Taking a drag from a cheap corner store cigarette, I blow out smoke as I once again contemplate life, the universe, and whatever the hell put me here of all places.
No, this isn't some grand existential 'Who am I and do I matter?' crisis. It could be a midlife crisis however as I doubt I'll live past forty. The thought makes me chuckle a little, living past forty might be being too optimistic here.
So instead of worrying about such things, I glare balefully at the city ahead, Brockton Bay, New Hampshire. Or a shit hole that's gonna be sunk in less than half a year.
I've already had my panic and existential dread at waking up in Worm of all possible places. Now it's the stark acceptance everything is fucked, and only going to get more fucked. Maybe I should pick up Nihilism? The question is, the edgy goth bastardization? Or the original idea?
Actually, death might be preferable here. "Fuck you, Wibbles!" I scream into the sky after calmly putting my cigarette butt on the ashtray. Then I promptly leap up and over the railing of my current abode, head first of course.
After a slightly painful slam into the gravel below, I roll onto my back and just stare at the clouds. Yes, death would be preferable.
Unfortunately for me, nothing short of sting would probably do it. Of course, it couldn't have been that easy.
So for a quick recap, I, My glorious self, woke up in an unfamiliar apartment on the same island I had lived my whole life. The problem being this sure-as-shit ain't my world. With that realization came memories of living in this world in a strange mirror of my actual life. Some changes of course, as in this life I was an orphan, so being unable to afford to be lazy I'm still a university student. Recently transferred to the university here in Brockton Bay, after getting dual citizenship with the help of an estate manager.
As in this world, I have an uncle I never heard of who left me a home I so desperately needed. As that apartment didn't last long at all. The only catch to this home being it's a goddamn lighthouse.
No I'm serious here, along with that there was some huge spiel about 'Our family watched this bay for generations, and we will continue to do so' yada yada. And the old man who recently died lucked out on finding me somehow. A living blood relative, that couldn't afford to say no to living in some dingy lighthouse in the middle of shitbay USA. Hell I'm pretty sure this is one of the only working ones left in this world considering the sea trade was utterly annihilated by the big green scalie himself.
And fuck that guy, he's a bitch, I would know. Seeing as just into my first week of panicking, everything I owned was lost in a fucking tsunami. Which, admittedly, islands are more dangerous with a giant shard-controlled sea monster sinking most of them, said monster is still a bitch.
And such as it is, I'm freshly triggered, gee golly even more reason to just be done with everything, and consequently had nowhere else to go other than take the dumb dead rich dudes offer. Fuck you past me desperate for food and a bed, I blame you for this. And the refugee camps are just absolutely horrendous. Still, sometimes I think being homeless or in a refugee camp would have been better than ever stepping foot in this place.
But hey, silver linings, I'm a student again. And I got a pretty cute redhead in my sociology (I just had to in this life, my professor in my last life would constantly shit on it, and I already have my psychology degree in this world) class. So, with a groan of disappointment at once again failing to snap my neck via high velocity impact, I rise to my feet. The bone pale white fading from my skin.
As said sociology class starts in half an hour.
...
It's easier sitting through a class when I'm not tired or in pain all the time. And the memories I got make everything go much smoother. And the class is less of a waste of time than I thought it would be. Soon enough, class is over, and just as I almost decide to go chat up the cute redhead in a moment of 'the fuck else am I supposed to do?' She gets a phone call and leaves.
Well good, I can make friends with the bottom of a vodka bottle instead. Who needs people, people suck.
And so, I find myself in a liquor store. Not actually buying vodka. A bottle of Kraken caught my eye instead, and I'm just sure as shit glad they have that in this dogshit universe. Rum and coke sounds good. And irony is always good.
"Put the money in the bag you ching chong motherfucker!" A nasally voice calls from the front. Who the robs a liquor store? No seriously? Ah, fuck this. I grab a bottle of red label and walk to the counter.
"Okay okay, easy." Oh hey, I'm pretty sure the cashier is in my criminology class, okay now that's kind of funny. This guy's a pretty neat dude, seems like a partying kind of guy. Well, he's being held at gunpoint by some crackhead in a ski mask. Bro looks like he's three days past his last fix if the shaking is any indicator. Is that accurate? I don't fucking know, I'm not an expert on crackheads. Wait no, I kind of am. Grow up around enough crackheads and you do legitimately learn how crackheads operate and do things.
