Paisley pattern water stains from the overflowing toilet in the bathroom above orbit the glowing end of my cigarette like Pluto. A zillion miles away. Their tiny little gravitational pull stretches the ash out until it hovers between falling to Earth and floating up to Pluto.
So I sprinkle it into the hot water and there a fizz and a crack and a glacier rises and melts a million times over until I'm broke and purged. Broke and purged. Broke and purged.
I gather my tools, clamp them back into place, snap their case shut, stow it in my pocket, and brush myself down. Back to normal, out the door, and into the world. The frame of the house creaks as I step out into the hallway. I continue towards the kitchen and the creak twists itself into a grind and then it's more of a crunch and soon there's dust and drywall everywhere. Drywall fragments drip from above like big, fat raindrops, coating everything is a thick white powder.
I turn around and head back to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Good god, what's happening to me? Glaciers crystalize from the grout between the tiles so fast that there's a loud crackling sound and the room begins to shrink down as the walls become jagged ice rocks. I punch away a few of the growing chunks to access the cupboard handle and I grab hold and yank as hard as I can. The crashes open and I grab a large pair of toenail clippers, swing out the nail file attachment, and begin stabbing away at the ice growing around the window, like a psychotic host chipping off ice for drinks mixed with rage.
Finally I see the glass of the window and I smash right through it, and dive out, slicing open the flesh on my arms and sides. I land in the snow below, soaking it dark red. The house I left behind seemed to sway back and forth, and it let out a slow, painful moan as the frame twisted, cracking and shifting inwards. I slowly backed away as it fell in on itself... ice growing out the windows as its skeleton buckled. About halfway through the process of its demise it froze in place, the ice holding the dying beast in place. A sculpture of a collapsing building.
A lifetime of fear and worry seemed to vanish. My body felt light, and my heart slowed to a soothing pace. For the first time in months I felt a tremendous exhaustion. I lay myself down in the grass and fell asleep almost immediately, the broken glass, drywall, and wood splinters becoming my blanket.
-------------------- "I have no valid complaint against hustlers. No rational bitch. But the act of selling is repulsive to me. I harbor a secret urge to whack a salesman in the face, crack his teeth and put red bumps around his eyes." -Hunter S Thompson http://phluck.is-after.us
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