It calls upon us. It calls at every hour.
It asks for our ears, but its voice, it's sour.
I want to listen, but I know I can't.
It wants me. Wants you. Wants all man.
It wastes no time, when the clock chimes
It is waiting for you to do as you do.
What do you do? Do you do what it wants you to?
Do not.
Why?
Ask not.
Where?
Go not.
When?
You have, you do, you shall not.
You must not answer the call.
To answer the call would doom us all.
"Don't do it."
"Why?"
"Just don't. That's fucking stupid, man."
"How is that stupid? I just want to-"
"You're an idiot."
"It's just one time. What could go wrong?"
The clock in the hall struck eight.
What could go wrong? We've all heard this sentence plenty of times. Growing up, the words poured out of our mouths constantly. I mean, come on. What COULD go wrong? We were young, healthy, full of unending energy. We were invincible. For the most part, we were lucky. All of us. 'What could go wrong?' we would say. Nothing. Nothing like this has happened before. How would we know what would happen? Every once in a while, 'What could go wrong?' turns out to be more than just a sentence.
Every once in a while, it turns out to be our sentence. "It's just one time. What could go wrong?" Allen said, confident in appearance, yet on the inside as nervous as a Chihuahua.
"She's a drug addict. Don't fuck with her."
"I know she's a drug addict, but who else can we do this with?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe with someone we can trust, like Scott? I don't want to get it from her, man. I know she'll lace it with something, or screw us over."
"Fuck. Alright, we'll go to Scott, even if he said it's twice as much. Is the room sound proof yet?"
"Yeah, looks good to me. No gaps, I've got a spot cattycornered in the closet for the key to the door to keep the impaired inside, no sharp objects, all the food and drinks we'll need, and only one idiot in the house."
"Sweet. I'll call Scott real quick. Wait, what was that last part?"
"About the food and drinks?"
"Fuck off."
We were your usual drunks. Relaxed, creative, lazy alcoholics. We had been drinking together for years. The drunk adventures we had were something like you'd see on tv. We would never dream of doing anything hard like cocaine, crack, heroin. Fuck that shit. But alcohol? Oh yeah. Its made naturally, so they can't be bad at all, right?
According to Scottie, the shit he got us was some of the first genetically modified vodka on the market. Nothing like anything he had ever done before, which is saying a lot. We slurped down our cups in our sound proof room, sat, and waited.
The clock in the hall struck eleven.
"I think it's kicking in."
"What makes you say that?" I hadn't noticed much change. Allen did seem kind of dark to me, though. Like he was evil, but I already knew that.
