#how am I supposed to stay hydrated when I almost piss myself??

[fantasy-based-reality]

Waterllama just scared me shitless

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Two-Faced Talk || Morgan & Nadia?

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Morgan & Deirdre’s house

PARTIES: @humanmoodring @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan has Nadia over for a soft chat after realizing she hurt Remmy. Nadia’s a little split on what to think about that.

CONTAINS: discussion of food poisoning

Morgan checked the clock every few seconds. She’d run Remmy out of the house on an errand, Deirdre was at work, and it was almost noon, the time Nadia was supposed to come by to hang...with her fists. Not that she knew that. Or that Morgan had much of an ingenious plan beyond making her suffer for giving Remmy enough Infector Mortis to give them a slow and painful, permanent death. The small knife she used for throwing practice was still in her pocket, sheathed and ready to go. As soon as Nadia announced herself at the door Morgan was on the other side, gripping the handle. She needed answers, first and foremost. She had brought Nadia here for answers, for Remmy, and for the smallest scrap of recompense. However the got there, so be it.

“Hey!” She said brightly. “Thanks for coming over! Come on in—” She took Nadia’s hand and lead her inside, then promptly twisted her arm behind her and shoved her into the house. “I have a question for you. Well, a few, really. But we can start with whether you seriously thought no one was going to figure out you fed Remmy Infector Mortis. Did you really think that one out?”

Nadia only had a shaky amount of control over their body when she went to meet Morgan. It was so stupid; what happened at the cabin should have given her more control, not less. Nadia was willing to give it up, too. And yet, half the time, they seemed to be legitimately sharing a body. When she was in control, Nadia tried to regain control of the situation. When her host was in control, she kind of just stewed and panicked over everything that they’d done until she worked herself up too much emotionally. There were triggers to their switches. High emotions. Pain. Sleep. The last one had only happened a handful of times, and never for very long. At least the two of them could agree that they hated sleeping. They also agreed they needed to talk to Morgan to figure out what the hell was going on. And Nadia wanted to see Remmy. She thought they were fun, especially since she technically didn’t have to kill them.

When Morgan jerked Nadia’s arm behind her back, she gasped out, tears in her eyes. It wasn’t any sort of pain but mostly shock, though Morgan’s grip was cold and ironclad. “What?” she asked, panicked and confused and not really understanding what Morgan was asking. She couldn’t feel her, didn’t understand what was going on. “What?”

Morgan shut the door behind them and flicked the deadbolt shut. “I think I’m making myself very clear,” she said firmly. “Infector Mortis only takes a few hours to take effect, and you may have been smart enough to time it so Remmy got sick in a restaurant full of poisoned humans, but you were still dumb enough to be the only person who came into spitting distance of their food. Did you think no one would figure it out?” She grabbed Nadia by the shirt and shook her. “Answer me. Now.”

When the deadbolt shut, Nadia felt an overwhelming sense of panic overwhelm her as she realized she was locked somewhere with someone that she couldn’t feel. How strange it was, to be trapped with her own emotions. “I--” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. What had she done? She poisoned someone? How could she--

Nadia allowed the tears to keep falling, and she let out a sob. “I’m so sorry.” Truthfully, she hadn’t really been concerned about what would happen after when Remmy was supposed to fucking die. Whatever. Between Nadia’s emotions and her being pissed as hell at Tommy for putting her in this situation, Nadia could handle it. She could. “He made me and I couldn’t-- How do you say no to someone holding your life over your head?”

Morgan released her hold on Nadia as she started to cry. It felt too monstrous, making someone burst into tears and making it worse. She hated seeing anyone cry and even if Nadia deserved all this and worse for what she did to Remmy-- Morgan hissed between her teeth and backed away from her, still blocking the door. “Sorry, for attempted murder. No, wait, leading them on and attempted murder. I didn’t really think you were the play and run type.” But, from what she was saying, there might be a seriously grim reason behind that. “What do you mean he’s got your life over your head? Who? Who made you do this?”

