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Anticipation
14 years ago
Waiting for my wine to take hold so I can play some Portal2 as per my pledge to play through buzzed or better. Haven't seen any of it yet, so I'm kinda FUCKING PUMPED. So while I wait, let's type some nonsense... Why not. A short story perhaps? I think I may.
Kaskade’s voice hums in and out for a moment. White fades to black, black brightens to white. The bass remains firm as a fur comes to. “Feeling the past moving in, letting a new day begin…” Choosing this song seemed like a good idea at the time. “I Remember, I Remember…” Now it just seemed needlessly cruel. I concentrate on the bass, the vocals, those highs and lows edging me back to present and real. Water? Water. I feel water. “Hold to the time that you know, you don’t have to move on to let go…” I’m in my bath. What the hell did I do last night? ‘You do not want to know’, I remind myself. Indeed not, if I decided to bathe immediately after my nightly procedure. I linger in the bath a moment, feeling an intense hangover. The vomit inducing, world spinning, head crushing kind.
This has to stop.
Only a month or so more, and then I’m done.
I need the money.
I want it to stop.
I wish I could, but I do need the money. Only a little bit more until I can leave this. To think it could be so much worse. To think I could actually remember it all. I shudder at the thought, then the luke warm water. Getting out of the tub, I dry myself off, and don my bathrobe. My clothes are in the washer, wet but clean. My ‘tools’ are laid out on the living room floor, ready for my inspection. My scheduler’s alarm goes off. “Prep for a six o’clock at 342 Square Ct., downtown; bring usual + heels, he likes paws” the screen informs me. It’s already five. Squatting down over my things I find some needing refills, others cleaning, and my most cherished piece is still humming with life. I hook that one up to my computing wall, and let the data upload. Pulling it over to my auction area, I put it up for a decent price considering I don’t know what’s on it. I’m sure that piece won’t last for more than an hour, as usual. That was where the real pay was in this line of work.
In memories.
I might get a few hundred for letting some scum fuck my brains out, but some other scum will scoop up my one-off play-by-play memory for thousands. It’s still fairly new, this tech. I had to save up for months to get one of the first extractors. These little machines take memories from the owner and write them into digital forms of data. It sounds like a sweet deal and all, but it comes with its own prices. The eggheads have all but agreed that the prolonged use of the device will raise the chances of the owner never remembering parts of their lives. Fine right? It would be better if the margin of error didn’t include other memories too. Fine by me, I say. I don’t want to know what they do to me. I got over that thrill long before the device was brought to market. Now I just have my wake-up song play to bring me back from my induced sleep, and prep for whatever appointment (or lack thereof) I should happen to have that night. All the things in between: the sex, the violence, the drinking, the schmoozing, the fights... gone. I just get a fat bank account to pay off my debts. To get out of this life, and into my own.
…
Kaskade’s voice chants at me again. Black stays black for a time.
I’m not sure how long.
I’m sore.
Really sore. Sore in places I didn’t know I had.
I think the song has looped.
Oh. The lights aren’t on… and it’s night. That explains that.
At least I’m in my bed this time.
I feel liquid at my eye. I’m not crying, what the hell is it? I reach for it, feel it… its… viscous. I don’t know. Wandering towards the bathroom I feel my clothes underpaw. I didn’t wash them?
So sore. I hurt.
I flip on the bathroom light to survey myself… blood. I’ve gotten a nasty forehead cut, and a neck line bruise. Someone probably choked me.
Anger.
This has to stop.
Only a month or so more, and then I’m done.
I take a quick shower and gather my clothes without looking at them for stains and holes. I know they are. It hasn’t been this bad in some time. I remember the last time, that’s how long. I go over my tools again, just as every post wake-up. Several pills are missing from my kit. That explains the lack of pain for what must’ve been a good beating. I can’t wait till they wear off. I hook up the device, pull the… it isn’t there. My memory is missing. Was it that bad? What did I do to it?
Panic.
