A/N: Hello my freaky darlings! I'm taking a quick break from writing "Devokan Tsahno" in order to write more Sirrus tragedy. I don't know why I like to inflict so much pain on him. . . ah, well, it's easy to write.
This is sort of a continuation of "Immunity". Likewise, you'll find references to it, but you don't need to read it first.
And this story does switch randomly between past and present tense on purpose. This is supposed to be a rambling from Sirrus' mind which, as we all know, is not the most stable of things.
Needlepoint
"Three months. Three months in this place. The same food, the same water, the same sky, the same damned everything. Nothing here changes! I am locked in a stasis filled with rock and crystal. Oh Father, what a wonderful Age you've written! It is a perfect prison, isn't it? The sheer monotony of the place is enough to drive anyone mad. Is that why you wrote it this way? In the hopes that whomever was here would kill themselves in their insanity? I've tried that, Father. But my total immunity to painkillers has come back to haunt me."
I paused a moment in my writing as another spasm ripped through my body. I clenched my teeth against the pain. In my mind, a cold, cruel laughter sounded. I recognized it as my own.
"Oh Sirrus," I said aloud once the pain passed, "You've heard the stories of addicts a million times. But you didn't believe them, did you? You didn't believe them when they said that withdrawal is the single most painful thing a man can go through. . . but you're learning now, aren't you?"
I laughed aloud then. I felt foolish for becoming so dependent on something. My body and mind rebelled against each other, yet both cry for the sweet feeling of poisons rushing through veins, the screams of the dying melting away into blissful euphoria. But I don't have that anymore. Now, the screams have returned and I have nothing left but cruel agony. Do I deserve this, Father? No. No, I think you do.
I let my eyes wander around the room. Over the top of my desk, I saw the strange plants that I have been eating all this time. They are tasteless and bland, like the rest of this Age. But, they do make me oddly happy when I eat them. However, I have merely eaten the stalks, as I am wary of the liquid that fills the main portion of the plant.
Liquid. . . happiness. . .
A small smile graced my lips. From a carved box on my desk, I pulled out a syringe. It was immaculately clean, it's needle glinting in the light of the crystals. I looked from it to the plants again, grin growing wider and crueler.
It was time to perform another experiment.