“I am sorry! I’m not a murderer,” Nadia said, and it was true; every attempt at pre-planned killing that she’d attempted had failed, so, really, she wasn’t a murderer. She didn’t plan out kills. They just kind of happened, and she rolled through the punches. “I didn’t want to kill them, and I’m really fucking glad they’re alive.” At least, she didn’t really want them to be dead. “I think they’re sweet and kind and really wonderful. I didn’t want them to die.” Nadia took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself just enough that Nadia wouldn’t take over again. Calm. They both needed calm in order to stick around. “There’s a guy. I thought he was just this really great guy, or, you know, he was really fun. I got kind involved with him, his work. Easy money stuff. And then I couldn’t get out of it. And then he told me to kill this zombie or else. I didn’t realize it was Remmy until too late, I swear!”

Morgan deflated, her rage winding down into annoyance. Some needling, bitter part of her wanted this story to be a lie, just so she could put her fist through the girl’s face and dent her Disney Princess cheekbones. But she was crying so horribly, the questions had caught her so off guard, there was no way she could’ve had this prepared or made it up on her feet. It was just the right kind of stupid; no one would expect anyone to believe something like that unless it was true. “God, you’re a fucking cliche,” Morgan muttered. “Fine. What’s his name? Who’s he work for? If you really don’t want to be held responsible for trying to murder my best friend, you’re gonna have to be a little more proactive than that.”

It was the ghost’s rage that brought Nadia back, that seething undercurrent of emotion that caused her to shut her eyes tightly. Take it back take it back take it back. I don’t want to be here. She rubbed at her temples and shook her head, slight. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. “I’m getting sick.” Please just take over or say his fucking name. She wanted this conversation to end; she wanted Morgan to just do whatever and get it over with.

Nadia took another steady breath. “Sorry,” she reiterated, her teeth gritted. She had to keep control She had to get herself out of this. “Tommy. His name is Tommy Wright. He’s a criminal.” She swallowed thickly before looking at Morgan with reddened eyes. “I’ll admit that I’m not the greatest person in the world, but I didn’t want to kill Remmy, and I wouldn’t have even tried if I thought I’d had another choice.” At this point, she was sure that the price she was paid wasn’t worth all the damn headache she’d been caused.

The last of Morgan’s aggression flagged away, crushed as she watched her get physically ill on her own angst. “Come here,” she sighed, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I’m not gonna throttle you, okay? You’re safe, for all intents and purposes. She filled a glass with ice water and held it out to her. “You need to hydrate. Also, it’s really hard to cry and drink water at the same time. Take it as a pro tip from a cry baby: chug.” She drummed her fingers on the edge of the counter. Hugs and assurances seemed to have been taken pretty effectively off the table with the whole threat of violence thing, but if Nadia really was on the hook of some criminal, didn’t she need help? “I don’t care about good people and bad people,” she sighed. “I care about whether or not someone hurts my friends. And I care about intentions and helping people my friends care about.” She shrugged. “I’m not sorry I scared you, but I am glad you told me the truth anyway. How much trouble are you in, that it didn’t work? Is this Tommy guy gonna try and hurt you?”

Nadia followed Morgan into the kitchen, feeling marginally more relaxed as she felt like the woman was buying her story. At least, she hoped. It was so fucking hard to tell. Undead. She downed the glass of water, letting it soothe her throat. She actually didn’t remember the last time they’d eaten or drank anything. The last few days had been rough. “Thank you,” she said, putting as much sincerity as possible into it. She even managed to laugh a little bit in a low, self-deprecating way. “I don’t even blame you. You’re just looking out for your friend. It’s noble.” Which seemed to be a zombie trait around these parts. Kind-hearted, brain-eating zombies. Who’d have thought? “I’m in a lot of trouble. Not just because of him, or this.” she kept her voice quiet, her tone somber. “But I’m glad they're not dead. I didn’t want to kill them. I can’t imagine it’ll be that great. He really likes making people afraid, hurting them.”

Morgan plopped down on a chair near Nadia, looking for an answer somewhere in the middle distance. “Do you have somewhere to stay? Somewhere that’s a little hard to find? I don’t really know much about how local criminals work, but I figure they’ve got...I don’t know, goons or something to do their stalking. Maybe you can--I don’t know.” Not stay here. Remmy needed to feel safe here. And even if Deirdre could slice and dice through anyone who came to the door, she didn’t want that kind of responsibility falling on her home, at least not to someone who’d tried to murder Remmy. “Nadia, I am trying really hard to give you the compassion I think you probably deserve, but you should probably stop reminding me of what you did to my friend. Do you need money, to get somewhere safe? Can you take care of yourself? Protect yourself from this Tommy guy before he makes you wreck someone else’s life?”

