journey from my brain to my stomach.
No, no, no, no, no. I will not be one of those people who vomit after watching extreme violence first hand. I've been desensitizing myself to this type of thing for years: through movies, video games, thoughts, and dreams. Sure, all of them pale in comparison to this, but still... time to show my resolve. I focus on my breathing. Deep breaths, Chales, deep breaths. Inhale, exhale; that's it. Again. Inhale, exhale. It's not too hard to breath, after all. Just take it easy. Think about mountains, think about tits, just don't think about telling yourself what not to think about, because then you'll think about it.
Oops.
A second tide of nausea hits, flushing over me with the warmth of a bath. Oh man. Keep breathing. Concentrate on the cold and how it is clawing at your flesh, but definitely not how it is making steam rise from the blood. Damnit! Did it again. The urge to puke-stuck somewhere in my chest-drops, completing its journey to my stomach.
Game over. Prepare for ejection.
I wrench my head off my arms and turn, ready to spew, but to my surprise the dog is sitting right beside me. Surprise suppresses the vomit, and the dog and I just sit and gawk at each other. I guess it's just a puppy, really, with fur so black all I can see clearly are the eyes. It appraises me, decides I'm a friend, and licks me on the nose.
"Looks like you made a new friend." The stranger’s voice stirs me back to what is what. I'd almost forgotten about him. I glance over in his direction. He is casually attempting to wipe blood from himself with snow. Even from here I can tell the effort is futile-all he is doing is making more of a mess. I let my head fall back onto my arms. The dog nuzzles against me. Words can't express how much I appreciate this small comfort.
"I don't think I'm gunna be able to use this vehicle after all." The stranger says. I look back up. Having come to terms with the fact that snow is not a sufficient cleaning agent to rid a pint of blood from pants and boots, he turns and starts heading for my car. "So how about that ride? I'll give you two hundred bucks, straight up."
"Fine." I mumble. I don't want my head crushed, and besides, the experience I just endured wore me to the very core. I don't have the strength to resist anymore. If this sick bastard wants a ride, he can have one. I should have agreed from the beginning, or better yet-I should have jumped when I had the chance.
I get to my feet. The dog does the same. "Come on." I say to it. It just looks at me. "Come on!" I say again. It remains a statue. What am I even doing? Why am I trying to take this dog? "Forget it." I growl, and walk to my car. The dog takes off back toward its former master. I watch it run up, inspect the scene, and start lapping up blood with a gusto.
Good lord...
Stomach: eject.
Chapter the Sixth
"You know where Crunum is?" The stranger asks.
"The mine?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, I think so."
"Head that way."
For a very long while, those are the only words spoken between us. On an average day, I am not one to shy away from silence. I have no problem being alone with only my thoughts, and perhaps if I was having 'thoughts,' that would be the case now. But I'm not having 'thoughts,' I'm having A thought, and it is the Chales Anthon remix of the horror I just witnessed. I can't get the fucking sound of that woman's skull cracking off asphalt out of my head. I have been traumatized-of that I am sure-and I'm giving the man responsible a ride.
Chales... ye have no spine.
But what fucking choice did I have? He brutally murdered that woman for no reason at all; I can only imagine what he would have done to me. And what else would I be doing right now anyway? I've got nothing: absolutely nothing. Two hundred bucks is a nice start to something.
I sneak a peek at the stranger. His head is resting against the window: looks like he's asleep. Maybe this is my second chance at suicide, uh? I can crash right now, take
No, no, no, no, no. I will not be one of those people who vomit after watching extreme violence first hand. I've been desensitizing myself to this type of thing for years: through movies, video games, thoughts, and dreams. Sure, all of them pale in comparison to this, but still... time to show my resolve. I focus on my breathing. Deep breaths, Chales, deep breaths. Inhale, exhale; that's it. Again. Inhale, exhale. It's not too hard to breath, after all. Just take it easy. Think about mountains, think about tits, just don't think about telling yourself what not to think about, because then you'll think about it.
Oops.
A second tide of nausea hits, flushing over me with the warmth of a bath. Oh man. Keep breathing. Concentrate on the cold and how it is clawing at your flesh, but definitely not how it is making steam rise from the blood. Damnit! Did it again. The urge to puke-stuck somewhere in my chest-drops, completing its journey to my stomach.
Game over. Prepare for ejection.
I wrench my head off my arms and turn, ready to spew, but to my surprise the dog is sitting right beside me. Surprise suppresses the vomit, and the dog and I just sit and gawk at each other. I guess it's just a puppy, really, with fur so black all I can see clearly are the eyes. It appraises me, decides I'm a friend, and licks me on the nose.
"Looks like you made a new friend." The stranger’s voice stirs me back to what is what. I'd almost forgotten about him. I glance over in his direction. He is casually attempting to wipe blood from himself with snow. Even from here I can tell the effort is futile-all he is doing is making more of a mess. I let my head fall back onto my arms. The dog nuzzles against me. Words can't express how much I appreciate this small comfort.
"I don't think I'm gunna be able to use this vehicle after all." The stranger says. I look back up. Having come to terms with the fact that snow is not a sufficient cleaning agent to rid a pint of blood from pants and boots, he turns and starts heading for my car. "So how about that ride? I'll give you two hundred bucks, straight up."
"Fine." I mumble. I don't want my head crushed, and besides, the experience I just endured wore me to the very core. I don't have the strength to resist anymore. If this sick bastard wants a ride, he can have one. I should have agreed from the beginning, or better yet-I should have jumped when I had the chance.
I get to my feet. The dog does the same. "Come on." I say to it. It just looks at me. "Come on!" I say again. It remains a statue. What am I even doing? Why am I trying to take this dog? "Forget it." I growl, and walk to my car. The dog takes off back toward its former master. I watch it run up, inspect the scene, and start lapping up blood with a gusto.
Good lord...
Stomach: eject.
Chapter the Sixth
"You know where Crunum is?" The stranger asks.
"The mine?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, I think so."
"Head that way."
For a very long while, those are the only words spoken between us. On an average day, I am not one to shy away from silence. I have no problem being alone with only my thoughts, and perhaps if I was having 'thoughts,' that would be the case now. But I'm not having 'thoughts,' I'm having A thought, and it is the Chales Anthon remix of the horror I just witnessed. I can't get the fucking sound of that woman's skull cracking off asphalt out of my head. I have been traumatized-of that I am sure-and I'm giving the man responsible a ride.
Chales... ye have no spine.
But what fucking choice did I have? He brutally murdered that woman for no reason at all; I can only imagine what he would have done to me. And what else would I be doing right now anyway? I've got nothing: absolutely nothing. Two hundred bucks is a nice start to something.
I sneak a peek at the stranger. His head is resting against the window: looks like he's asleep. Maybe this is my second chance at suicide, uh? I can crash right now, take
Similar Books
