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It seemed as though his body knew him better than he did these days. Each afternoon he wound up in the same cesspool, with various penetrating and unseemly objects lying about his feet in an indiscriminate manner. The door was nearby, but the effort felt heavy upon his shoulders. Each spike of the needle into the exposed vein, the course of the sharp liquid entering every corner of every capillary. It was warm and benign and slowed everything down to a hopscotch pace.
His girlfriend had just moved to Atlanta to attend Emory. A two bedroom loft over in Cabbagetown. She'd asked him to come visit and help arrange a few things she had going on in her life that she felt she couldn't handle on her own. Recently her parents had been severely injured in a car accident and were both in the hospital and unable to help her out financially as she'd originally thought they'd be able to, because they were now in financial straits themselves.
His hair was never clean. Always greased and disheveled, struggling through the murk and black oil protective shield that he ensconced himself in. His dreams had recently become a bit violent, the last one consisting of him standing in the middle of a street that lay in decay. Each body holding another body's hand as if a parade of the macabre. Standing there, axe in hand and plastered with a thick coat of rust-colored paint, the wounds each body had suffered began to fit the equation he had been presented with. He'd done all of this, and he didn't know how. The trees lurched forward in an accusing manner, branches getting closer to him as if to apprehend him. He ran, he had no choice. The humid air hung thick and as he inhaled in rested thickly and opaquely in his lungs, settling in for a winter and making him cough up for three uncomfortable and lofty minutes.
Until he came to, and noticed her right in front of him. He looked outside the nearest window and noticed the Westin was in the background; he'd somehow made it to Atlanta and to his girlfriend's loft. Shaking his head a bit, he synced back into cognitive thought. Her piercing eyes melting through him in befuddlement, she asked him to have a cup of coffee and sit down for a few minutes. Agreeing, he sat down at her Ikea eating table and began to move his legs immediately. In vexing motions his legs painted out the tapestry of discomfort as he watched her place a glass of old coffee she had had waiting for her on the counter into the microwave.
After she had punched a few buttons she turned around and began to try to stare into his eyes. No words slipped out of her pursed lips. None from his mouth either, though his lips trembled a bit and his legs remained somewhat unstable. His left arm was also a bit unsteady and a light mist began to form upon his brow. He knew what would solve this and began pawing at his front coat pocket. She turned around and faced the microwave again.
"You know, you really need to stop whatever it is you won't admit to me you're doing," he could hear her mutter in the background, but it was being filtered by the imperative nature of the time.
It filtered into white noise and clatter once he could feel the syringes in his pocket. He fumbled one out cautiously and took a glance at the inviting amber liquid faltering but a moment as it danced within the tube. He stretched his arm out under the table and quietly looked for a vein, maintaining slight frantic composure.
She turned around and noticed immediately, "What are you doing?!"
Lunging at his arm he stood up suddenly with more force than even he had anticipated. Hand outstretched he had her by the neck with his right hand and it was convulsing. The needle had been thrown back onto the table in haste and as he saw her pulsating neck he'd made the decision to make her feel what he was. He reached for the needle and took it from the table, bringing it closer into her jugular.
Her eyes welled up in anticipation and fear. The kind of fear that settles at the back of the spine and causes knee-jerk reactions, her mind was boiling but was still functional. Her legs now became uneasy and she had a sudden spark of confidence. She landed one sickening thud of her knee into his side, almost feeling a rip collapse. His grip hadn't loosened, however, and she stared into his eyes, now entirely gray and unforgiving. There was no coaxing, and no preventing. He cast a crusty smile and slowly dropped the needle in.
She dropped out.
He plunged every bit of it in, past the skin's brief barrier and into the system. Each body part slowly began to give way, paralyzed by a warm and padded smothering. Futile gasps yielded the same result as silence. She crumpled to the floor, mind escaping through her ears and nostrils.
He reached in his pocket again as he stood over her. Grabbing two more syringes he plunged one into himself, and then another into her. Lying down beside her he could feel her muted breathing slowing and tapering off. Placing his hand on her neck, the driving internal rhythm was slipping. He inhaled deeply as if in a comforting tone.
"I guess I'll go see nascar now," he stated, matter-of-factly. And brought himself slowly up off the floor.
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| quote: | Originally posted by jvankampen20
I have been following Tiesto since 99. I was immediately enthralled by what I still regard the best electronic CD ever compiled, Magik VI Live in Amsterdam. This CD is loaded with uplifting, energetic, blood moving tracks intricately mixed with angelic perfection. From that moment on, I could feel the magik flowing through my veins while listening to the music that Tijs carefully samples and produces. His creativity allows him to develop the concepts of songs that bring life and energy to people around the world. |
Last edited by Demoted on Aug-23-2009 at 14:44
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