Did Nadia have somewhere to stay? Well, she’d been squatting in empty houses and setting up a camp in some of the nicer, less supernatural invested land around town so, “Yes, I’ve been moving around a lot. He’s not going to find me.” If he did, she’d just try to talk her way out of that, too. Still, she was tired, and she was running out of words. “Right, sorry, right. No more reminding you of that.” Even if Morgan was kind of the one that kept bringing it up, and she was just trying to fucking apologize, dammit. How many fucking times had she apologized in the last few days? More than she had in a lifetime. “I can take care of myself. Sometimes I’m even good at it.” She gave Morgan a tired smile. “Not that you can tell right now.”

“No, I can’t,” Morgan replied. “So, maybe try to get better at it, okay? Remmy, for some reason, cares about you. They probably still do. As much as I get a hard time for wanting to believe in people, Remmy’s even worse. And I know they’d be upset if something bad happened to you, even after everything.” Morgan stretched out her arms, searching for something in her to give Nadia a pat on the hand, a little something to remind her that she was still a person, that there was still something good to try for and look forward to and whatever low had brought her to this Tommy asshole. But whatever well she had for that stuff wouldn’t open for Nadia. Not today. But she leveled her eyes at the girl and offered what excuse of a smile she could while being sincere. “I’m not going to hurt you, Nadia. As long as you don’t hurt any more of my friends. Intentions matter, always, but so do they. Please get out of my house now.”

[yasminsqueendom]

Antique the Vamp Geek Pt1 Ep10

CW: Lots of cussing, anxiety, crying, stress

A/N: Like a lot of stress

W/C: 1856

Hey y’all! It’s story time.

Imma get right into it.

My bitch ass, stick up her ass having, roommate found out I’m a vamp…..and the bitch ratted me out to my school. 

So, rewinding a little bit, I got an email from the nurse’s office “reminding” me that I had exactly one month to submit my status to the office. I thought it was just a routine reminder that was sent to everyone who hadn’t taken it yet. But, then a follow up email came through setting a specific time for me to come down for testing. 

At this point, I’m getting nervous because I know that appointments aren’t required. We all just had a deadline to submit the results. We aren’t even required to get the test done here at the school. So it seems extremely odd to me that they would be harassing me like this. On top of that, I DON’T HAVE TO SUBMIT MY RESULTS SINCE I LIVE OFF CAMPUS. And even if I did, I had until the end of the month to do it.

So, when my afternoon class ends, I go down to the nurse’s office to request a time extension or something. Just anything to buy myself some time. I get down there and there is only one nurse in the office and public safety officer at the door. That set off alarm bells in my mind because there is always a secretary, an assistant, and some student volunteers. It looks way too creepy in here for me. 

The lady looks scared for her life, and I'm already convinced they know what I am. My stomach is in knots and everything and I'm stressed tf out. Like what am I going to do? She damn near jumps out of her seat when I say who I am and why I'm there. 

She pushes this little kit across the counter and says “Open it and follow the directions inside.” I feel myself starting to get pissed because now I can't go into a room for privacy? I can't get a alcohol swab before I stick this needle in my finger or whatever? What the fuck?

So I gently remind her that it is protocol for me to be called back to one of the rooms for privacy. 

THIS BITCH GON SAY IT'S FOR EVERYONE'S SAFETY FOR ME TO DO IT HERE! 

I kindly say that I wouldn't be taking any tests until I get my own room for it. If I have something contagious, it would be safer for everyone if I was somewhere private. Internally, I feel completely unsafe and honestly am convinced that if I come to a back room I might not make it back out again. The public safety monkey outside has me feeling like I'm turning myself in for committing the crime of existing. I start to doubt myself, and I feel my resolve weakening. 

So, she shakily gets up and points down the hall talking about “You can use the last room on the right.”

