"I hear ya" he says, as he hands me the glass. "Especially on a story like this."
He cracks open his beer, and tosses the cap onto the glass table before him. Coffee table. Not even knee-high. He plops back onto the armchair behind him, footstool protruding from the bottom as he leans back.
The chair is worn out; old and dirty. About twenty-five percent wicker. The rest is gray, rough material.
"What do you make of him?"
Sipping his beer, you can almost see the cogs turning in his head.
"Are you asking what I make of him, or what I make of his little performance?"
"Both, of course."
"Heh. Of course."
Another sip from his bottle. I haven't even touched my glass. It just rests on the coffee table, sweating."
"You can have a seat if you'd like"
"Right" I always need permission, for some reason. Even for little things. Like sitting.
Taking him up on his offer, I sit on the love seat across from him.
Leaning back, and crossing the right leg over the left. I pick up where we left off.
"So," I start "what did you think?"
"Of him? The same thing I've always thought about the snaky bastard. He's a slimy piece of shit, and he looks to be seizing a very inappropriate opportunity to dupe people into putting him into the position of power he's always wanted."
"You know him?"
"Sure. We go way back. Way back to my younger years."
"And the performance?"
I sip the water. It tastes funny. Not like normal.
"He's one hell of a showman."
"You're definitely right about that. Balls on."
"You sure you don't want a beer?"
After taking another sip of the water, I decide it tastes too funny.
"Fuck, why not? This water tastes funny."
"Directly from tap."
Rotor gets out of his seat, and snatches the cup from the flat surface, leaving only a couple of rings overlapping each other. He takes the water to the kitchen, and pours the contents into the sink, leaving the glass on the counter.
Opening the refrigerator, he retrieves an unopened bottle from some unknown shelf, and brings it back with him, popping off the cap with the ass end of a plastic lighter.
"Thanks"
"Don't mention it."
He sits down, and I sip it. It tastes a bit odd. Like normal beer, but with an aftertaste like someone dropped a bunch of fruit snacks into the brew, and they melted in there. No shit.
"What did you think, Vernon?"
"Of what?"
"Antoine and his little performance. What's your take of it?"
"Antoine?"
"Mr. Showman."
"Right."
I feel a bit funny. I can't explain it, I just feel… weird.
"So?"
"I don't know him. I don't know him, but I don't really like him. I get a bad vibe, if you know what I mean."
"Sure"
"And it feels like there's a lot more to this than we're seeing. I have a feeling this will all unfold into something very big. Very big."
"And you're here to get it all down, eh? Record this big event that has yet to happen?"
"Heh. Right."
Downing my beer, I finish it off. He notices me looking around his kitchen from my seat.
"Trashcan?"
Nod.
"Under the sink."
Standing up , I almost stumble. Hm. Strange. My legs feel like jell-o.
Walking over to the sink, I open the cabinet underneath the sink. Throwing the bottle away, I can't help but notice my giggling. For no apparent reason. Giggling. This makes me laugh even more.
"You okay Vernon?"
My moment is shattered as I look up at the walrus in the living room, his head rubbernecking around the wide back of his armchair.
Watch out for the walrus, too.
he h
ad said,
...……--…--…--…--…--…--…--…………......He won't be able to help you.
"Vernon?"
A nasty vibration.
A very nasty vibration.
"Yeah. I'm fine. I feel a bit funny, though. I think I had better head home."
"Alright then, man. You take it easy."
"Yeah. You, too."
Can't sleep. Haven't been able to for hours.
Just been laying here with my eyes closed. You ever see vivid cartoons when you close your eyes? It's never happened before now, but this is some of the strangest shit I've ever seen.
Psychedelically colored spider webs, with mobian children caught all throughout it. A giant multicolored spider feeding on them. What the fuck?
My head hurts. I'm sweating. I don't feel good at all. Mental and physical discomfort. I want to snuff the life out of something.
On the inside of my eyelids, a clown's face melts off. But why?
It doesn't fucking make any sense. Puppies eating each other. Of all things, why the fuck am I picturing that? And why in the name of whatever god I'm supposed to believe in, is it so fucking vivid?!
My head hurts.
I'm sweating my balls off here. Why is it so hot?
A rotting corpse of a squirrel. Days and days of decomposition happens in my head in under about thirty seconds, and the only thing I can ask myself is WHY?!
I feel sick to my stomach. I just hope I can fall asleep.
I just want to fucking fall asleep.
Why is that so god damn hard?
Why do I instead lay here and picture death in various forms?
The tornado crashing into the death egg. Everything's colored red.
Doesn't make sense. I shouldn't feel like this.
Is this insanity?
Idosposdic
Suddinnnly it becumz hrd 2 thnk. Thnkng nl n cnsnnts. Wht th fck?
I'm having a hard time with things. And walking feels funny.
Almost impossible.
..-/--/-/-/--/-/-/--………………….-
Until I fall a few steps later.
Then it is impossible.
..
.
I think I've pissed myself.
/And I can't stop laughing.