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To all those who read this…
Enjoy
Disembodied voices….
"NO! PLEEAASE!"
Brutal laughs and the sound of a knife is pulled from its sheath…
A gurgling scream…
I see Her face, above the water…
Her head is above the water… It's not her scream I'm hearing…
Korobeiniki…
Who are you? Are you an are you? Or are you an are it? Why do you do this?
A vision… my father sings a Red Army song in front of a massive audience…
Slavankia… Do you need my help? Do you want it?…
If I had words…
Did I want help?
To make a day for you…
Confused…
Praise to my father…
Blessed by the…
Water.
I will help.
Midnight calling…
Mist of Resolving.
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I wake up in a cold sweat. The night in Helland is sweltering in summer and in spring, but during fall and winter the wind blows so hard it has been known to throw people off the ground. Rain falls too. I look up from the bed out of the window that is above it. The rain, blown by the wind, is dousing the street relentlessly. I stand up on my bed and pull up the window. Rain immediately pours in, showering my bed and me. I know it's stupid, but I don't care. I love this moment, this moment when I can be free of technology and responsibility and simply be one with the elements, be affected by them. I can feel the rain, feel it reach into me and chill my bones. Then the feeling passes, and I close the window. My bed is soaked, my hair in dreadlocks drip-drying. I feel weak, like skin wrapped over a fragile skeleton. I lie down, collapsing in on myself. I curl into a ball, feeling the water permeate my very essence. I reach over to the side of my bed, grab a sopping wet blanket, and pull it over me. I feel slightly warmer now, but I'm still very cold. I slowly go to sleep trying to remember the Blue Guard's number.
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The next day I wake up stiff. Getting up is the hardest part. Beds, even wet ones, have the annoying attribute of being much more appealing than the world around them. Especially if you are an anti-morning person like me. But get up I finally do. "Au, fuck. That's the last time I sleep on a wet bed." I groan.
Maybe I'll go sleep on the couch next time. I stand up and find some dry clothes. Must have been quite a storm last night. I then get breakfast. I begin to play on the computer, but then I realize that I'm stalling. Time to make that call.
I picked up the phone and dialed 326-125-4870. Then I set the phone down. I stared at it for a few minutes, took a deep breath, and pressed "talk".
I heard the tones, happy and carefree as they dialed the number.
A click, then a serious voice: "hello?'
I hesitate, then I say "Vlad Bean and Korobeiniki dance the deadly dance."
"Welcome back, we'll send a car to pick you up."