Posted: March 13, 2010 in Fiction
I think it would be pretty damn funny to have “Telephone” by Lady Gaga as a ring tone.  Also, this:

All you can see is red.  Well, maybe not.  There are red lines shot through what turns out to be orange.  It’s freezing.  Well, maybe not.  You’re freezing.  That’s probably more accurate.  There are muffled sounds of lust.  Your best guess is that they are leaking through a nearby wall.  For an instant, you remember when you thought that was the sound of love.  The thought vanishes, mostly because you really aren’t in the mood to listen to other people fuck.  You figure out why everything is orange: your eyes are still closed, and the place you occupy must be well-lit.  You sigh, then open your eyelids.  They don’t snap open, or even flutter.  Each lid lifts with the slow grind of a rising portcullis.  You groan.  Now, everything is a washed-out white.  You blink, and darker shapes start to form.  It takes forever for lines to harden, but eventually a room comes into focus.  Gods, are they still fucking in there?  Wait – It’s only been a few seconds.  You guess that’s acceptable, but you still don’t want to listen to it.  You’re lying on your back, and you guess the floor isn’t that supportive because your shoulders ache at the mere thought of moving.  You argue with your body inside your head.  “Look,” you think.  “The only way to fix any of this shit is to move.”  It’s been a long time since you had to persuade yourself to act, but it seems to work.  One shoulder lifts off the ground, and an elbow slides into place and keeps you up.  The other follows suit, and you are able to survey more than a ceiling.  On your right is a crumpled up quilt.  It stirs a bit, as though your gaze rested too heavily upon it.  Someone is under there.  You look down at yourself.  Still dressed.  Okay, so no need to worry about what you did last night yet.  You glance around the room.  There’s an L-shaped couch in the corner.  That is to say, occupying two of the walls of the room.  At one end, a patio door mercilessly allows sunlight into the room.  At the other end is a door that you suspect conceals one person removing another’s brain through fornication.  The wall opposite that door has a television and a door that you somehow know is the bathroom.  Excellent.  You vault to your feet.  Or you intended to; what really happens looks more like it was directed by George Romero.  Continuing to move like a restless corpse,  you shamble to this bathroom.  You open the door, and are surprised at how unfurnished it is.  No shower curtain.  No toothbrush.  No rug.  No toilet paper.  You check the toilet, and it does work, so you use it according to the manufacturer’s instructions.  One problem down, three to go.  You shiver again.  As you leave the bathroom, you find that your bag is sitting on the floor at one end of the room.  A moment’s rummaging yields your mp3 player.  Oh, joyous day!  Two to go.  You wander back to the quilt, and tug experimentally.  It’s not anchored under the person, so you carefully and quietly maneuver your  form to take maximum advantage.  Your feet still hang out, but you have shoes on anyway.  You put your headphones in and turn on the first rock music you come to.  You pull the quilt up over your head.  No light, no unwanted noise, and you’ll be warm enough soon.

  1. Tonnya says:

    “Telephone” is my general ring tone 🙂
    And this…(As you say) ;)…having read from what I assume is the beginnings of this blog to here in a day and a half’s time, I have to point out that you are incredible. Your imagination is something I wish I had even a portion of, and passages like this are probably my favorites. Not to say that Steel and Controller didn’t have my rapt attention, but I love the imagery in these small posts. I feel like it would be feasible that I am living it while I read. Well done my friend. I look forward to stalking you further 🙂

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