[x] Finish and persuade the girl to wake me up.
While the battery of cigs still glows and smokes, there can be no interruptions. One cannot simply break the ritual of smoking without having a good and serious reason. Not even that mother-grandmother-farmgirl illusion can take away my peace now.
The smoke irritating my throat feels almost too realistic for a drug trip. Oh well, it's not the first time something like this happens, no point in worrying. Just gotta get through and deal with it. Yeah, that's right. Gotta chill. Relax. Fortunately for me, those little fuckers do that perfectly. It's almost like if I was a little kid, and an antropomorphisation of lung cancer was patting my head affectionaly. Greatest pleasure known to man, not counting drilling in your ears with those fancy sticks with a piece of cotton wool on the end. Nothing can beat that shit.
Eh, so yeah, this trip is cool and all, and it's nice to see my grandmother, but I've got more important things to do.
"Yer a hardcore bikkie, aren't ya."
I promptly ignore her malicious comment and continue on inhaling the blessed smoke. Hell, if it weren't a trip, I'd probably be shortening my life several years this way. But screw it. In times of need, one has to cast away common sense and stop worrying about self-preservation. This is one of those moments. Altough my ultimate goal is self-preservation in one way or another, I decide to ignore that contradiction and instead concentrate on sucking on the orange filters in my mouth.
Shit, they're not burning out evenly. What a bother.
My grandmother gives me a last, strange glance before returning to her search for the holy grail. Though given the surroundings, it'd be safe to assume that Noah's arc is burried somewhere around. Or not. Maybe the alien scientists took it already. Fucking alien scientists, always meddling with someone else's business. One day I'm gonna kick their tentacle-spiked asses for sure. Just you wait, Robert Tentaclearse! I'm gonna get ya!
"Found ya, lil' bastard!"
She bends down to the ground, giving me a nice view on the little hole in her pants' crotch which image I decide to seal away as fast as possible. No use gaping at my grandmothers' buttocks. No matter how young and firm they look. I'd rather not play with a dead corpse's ass. That bitch can forever rot underground for all I care.
But apparently this mental image has diffirent opinion on that. Instead of changing into a white beer truck, she approaches me and throws something on the ground just before me.
"Ya had this on ya when I picked ya up."
It's a piece of wood on a string. Nothing more than that. It DOES have some sort of design burned onto it, but looking at it makes my vision blur, so I decide to ignore it for now. More importantly...
Aight, I guess it's enough. Not without remorse, I pull the pathetic remains of cigs from my mouth and throw them all aside, breaking all rules of good upbringing and environmental protection at the same time. I don't give a damn.
"Listen, mom," I speak up, ignoring her weird stare yet again "I'm tired of this crap. I wanna wake up. Now."
"Yer really not right in ya coconut, eh bikkie?"
Looks like she didn't get the hint.
"Listen there." I slam my fist on the ground lightly, not to wound it by an accident. I could be flailing around my limbs in the awake world for all I know. Better to be careful. "I don't know what kind of issues do I have to have, to meet an illusion of my mother, grandmother and an australian farmgirl, and in one, illegible-speaking form at that, but I'm sick of it. I swear I'm gonna be a good boy, and all that, just send be back."
Oh, this isn't a good premise. That gesture - palming one's forehead - is never a good sign. Am I gonna get spanked? By a young version of my mother?
"No, ya listen, dill. Wanna go back and get eaten by youkai? Cool, just don't ya scream for help while runnin' away like a retarded deer. One might think you're actually being honest. Ya even passed out as soon as I picked yer sorry arse up."
That yoo-khay word again. What does she mean? Does it have anything to do with that poor cat? No, can't be. Besides, she has to have forgotten that already, right? There's no way she'd remember that cat, never. Too many years have passed.
"So..." I try to ask "I guess you remember that cat after all...?"
"Huh?" she frowns so hard her eyebrows almost meet and tilts her head "What cat?"
"Uh..." I'm not sure if I should continue, but decide to do it anyway "You know... When I was four... That black cat you used to feed... And father's old chainsaw... I couldn't resist... Yes, I know how hard it is to wash cat blood off wallpapers, but I had no idea it would bleed so freaking much!"
"Yer really not right under ya ceiling... Here, lemme fix that."
Before I'm able to ask what kind of fix does she want to apply, something hits the top of my head, MILLIMETERS from the spot I hit when I got jumped in that alley. Good freaking riddance. Oh wait, what hit me anyway?
Her elbow.
Damn, that felt realistic. Almost too realistic. I'm almost convinced I'm gonna have another bump when I wake up.
"There, feelin' better?"
[ ] It can't be real, right? Gotta check, just to make sure.
[ ] "Actually, no, not at all."
[ ] Eye for an eye! It's time for revenge!
[ ] I should cry. Definitely, I should cry. Maybe it'll bring out those maternal insticts she should still possess.
XXXXXX
>>10597 Hm?
