brewing: rough outline

the narrator, telling an audience of some sort, describing how often he retells these events. Those he lives with insist he is the most skilled at story telling though the narrator believes otherwise. His modesty, the reason's for, become clear as the story progresses. He tells the story to new comers and old friends who encircle him in a sweat tent. 

over all setting: lets see, 

global super power Z, in the year X-

scene 1.) rainbow mountain, capricious youth in the face of impending fate and the age of enlightenment- setting: 

the narrator, martin, begins on a slightly positive note. His childhood spent with the other wandering children (those, he later admits, fall in line) in the disintegrating patch of forest just outside their apartment complex. The apartment building, itself, lies on the outer most edge of the vast metropolis and is soon to be surpassed and consumed by further urban  development. This area is considered suburbia but, since population has escalated as such, it only vaguely resembles modern suburbia. Compared to the inner city, buildings atop of other buildings, this place truly is a peaceful settlement (though, once again, not by our standards). The lower levels, upon reaching the city's center, are, naturally, where the more desolate and impoverished reside. Glass like streets and sidewalks ring the upper levels where, when looking down, one could see the less fortunate go about in total toil and strife. The further away one gets the more the two levels merge, once you hit suburbia, the two are completely joined and no lower level exists. 

The story: Martin (eight or nine years of age) and his four other peers sit atop a steep, though short, drop overlooking rainbow mountain. The city scape can be seen nearby on the horizon, but Martin looks not at the wondrous buildings and setting sun, he instead stares at a small mockingbird  perched in a close tree. His companions keep watch for rival children from the apartment complex for they covet the precious mountain and the limited forest space surrounding it as well. 

*rainbow mountain is more of a clay hill with multicolored layers, to a child it appears immense and unconquerable* 

Martin, while narrating, speaks of this period as one of ignorance, acceptance and hopelessness. Children, before the age of twelve (the transitional stage in this future), are allowed to roam free of their parents watch. most parents, if not all, are completely indifferent/unaware of their children's whereabouts and fully reliant on technology to keep a watchful eye as well as an informant/teacher of basic human values and language. 

*the parents do care only when concerns of the age are brought about. parents here are terribly irresponsible by our standards, but much hullabaloo is caused by such trite issues as television censorship and video game violence, while real issues such as proper parental care or concern, are cast aside.* 

Martin watches the mockingbird with interest and reflects, at this time, on his interest in birds, while admittedly, not a bird watcher. he returns home to an obese father lazily watching a multiple screened television attached to an arm chair. his mother, not far, does the same, the two take no notice of martin's return and ask no questions concerning the childish events of the day.  he retires to his bedroom where the nanny-bot (a bed, speaker, lens and monitor with a keyboard) greets him warmly. he sighs and falls into his bed, the nanny plays a soft lullaby and presents, in the screen, a happy go lucky learning program for kids much younger than him. 

scene 2.) birth of a miracle, the precipice of youth and the enlightenment- 

setting: 

this takes place two years after scene 1, martin's mother had just given birth to a baby boy. the excitement in the household leaves much to be desired. doctors are on call in this age. people prefer to stay within the mind numbing safety of their homes and are actually encouraged to stay indoors unless going to work. 

*workplaces in the urban section of the city are reached via tube or tube car, upon reaching the enclosed city (under the protection of a dome that acts as an artificial ozone), walking or cab can take you to your destination. people here rarely opt for the walking ticket and, as a result, most (not all) people have weight problems.* 

the doctor sedates the soon to be mother while the father comfortably watches television. upon delivery and spank, the father may, at times, glance over and smile sluggishly at his snoring wife and name the child dismissively before getting back to his program. 

*not always the case, but more often than not. the large jump in childbirth and lack of importance associated with births (unless it's that of a celebrity) make the process as celebrated as a fart.* 

the story: 

Martin peeks in the living room from the hallway where he remains hidden from the doctors view. the doctor, using some baby monitor device, determines the child unfit. retarded physically and mentally. the parents don't respond, the wife farts and the father eats. an auto pram-bot is summoned and it carts the crying baby into a small, nearby room past the hidden martin. he peeks into the room, fascinated by this mysterious life, and watches the pram-bot warmly soothe and quiet the fussing baby. gentle humanoid hands rub and pat, digitalized, but soothing nonetheless, voice sings a crooning lullaby much similar to the lullaby the nanny-bot sang to martin. martin joins the two and falls fast asleep next to them. 

the next day, distant relatives (mainly the grandparents who, unlike the majority of the population, are much more traditional) send gifts. the parents, childlike glee and greed, rip them apart for anything of any monetary or mature significance. a rattle and a book are given to martin to be delivered to his "retard brother, melvin." the first time martin heard his brother's name. 

the book is of some interest to martin (who had never seen such an antique treasure) and he engrosses himself in it. the book is a patrimonial item their grandfather (whom martin met once or twice on the subway in passing) and depicts a glorious future through the eyes of some author in the seventies. the year two thousand, flying cars, floating cities, happy people in bubble helmets. none of the pictures resemble anything like the life martin lives in, he becomes suspicious, but intrigued. 

the life martin lived, he realized, wasn't the life intended for any man, woman or child. this ancient text, much like the numbing programming he was forced to endure, seemed to make impossible promises based on the assumption that humans were inherently progressive in a positive way. that, given enough time, all our wildest fancies would come true so long as certain guidelines were followed. given his situation, the uncertain feelings and attitudes he associated with middle school as well as adult hood (the lack of respect he had towards most adults), he could see that the progress once promised and currently reinforced was a farce. an opiate, of sorts. these bubble headed, smiling goof balls man kind been awoke some dormant, rebellious (passively) urge within martin's brain. he decided that, instead of the traditional transformation from child to adult ( a process that involved the purchasing of a mobile arm chair and multi screen, often obesity) he would choose a more scenic, outdated route. 