Ignoring her rudeness, I go down the hall with the kit. I follow the instructions to remove the cap and press it to my finger. It would put you in the mind of blood sugar monitors for diabetic people. I place it in the little baggie that comes with the shit. I go back out to hand it to the nurse over the desk. 

This bitch jumps like I threw a whole grenade at her. I mean all the way, damn near under the desk. Her damn chair hit the file cabinet behind her and everything. It would have been fucking hilarious if it wasn't for my severe terror building up inside me. I was almost numb. 

She says I can go so I just turn around and walked out because fuck this place. 

I barely remember what I did after that. I send some vague email to the professor of my next class about feeling too sick to come in. And then just go back to my place and curl up in a ball on my bedroom floor and sob like a fucking baby. Like snot and shit everywhere. I'm just beyond consolable. 

Eventually, I hear someone moving around out in the main room and I'm immediately paranoid. I crawl over to my bathroom to splash water on my face. I look a hot ass mess in the mirror. I'm frustrated at myself for crying because if I didn't look ghoulish before, I do now. 

Anyway, I ease my door open and see it's gotten dark since I came in. And that's strange to me since both my other roommates need light to see at night. So, if one of them is here, it would certainly be much brighter in the apartment.

I see my super religious roommate's door is open. I peak around her doorway and see her in there trying (and failing miserably) to stuff a backpack full of clothes. Some burly dude is in there with her using his cell phone's flashlight.  

When I tell you I felt heat in my damn scalp. Like, literally I thought I was gonna set something on fire just by touching it. Because I immediately know that everything I have suffered through that day was because of this ugly, naked mole rat looking, “I only buss it open for Jesus” acting, “my shit smell better than yours”  behaving, stick up her ass having ass bitch is trying to run away after she just potentially ended my time as a student. And may have just fucked up my whole world. AND SHE IS TRYING TO RUN??? RUN AWAY FROM THE SITUATION THAT SHE IS CAUSING RIGHT NOW.  

I close my eyes for a brief moment, and switch the lights on. I know it will take them longer to adjust than me. She starts screaming and he grunts like the big ass gollum he is. But he recovers quicker. I know already that any physical motion I make will be interpreted as a threat to these assholes. I just slowly open my eyes and just stare at them. My eyes burn, but I am so numb that I can’t even manage a reaction. He is standing there looking like there isn’t much between his ears (as my grandma would say). But she…...oh this bitch right here…..has the audacity to look like I just pulled a gun on her. Like I was gonna shoot her right then. I guess that’s how I looked. I know that’s how I felt. I never wanted to bite someone so bad. As much as I hate the thought of consuming any part of a creature like her, I wanted to attack. I was feeling reckless.

“Just tell me the truth.” I asked her. And she looks like she is about to piss on herself. I’m hoping she does. I want her to feel humiliated. I want her to hurt. She won’t say anything though, so I repeat myself. “Just tell me that you did it. Tell me that you called in and snitched on me.” 

She is still standing there looking absolutely foolish. But eventually she squeaks out, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Now, I feel cold. Like ice cold. We already run a little cooler, but now I feel a got damn iceberg. And then I feel nothing. 

It is at this precise moment that I hear the key turning in the main room. The Uninfected in front of me can’t hear it. They both clearly want to bolt, but I’m blocking the only safe exit. The fire escape outside of the window is rickety and rusting in places, but they look like they might try it just to get away from the “monster.” 

“Home sweet home.” My other roommate says from the hall. She walks up behind me, and freezes. She can only just see over my shoulder, and she is so close behind me I can feel her body heat. “What’s going on?”

It’s weird, but her body heat starts to thaw me out a little. I feel completely drained. I almost slump over, but I’m still angry enough to keep standing. I slowly back into my roommate, I know there are shadows behind me, swallowing me up as I step backwards. She’s complaining about me bumping into her, but she isn’t strong enough to push me forward, and she clearly doesn’t want to get in between me and the others. 

I reach up and shut the lights off again, and feel the smallest bit of satisfaction from the look of horror on Gollum and Stiff’s faces as they can’t see me anymore. He’s fumbling for his phone for the flashlight, and she is looking like a lost child. I can’t bring myself to care. They look pathetic. 

