Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word... -Pope, The Dunciad ÜÜ ÜÜ ŚÄŻŪŻ ÜßÜÜŽŽž ÜŻß ÜŻß ÜßÜÜŽŽž ŽŪŽÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄæ ³ ŻŪŻ ŻŻ Ž ŽŽ ŽŽ ŻŻ Ž ŽŪŽ ³ ³ ŻŪŻ Üž ßŪ ßŪ Üž ŽŪŽ Sick ³ ³ ŻŪŻ ÜŻß ŽŽ ŽŽ ÜŻß ŽŪŽ ³ ĄÄŻŪŻ ÜŻŻŻÜÜÜŻŻÜŻŻÜ ÜŻŻÜ ÜŻŻŻÜÜÜŻŻ ŽŪŽÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄŁ 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__\ ŚÄÄÄ_//_ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄæ ³ ||__|| TNH BBS. [2112] WHQ. NUP: Woodstock. 817.346.3370. ³ ³ || SysOp: Mephistopheles CoSysOps: Delirium, Sputnik. ³ ĄÄÄ,.||.,.ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄŁ [2112] Productions, All Rights Reserved.