Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2017 17:12:31 GMT -5
Guy had always taken things for granted. He had enjoyed his life of constant distractions, he enjoyed mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone, or looking at cat videos, or chatting to Cleverbot. His list of things I miss seemed to grow longer each day, because he was certainly getting tired of shitting in the woods and sleeping under trees instead of in a warm, comfortable bed. He had not anticipated a new world would be like this, and though it was clear no one really had, Guy found himself suffering the most. Not just because he was constantly fighting demons, but because he was, at the moment, in constant pain.
Without access to a real hospital, and with his large suitecase o' drugs nowhere to be seen, he had nothing to help his pain but a few measly ibuprofen and a bottle of stupidly strong moonshine.
Or well, he'd had both of those things when the day had started. He was uncomfortable, irritable from lack of cigarettes, and angry at his own circumstances. He'd downed the whole bottle, which only mildly numbed the pain. Mostly it made his tongue heavy and made resisting the urge to sing nearly impossible.
He only had the one pair of pants and had been forced to rip off most of it for easy access to wound cleaning. It was nasty, the area around it angry and red. He covered what he could with gauze and bandages. Under the fabric of his sweater were more wounds. Some scratches, but most just small, deep piercings from when he'd had quills stuck in him. He took care of it as well as he could, but with his lack of supplies, that wasn't going so well. His sweater had been ripped beyond repair, and so instead of the black one, he wore his light blue one. The light blue had cats of all colors stitched into the fabric, all in a neat line on his chest. It was his favorite sweater, and wearing it made him miss Miss Fluffkins even more.
He pet the cats on his sweater, and imagined the soft fabric was fur. He was uncomfortable in the thing, the heat of the day only making him more uncomfortable. Regardless, Guy had nothing else. He refused to wear anything that might show his arms, in fear that someone might ask around the thin lines of scars that littered them.
"This little light of mine
I'm gonna let it - hic! shine
This little light of mine
I'm gonna let it shine."
He sang loudly, his words slurring. This didn't stop him. He had downed the rest of the strong booze, and when the light, spiraling buzz was gone, it would be gone for good. He was already dreading it.
"Put it under -hic! a bush-
No!
I'm gonna let it shine.
Put it under a bush-
No!
I'm -hic! gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, shine, shine, shine.
I'm gonna let it shine."
He thought of his cat, and wondered if she was okay, and if she was alive. How long could she survive out there in space? His fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly as he stared up at the sky. It twirled around him. He was drenched in sweat and the mere weight of sadness felt like it was crushing him.
Guy prayed for a quick death.
Without access to a real hospital, and with his large suitecase o' drugs nowhere to be seen, he had nothing to help his pain but a few measly ibuprofen and a bottle of stupidly strong moonshine.
Or well, he'd had both of those things when the day had started. He was uncomfortable, irritable from lack of cigarettes, and angry at his own circumstances. He'd downed the whole bottle, which only mildly numbed the pain. Mostly it made his tongue heavy and made resisting the urge to sing nearly impossible.
He only had the one pair of pants and had been forced to rip off most of it for easy access to wound cleaning. It was nasty, the area around it angry and red. He covered what he could with gauze and bandages. Under the fabric of his sweater were more wounds. Some scratches, but most just small, deep piercings from when he'd had quills stuck in him. He took care of it as well as he could, but with his lack of supplies, that wasn't going so well. His sweater had been ripped beyond repair, and so instead of the black one, he wore his light blue one. The light blue had cats of all colors stitched into the fabric, all in a neat line on his chest. It was his favorite sweater, and wearing it made him miss Miss Fluffkins even more.
He pet the cats on his sweater, and imagined the soft fabric was fur. He was uncomfortable in the thing, the heat of the day only making him more uncomfortable. Regardless, Guy had nothing else. He refused to wear anything that might show his arms, in fear that someone might ask around the thin lines of scars that littered them.
"This little light of mine
I'm gonna let it - hic! shine
This little light of mine
I'm gonna let it shine."
He sang loudly, his words slurring. This didn't stop him. He had downed the rest of the strong booze, and when the light, spiraling buzz was gone, it would be gone for good. He was already dreading it.
"Put it under -hic! a bush-
No!
I'm gonna let it shine.
Put it under a bush-
No!
I'm -hic! gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, shine, shine, shine.
I'm gonna let it shine."
He thought of his cat, and wondered if she was okay, and if she was alive. How long could she survive out there in space? His fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly as he stared up at the sky. It twirled around him. He was drenched in sweat and the mere weight of sadness felt like it was crushing him.
Guy prayed for a quick death.
@nicolette blanchet