All Hope Is Gone - Slipknot

4. Jim

been around. His room had become a big mess of trash and bowls and silverware scattered around the floor and the shelves next to his bed with a dead lamp resting covered in dust that had gone out weeks ago and had collected so much dust a blow on it would have made the air toxic. It all started a long time ago but the last meeting was the last time anyone had felt they had been talking to Jim and not some alien.

Instead Jim dreamt about his friends, and how dearly he missed them. How much he wanted to speak to them was painful, but he didn't know what to say. His vocal chords felt frozen every time he even tried.

Jim wanted to get up and talk to them but simply couldn't. The most he had gotten was a Craig hug, which was great but he felt like talking and having a real conversation would be nicer than just a little hug. Even as nice as Craig tried to be, his talking was a little annoying sometimes.

He heard Mick walking around the hall and down the stairs. He could tell it was Mick because he would instead of waking up a little first just stumble down the halls without a moment to wake up. Jim heard him cough and say hi to someone. Jim breathed.

His stomach had been hurting a lot but he didn't want to annoy anyone with it.

He tried to sleep again and laid back down but his guts felt weird inside his body. His guts seemed to be twisting and turning around more with every moment he laid down. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and brushed through his hair with his fingers. He laid back down and closed his eyes. He sat and thought for a long time before his thoughts felt mushy and he drifted into sleep.

Suddenly after a few hours he blinked awake and reached for the trash can next to the bed. He held it near his mouth for a few minutes before nearly throwing up and deciding to sit on the carpeted floor instead of the bed so he could sit against something softer. He sat with the small can in his lap until he finally threw up. It hurt his throat and burned on the way up. As he sat considering what to do he heard a knock and Mick call from outside.

"Jim? You doing okay in there? I thought I heard you throw up." Mick called.

"No..." Jim said weakly.

"Can I come in?" Mick asked.

"Yeah." Jim said and tried to find a napkin.

Mick stormed in and seemed to immediately notice the smell of the room and Jim huddled up against the bed. He sighed. "Okay, we'll deal with your room later, come on lets go wash that and you look like you need some cleaning too."

"Okay."

"Why don't you tell me about how you're doing, that would be nice." He said as he began to rinse the can.

"I don't know. Like weird expired glue's a good way to put it." Jim giggled.

"Yeah? Why glue?"

"Sticky. I don't know. Just kinda sad."

"How long have you worked on that smelly ass room?"

"Few months since it's had it's glory." Jim answered. "I just haven't had the time to clean it. Well, I've had the time just not enough willingness to do it."

"Okay then. The trash isn't too bad now. Why don't you go drink some water and swallow down that taste. Go to bed and don't contaminate the weaklings." Mick said and sat on the couch.

Jim took some water and his trash can and went to his room. It was midday and he was tired somehow despite sleeping all morning.

He slept for a few more hours. When he woke up and his guts twisted, except this time he ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. Sid passed by and paused when he saw Jim hunched over the toilet.

"Hey man, you doing okay?" Sid asked, seeming like he didn't know what to do. "Want me to get Mick or something?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks though." Jim said and tried to smile.

"You want me to close the door..?" Sid asked. Jim nodded and Sid closed the door and left.

Jim threw up a lot throughout the night. Eventually he just sat on the sink and listened to music for a while because all the running around was exhausting.

Eventually someone knocked to get his attention. "Jim, it's 2 in the morning what the fuck are you doing sitting in the sink listening to music through those shit quality headphones?" It was Shawn.

"I got tired of moving around from my room back here to throw up so I'm just kind of in here."

"At least play something good c'mon man."

"It's The Beatles, shut the fuck up."

"Oh yeah you're weird, forget it. Turn it down a notch." Shawn said and left. Jim ignored him and continued there.

Eventually he heard Shawn knock on the thin wall and Jim did it finally and turned down the music through the cheap headphones.

In the morning he heard Mick call around the hall for him. Jim opened the door and called back.

"Jim, why was Shawn mad, do you know?"

"I played my music too loud and he was pissed it was The Beatles because he's a little pussy." Jim said and laughed.

"Why were you listening to music?" Mick asked. "I thought you were busy throwing up."

"I was, I just got tired of running back and forth between my room and the bathroom." Jim said. "Plus, can't a man listen to some tunes while he pukes his gut out on the floor?"

"Okay, go get some toast, something easy on your stomach." Mick instructed.

"Okay, mom." Jim said and went to make some food.

Jim usually didn't eat anything that wasn't easy for his stomach so he did as Mick said and made himself toast and put peanut butter on it.

Jim went back and sat in his room. He laid down and ate his food. Instead of watching TV he always preferred to listen to music any day. He felt comfort in music and liked thinking about it all. At that time he was really into Led Zeppelin, which everybody had mixed feelings about. He knew it wasn't anything like anything the other members liked but he enjoyed it.

Though after about a week of throwing up and staying in the same spot felt dull and boring. Puking his guts out was something he didn't find very fun.

He eventually got over it but it took him longer to get over with than normal sickness did.

He missed the world. The TV had been dead for a long while with stuff barely surviving because it seemed everyone else was so busy in whatever wasteland.

Jim eventually got so tired he did a downwards spiral. Normally they weren't too bad and ended up in him just crying and sometimes reaching for a blade.

He normally didn't feel this bad.

And the very special thing about this spiral was it seemed to last for months. On and on constantly in the back of his mind whispering every bad thing it could possibly say. On one particular night it seemed to feel like physical pain somehow.

He was really done with it. So he wandered to the kitchen and grabbed out a big bottle of whiskey and opened the door after putting on slippers and started walking.

At that point the sickness might as well have gotten to him.

He walked to the stream and sat on a rock. He sat and drank for a while.

He finally felt so lost and out of it and took out the knife in his jacket pocket.

After a moment of sitting and looking at it he began.