He began reading the story to melvin. melvin, incapable of any real comprehension, seemed to be put at ease by this and, often, put to sleep by it. martin, while narrating, supposes it had more to do with the tone of his guiding voice rather than the actual story. but his brother's response only encouraged him to seek more books to read. 

He read to melvin nightly, the calming effect the story had on his younger, disabled brother (as i said) only encouraged martin to seek out copies of other ancient texts. The nanny-bot, not used to this sort of request, seemed intrigued by the young martin's interest and offered (strangely enough) to help martin his quest. 

*the nanny-bot, given young martin's strange behavior, started to develop strange neurotic tendencies completely uncommon with other models. his interest in books (especially literature outside of her database-limited to child fiction) and other things outside of her memory banks spurred the creation of some unheard of, self created program to better 'soothe' the children. soothing and caring for was the only purpose of a nanny-bot model, when a child - martin later supposes- goes outside of these boundaries, the nanny-bot must upgrade or 'learn.' especially since every child is different.* 

at first she agreed to read whatever book was brought to her, including the strange, eye opening book martin was given. martin, after searching far and wide, found that books (with the exception of romance novels and erotica, these the nanny-bot refused to read) were, indeed, a rare and obsolete commodity. the nanny read to the brothers what few acceptable books were given to her. 

as martin grew, she began to suggest (with her mapping system she had detail directions and locations) stores that might sell what martin was looking for. him and melvin had been growing and, martin at least, craved something a little more adult. 

scene 3.) another eye opening moment, the seedy underbelly, classic literature and the explosion- 

setting: 

Martin is significantly older by now, nineteen, almost twenty. his younger brother is now almost ten. the household is much the same though martin's father had got a raise and had bought a dual screen attachment so that the family could enjoy television together. this wasn't really the reason, martin narrates, more a sign of success. the two parents could watch television on one large screen attached to the both of their chairs, with higher definition, and call it family time. it should be said that, at this age (like driving and obtaining a drivers license is now) martin should have, like any other normal adult, been awarded the responsibility of his own chair. through the chair one could access a web of outside communication, entertainment and shopping. the chair isn't absolutely necessary (though most adults at the time would disagree) but, like any other proof of identity, it helped immensely. the chair that was brought in when martin turned twelve sat forgotten in the corner gathering dust. his parents took absolutely no notice of the fact, just assumed he used it when they weren't paying attention (which was almost all day and everyday) and raised no question. neither did his lack of weight gain, apathetic approach or his constant absence (he slept at the house and cared for his disabled brother) raise any complaints. the people his age, even those he once considered friends, had easy access to the city and the fleeting trends associated with this consumer culture. people like martin were often teased, ignored or just plain ostracized. the result, martin got his fair share of taunts and questioning looks from peers and 'superiors' alike. his school teachers complained bitterly at the lack of social incorporation. 

*school was the only time martin accessed the internet (the major source of communication) for classes were attended online: the main screen showing the teacher presenting the subject with various programs, the other multiple screens showing his classmates, distractedly listening (probably watching some television program simultaneously). this he managed to access using his surrogate mother, the nanny-bot. the nanny, at this age, should have been scraped and replaced with the arm chair. the nanny-bot model, since, has been upgraded to handle more with much less flexibility towards a child's fickle nature (the model became much more stern and insistent on children, the improved model given to martin's family for melvin was sold by martin to a family whose nanny had malfunctioned). martin stuck with his self  advancing nanny and, as a result, was able to do less with his online classes. teachers often complained to his parents (who only bitched if they bugged the two enough), but otherwise, martin got decent grades.* 

the story: 

martin, with the continued help of his nanny, wanders the streets of 'uptown.' here he has little success at finding books, if he does it's at an unreasonable price. martin finds work at an 'uptown' grocery store as a bag boy. here he falls in love with a girl, a fellow bagger. she introduces him to a scene of kids much like him, though not so severe. to martin, these people (though they preach profusely about non-conformity) are no different from the average citizen of this absurdly lazy country. they rely on the exact modes of transport and communication, they even shop excessively (though, in truth, not as much as the normal person). the group fancies themselves as collectors and here is where martin gets the information he needs to create a broad list of book genres/categories. their families are rich, though, and the group's young adults, like it or not, have obediently followed the rules set by their society. this they've used to obtain books (though most say they've read them, they really just purchase them for trophies sake) by pleasing their parents enough to pay for their 'quaintly rebellious' hobbies. martin hates his parents enough that this approach seems unacceptable. the girl later cheats on him and breaks his heart leaving him, once again, without a companion. 

after drilling the nanny for information she, eventually, let's on to the location of a thrift store (the words completely lost on martin) in the "lower" section of town. unaware of any hostility between upper and lower sections of the city, martin ventures down foolishly and here he meets phillipe (who comes into play later). rather, phillipe interrogates him, confronts and robs him with a knife. phillipe and his gang (martin notices) are smoking strange tubular sticks before and after they approach the oblivious martin. martin learns, now, of the great separation between classes, supposedly a thing of the past, and purchases his first pack of cigarettes from a nearby store. he, learning his lesson, avoids phillipe's street by taking a much longer route to the thrift store. 

