Revision. (The Re-Up)

Chapter Two: ii

ii

And clean up is what I did. I went home, not rushing, and showered, shaved, did my hair, got dressed, and then relaxed. I sat down on my couch, reading some old newspaper I had lying around, waiting for the time to pass. While I was reading the newspaper I stumbled across an oddly familiar looking article in the daily crime section; most of the stories I had seen myself or heard of, but the one that caught my eye was about the young man I recently wrote an article about. It stated his name and age, John Gregory, 22, which I already knew due to my previous research, but it also stated that in his interview with the police he made a confession statement.

"Look, all I am going to say here is that I am confessing, but I have no idea how I got there, or how I got to breaking into their house man, I just know I was not trying to..."

The fragmented article dragged on about his whereabouts on certain dates and a history of drug abuse, but I paid no more attention to it than I had to. I started to lay my head back on my couch, and as I did, it felt like I was falling. Like my neck phased through the fabric of my couch and my head was a boulder falling off of a mountain at terminal velocity. I was going to hit the floor and crack my skull open. My heart raced, and my arms and chest sprouted sweat all around. When I tried to reach around and save myself I felt a cold finger touch my spine. My body jumped and flailed, and I appeared back on my couch untouched. I was panting furiously like a dog after a long playtime. Accept that felt like no playtime. It felt uncomfortably real, and I could remember in great detail, except somehow, I couldn't.

Trying to ignore the fact I just went through some sort of mysterious sensation that felt like a withdrawal, I stood up and found my footing on the floor before heading out of my apartment to meet Ben.