I need the money.
My scheduler informs me that I have no appointments today.
I dress for the warmth of a summer’s eve. Coming down from the twenty-fourth floor a spotted dog of some sort enters the elevator. “You warm in that get-up?” He quips. “Yeah, it’s warm enough.” I give back. I’m not really in the mood for conversation right now. I do notice his odd looks, and wandering gaze though. I’m sure it’s not the first time he’d seen a fine example of a fur in a tight pair of jeans and a low collared top. Probably just the head wound giving a wonderful impression. I get out at the ground floor and make for the front exit. I get to the doorman before I notice it’s snowing.
Snow.
It was summer and 85 degrees outside yesterday.
No… not yesterday. How long?
The doorman tips his red hat and gives me a curious look before asking if I’d like his jacket. “No, thanks, I was just checking to see if a friend arrived yet.” I mutter as I walk back to the elevators. I enter and plug the twentieth floor’s button with a shaking digit.
I want this to stop.
I get inside my pent-house just to collapse to my knees. The scheduler says it’s November. Definitely not the summer I was expecting. What did I do to my months? Why can’t I remember? I go to the computing wall to get my bearings. What have I missed? ‘Our war over-seas had ended.’ Well that’s nice. ‘Memory extraction found to be too dangerous, taken off market.’ No shit. ‘Preventive care for rheumatism perfected.’ Good at least I won’t have bum knees. ‘New elected officials.’ Had I voted for them, I wonder. What of my bank account?
Hm.
I don’t need the money.
I’ve stopped.
That took longer than expected. Also much better than expected for a short P.O.S. Should be a "submission" really. Hm. It could be so much better too. Could take it and make it much longer, or at least a twice as much to better grasp the unfaced character and what he/she/it is doing. Though maybe that's part of the fun of it. Reminds me of some stuff I read in those sci-fi shorts. Man those guys really influence my thoughts! I'll save it amongst my other incomplete works for some completion, some other time, on some other plane of existence when/where I feel like it. OH WELL, I feel good to go now. Nice and warm. Mission Accomplished! To the Portal!
Kaskade’s voice hums in and out for a moment. White fades to black, black brightens to white. The bass remains firm as a fur comes to. “Feeling the past moving in, letting a new day begin…” Choosing this song seemed like a good idea at the time. “I Remember, I Remember…” Now it just seemed needlessly cruel. I concentrate on the bass, the vocals, those highs and lows edging me back to present and real. Water? Water. I feel water. “Hold to the time that you know, you don’t have to move on to let go…” I’m in my bath. What the hell did I do last night? ‘You do not want to know’, I remind myself. Indeed not, if I decided to bathe immediately after my nightly procedure. I linger in the bath a moment, feeling an intense hangover. The vomit inducing, world spinning, head crushing kind.
This has to stop.
Only a month or so more, and then I’m done.
I need the money.
I want it to stop.
I wish I could, but I do need the money. Only a little bit more until I can leave this. To think it could be so much worse. To think I could actually remember it all. I shudder at the thought, then the luke warm water. Getting out of the tub, I dry myself off, and don my bathrobe. My clothes are in the washer, wet but clean. My ‘tools’ are laid out on the living room floor, ready for my inspection. My scheduler’s alarm goes off. “Prep for a six o’clock at 342 Square Ct., downtown; bring usual + heels, he likes paws” the screen informs me. It’s already five. Squatting down over my things I find some needing refills, others cleaning, and my most cherished piece is still humming with life. I hook that one up to my computing wall, and let the data upload. Pulling it over to my auction area, I put it up for a decent price considering I don’t know what’s on it. I’m sure that piece won’t last for more than an hour, as usual. That was where the real pay was in this line of work.
In memories.