That's enough internal monologuing about the nature of crackheads, this dudes so focused on his front it's easy to come up behind him. To which I promptly smash the bottle of red label on his head, glass shattering, alcohol splashing. "Yo, just this and the bottle of red label." I indicate the broken bottle top in my hand as I put the kraken bottle down.
"I uh- do you even have to pay for that? I'm not aware of the protocol here." Classmate man blinks. Then I blink back at him, bro my guy, you are literally in a criminology class but if you're not gonna snitch I'll sure as hell take it.
"I got the money for it so just run it through." I answer him with a shrug. The best thing from the old man's will is the big monthly spending budget. "Phone the cops too though. Wait, no do that after I've bought my shit, I just wanna go drink man." I have to stop him as he goes to grab his phone. Close one, almost screwed it with how jumpy he is.
"Right, okay, that'll be $58.09." He says and I run the card through. Holy shit that's cheap, god bless the USA and it's cheap liquor.
"Ah shit, I forgot about the mix, you guys have coke here?"
"Yeah, right here actually." He grabs a two-litre from the cooler. "Take it man, it's like two bucks." Ayyy nice.
"Yo thanks dude. I'll see you Thursday in crim then." I give him a grin as he bags my stuff.
"Oh? Yeah sure thing man, have a nice day." He passes the bag over. Am I really that forgettable? I wish I was. To be honest, in this case, it's more criminology is one of the most popular classes in the bay.
"You to man, you too." I give him a nod, then step over the crackhead as I leave. He's woken up and has started to groan in pain. Ignoring him, my sneakers crunch on the glass a little. Eh, cleanup isn't that big of a chore. Should be fine, at least it wasn't a cape fight.
"Hey, you like extra caffeine right?" A cute blonde girl with her hair tied up in a fluffy pink winter jacket asks me, holding up a tray of coffee just after I step outside. Normally I'd figure it's some weird social experiment. Which, my sociology class told me is barely done on Earth Bet, and this is Worm, which honestly that should be reason enough, so I take a closer look at her face. Green eyes, smug smirk, faint line of freckles. Ah fuck.
"Normally I'd say fuck off. But instead…" I take the cup. "I'll say thanks, and fuck off." Yeah nope, not buying into her bullshit. She is waifu, yes, but sometimes waifu is a bad idea. Especially when she herself is being fucked over by a guy in a gimp suit.
"Ah shit, can I just ask, like one thing?" She jogs a little to catch up.
"Are you even legal? Thought you were sixteen around right now."
"That has nothing to do with what I wanted to ask, and I just turned seventeen two months back actually, and the age of consent is sixteen here. I didn't think you were a thinker."
"Shoulda thought better." Okay, she set herself up for that one.
"Fuck off, and no, I want to ask that you please stop trying to kill yourself." The shit? How does she even know that? "I've seen you jump off of your house eighteen times now, it's rather alarming how consistently you do that."
"Fuck off, I can unalive on my own time."
"It's just- damnit I'll pay you to stop." She actually sounds a bit whiney there. Wait, she has that thing, doesn't she? Well fuck.
"Sure, gimme twenty bucks." I tell her with a nod. Can just jump somewhere else.
"It doesn't work if I know you're still going to do it."
"Alright, now hear me out. What if I gave you fifty bucks to fuck off?"
"I'm literally offering more."
"You haven't said a number yet."
"And you're not as obnoxious as you seem to think you are." Ouch, that one stung.
"Names Rory, if you didn't know that already."
"I did, still wondering if I should be worried about you knowing my old name."
"Alright, Lisa it is."
"Thanks. Still creepy how much you know, or think you know."
"Why do you think I keep trying to off myself?" I turn to give her a look. She stays quiet after that.
...
And yet, she followed me home. Lisa please, have better situational awareness. I beg of you. This looks sus no matter how you look at it.
"Relax already." She rolls her eyes.
"You're not my dad."
"That has no correlation to anything that was just said. " She scowls.
"I'm just being a dumbass, let me be an idiot in peace."
"That's not very hard."
"Quit being a snarky bitch."
"Nah. And you like it, which is kind of weird."
"Don't go there." I just unlock the door and go in, Lisa follows.
