A Funny Story: Strange Messages

Maybe she won’t notice.  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.  I mean, I hope she notices, but…you know…in that glancing sorta way that it doesn’t seem intentional or like I’m trying too hard.

“Shit.”

Uh oh, I think I said that out loud. Scamper! As I scurried in a hurry, I couldn’t help but to think that it was all in my head, that she wasn’t actually looking; that I was over thinking the whole situation. Again. Sigh. Yes, I said sigh — I find it more rewarding than an actual sigh — and for whatever reason this has become more natural for me.

“Back to the story.” I said.  Back to the story, indeed Regil Luv. I really should quit speaking in the third person. Silly.

As I made the dash to the door, slaloming through the scattered flocks of people that lined the bar, thoughts raced through my head as I gently blurted out “excuse me, thank you” and “sorry, excuse me, excuse me” hoping that it helped; although now that I think about it…I don’t think it did because it still took me forever to leave. I would glance back a couple of times to see if she was looking, if her friends were laughing and at the bathroom because let’s be honest, I had a few drinks so my internal systems were in overdrive.  The sweat had gathered enough in the center of my back that my shirt was insufficient at absorbing this electrolyte excretion, so I was not only trying to avoid rejection, but the sweat that was dripping ever so freely down my back, adding to my possible embarrassment. I needed to get outside; and quickly.

I finally made it outside and did that sharp, brisk ocean breeze feel amazing, cutting away the stickiness that covered my body and soul.  With every breath I took, I began to cough, damn cigarette smokers, so I moved away and then with every breath I took it was like I was refueling from the exhausting rejection that I may, or may not have, just experienced. You know, now that I think about it, I think I was over reacting. Well, when in Rome, am I right?

-“You’re totally using that wrong.”

Whatever Upe.

So I began to walk down the street, away from the choking smoke that tar’d and feathered my lungs, and suddenly I hear the sexiest and well dressed voice my ears have ever had the pleasure of drowning in.

“Damn it, stop interrupting my story!”

Whatever .

Hijacked by Upe Smits again!  So, I ran out after Regil because he looked a bit green, overly sweaty and kind of like a ballerina as he spun around the statues that lined his exit path.  It was elegant how he avoided dousing the people in his way with his grossness, truly. Then again, I was a bit preoccupied by the beautiful people around me, telling jokes and just primarily being awesome, but then Eric disappeared around the corner.  I knew that he had a bit to drink so his world must have been a bit slanted, I figured he just went to evacuate his bladder, but I felt the need to go check on him anyways. I must have taken roughly three steps outside, and even though my thoughts were slick, my steps remained rough and so I started to wonder, is my world slanted the other way? Sam went right, I’m leaving left and leaning in a swirly up and down; disorienting is not the right word. I looked up and I looked down but my head swiveled half cocked at an 84 degree angle, seeming to not care or feel but I felt otherwise. I reached into my pocket to call for a lift but the search only brought up a site about elevators. Oh, that’s right. A lyft, with a why because I am confused incessantly with why when I is involved.

Anyway, I know that what I don’t know seems to haunt my waking dreams. I got into the Uber and was on my way; somewhere. I’ve arrived. Chinked my thoughts and left them at the door, expectations were no longer carbonated but I still felt bubbly. My coffee past rode in on the moonlight, dousing me with terger sa ym dlrow dellif htiw noisufnoc.  I saw the decisions that I’ve made standing in the kitchen making meatloaf and the ghosts of a life I never had watching a blank television screen.  The painting on the wall, filled with yellows and greens, turning darker but skipping the tones of purple, black and blue. Those no longer hold any meaning. Staring around the room, I hear a voice, it sounds like mine but in a sobbing tone.

-“If white is void of color and black is the void, then what does that make gray?”

“It is where I live.”

With the shadows sinking back into the stuttering pinches of space between the flickering halogen lighting of the kitchen; I dream. Or not. Or. Maybe; not. I don’t know; granted I’m drunk right now. This superfluous transcript must be as confusing to you as it is to me, and I’m telling the story. Certainly convoluted, absolutely ridiculous, incredibly generic, this narrator has become unreliable; spouting mumbo jumbo to sound *insert temperature*, so I implore the reader to *insert reaction to said temperature* — the point is coming. She wasn’t, Sam was too drunk.

Leg dangling off the couch, the carousel room slowing just enough that my flatmate could find footing to berate me for slamming the door as I came home. It’s not like I could help it, I ate a flower and started spitting Fireballs; I hate bourbon; I hate cinnamon.