“Tell me what’s going on right now.” My saint of a roommate whispers in my ear.  I pull her back across the hall into my bedroom and close the door loud enough for the others to hear. I leave the lights off since I don’t need them (she’s used to that by now), and I tell her everything that has happened to me. Even things that haven’t happened yet. All my fears, all my pain pours out of me, and I feel incredibly grateful that I have at least one good friend that I can talk to face to face about everything. 

It made me think about all of my baby vamp listeners who send me emails about how alone they feel. I know it’s hard, but you aren’t alone. We aren’t alone. You are seen. You are heard. You are loved. 

Back to the story, my phone starts buzzing. I look over at it, and hear my roommate gasp. I realize this is the first time that she has seen my face. The light of my phone is illuminating me. Apparently, I was crying while I was talking, so she reaches across and hugs me. Just a sweet, friendly hug of someone being supportive, and kind. 

And then she does something I never thought anyone would do for me. She offers to be my source. I mean, wow. My world is fucking ending, and sometimes I don’t pay my portion of rent on time, and she offers to keep me alive. I am stunned. But, I politely refuse. I don’t want her life to be stained by mine any more than it already is by associating with me. 

I was so distracted by her kindness that I almost forgot what I had just seen on my phone. My father called me...he never calls me. My panic levels instantly soar over 9,000. My eyes go blurry and I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do. There’s a text message there, too, but I feel too distraught to read it. 

I just put that shit down, rolled over and went to sleep. 

At some point, I woke up and dealt with that shit later.

Anyway, stay safe y’all. Moisturize and hydrate.

Love Tique.

[antisocialsln]

i feel like im dying. nobody wants me around anymore. everyones making it painfully clear theyre sick of me. im a hypocrite. i get upset that they choose drugs over me and drinking over me when i do the same anyway. im high most of the time i spend awake and if i can drag myself to the fucking store im drinking and ive just stopped addressing it now. the ghosts are out to get me. something followed me home the other day i saw it in the mirror it laughed in my ear. the voices have been back for longer than i dare admit but im so used to them that its somewhat comforting having them back. theyre more protective now theres something here. “cover the mirrors” “keep away from the windows” and such. theres always eyes in the dark. i cant make them go for long. there are shadows that move in every corner and ive gotten used to the bugs crawling all over me again. my family dont care, i tried to talk to them and all i was met with was laughter. something kept banging on the window, loud enough to make me jump so fast i went dizzy. i got my dad to check the garden, nothing there. it happened again. he was still in the kitchen. he didnt hear it. either time. neither did my mom. i saw something outside of the window but they didnt believe me they said it must have been in my headphones but it wasnt i rewound the video. no banging. something threw my cup off of the side. i was nowhere near it, home alone, no breeze, nothing else fell, no pets, nothing but me and something else. it threw my cup on the floor and it broke. i was having a good night. it was my favourite cup, i cant drink the drinks i need to drink every day without it. my routine is ruined. thats hard for me. i know it sounds stupid but i suppose you could say my autism clung onto this cup so i could hydrate. i feel empty now that its destroyed. i texted my dad. i told him i want the ghost stuff to stop. they need to make it stop. i cant handle it anymore. i dont feel safe alone in the house. he didnt take me seriously. he still things its my fault. he yelled in a public area that i have to stop being so clumsy, he tried to tell me i was drunk. “you were drunk. you knocked it off the side. you were pissed. you drank way too much” i know i didnt i didnt have anything to drink and the only pills i took where after the matter to calm down and go for a walk high because thats the only thing i could do i couldnt stay in the house. its all so hazy. it feels weird. i experienced the whole thing in 3rd person. ive been tunnelvisioned for weeks now. the color from everything is dull to me and i dont really enjoy anything anymore unless im playing a character.  i tried to explain to my father that i want to die. i tried to tell him i know i am going to kill myself and he told me to “stop being so fucking dramatic”. every day now he yells at me for not getting out of bed, for being lazy. but im hardly sleeping at night the only rest i get is in the day i cant sleep at night anymore and im hardly sleeping in the day anyway i fall asleep at 8-9am and i wake up every 30-60minutes until i get yelled at around 2pm to get up. im mostly mute now. nobody comes to see me. leaving the house to go anywhere but sit on a park swing alone in the dark at night is terrifying and im supposed to be going to comic con on friday. i cant die no matter how much i try ive definitely hit 10-15 attempts in the past year by now. 2 alone this month and its only november. no matter how many pills i take, no matter if i swallow glass, no matter what medication i mix with alcohol, no matter how much i bleed or dont breathe. i just cant die. im immortal. and its killing me in a completely different way to what i want. and yet i still have this irrational fear of almost dying and needing hospital intervention. not even out of fear of being sectioned. i almost want to now. i almost want them to throw me in a psych ward and leave me there. the fear is if that happens, even if im just in for a night. my parents will never let it go, they will never let me go, itll all get worse. ill get no privacy, they will be on my ass all the time. just because it would make them look bad. im trying to go to uni just so i can show them i can move out so thats easily 4 more years of this fucking bullshit before i get a chance at being free. i really dont know how much more of anything i can take. i dont want to be here. i really, really do not.