I might get a few hundred for letting some scum fuck my brains out, but some other scum will scoop up my one-off play-by-play memory for thousands. It’s still fairly new, this tech. I had to save up for months to get one of the first extractors. These little machines take memories from the owner and write them into digital forms of data. It sounds like a sweet deal and all, but it comes with its own prices. The eggheads have all but agreed that the prolonged use of the device will raise the chances of the owner never remembering parts of their lives. Fine right? It would be better if the margin of error didn’t include other memories too. Fine by me, I say. I don’t want to know what they do to me. I got over that thrill long before the device was brought to market. Now I just have my wake-up song play to bring me back from my induced sleep, and prep for whatever appointment (or lack thereof) I should happen to have that night. All the things in between: the sex, the violence, the drinking, the schmoozing, the fights... gone. I just get a fat bank account to pay off my debts. To get out of this life, and into my own.
…
Kaskade’s voice chants at me again. Black stays black for a time.
I’m not sure how long.
I’m sore.
Really sore. Sore in places I didn’t know I had.
I think the song has looped.
Oh. The lights aren’t on… and it’s night. That explains that.
At least I’m in my bed this time.
I feel liquid at my eye. I’m not crying, what the hell is it? I reach for it, feel it… its… viscous. I don’t know. Wandering towards the bathroom I feel my clothes underpaw. I didn’t wash them?
So sore. I hurt.
I flip on the bathroom light to survey myself… blood. I’ve gotten a nasty forehead cut, and a neck line bruise. Someone probably choked me.
Anger.
This has to stop.
Only a month or so more, and then I’m done.
I take a quick shower and gather my clothes without looking at them for stains and holes. I know they are. It hasn’t been this bad in some time. I remember the last time, that’s how long. I go over my tools again, just as every post wake-up. Several pills are missing from my kit. That explains the lack of pain for what must’ve been a good beating. I can’t wait till they wear off. I hook up the device, pull the… it isn’t there. My memory is missing. Was it that bad? What did I do to it?
Panic.
I need the money.
My scheduler informs me that I have no appointments today.
I dress for the warmth of a summer’s eve. Coming down from the twenty-fourth floor a spotted dog of some sort enters the elevator. “You warm in that get-up?” He quips. “Yeah, it’s warm enough.” I give back. I’m not really in the mood for conversation right now. I do notice his odd looks, and wandering gaze though. I’m sure it’s not the first time he’d seen a fine example of a fur in a tight pair of jeans and a low collared top. Probably just the head wound giving a wonderful impression. I get out at the ground floor and make for the front exit. I get to the doorman before I notice it’s snowing.
Snow.
It was summer and 85 degrees outside yesterday.
No… not yesterday. How long?
The doorman tips his red hat and gives me a curious look before asking if I’d like his jacket. “No, thanks, I was just checking to see if a friend arrived yet.” I mutter as I walk back to the elevators. I enter and plug the twentieth floor’s button with a shaking digit.
I want this to stop.
I get inside my pent-house just to collapse to my knees. The scheduler says it’s November. Definitely not the summer I was expecting. What did I do to my months? Why can’t I remember? I go to the computing wall to get my bearings. What have I missed? ‘Our war over-seas had ended.’ Well that’s nice. ‘Memory extraction found to be too dangerous, taken off market.’ No shit. ‘Preventive care for rheumatism perfected.’ Good at least I won’t have bum knees. ‘New elected officials.’ Had I voted for them, I wonder. What of my bank account?
Hm.
I don’t need the money.
I’ve stopped.
That took longer than expected. Also much better than expected for a short P.O.S. Should be a "submission" really. Hm. It could be so much better too. Could take it and make it much longer, or at least a twice as much to better grasp the unfaced character and what he/she/it is doing. Though maybe that's part of the fun of it. Reminds me of some stuff I read in those sci-fi shorts. Man those guys really influence my thoughts! I'll save it amongst my other incomplete works for some completion, some other time, on some other plane of existence when/where I feel like it. OH WELL, I feel good to go now. Nice and warm. Mission Accomplished! To the Portal!
littledionysus
~littledionysus
OP
Needs nicer format too. DUH.