-“I love cilantro.” said I.

Sheesh, what am I? Waste management? Eric is trashed. This Rambler has been discontinued. So, hello. My name is _________.

I’ve always got to take care of people, it’s exhausting.

I suppose to some degree, I always knew. I could feel it in the pits of my stomach, a gurgling and draining feeling. This is the moment I’ve been preparing for, and yet, even now I am not prepared. There is so much to still say, many more hugs to give out and laughter to feed on, but the depth of each embrace doled out now feels shallow. The next step always appeared to be a large one, a mountainous and scalable to the gods, not the mere mortal that I am. That’s all right, but I don’t think that…in fact…maybe that’s the problem, I thought. I felt. I had. No more, it was a sparkly star glimmering in the dark sky, a new penny at the bottom of a fountain that held wishes that were never meant to come true.

Maybe the problem was that I was taking it too easy, I truly believed, but it was a hoax. I was drinking the sand, knew it was dry but continued on anyways. I never once thought it was a soda machine or fresh spring, the oasis was just more desert. So it’s fitting that it ends this way, with the knowledge that it never fit. It was a clown shoe, and I was the clown. So here I sit, a bottle in one hand with no courage to drown myself, a metallic tool only meant to spread as it has no teeth, head down sulking in the vast darkness as the orange street lamp outside refuses to glide past my crinkled blinds, and my thoughts. The last remaining part of myself that I plan on sharing with the wall. They told me that everything would be alright, that the ether was temporary, that those who love me will show me the way. It was a hollow tip, like the box of lies that sit on my desk, like the cold truth squeezed between my bitter fingers.

Never once did I believe that a steel click would settle me down, down with me the click would settle, piece would be peace would be pieces would be silence. It was never the way, I dared not enter but this decision was made head on. A decision was made that would end with only emptiness. With a hole that was to be filled with the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me…someone. That’s alright if nobody does, I’m strong and can handle it, I’ve always took care myself but I’m beginning to feel that my youth was taken. The stolen days, the forfeiture of nights, the donation of time and the reduction of space.

Dely Weled went to Cheyenne. She rode the carriage, or was she carried? Dely is a colt, or was she carrying one? Was she one?

“I am not”

Dely began staring at the blue stitching on the wall, watching the rolling navy ride the ocean of white padded cloth. The sheer force of it held everything together, traversing the vast and almost endless whiteness, creating a perpetual sense of confinement and safety. Questions loomed as Dely began to think about tiny ships rowing up and down, up and down, never capsizing but certainly always on the brink. Who would save the tiny occupants who braved the plush emptiness if they fell in? “This must be what it’s like in space” Dely quipped, letting out a heavy sigh because she knew that it couldn’t be what space was like, space was dark and had many more colors, but it was all bound together by that damn darkness. Her ocean was white.

A knock on the door, and like Moses, the white sea was parted for the first time all day. A man in a white coat, with his white teeth and white souled shoes. Whomever it was that sold him those ridiculously human loafers was in for a surprise, they were dirty.

-“It’s time ” said the man.

“Hold on, let me free my people…” Dely ran over to the wall and smacked it with some sort of force. A cushioned, fluffy sound briefly smooshed out from the sterile abyss. “Haha, it smooshed!”

-“That’s fantastic, are you ready?”

Yes. It’s time to play a game of operation, that’s what it must be, right? The man in the white robe called it Lab Anatomy, and told me that it would be so much fun that I wouldn’t recall playing. That sounds like a blast, I love games. I own twelve version of Monopoly and a set of Dominoes that’s missing two 2’s and the serpent eyes. I loved those pieces because it was like a countdown, as I am doing now.

“Ha ha ha ha ha haha hah ah!” Alright, I’m ready to play some Lab Anatomy, I love the buzzer when it goes off, it’s electrifying. I’ve seen plenty of folks play it, they always touch the sides. I hurried up and slipped on my feet, they were fuzzy and I’m fairly certain were good luck, I was definitely going to win. We are arriving at the room! “Excitement!”

“Are they going to play too?” Said eye.

-They only want to observe, it’s why they are behind the glass, to be sure everything goes to procedure.

My I’s are beginning to drift, things are getting fuzzy, I know now that I’m safe. Glancing over, I see the wide code looking at the rules for Ab Lanatomy. I see his name, Lou Ecktomee. That’s strange.

I’m safe. On first, time to sleep. Nood Gyte.

-“Good job, it was a success, Patient 32-8F15H will make a full recovery doctor.”

END OF CASE FILE FOR DARL BUNDREN

 

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