[junkpoetic]

Four

    On the verge of his tenth mile, Elliot had a feeling like he had to urinate. With seemingly no shrubbery around he contemplated just going in his shorts. He figured by the time he’d reach the finish line the ratio of sweat to urine would hide the fact that there was any urine at all. When he made the decision that he was going to go for it, he slowed to a trot and attempt to release, but he couldn’t. There was only more feeling of having to go. He decided to ignore everything and began running faster again.

    The wind and sweat made the road rash on his wrists and knees scream. On a whim he took a left at the next side street and slowed his run to a walk. Eventually he came to a complete stop. He found himself in a sort of rundown neighborhood that had a shoddy old shopping plaza in it vacant with more boarded windows than windows. For some reason he turned his microphone off. I did not realize this until we played back the tape later on, I was consumed in the bar lights with Juno Rafferty.

    Elliot began walking door to door and pulling on them to see if any were accidentally left unlocked. He figured there had to be an old toilet somewhere inside. He doesn’t remember if it was the fourth or fifth door he tried but he noticed the board on the window next to it was loose. He looked around to make sure he was alone before climbing in. He was shocked when the light flicked on when he flipped the switch. The majority of the bulbs were burnt out but there was enough life in the lights that lit to allow him to see things clear enough. It looked like an old insurance company or doctor’s office, the smell of ink and paper still lingered among the dust. It was a room that sat stagnant, waiting for nothing. When he turned the bathroom light on the light flickered and fought before eventually burning consistently. He stood over the toilet waiting a lifetime to piss. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled before finally feeling a painful trickle. It looked more like apple cider than lemonade. Fuck he said beneath his breath. He attempted to flush but nothing happened, nor did the water turn on so he couldn’t wash his hands. He cranked the paper towel spool and unraveled a few sheets of hardened yellowed tissue and dabbed his wounds with it. Thankfully his cuts didn’t look as bad as they stung.

    When he walked back out into the office the room felt dimmer. He wondered if more bulbs had burnt out while he was urinating. He pondered lightbulbs for some odd reason. He found it funny that when one burned out at his house, he didn’t change it right away. He’d just get used to dimmer light. He’d wait until enough burned out and change them all at once. There’s less flaw in dimmer light, he liked that. It leveled the playing field. He felt the same about the snow. Everyone’s yard looks the same in a snowstorm.

    When he climbed back through the window, he gazed out upon the empty parking lot. The broken streetlamps, the dead weeds stuck between cracks in the concrete. The trashy graffiti that meant nothing to most people and everything to whoever created it. He tried to resurface from his cavernous mind, but something was off. He kept falling deeper. He stared at the graffiti for much longer than a moment. Stuck in gaze, he couldn’t make out what it said. A voice shouted startling him from his daydream. He didn’t hear what they said, he waved and trotted back toward the marathon course.

10.87 miles- Bloody. Brown piss. Delirium.

    He didn’t remember to turn his mic back on until he felt the adhesive tape itching against his chest reminding him that he was wearing it.

    “Paulie? You there?”

    “Jesus Elliot, where have you been?”

    “Took a fall, had find a toilet.”

    “You alright?”

    “I think so.”

    He would never admit that he was not okay. He wasn’t even halfway through and so dehydrated. I told him to stop running but he kept rambling about lightbulbs and parking lots attempting to sound philosophical. It apparently made sense in his mind. I had to laugh because it reminded me of the first time we got drunk together.

