Strange Days And Paracetamol
By SummonerOfShadows666
"Strange Days And Paracetamol"
a short story
Every morning seems too similar. One moment I look towards the window
and it's still there. The same old plant pot with the wilting herbs. The
sounds of water dripping from a leaky faucet. An old Smucker's jar used
as a keep for spare change. It seems that I'm the only person to notice
these things. I complain about them. I really do. But there's nothing I
could do about it. The urge is too great. I sometimes wished I could
have kept the change, as I have no money, but Mom won't let me; I could
have called the plumber and done something about it, but my parent's rules
tell me I shouldn't pick up the phone on any reason. I water the plants
on several occasions, but it's dead.
Every night, however, is a different story.
When I was writing a composition on genomes last Tuesday, something
struck me that something strange, something off, is taking place. My intuition
leads me to the kitchen, again, when I saw a dead snake that was choking
on paracetamol. By the time I had arrived, the foam had dried. My guess
is the snake must have sneaked its way from the bathroom window. The window
there is always open. Not fully open, but large enough for an eagle to
perch in the windowsill. I don't even know if that makes any sense.
Then, a day later, I lost my copy of "The Dark Knight Returns"
by Frank Miller. I was going to finish it tomorrow, but I was busy with
tons of club meetings. I was frustrated. I could cope up with the deadlines
often, because, I wanted it to be finished as fast as possible. But now
I don't feel like working. Right now, I'm sitting on a couch while watching
a Netflix original. I won't give away the title. It's a story about a corrupt
and manipulative congressman. That's all. That's all I do when I feel extremely
lazy. My laziness is so evident in my life that I actually place them
in different levels. I'm on the lazy A.F. level. With an environment like
this, I hate to be lazy.
In times like these I sometimes think I'm Holden Caulfield.
The next night, when I sat on the couch, I heard a dripping noise
behind the dining table. My pseudo-Holmesian deduction skills tells me
it's just rain water, but it hasn't rained all month.
Then, on Friday, when I was walking to the gym, I got into a fight
with a street thug. He had a switchblade and started threatening me - he
told me that I had not paid my debts. So I tried to reason with that jerkface, diplomatically.
"Where's my money, jerk? Tryna cheat me outta my 8-grand? Huh?"
"What the f***! I didn't borrow any money from you, get off me!"
"Shut up! Give me my money!"
I thought that this was the best opportunity for me to demonstrate
a basic Krav Maga disarming technique. He lunged forward, bringing the
knife point blank to my chest, somewhat like fencing. Impulsiveness signals
me to break his right arm. But when I was in the course of doing so, however,
he cried out like a baby. I quickly ran as far as possible and went home.
I felt proud. But I felt sorry for the thug.
A few minutes later, I came back. The thug was gone. What a relief.
Yesterday, I went cycling. Everything seems to be fine at the moment.
Until this message came:
Nome
DePloom
Messenger
MAY 26, 8:39 PM
"Yo fam did ya get my dope??? Answer plsss"
My response was quick, easy and highly rational:
"F*** off, man."
Sent
He seemed quite solemn at his response:
"Yo fam"
But what he said next scared the hell out of me.
"U broke my muthaf***in arm, fam!!! Dont make me f*** with u!!"
Holy s***, he's after me.
I didn't call the police. I ran like a mad cheetah being chased
by another mad cheetah. When I reached home, I went to my bedroom and reached
for my iPhone. I switched to an auxiliary account I've been keeping for
quite a long time ago. I fell fast asleep. Man, I thought I couldn't get
enough sleep after what had happened lately. I really look forward for
a whole day without anything bad happening. I really do.