*much to his delight, many cheap, worn down books were going for sale. the thrift store, again, to his surprise, was right next to a convenient store where he bought his smokes.* 

the nanny-bot didn't take kindly to his smoking, martin's parents remained unaware of his habit fully. she insisted (after much debate) that he smoke out of his brother's sight from then on. 

the explosion happened in some section of the country currently uninhabited. a thick chunk of arid forest (a stretch of desert four miles south of) was hit by a projectile which origins (to the narrator's day) remained unknown. the effects were unknown and covered up by the country's government (a bioweapon assumed to be responsible for the indigenous animals mutation, as well as those, later, found in humans) who explained the whole mess as a mix-up between countries (which actually might have been true). a year later, reports of strange deformities began creeping along the outskirts of major cities and residential areas. the response, large reinforced dome walls were constructed along each perimeter. Martin's nanny-bot, fully aware of human's nuclear and chemical capabilities, began to worry. 

scene 4.) the end of the positive note, decisions, the alliance, the ultimate question- 

setting: 

the country had been hit with an explosive projectile from some unknown enemy. being a global super power and a nation of self absorbed citizens and politicians, without any real sense of self, enemies were great and allies few and almost nonexistent. the governments advanced technology searched far and wide, without much success, as to the location of the attackers, mainly to counter the attack with one far more devastating. the appearance of "monsters" (though the term was only used by the narrator presently) was a short lived concern for the majority of citizens, mostly because monsters before were products of improper toxic waste dumping (residual effects form the far less environmentally conscious country before) and usually harmless. 

*the new breeds were larger and much more violent, especially towards humanoids. though, then, the creatures were less in numbers but given the later decline of human civilizations, the creatures interbred and became much more of a threat.* 

as it were, the country overcame the sudden attack and the offspring thereof, the government kept its people subdued but with soothing hints that they should be much more aware of anything out of the ordinary. otherwise, the next two years went smoothly. until martin, by the age of twenty three, experienced the apocalyptic bombing and life determining decisions. 

the story: 

martin, discussing in private the possibilities of a 'worst case scenario' (but with much doubt) was ordered by the nanny (who had, by now, reached an almost human level of caring, but still planned the most rational, robotic way) to, if the situation occurred, follow her escape plan to a T. she instructed martin of all the possible escape routes in the city, most centered in the deteriorating lower levels and subways (for, with the appearance of hostile creatures, tube travel between cities was submerged) with melvin and, if possible, his parents. he jokingly told her he would rahter cart her 'heavy ass' around for miles than his own parents to which she reacted (never before had she done this) with a harsh, almost violent tone. he was to never, under any circumstances, remove her from their home. shocked, and a little hurt, martin agreed. she calmly read the brothers their last story that night ___________(book referencing end times?) 

martin worked the next evening, his new reading material was growing thin as was his brother's patience with the same story over and over (although he was mentally disabled, melvin showed a surprising amount of receptive understanding), so martin worked longer hours with the very girl he had fell for (though now disgusted). 

on his way into the apartment, the power went out. that is, the power shut off completely, city wide. he had absolutely no access to the twentieth floor his house was on (the entire city, basic functions and all, ran on juice from the power plant). he worried slightly, after all, he had never, in his whole life, seen the power shut off. 

*later explained as an EMP shock wave* 

after circling the building, he found a remote fire escape stairway, so old, he had to break the door hinges to enter. he calmly walked up the stair case, all twenty flights, until at last he reached the twentieth floor and, once again, broke in. he repeatedly knocked on his door and was, eventually, let in by a thoroughly exhausted mother. she berated him for being out while such a distressing event was occurring (she rarely cared when he left, only when they had something they needed his help with did they ever complain), and that his brother was freaking out (he was the only one who took care of him, martin's parents had no knowledge of shutting a 'retard' up). martin ignored her complaints. as he opened the door to greet his frightened brother something large and bright flooded his vision and martin was propelled, with great force, backwards. 

he regained consciousness moments later to find his brothers room ablaze, a section of the wall and floor (where melvin's bed had been) had been completely separated form the complex. his brother was dead. panic, adrenalin and other foreign chemical responses flooded martin's body, it was nanny's voice ("go, martin, run, plan, run, go, martin, run, plan, go, escape...) that broke his trance. with a last frightful glimpse at the nanny, and a silent goodbye in return, he fled the hallway. his father, puny legs shredded, reached up towards him from his toppled arm chair while martin's mother futilely attempted to lift his girth from the only working vehicle...

*martin's mother had been seated in her chair when the explosion went off. the chair absorbed most of the blast and was ruined. the father, facing the blast, had been horribly disfigured and taken most of the force instead of the chair. martin supposed his mother was trying to drag his father off in order to save her own life on the chair-which had a temporary battery cell in case of emergency* 

he cried out, for the first time in his life, the word "son," and beckoned him closer to help. martin's mother shrieked horribly and thrashed about wildly while trying to move her crippled husband. martin stared in overwhelming shock (while narrating, martin admits that most of the details of the event were lost due to the series of traumatic events) and ran out the door. his flight responses, rusty since childhood, kicked in halfway down the stairway and his pace picked up considerably. 