    “Call off the dogs E. I am worried about you now.”

    “They’re so lonely and beautiful.”

    “What?”

    “Parking lots. They’re always waiting.”

    “What?” I laughed but not really.

    “Arrivals and departures. They’re stuck in between. Like an elevator if you pressed all the floors at once.”

    “I am coming to meet you.”

    He continued. “I have to show you the most beautiful parking lot I found.”

    “Elliot, you need water.”

    Total distance eleven miles. Total time one hundred twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Split pace eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds per mile.

    Not long into his twelfth mile, his legs wouldn’t allow him to run. He struggled to walk for a short while before he couldn’t move at all. An ambulance arrived and took Elliot Knox away from the race. They took him to South Shore hospital and pumped him full of fluids. The last thing he said before turning his microphone off was “keep the clock running”.

    I parted ways with Juno. She was kind enough to stay with my stuff at the bar while I took a cab to South Shore. The cab drivers name was Kingston and he drove like Jeff Gordon. It felt as if the tequila sodas I consumed were very disrupted in my stomach. He took sharp turns through back roads and went fifty miles per hour on straightaways. I managed to keep from vomiting but not by much. When I got to the hospital there were two other marathon runners awaiting a room, apparently Elliot was bad enough they booked him right away.

    I tried to make sense of everything a I walked the long corridors of lights and glares pasts room that smelled of insulin and disease. He only ran eleven miles… sure he drank alcohol the night before and probably didn’t hydrate but Elliot seemed healthy enough to run at least a half marathon and possibly walk another half. It wasn’t until I arrived at his room and the doctor informed that Elliot wasn’t healthy enough to run a marathon nor was he healthy enough to run a half marathon. I felt dizzy and delirious much like Elliot sounded when he was talking about parking lots and light bulbs. Everything went blurry. I felt worse than I did in Kingston’s cab. I could no longer hold back the vomit once the doctor informed me that my best friend was dying.  

    When I went into his room, he was lying in bed smiling as the IV drip nursed him back to hydration. I did not tell him what the doctor told me. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. Suddenly the jargon about light bulbs and parking lots made much more sense.

    Parking lots are places that no one ever talks about. They’re not glamorous. They’re often quite the opposite. They hold no address, and they’re left off maps, it’s like they don’t exist. So full of exhaust and the pollution of strangers constantly arriving and departing. So full during the day and so empty and lonely at night. Painted in bird shit, chewed gum, and cigarette ash. Full of Styrofoam trash, and paper cups of smoke, and they carry the weight of the happiest hellos and the saddest farewells.  

    I sat down in the chair at his bedside, and he insisted he was not done running. He brought up the time I saved his life. He always makes so much more of it than it was. I don’t think I really did much, but I suppose it goes to show how much we are affected by one another. Not just our friendship but people everywhere. The little things make a difference. The slightest detail can change someone���s everything.

    “I didn’t save your life Elliot. I just happened to be there.”

    “Yeah. You were there when I did not want to be.”

    “It was Christmas Eve, I was just dropping off a gift.”

    “Not just a gift. You gave me a Blonde On Blonde signed vinyl… possibly one of the greatest records of all time, signed.” He laughed.

    “I didn’t realize you liked it that much.” I said.

    “I don’t. I like that I was going to kill myself that night and you showed up with a gift.”

    I didn’t know how to respond when he said that, so naturally I said. “How come you didn’t tell me that you’re dying.”

    “Everyone’s dying.” He replied.

    “You’re dying quicker.” I said.

    “Imagine if I could apply my speed at dying to running a marathon.” He joked.

    “Yeah.” I said not knowing what to say.

    “Look, life is a marathon. I have been running my whole life. I’m tired Paulie. The outlook isn’t good. I want to enjoy whatever time I have left.”

    “Did you enjoy running the Boston Marathon?” I teased.

    “That was miserable. But I have to finish it.” He sniffed his nose toward me. “You smoke?”

    “I smoked three cigarettes. Yes.” I replied.

    “You’re a smoker now?”

    “Does three cigarettes make me a smoker?” I said.

    “Does eleven and a half miles make me a runner?” He replied.

