Beep.

Escape.

Boris! Don't run so fast! I'm not a natural runner like you.  

The corridors are a mismatch of colours like a psychedelic quilt knitted by a manic hippy spinster. Polka-dots of cream, fallow, green, gamboge, blue, razzmatazz, and tango red, but there's blackness in there too; I see it creep. For the love of all things, it scares me to the marrow. The dark grows. It will take my soul. 

How Boris managed to get us out of the jail cell is beyond me, but he did. He says he knows the way out of this technicolor predicament, but my trust in him is waning. Why is he not affected by the tea? I am paranoid, I see that. There is every possibility that the poison is making me turn against my friend.

Yes, the tea is inside of me, and I feel it churning my blood. I just hope it will pass and I return to my normal mind state. I pray to all the gods (Shiva, Zeus, Odin, Duesaner, Kali, Mars, Morrigan, Ra, Osirus, Athena, Thor) that those bastards have not given me too much and that my fate is not already doomed. The exit doors are up ahead, I can see the sunlight coming through them. Boris is jubilant, and he skips and laughs hysterically. My mind is drunk on thoughts of freedom from this destructive doom.

This damn sunshine. Piercing red it is.

Bloody fantastic, Boris. He has only gone and got us a taxi.

Don't push, Boris. I'm moving as fast as I can!  

Nice taxi this, but where on earth are we going? 

New Slough? Boris really is a star.

I feel a surge of jubilant energy, as if my whole body will lose control in a state of ecstatic anxiety. The streets are awash with a dark red hue and appear hellish. Are there demons on the pavements? Crikes, Boris. This has to be the tea.

Electricity surges in my head. Quite painful.

Dizzy. Can't see too good. 

The blackness is coming. Too much tea for certain!

Those devil swines!

They got me!

Boris!

This escape is folly!