The outside was in an uproar, missiles exploded in midair showering smaller projectiles on the once darkened city, now flaming orange. these smaller explosives, in turn, destroyed buildings indiscriminately. martin ran along the tube way, for how long he couldn't say. 

the city toppled impressively around him, even the tube he ran on collapsed in a heap. he tumbled into the lower section where the poor ran scared, like roaches to sudden light. that's when the shock wore off, and that's when the plan became clear in his head. that's also when tears began streaming forth, his brother's painfully frightened expression (who, for all martin knew, could've still been alive at the bottom of the apartment complex) tattooed his vision. 

he heard screaming, something distinctly familiar about the voice, and turned to see phillipe reaching up to the fallen tube. a little girl, perhaps of indian descent, plopped tearfully into his arms. phillipe saw martin looking at him and approached. 

scene 5.)

*Coffee relieves indigestion: rocky's unexpected return* Act1: Misery prefers company

an incredibly boring story courtesy of "The Great Flavonian." 

see him astound!

see him conquer! 

see him prematurely ejaculate!

please read the following segments divided into acts 1-7 entitled :

"Coffee Relieves Indigestion: Rocky's unexpected revenge"

Act1: Misery seems to prefer company

the scene is thus:

 a blue modern shanty house, its mediocre wooden structure tilting slightly to the right, stands on concrete stilts its windows placably black and empty. the facade wears a comforting but sad expression for its occupants sleep soundly inside and are no longer actively enjoying the roomy interior. off to one side of this cheeringly melancholy house sits an open carport, the house's smaller cousin. when looking at the carport one might mistake it for a guest room currently under construction with its flimsy concrete skeleton baring, for all to see a striped couch wet from the humidity of the night and spotted with mold, and an old floor lamp banished to the empty garage that hopes, one day, to serve a brilliant purpose and dreading the day it ends up discarded like all the other excess furniture. the night air remains still as stone, breeze so slight as not to even be called movement, crickets whispering to one another like lovers in a library whose compulsion to serenade one another greatly overpowers the strict rules of conduct associated with those rigid public institution. nature remains respectfully quiet as if sensing the overall sadness of the early morn. the wind may not be blowing but the chill in the motionless air is enough to cause discomfort.

the scene appears empty at first. sure there's an opossum snooping around the garage interior with the hopes of discovering forgotten edible treasures, its cunning form winding behind that woebegone floor lamp. an overly alert owl, only its silhouette and bright golden eyes are visible to the inquisitive marsupial below, watches with exaggerated curiosity. its attention remains fixed until a blubbering sob breaks the natural harmony of the night. disgusting wet sniffles and moans soon follow and the creatures seem to retreat repugnantly into the night. 

   "oh, woe is me," the oblivious, unseen being cries to the night, "woe is me for my heart has been abroken." his attempt at poetic expression falls very short, clearly this thing feels very sorry for himself, absolutely convinced he has played victim in some negative circumstances of late.

we pan up to the roof of the carport to find a most pathetic, sobbing individual, pants sagging well below his boney waist and wrinkled parka bunched up awkwardly under his fetal form. his face is a mess; bright red eyes brimming with tears eager for a good jog down the cheeks and a face that resembles an edible root, possibly a rutabaga. his lips, chapped from the cold, peel back over yellow teeth as if a knife had sliced open the spinal area of a turkey to reveal the normally unexposed skeletal structure to the world. if one were to be viewing this sad, sad scene from above one might be under the impression that this fully clothed adult male had spent his whole life in the womb and had, till now, been forcefully ejected, what with his bean shaped posture and childlike whimpering. 

his hands, shaking feebly, comb the exterior of his shorts looking for the entry slit into his shallow pocket, searching as if self aware for that special box. his fingers, almost jaundice in appearance, withdraw with a familiar, albeit bent and wrinkled, pillar of filtered tobacco. his trembling fingers struggled to properly place the cigarette within the grasp of his slimy, reptilian lips. 

he sparks the lighter and a bright flame leaps into existence ready to destroy, to chemically transform, and to heat the first thing it comes into contact with. the initial drag quiets his sobs, the tears stop flowing and the jerky spasm often associated with mental stress slowly cease to be, the second quiets his moaning. his nostrils still happily work their mucus magic unaware that their sodden faced operator has stopped crying, the nerve signal mysteriously lost somewhere between the optical nerve endings and the albuquerque post office. 

while rubbing the snot onto the sleeve of his coat the man, whose name is paul, sits himself up into a more respectable, though still slouched, position and gazes through blurry, rain streaked braindows, at his immediate surroundings. a long stretch of translucent mucus runs the length of his arm, he examines it curiously. a racing slug perhaps? or a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of nose honey. he feels a pang of embarrassment, already was he the laughing stock of his entire social circle, the clueless third wheel who doesn't get the joke everyone's telling, but now he was a whimpering weakling unable to take such an predictable emotional blow. 

his friends, the roommates, sleep soundly inside, unaware of the inner torment and self loathing bout of depression their compadre is going through. he half hoped his moaning would be noticed by them, half afraid of the regret he would feel in the morning by laying his emotions bare. as much sadness as he felt at this point in time he found himself almost enjoying it. it seemed to paul comparable to an old acquaintance, a vagabond, who travels in and out of your life. he takes up room on the couch, sure, but offers undivided attention when the need is most. he assures you that you're right and whatever issue has you all balled up is an act of evil committed by people who are in the wrong. not always looked forward to, but welcomed all the same. misery, that disreputable hobo whose haggard appearance destroys even the most ravenous of appetite, just so happens to be in the neighborhood this time of the year. passing through, he glances up at the brooding paul atop the roof and decides to stop in and see what sort of turmoil a frequent friend is going through. his presence brings tears, as satisfying as rupturing a swollen blister, the release is so sweet and soothing that the prick of the heated needle is soon forgotten. 

