Wingless Bird's Flight

HYPOXIA, pt. 2 / VI.

My feet were stiff and blue. I was starting to develop a cough over the weekend too. I was trying to think of how I could textually show that through the story. *COUGH. It's kind of really hard to show coughs through dialogue. That's something you learn when you write your first book. I looked for the sky, and found nothing, darkness, a dark bliss. I was sort of trying to figure out where the hell I was and thinking of where the hell to go. I was wondering if there was any bird out there as lost as I was at this moment in time.

I walked and walked. I think the sun was rising, or was it? I couldn't tell. It's funny. Generally, it's people who you can't figure out and that don't make sense. The Earth always makes sense. Sure, she has her good and bad days, but she is, forever and always. People are the complicated things on this Earth. People are the ones who make nukes and lie through their phones about their lives. Artificial. Sometimes I feel like the people who walk the Earth are just one-off brand product. Like from Aldi or something. I prefer the real pop tarts. Not Dill, though. I headed towards the square, feeling lost and happier than ever. I was getting real run down, and as I was walking I pulled out my next victim. I was pissed, because as I pulled the carton out I noticed it had been smashed like a deformed head, not the same. The lid was already halfway open, inviting me to come inside and stay for a while. Nobody's home, just you and me, so we can take our time with his dance. It won't take long, just stay long enough for me to like you. I wish that we could stay like this forever, but the way you're living life right now you need me.

I had three left, which was far less than I had previously thought I had. I figure Joe or Tim probably stole a couple of them, scumbags. I hate them. They're great friends. I didn't give a rat's ass about them, at all. They get what they deserve. I think that's in the Bible, too. I pulled one out and felt for my pen. It wasn't in my pants pockets. I felt around in the front of my hoodie, and I found nothing but my lighter. My mind started racing. How could I have let this happen? Did they take my pen? Did it fall out in the car? I damn near had a panic attack and was concerned that my throat would close and that I was to have the grim reaper come and visit me right here. By the time I had fumbled a cigarette out of my pocket, I was standing on the East side of the square. I looked at the signs that filled the air. They proclaim the second advent, 50% offs, buy one get one free, and fire sales. The bright lights hurt my eyes real bad, and I was really concerned about myself. My head hurt for days. I still feel like I suffer pains from this weekend. To my right there was Slicker's, and your boy Ol' Ferris was walking into his temple. Ferris is a wealthy business owner in the city that owns Slicker's, Bright 88's Radio Station, and some of the local pubs on the square Ferris has no wife (go figure), no children, but you bet your ass his house is jammed pack with Hustler magazines. Well, that's what the realtor said when he went inside his house to appraise it. Rich people want everything appraised too, they always need to know how much they're worth to keep themselves alive. As rich as he was, he was rich in his thoracic regions as well. Rounded stomach and shoulders, no taller than five and a half, and a small upper lip that he had unanimously inherited from two Scottish parents. A quick note: Ferris was easily spotted around town because the guy always wore button up Hawaiian shirts or shit you would see people wear when they get back from vacation, a gold chain made of real gold (so he said), and he would wear a greasy, styled in reverse haircut that looked like raven's feathers under certain natural lighting. Yes, he was the greasy bastard you're thinking of.

Slicker's had damn good cheeseburgers or something.Like I mean the best. Like the Krabby Patty meets the Big Mac. It was awonderful place to take dates. The flooring on the place was marble black andwhite checkerboard, so it was real shiny and all nice enough for girls. Theyhad booths, electric signs that faced towards the city, and cooks that wouldwear those big white tall hats cooks always wear in the movies. It was open 24hours of the day too, so all the druggies and scumbags would always come inthere at stupid hours of the day, like real early or late, depending on whatboundaries are the night for you. Real swell place, I guess the Scots know howto create one hell of a restaurant. I figured that would have pens in there,since last time I was there on a date with a girl, a short-rounded girl wrotewith one. She was actually quite fat. The pen was my favorite color, blue. So,I walked my sad ass in there and quickly noticed that nobody was in there. Istood on the thick black carpet and stared endlessly into a beautiful sign thathad the words written in chalk, "Please what to be seated." The handwriting wasdamn near beautiful, and I was appalled by the artistic ability put into such ascummy set of words. I don't really remember reading such a nice font last timeI was here, and I was starstruck in the moment. The curved finishes on the 's'and the 't' looked foreign in a way, making me think the author spoke more thanone language, or that they had taken a calligraphy course like Steve Jobs. Myeyes burned as I squinted. My jaw damn near hit the floor when my illogical,broken heart put two and two together. I knew a girl that spoke more than onelanguage, had taken a calligraphy course in college, and who used to laugh whenshe was touched just below the belly button. I used to have her, but she's notmine now. She walked out of the side room leading to the kitchen, the one thatis always stainless stain and that just has hinges, so it swings easier for thewaiters carrying dirty dishes. He hair was longer than it used to be, easilypast her breasts. Her boobs had gotten much rounder, and better. Her body madewaves as she walked, with her hips rocking back and forth. I hoped she wouldturn around. But not now, of course her hair was behind her in a ponytail,probably covering her ass. She approached me, unphased, with a smile on herface and said, "Would you like a table?" In that moment, I turned into a pillarof salt.