where we left off:
paul had obtained the weapon of destruction from the very creatures the abomination is linked to. agents, they are, of the periphery sent to aide and uphold the archaic treaty the two realms both agreed upon long ago. a glass vial of some unfathomable chemical obtained from the apothecary seemed an unlikely weapon of destruction to paul, but who was he to know? the inexplicable urge to come to the convenient store slowly vanished with the disappearance of the malevolent weapon provider. paul started to think again, the absence of thought he had just experienced for however long (he guessed minutes, but felt hours) flooded back into his consciousness. it was as if a damn containing every imaginative detail of the evil deed, fictional and exaggerated, had unpredictably burst. he felt himself becoming, once again, a pathetic, whimpering lump of flesh. his hand shot up to steady himself against the store's front wall, surprised by the sudden wave of dizziness that overcame him, and abruptly vomited yellow, acidic bile. it wasn't the gushing of a full stomach, but the drizzle of a spout only half opened. it dribbled onto his dirty shoes and exploded on impact. the unfavorable taste of sour lemons and hot sauce coated his mouth, and another heave shortly followed, this one strong enough to force vomit into and out of his nostrils.
paul needed a drink of water and quick but he knew something else was supposed to happen, something so momentous and essential that he could not possibly return home. besides, only more pain awaited him there, it seemed to fester and leak from inside the very walls. the closest source of free water, that paul could think of, was at the stadium- due west. paul looked up at the westward horizon with it's stadium lights ablaze. a second sunrise, blue, dim and forever rising in the west, opposite in every way to our standard sun. perhaps, he supposed, he had hit the border between the periphery and his home realm. it would seem that their sun never quite rose but permanently hovered in the act of rising. that's it, paul thought, that's the direction i must go. equipped with the weapon of the fiends home world and being lodged somewhere in limbo between dimensions, paul set off west.
each step brought more and more pain to his dully aching gut, his throat remained dry and his saliva (which he constantly swallowed hoping to quench, if not rid himself of, that awful burning sensation) congealed bitterly in the back of his mouth. he crossed empty roads approaching the artificial dawn ahead until finally the stadium, the town's ziggurat, loomed menacingly ahead of him. when seeing it, though, paul realized that his enemy lie, not here, but further on into the blasted lands and beyond the overpass. ne'er-do-wells and thieves lay in wait for the unwary traveler, it would be risky, but paul was willing to take it, anything to satisfy the urge that would eventually drive him mad.
he stumbled, thirst driving him crazy, to the water fountain across the way, by the ticket booth. he leaned the full weight of his body against its metal shell and pushed the fountain's button, polka dotted with green and white oxidization. with each gulp of water he felt his disposition improve, the problem was that every swallow of cold liquid was immediately followed by an even more intense thirst. he drank, still, until he felt his throbbing belly would burst. his abdomen still seemed to be displeased, this paul attributed to the amount of coffee he had regrettably consumed earlier that night. this was before the problem came to light, before he heard the terrible news and before discovering the fruition of the sheets sowing.
paul staggered on, one hand hovering on his distended belly the other gripping an already lit cigarette. each puff disgusted him and calmed him at the same time. a pharmakon, he supposed, once again marveling at the conflicting meanings the word held. his mind slowly dimming, his eyes slowly separating, his mouth slowly gaping. a thin sliver of drool ran down his foolish, beet red face. he wasn't among the living, he was in the border lands among the periphery but still within his own realm so as not to break the code. he vaguely comprehends the odd assortment of flashes and shapes, colors and spots, objects and humanoid forms that dance in and out of his vision. the denizens of the forbidden space.
paul came to around the laundro-mat. the entire front of his shirt reeked and clung wetly to his chest and upon closer inspection the sickly sweet smell of bile invaded his still running nose. the mucus, whose path remained undisturbed in paul's comatose daze, had ferried itself across his gaping maw and crept along the chin until reaching his neck. his slitted eyes bulged wetly against two swollen eyelids and rolled about lazily like two fat maggots under a layer of rotting organic flesh. up ahead, directly in his path, approached two strangely dressed men, one much larger than the other, their faces obscured by beanies stretched well past the brow. paul, realizing the potential danger of the situation, calmly swerved towards the back of the silent laundry store.