"Doesn't look as bad as I expected it to, pretty cozy actually." She says after taking a gander at the room. And she's right. The bottom floor has a fully stocked kitchen, a dining table with some stools, and a loveseat. Under the stairs going up is the laundry machine and drier. And a big heater. Shit gets cold in a lighthouse, a sensation I was most definitely not ready for after growing up with nerve damage in the former life. So two heaters, the second is upstairs with my bed.
"Take a seat I guess. I plan on getting drunk, you know?" I ask her with a raised brow.
"Yeah, that's fine."
"That's debatable, really." I laugh as I put my bag on the table. Taking a long sip of the coffee, I grab a good-sized glass and bring it over. "So what are you even doing here? I'd figured you would have given up by now."
"Honestly?" She asks, taking a seat on the couch as she takes her jacket off. I nod in return. "Mostly on a whim, try and convince you to stop, as you said, it's not my problem. At this point, I'm making it my problem."
"Fair, but entirely unnecessary."
"So you'll stop?" She looks hopeful but prepared for the worst.
"No, it's a wasted effort. Think you can hook me up with a tinker-tech gun?"
"Fuck off." Lisa scowls, then just sinks into the couch.
I just chuckle to myself as I pour a rum and coke. Now that I think of it, Lisa is pretty tightly wound, a drink could help. "You want one of these?"
"I'm 17, and it's like two."
"So?" Yes, I care not for the laws of this world, I mean suicide is illegal in this state, and I try that every day.
"Pass. You have advil?" Ah of course.
"Overdid it?" I spare her a glance over my shoulder, yeah that's a look of head pain. More specifically a migraine, which Wibbles made thinkers get because hes an asshole or something. Fuck it, I'll just do what I do whenever I get a migraine, so at her lack of a response, I grab a cloth and the requested advil. Then fill up a glass of water while wetting the cloth. "Here, and try putting this over your eyes."
"Thanks. Sure I guess." She takes her pill and leans back, putting the cloth on her face. "Get headaches often from your thinker power?"
"No, I'm prone to migraines. Well, more of a was." I sat down next to her after putting the rum and coke bottles on the coffee table. Easy reach for a refill when I'm getting plastered. Taking a sip from my glass brings in the familiar flavour, this ones for the boys, wherever the hell they may be, god bless.
"Are you a grab bag?" Lisa asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I give her a look to see her face scrunched up in thought, behind her covered eyes.
"Quit thinking, that's what got you this bad in the first place. And no, not that I'm aware of." I say and Lisa scowls at me.
"You're hard to read. It just gets even harder whenever I try going deep."
"Trust me when I say that's a good thing." I take a long sip as Lisa doesn't continue talking after that. Which is fine. It's not an awkward silence. Then again I can enjoy most forms of silence depending on the situation. It's no fun being the cause of an awkward silence.
Beats drinking alone.
...
Water, lots and lots of water. Saltwater, very bitter, burning through me.
I woke up in this world after losing everything in my last, and now I'm dying just two weeks in.
Drowning, the worst fucking way to die. As my lungs burn more than any pain I've felt before, and I've suffered through third-degree burns, I have a cold realization that I'm going to die here.
I'm going to die to a nearly unkillable monster sinking my entire island. To currents so strong I can't swim against them even with a bronze cross, something that seems so utterly useless now.
I can only reach up as the world is further submerged in the water around me, buildings, people, cars and anything in between. My eyes sting at keeping them open, and my lungs burn so so much.
I thought the bottom of the sea would be far murkier, but everything is so clear to me here. This is what this world is, a death world. And now I'm just another statistic, another name on the memorial, another to die to this stupid fucking lizard. Being sent into another world like this one with no strength to protect myself had been a death sentence.
And the next thing I remember is anger, lots and lots of anger. And the ocean no longer burned.
...
Said anger does me no good as I'm startled awake by my alarm going off and promptly smash it to pieces. Shit, need a new one, again. I crawl out of my bed as I rub at my eyes and yawn. No hangover, power dealt with that.
I manage to stumble over to my washroom and see a sticky note on the mirror.
You're a funny drunk- L
I mean, I already knew that. But thanks I guess Lisa. Taking the note down I just brush my teeth and get ready for the day. I can rage, I can scream, I can cry. But what's the point?
Life goes on, and I've already tried to die.