Paul senses an aura of grave need, surrounding his long time friend and paul looks up questioningly, hoping to get some answers or a bit of advice from this silent fellow. he reaches over gently and, with a dirt smudged smile, wipes the collecting tears from paul's bulbous, veiny eye lids. 

'where will I go?' he inwardly addresses his hobo friend, ' and what will we do when I get there? i can't seem to sleep, i can't seem to eat. my stomach aches to no end and my brain is all heated up!" 

wordlessly misery takes him by the reign and begins to lead. paul's mind becomes blank, almost zen like, each step away from the house becomes much lighter. both meander clumsily through the secret path that lay behind the wooden blue house and up to the main, one way street. paul blindly puts his trust in misery sensing that his traveling friend has an appointment with someone or something, and that this appointment may give direction to the rest of the evening and early morning. there is a sense of complacent urgency and passive determination in the way misery guides, another being must be waiting near this unusually quiet road, perhaps further down. 

on arrival paul finds that he no longer senses his friends presence, as i have said before, paul's mind is devoid of thought and feeling at this point in time. the only 'feeling' is an urge, a compulsion to explore the convenient store down the road, a lingering sense of meaning to this directionless walk. 

it's a short distance from house to store, the walk takes no longer than three minutes or so. the convenient store is quiet and dark like the rest of the small town at this hour. paul frequents the establishment in the daytime to buy a cheap pack of smokes or even the occasional beer, in fact a week earlier, paul had come to purchase many different cheeses for fajita night. cheesy fajitas often cheered paul up. but not now, no. the very thought of food seemed make his throat tighten up. paul was here for something more than than just tobacco, alcohol or cheese. paul was here to kill an overwhelming nagging sensation, to meet a mysterious friend of a friend. paul was here to find meaning, a goal to this sleepless, most distressing night. 

the store is, unsurprisingly, empty and locked, the hours of operation (according to the store window) don't go beyond ten o'clock in the PM. it's three in the morning at this point. the parking lot and gas pumps, out of order signs swaying gently to a breeze unfelt, were ghostly empty. shady, bleary eyed and foolish looking, paul peers curiously into the window at the dimly lit isles sparsely packed with foreign goods, junk food snacks and at the chipped paint on the walls. perhaps his appointment lies in wait, ready to unlock the doors and greet him warmly. 

a slight movement from the periphery of his vision, the dimension of the damned, slowly draws his attention to his left. had the fiend come to do battle? there, maliciously staring from behind a corner, peaked a hideous face and two gnarled hands gripping the building's edge with white knuckled anticipation. grubby, wrinkled and foreboding was its mien. the texture of his skin reminds paul of the pictures he had seen in his health book back in high school of dissected smokers lungs, black and yellow like the craggy surface of some alien planet. his beady eyes regard paul with interest, yellow irises behind which some evil plan is being concocted, his pulse visible through bulging veins in his forehead. he crooks a finger at the now frightened paul, beckoning him forth. 

paul, with much hesitation, approaches the man he inwardly senses is an apothecary of some sort. how he knew is a mystery to even paul. it seems he has met this man before, in passing perhaps, but does not usually associate with his type of character. the apothecary seized his hand suddenly, his body still hidden behind the sharp corner, and slowly rotated paul's hand until the palm lay open and ready to receive. his grip on the building's edge had appeared to paul to be bloodless, but now he realized he had been quite mistaken for his hands were warmed immediately within the apothecary's grasp. the strangers eyes never stray from paul's stricken face until a glass object is placed firmly into his awaiting hand. within his palm, paul sees, is a green vial, polished and reflective, with a cork stopper to keep the contents from spilling. he can hear a small amount of liquid stirring within. a questioning glance is shot at the apothecary whose wicked, smiling face gradually retreats back behind the corner and disappears. 

instructions of every sort trickle into paul's empty brain, this liquid when taken, would help him inflict pain and wrath on his new enemy whose whereabouts became suddenly clear to him. these beings were from the same realm, the forbidden dimension from which this unknown enemy had spawned, the periphery!  the escapee had broken the code, the rule that binds them to their world, and that could not go unpunished. the fugitive, according to the mentally intrusive plans, must be sought out, confronted and destroyed. paul was only too willing to comply.

Act 2: spinal knives and foreign worlds

an introspective narrative:

you remember it clearly, after all it was the after fajitas, you were in a perky mood and the current problems and suspicions seemed trivial and foolish, things of a more irresponsible past. the first half of the shift was great, you swung that ancient wok like a mighty battle axe from atop an armored horse. veggies galore, a dash of garlic and a tablespoon of water, the chicken lightly browning at the bottom of the cooking pan. you were alerted of the meal's completion by the strong smell of sizzling garlic and teriyaki sauce that hung over the smoking alley. the restaurant's atmosphere is so clear in your mind: soy sauce, along with other hardened food sauces, frozen in the act of dripping down the sides of those grey trash containers, beautiful dishes just emanating sterility in the form of heavy clouds of steam, and the servers bustling busy bodies darting from front to back, empty handed or loaded to the T with various plated foods and dishes. the last positive image in your mind.

you talk shit with your co-worker while effortlessly flipping the food in the wok, you update her on the current, hopefully deceased drama in your life. she started by asking about the women in your life. you then gave her a lengthy speech about handling women, caring for them and such. she rolled her eyes and you laughed, a great big throaty laugh that now seems so forced when you recall that last happy moment. she then asked you how you chose your girlfriends, their qualities and physical characteristics to which you responded with, 

"i like my girls like i like my coffee. ground up and in the freezer." 