he ducked under a dryer vent, jets of warm, spring time scented air gushed down pauls exposed ass crack. this sent a chill of pleasure up his boney spine. after waiting a for a minute or so, paul felt it was safe to at least peek out from behind the corner of the store. the two men, hands shoved snugly into their hoodie pockets, appeared to be waiting for something at a nearby bus stop, directly across and in front of paul's hiding spot. something or someone, paul was not sure which.
not too long after, the dryer exhaust shut off and paul began to shiver uncontrollably, the unquenchable thirst began to creep back into his burned throat, returning stronger than ever. his stomach ached bitterly and his bowels began grumbling noisily, his uncomfortably hunched position doing little to mitigate the gastrointestinal turmoil. he felt gas coming but, for some reason he couldn't pass it. this offered him some relief, if slightly more discomfort, for the fart could potentially arouse the attention of the two strange men standing by the bus stop. he wished to discover what foul deeds the two had and if they had anything to do with him or his mission.
the night, still cold and silent as before, slowly dragged by and the two subjects of paul's paranoia seemed to be growing rather impatient. a grumble could be heard form time to time but from which one and what it was about, paul could not tell. surely they had seen him duck behind the laundro-mat, if they meant any harm shouldn't they have confronted him by now?
paul, still squatting, readjusted his crouch so as to possibly let the build up of methane escape slowly and silently. his anus flexed powerfully allowing a pinprick sized hole to be formed, noxious fumes began seeping forth and a squeek, well timed with a cough from one of the two men, was the only noise from paul. while this eased his pain considerably, it did nothing for the throat pains that began tickling his esophagus. he would have to cough and very soon.
It was then that the taller one removed the beanie that prevented paul from identifying him. he knew the man, vaguely, they had been introduced by an absent minded mutual friend, Co-worker C, jimbo was his name and paul was none too impressed by his intimidating character. he had heard that this man, large and powerful, had been imprisoned twice on assault charges. of the two people he had beaten, one paul knew was eating through a straw for about a month, his jaws wired shut. the other victim currently lived with his mother, he never quite recovered after that severe beating. If the taller one was jimbo then the shorter one must be lefty, his shadow and only companion. lefty paul was unfamiliar with, though he had heard that the two men jimbo had pummeled were not on friendly terms with lefty. lefty was probably the brains, then, making jimbo the brawn. paul was sure that if he was seen by the two of them he would end up making a hospital visit. not now, maybe later.
just then paul saw a flash of light to the left of the men. the two slowly began making their way towards the sudden movement, gradually creeping out of paul's sight, they whispered excitedly to one another. paul quietly moved to the front most corner of the building hoping to get a better view of the wicked men, only to catch the back end of jimbo as he clambered stupidly into a blue sedan. the windows were heavily tinted so paul could not ascertain the identity or form of the driver. it switched gears, abruptly did a U turn adn sped down the main road. paul could just make out the red lights as they turned left down Lime street. this must be where the creature's layer is. those bastards must've been in cahoots with that blasted sheet, thought paul to himself. he chuckled dryly to himself, wincing slightly, but very proud of his fourth rate detective skills. he began walking towards Lime street.
the street, upon closer examination, is more of a thin stretch of pavement wide enough for maybe half a car to get into. the street lights have all but been forgotten by the city workmen and have long since blown out. he looks down the dark path, the last bit of available light shining behind him. the form stretching before paul, his own shadow, made him seem double his original size. he admires the darkened shade, its long, alien like fingers and extended legs, and begins to laugh. clearly the circumstances of the night have all but driven our poor paul mad. he delights in his shadow, feeling much larger than life and twice as human. his penis, also, seemed two sizes too large. of course, this was only just a shadow and nothing more, but it had a great effect on paul's disintegrating mental state.
"when," he wondered aloud, "when will i fall back into that beautiful state?"
he began his walk down the narrow street as if it were a sunny day at the park.
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