Thirteen
A quart of rum and a bottle of cough medicine. That's all I needed to complete my night. What, with my charred turkey, it's skin crusty and black, and my usual sense of American pride. My hopes and dreams, and a little red typewriter with the words "Property of Fat City" painted on it's side. Is it stolen? The good Lord only knows. And I thank him, for taking good care of my sorry, tired body and keeping me well within these terrible city walls.
I was sniffing some whiskey earlier, but decided to save it. In my strange, drunken state I thought that it would be a good idea to eat some mescaline before starting my meal. Thank you, city, for this meal, and once again, thank God that I'm here to eat it. The pill starting to take hold, the floor started glittering with fascinating colors and shapes.
I sort of levitated for a moment...hovering here instead of sitting. Terrifying vibrations. And the next thing I knew, I was hitting the floor below me with a metal barstool--with some sort of superhuman strength, and a sort of buzzing all over. I was weightless--and so was my bird, my beast. Still cooking, still smoking, flying through a small hole in the floor. Confusion...internal vibrations without any signs of physical movement. Strange, fascinating feelings rushing from the tips of my fingers down to the heels of my feet.
The next thing I know, I'm down. Sobered up and in a searing pain. I've been hit! The bastards finally found me and got me. Oh dear lord--the sting in my leg, the muscle spasms and the blood--the blood so thick and red and dark. Christ, I wonder how much worse this is going to get. I'm amazed that I can keep typing. Screaming. But I must continue. I must note this entire experience...so that I do not forget. I will not forget what God did to me, today. I need my attorney---where is my attorney? Someone get me a doctor---where is my doctor...? How long can I maintain...how long can I---
[ooc: Ichabod's fault.]
I was sniffing some whiskey earlier, but decided to save it. In my strange, drunken state I thought that it would be a good idea to eat some mescaline before starting my meal. Thank you, city, for this meal, and once again, thank God that I'm here to eat it. The pill starting to take hold, the floor started glittering with fascinating colors and shapes.
I sort of levitated for a moment...hovering here instead of sitting. Terrifying vibrations. And the next thing I knew, I was hitting the floor below me with a metal barstool--with some sort of superhuman strength, and a sort of buzzing all over. I was weightless--and so was my bird, my beast. Still cooking, still smoking, flying through a small hole in the floor. Confusion...internal vibrations without any signs of physical movement. Strange, fascinating feelings rushing from the tips of my fingers down to the heels of my feet.
The next thing I know, I'm down. Sobered up and in a searing pain. I've been hit! The bastards finally found me and got me. Oh dear lord--the sting in my leg, the muscle spasms and the blood--the blood so thick and red and dark. Christ, I wonder how much worse this is going to get. I'm amazed that I can keep typing. Screaming. But I must continue. I must note this entire experience...so that I do not forget. I will not forget what God did to me, today. I need my attorney---where is my attorney? Someone get me a doctor---where is my doctor...? How long can I maintain...how long can I---
[ooc: Ichabod's fault.]