speaking of which, you then felt the urge to order more espresso.

the amount of caffeine running through your bloodstream helps to loosen the tongue on such touchy subjects. your heart pumps massive amounts of euphoric, life giving oxygen to your over active brain. you think, for a second, about the word pharmakon with its double meaning, existing both as a cure and a poison, and how oxygen is very much like that. it's then that your eye twitches and your tongue stills. 

the corner of your eye, the periphery, alerts you of a new, foreign presence in this reality. the periphery, as you know, is the dubious realm where shadows and slights, colors and ghostly forms lurk. there are laws and regulations separating the two realities from one another. the only way you know it exists is the casual fluke, the occasional slip of the curtain, between the two opposing worlds. when this happens one is able to see into the mirror realm known as the periphery. but something must have went wrong, horribly wrong, for that was no ordinary shifting shadow, that was real and very much present. a glimpse is all it took for you to take notice of the impossible, so impossible was it that you actually began to blame the negative effects of the abundant oxygen in your brain. the glimpse revealed an abomination, a blue veneer peppered with boom boxes and microphones, childlike designs found decorating a toddlers blanket or underwear. perhaps, you think, it was just that, a glimpse. it never hurts to double check, though, just to confirm that this projection was nothing more than the product of an over active imagination. 

casual, you tell yourself, casual and calmly that is how this must be approached. you tell yourself this but your gut revolts, it tightens up painfully. 

you weaved your way through those same darting bodies you noticed, mere obstructions now and nothing more. the pronged racks lined neatly with their array of china and soup bowls have a purpose that could work as an excuse. you grab at  the dishes that belonged up front, an excuse for leaving the confines of the kitchen. you speed through the darkened hallway that connects the back room to the front with the tower of plates in your grip precariously swaying back and forth. the front is bustling with activity, tonight it seems, is a popular night for the restaurant. you now see why the servers hurried so, but this is of no concern to you at the moment, you have to identify the imminent threat. 

while placing the dishes in their appropriate slots you casually run your eyes over the dining area, the fleeting projection tattooed to your minds eye. you halt, fearfully, in the middle of the bar. there, confidently staring directly back at you, was the strangely decorated sheet you wished were not there. not one of the servers seemed to realize the threat, they generously served the abomination sake and beer. he swallowed, unseen gaze never leaving your face, it's expression seemed to scream: that's right. i known you can see me, i know you know what i am. a fictional creature, an improbability in your rigid reality. i escaped the boundaries of my restrictive world and there is nothing you can do about it. i am impervious to all your mortal weapons and tools, but are you to mine? well, you'll find out soon enough what damage i can do. do you dare confront me or the matter at hand? 

you smiled, not simpering, but certainly not assertively. just a simple smile of recognition, take it as you will you evil sheet. after all, you said to yourself, who am i to play judge and jailer? a mere mortal man, not a supernatural bone in this body. but, beneath the calm, frozen surface of Europa, swirls a frothy sea of horrible thoughts and negative emotions that you know will haunt your every action for the rest of the evening. it continues to spin the entire shift on, a maelstrom forms beneath your icy exterior. you wait on the edge of your toes, expecting the satisfying gurgle a toilet makes once it has successfully swallowed the shit you fed it. but you are disappointed, that's for sure, and your eager toes begin to burn horribly after a while. your stomach voicing a 'here, here' in response.

the night draws to a close, you hope the diaphanous specter remains up front. you hope to god it doesn't approach you in the back and break another boundary. oh, but he does. it reappears, beer coiled in it's corner, and mockingly saunters back to lean against a nearby shelving unit piled high with various kitchen storage items. you wonder if this creature can even speak, much less drink. whatever looks or telepathic thoughts are exchanged are lost to you for you remained composed under the frozen surface of Jupiter's moon. you never once met his challenging stare. 

how could this shade break the border? why does the strange pattern on the sheet seem so oddly familiar? has it haunted you before, or maybe it was something related to it, some distant kin. you decided to see how it would play out, the most unwise choice you could make. did it occur to you that this abomination might have already put it's mischievous plans into action? no, you told yourself, you were hoping to confront the living or nonliving shit out of it at a later point in time. big mistake, friend. already it's evil deeds were at work.

Act 3: opposing sunrises setting

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.

Act 4: these are no lip stick stains, that's high grade seminal fluid

another introspective recollection:

leaving town did little to settle your thoughts. you left for no more than three days, forty-eight hours consumed with that mental image you stained your mind with and that dull ache your gut had been feeling since it's appearance. the last day, though, you drank yourself into a stupor and dulled yourself with excessive drug use till your obsession seemed faint and foolish. upon returning home you felt that familiar turmoil, you thought you had destroyed, nestling it's buttocks back into the the two concave impressions it left on your brain. this feeling was accompanied by an overpowering urge to have sex. this you attributed to your short absence and the biological factoids you had read somewhere in the past, most likely a trashy pornographic magazine. according to the article, most males feel this way after a prolonged, sexual hiatus. usually it's said to be just the disruption of one's routine sexual activities or a lack thereof. but you had read otherwise. when a female mate is left by herself it is instinctually assumed, by the male, that some rival male may have tried to impregnate her in his absence. now, in order to combat that and increase the chances of one's legacy being passed on rather than the rival's, a semen reserve of some sort is built up during the separation. upon arriving, the male is biologically driven to unload this massive amount of sperm cells into his mate not only to increase your chances of impregnation but to potentially engage and destroy the sperm of his rivals. 

