coattails of my every breath, and I focus in on the robot's whirlpool features, doing my best picking my next words carefully.
"I'm gonna be checking out soon," I begin, unaware of if his kind has any concept of how hallucinogenics work. "Figuratively and literally. My body is giving out on me, as they do. I'm gonna keep blowing shit up, but I apologize if I appear a bit more unhinged than your average door."
If Jack Frost answered me, I didn't hear it.
"You didn't hear it because you're talking to a rock," a voice calls out to me.
It was the guy with the shiny hair and shiny arms. I could, for some reason, actually see him quite clearly. He looked very dapper in his wedding gown, and I was very excited for his big day. He had wildflowers woven in and out of various parts of his outfit, and a few in his hair. Simply stunning, he was.
"Yo, congratulations dude. Who's the lucky mate?"
Gildarts Clive gives me a funny look. And by funny look, I mean his right eye drifted up, up, up, until it and his whole ass eyebrow floated off of his face. Did this guy tell me his name? What's in a name? What is a wordage? I whip my head around and see the robot, ever on his march into nowhere. I suppose it's best to follow. More things need to blow up. More things need to blow up. More things need to blow up. The pain had subsided by now, everything. I go in and out of consciousness, or vision, or whatever you call this. My thumbs wipe at the grime from my eyes, freshly washed in the pool of water that I didn't know was by my feet.
"That's not water, that's a blackberry bush," the blackberry mage says.
"What the fuck are you, the Old Spice Guy?" I say with a cackle. My eyes are open, and I can most definitely see, brother. Gildarts gives me a worried look, a tinge of pity and disappointment in his eyes.
"Yer gonna be okay, kid," says what is probably Gildarts, but maybe Kopaka, but also maybe a figment of my imagination. Drugs. He says some other things that are probably kinda important, but I can barely hear him. It's not my fault, it's not his fault, its just the way things ended up. We both come to accept this.
All I can do is sigh in response. I kinda believe him. I've always wanted to believe it when people told me these things. I was walking at some point, but now I'm sitting. I don't feel like moving. Why would I ever? Moments later, it feel's like someone slid a solo cup full of ice cubes down the back of my shirt, and suddenly y'know, I feel like moving. Before I hit that old snowy trail though, I go over to the nearest tree and carve some shit in it with the jagged, broken edge of the guitar neck for funsies.
I WROTE THIS SHIT HERE FUCKED UP
-J
Huh, I think to myself after finishing my masterpiece. Do I know any jays?
With blank thoughts, I bury the guitar piece as well as I can beneath the shade of the tree and follow the robot.