_______ _ _ _____ ______
| | | | | | | | / |
| | | |--| | | | '------.
|_| |_| |_| _|_|_ ____|_/
_____ _____ ______ ______ __ _
| | \ \ | | | | | | | | | \ \ \ | |
| | | | | | | |__| | | |__| | \_\_| |
|_|_/_/ _|_|_ |_| |_| |_| \_\ ____|_|
______ ______ _ ______ ______ ______ ______
| | | \ | | | | / | | \ | | \ \ | | ____ / |
| |--| < | |---- | | _ | | | | | | | | | | | | '------.
|_|__|_/ |_|____ |_|__|_| \_|__|_/ |_| |_| |_|__|_| ____|_/
_______ ______
| | / | | \
| | | | | |
|_| \_|__|_/
______ ______ ______ ______ ______ _ _____ ______ ______
| | | \ / | | \ | | | \ / | | | | | | | | | | | \ \ / | | \
| |--| < | | | | | |__| | '------. | |__| | | | _ | | | | | | | | | |
|_|__|_/ \_|__|_/ |_| \_\ ____|_/ |_| |_| |_|__|_| _|_|_ |_| |_| \_|__|_/
#001
I woke this morning, sprawled in a rancid pool of my own sweat, the sheets a sodden shroud, my mind probed the dark, the howling void of the night, desperate to pinpoint what unholy glitch had thrown the whole damn system off. I’d clawed my way out of a fever, past and present fused in lunacy...me; a sixteen-year-old punk, tearing through the city centre with my pack of cackling hyenas, all of us kids one second, then adults the next, grizzled bastards in cheap suits, trading war stories of our old japes over whiskey shots, only to leap up and reenact the madness like some deranged time-loop circus. I broke free mid-dream, staggering down the road, boots slapping wet asphalt, no reason but raw instinct...maybe their yammering was a buzzsaw on my nerves, maybe I’d eaten too much of nostalgia for one day.
Then, out of the green haze, two figures lurched into frame. Like beer-soaked specters from a shitty trip. The first, a stumbling wreck, high on something daft, pills, eyes wild, radiating menace, and my gut clenched, expecting a knife or a fist, but he vanished like a ghost in the fog. Then his twin with the same greasy vibe, same predatory glint, slithered up behind and started pawing at my leg as I scrambled up a rusted ladder, heart pounding like a war drum, clawing back toward my crew. He’s climbing too, panting, closing in, and I perch at the top (a strung-out sentinel) waiting till his skull crests the edge. One savage shove from my hand on his head, pure reflex and he’s airborne, crashing down with a wet crunch, a sack of meat, dead as hell. I turn to my mates, dazed, and boom...I’m awake, yanking myself from that quantum murder-realm, only to realize that there are two lovely little cats downstairs that need feeding.
Jesus, the absurdity...seconds ago I’m a killer in some interdimensional episode, friends morphing from snotnosed brats to jaded pricks, fighting for my life, and now I’m blinking into reality, first thought: gotta feed Gigi and Suki. The cats are purring, oblivious, while I’m a wreck, craving a hug, maybe a stiff drink, something to kill the shakes but no, just cold, damp air seeping in, a weird, mildewy funk chilling my bones. I crawl to my slippers, feet like ice blocks, then rush to check my cold card, paranoid my corn has tanked overnight, before sliding into that furlined salvation...suddenly the world’s less of a screaming hellhole. Financial freedom and tinned fish awaits. Downstairs, Gigi and Suki, those needy little bastards, swarm my ankles as I stumble through my morning ritual, the dream’s psychic fallout turning me grouchy, steps heavy with a nagging dread: maybe I’m cracked, i think that ladder shove’s poisoned the day.
I pop two tins of tuna, the metallic clang rousing their yowls, and fork the gelatinous mess into bowls, mashing it with scientific precision. Equal shares for these feral tyrants. Gigi inhales hers, eyeing Suki’s stash with a witchy glint (sometimes peace, sometimes war) a growling, clawing standoff straight out of my childhood, passing grub to my brother ‘til I’d snap "get off my damn plate!". They’re sisters, these two; Gigi the watcher, Suki the warrior, an anime script I’d kill to see: two fucked off felines hunting for their mom through some sort of jungle... Suki slashing, Gigi scoping the chaos.
This morning, though (5 a.m.) rain pounding like judgment. I crack the door, and they freeze, staring into the wet abyss, tails twitching, calculating the predatory odds. They bolt, soaked, Gigi’s regretful glare whispering why? I slam the door, muttering, "they are just animals, B". A bugged out philosopher ankledeep in tuna cans and a dead man’s ghost.