so, naturally, you had a pathetically short session with your mate. she seemed a little numb, her senses of joy dulled by some unseen blunt force, and a little distant, never quite meeting your lustful gaze. she faked an orgasm in order  to get your sweaty body off of her and than went about her nightly routine of cooking and cleaning. you helped her, for the most part, but she said little to you. her disconnected ways only hindered the reassurance you hoped sex would bring, your gut continued complaining, a hallow groan and a steady ache clued you in, activated those paranoid brain cells of yours. had she discovered the otherworldly intruder? did she know of it's evil plot? perhaps she was equally stressed out, maybe from work or even your abnormal manner of late, these factors might have   mixed her up emotionally. whatever the case, your stomach, you believed, played a convincing canary and the coal mine lay just around the corner.

now, your stomach was always a trifle bit unsettled. when you pictured your gut you always thought of a giant potato on toothpick legs waddling around in circles. but after seeing that fiend from the periphery come to life, your potato-like stomach found itself balancing on a single wooden pick precariously keeping itself upright by swaying and leaning towards or with the unpredictable gusts of wind. you worried constantly, never quite at ease, and this resulted in a loss of appetite. fajita night seemed so far away, the very idea of ever having eaten one repulsed you to no end. you had to continue working though, a job isn't easy to come by in this town, especially during this season, and rent, as well as the utilities, was on the rise. just keep drinking coffee, you told yourself, coffee and go-go juice, maybe a pill here and there, but not everywhere. 

your stomach growled and trembled as if its lining had suddenly fissured and grown into a active fault line. 

the closest you came to calming yourself was after a period of two days, right after you returned, through constant self-reassurance. the abomination had all but vanished after its initial appearance at the restaurant, what possible reason could it have to attack you? what ill act, what crime, what heinous incident have you ever involved yourself in that might somehow offend a creature of another world? none that you could think of. ah, but being something other than human, why would it need any reason? was it even capable of being rational or reasoned with? you knew nothing of the world from which it came nor of it's social norms, rules, or practices. this thing was as predictable as the weather which, steadily, began to grow muggy and rainy. nothing like rain during winter to raise one's spirits. 

yes, these thoughts seemed to tug-o-war with one another, two burly brothers in blue and red, both of equal strength and ability. it was after these two days that they finally exhausted one another and left your brain a stretchy, rubber mess that resembled a chew toy rather than a thinking organ. mushy brains, you know, don't work as well as solid ones. having mentally exhausted yourself with worry you fell into a deep, long sleep. 

it began with a whisper, nothing more, but with your heightened state of stress and awareness that whisper resounded within your brain like a foghorn in an empty warehouse. the whisper permanently remained out of visible sight, just around the corner, and barely audible. it was always one step ahead of you. when you rounded the corner it hushed up or when you entered a room it smiled innocently and winked. something was amiss, you knew that, something involving some aspect of your personal life. but now it was no longer personal, it became a source of constant entertainment and debate between those around you. already you began to feel your delicate mental state begin to bend and crack under the invisible pressure of these elusive rumors. 

you returned home later that evening after noticing the strange, secretive comments passed around out of earshot, to an empty house. the darkness from the outside suggested perhaps that no one had ever lived here, but that, at one point, your house once thrived with joyful life and had all since been forgotten. you became afraid, the dark had never seemed so intimidating before, but you knew something awaited your arrival inside. something sinister. it could be avoided, you knew, but did you dare remain in your tumultuously ignorant state, perpetually paranoid and twitchy? of course not, besides solving of this harebrained mystery, you felt that overwhelming curiosity one feels when others get a joke that they, themselves, do not. hahaha. 

you unlocked the front door and felt blindly along the wall until that familiar switch seemed to up and appear between your fingers. sudden light reveals the door to your room is slightly ajar. with hands trembling uncontrollably you grab and push the door knob into your room, convinced the dastardly sheet lay beyond  ready to pounce. but there was nothing, turning on the light confirmed this. the same dirty laundry, disheveled belongings and gaudy furniture greeted you. at this point you began laughing at your situation, how absurd! to think you had believed that this other worldly creature had singled you out among an entire city full of more deserving victims! relief washed over you as if you had slipped on a sweater straight from the dryer on a cold day. never had you felt so relieved in your life! a great gust of a sigh exhaled from between your lips. "whooosh!"

of course, this pleasant feeling was short lived for, from under a pile of fresh laundry, peaked a very familiar, very malefic corner. you withdrew the now lifeless sheet a look of stupid confusion on your face. the very same sheet that had haunted your thoughts, had frequented your place of work and had, possibly, been  plotting behind your back now lay there almost innocently. how could this be? how was it that something, just one week prior, had been moving around menacingly but now lay here inconspicuously? you didn't know anything, then, but suspected that these evasive rumors were, in some way, the final puzzle piece. 

the panic that resulted of this shocking surprise sent waves of nausea through your body, you found yourself doubled over the toilet dry heaving. you lost track of time then, and came to when your roommates returned from god knows where. they looked beat and they seemed to carry some awfully heavy burden with them. your heart rose and fell and rose again, the rumor had blessed them, those closest to you, with the knowledge and responsibility of passing it on. now, because everyone else seemed to know, the rumor, its insatiable appetite for ears  as wild as a fire in dry season, had finally been forced to spread it to the very last person, the very last pair of ears, in this pathetically small city. 

she had run off. she had lost feeling. she was a different person. she did not care, nor had never cared. she was with someone else. someone with odd birth marks dotting his satin skin. someone or something. sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex. 

Act 5: "the rumor: an unreliable chain of exaggerated personal theories and second hand fact

when paul left town that beautiful evening, a small party was planned in preparation of co-worker A's birthday. a modest gathering of fellow employees and neighbors, friends and acquaintances of miss A. paul felt little regret about missing, happy instead, to give the said co-worker his regards. parties were a dime a distinction in this town, no noticeable difference between any given gathering besides maybe a t-shirt color or an outfit accessory. paul's trip, though necessary, was not exactly looked forward too, he would rather have stayed and worked out this impending crisis and maybe fit in a few more hours at work for some holiday money. but, as it were, paul was obligated to leave. 

the party was to held at co-worker B's house not too far from paul's neighborhood, just down the street actually. a decently priced keg was purchased for the occasion and invites were sent via cell phone texting. what was assumed would be a small gathering of friends and co-workers soon turned out to be a massive block party. the apple of paul's eye, along with his two room mates, were one of the many who decided to attend this, soon to be, wild get together. 

the room mates, unaware of the the fiends release, casually went about their merry carousing way, socializing with both friends and complete strangers alike. the apple, realizing she was no longer under the supervision of the two oblivious room mates, also went about her way with devious plans formulating within her sharp mind. what started out as an innocent drink soon became a vindictive binge, full on hammered. she was free, finally, of paul's overly cautious, annoyingly timid character; his non-existant masculinity and borderline feminine manner. paul's  friends, deceived by her innocent exterior and muddled by excessive amounts of alcohol, would never think to suspect that she, the good little girl, would ever go astray. the alcohol, acting like an adhesive, only helped to piece together this mishmash collection of lustful thoughts. in the end she concluded this: she needed to get laid. but her insecurities could not permit her to leave such a constant companion, someone who would always make her feel special. she had to keep this affair clandestine. 

two men seemed to stand out to her when she reached this conclusion, two shady characters that seemed to stand apart from the rest of the mingling party. she wasn't sure why, but their presence seemed to have a magnetic effect on her, she sensed that they hid something. a fanciful birthday gift with a pretty bow addressed to her and only her. not only where they different, she realized, but they were also almost complete strangers. she had never seen paul around them, perhaps they could keep a secret.

upon approaching, the taller man, jimbo, slowly craned his large form downward to light a freshly packed cigarette that dangled from her smug lips. her eyes never left his beaming face even when the lighter flickered eagerly with contact. the second man, lefty, spoke softly from jimbo's side: 

 "what exactly are you looking for, sweet thing?" 

she exhaled a cloud of smoke seductively towards his shadowed form before responding. 

 "something different. something forbidden," she paused again before finishing, "something fun." 

he smiled at this and jimbo straightened himself. 

"fun." jimbo said softly.

 "i know someone you might like to meet," lefty rasped softly "someone foreign to this place. a close friend of mine." a look from jimbo made lefty quickly correct himself, "excuse me, ours."

 "really," she arched an eyebrow at this, "is he attractive?" 

 "very." both replied simultaneously. 

perhaps it was the alcohol that made her feel so daring, perhaps it was the frustration, the point is, though, was that she was sold. the three of them climbed into a nearby blue sedan. the party remained undisturbed as they drove off to some unknown location. 

co-worker C, a friend of hers, noticed an hour or so later that the apple had disappeared. fearing that she had drank herself sick, miss C began searching the surrounding area with the help of co-worker B. miss B, a friend of paul's, asked around the gathering and through her drunken inquiry she came to find out that the apple had, earlier, been speaking in a hushed tone with two friends of miss C's and that they had all climbed into a car without a word to anyone about where they were going or why. 

miss C, in the mean time, had come across a blue sedan in her neighbors yard that was, until she came into view, violently rocking. thinking she had interrupted one of the guests at the party, she turned back. as she came back into her yard, she remembered, with shock, that she had actually recognized that car as jimbo's. hoping to play a friendly prank on a decent friend she snuck back to the now still car to give the two sexually engaged occupants a nasty scare. 

she ripped the door open and screamed triumphantly only to find an empty car with a soiled pair of leopard print, female undergarments. having gone swimming one bright summer afternoon with the apple, she had, like most decently acquainted female friends, had the chance to change from wet clothes to dry ones with her. these panties stirred some familiar memory within her inebriated mind that didn't came to light until much later. 

miss C than returned to the party, slightly confused, and met up with her companion miss B. the two were equally astonished by the apple's mysterious disappearance. they compared notes and, at this point, the familiar feeling struck miss C like lightning. the apple had left with a man, someone other than paul, and, would most likely, not be returning to the gathering that night. 

the apple was found at home by paul's loyal, but drunk friends. they had absolutely no knowledge of the turn of events that had occurred that evening, they even convinced her to drink more with them on the front porch. one more day and paul would return, they happily sang. this would be the last time anyone of them would get along as well as they did. already the two co-workers, B and C, were piecing the nights mysterious event together, the whisper watched with strained interest as the look of shocked horror began to dawn on their now enlightened faces." 

after your two roommates, bedraggled and depressed, finished their second hand tale you flopped limply into a nearby couch. 

"there are two types of shit in this world. floating shit and sinking shit." one of your roommates said.

"there's also shit that won't flush." the other roommate chimed in. 

"right. whether or not they sink or float, or whether or not they flush down the first time, doesn't matter." 

"the point is," the other started to finish,"shit is just shit and you, the shitter, hold the trigger." 

they rose, thinking you needed time to consider their convoluted bit of advice, patted your slumped shoulder and retired for the evening