    “God no.” I laughed.

    There was a resounding pause after that laugh that I’ll never forget. It was as if I could feel him coming to terms with his mortality even though he showed no signs of vulnerability. I guess when you know someone well enough you can see through them. It was difficult seeing Elliot be weak. I had only seen him week twice in my life, once that Christmas Eve night, which we never spoke of after, and then today on this October afternoon so full of gloom.  

    Later that evening he felt stable enough to refuse any more treatment. I called us a cab and lo and behold, Kingston was our driver. Elliot enjoyed the ride much more than I did. When we got back to the hotel, Elliot vanished into his hotel room for the remainder of the evening. I walked back to the bar hoping to God that she would still be there. I felt almost out of body as I reflected on the day. I felt a little guilty that my life back home hadn’t crossed my mind. I found myself wanting to smoke one hundred cigarettes with the Goddess of Light, Juno, on a sidewalk in the dark.  

    I pushed open the heavy door and walked in to find that she was gone.

[theliterateape]

The Primary Reason I Didn’t Vote in the Illinois Primary

By David Himmel

“The flag should never be displayed with the union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.” —U.S Code 176

I didn’t see the usual “I VOTED” stickers from my darling and my annoying social media friends on Super Tuesday III—as MSNBC was calling it in further effort to make the news feel like a Rocky film. That is due in part because I didn’t spend much time on social media yesterday. I couldn’t afford that time. I was busy with other stuff. But it also could be because a lot of those social media friends didn’t vote, and if they did, things are so goddamn dour now that bragging about running an errand wasn’t worth the energy it takes to frame, filter, and post a pic proving your citizenship.

I also didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III—again, MSNBC’s title for a voting day because MSNBC is run by dorks who get hard and wet over the most mundane but important aspects of American life.

Yep. I’m that guy. I’m that guy who didn’t vote in the most important primary of our lives. Right? That’s what this is, right? Eh. I’m also that guy who is married to a woman who didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary on Super Tuesday III. 

Allow me to digress… Okay, look, I realize that MSNBC didn’t create the Super Tuesday III moniker, but that was the channel my wife had on most of the day as we were holed up in our apartment trying to dodge COVID-19. And I dislike MSNBC almost as much as I dislike FOX News, so I’m easily coerced by my own ego—maybe my id, I don’t know—to take a barely clever shit on its dumb, smug face whenever I can.

Now, back to the important thoughts… I’m that guy who didn’t vote. And I’m that guy whose wife didn’t vote. And I fully expect friends of ours, friends like Rory Zacher to comment on this story or its Facebook post, or to text me and say something to the effect of: “I hope Trump comes into your home, grabs your two-year-old-son by the pussy and builds a wall around your toilet. That’s what you get for not voting.” And that’s fine. Because my son doesn’t have a pussy. Just ask him. He will proudly tell you he has a penis and that “Mommy penis… bye-bye.” And that reminds me… I need to teach my son that a penis is not something that all people have then goes “bye-bye.” That’s sexism. And it only applies, respectfully, to rich trannies.

I’m a politico. I even write and host podcasts for POLITICO. But I didn’t vote. Why? Well, duh…

The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

My vote would not have mattered. Nope. I don’t want to hear it. It wouldn’t have mattered. I would have chosen a Democratic Ballot. Between the job, trying to keep Literate Ape functioning, missing Don Hall like the deserts miss the rain, being an engaged dad and attentive husband, and thinking through two film projects, one novel, and a book of poetry, I did not have the bandwidth to consider those down-ballot elections. I like to think of myself as non-partisan. I would easily vote republican if I thought a republican candidate could do the job right. But if I had voted today, I would have asked for a Democratic ballot, which means I would have ben voting for the best of the most useless so-called liberal. Maybe there were general contests to vote for, I don’t know. Because I mostly don’t care. And I’ll come back to that in a moment. As it relates to voting for the president, well… I’d prefer Bernie. But, if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, that’s fine. I know Bernie won’t get done all he wants to get done because he’ll never have the support of Congress required to do it. See, the thing that most people forget is that the president is designed to be the Face, not the Ruler. It’s Congress that makes the difference. And come the general election, I’ll likely vote Democrat all the way down. Except for judges. But that’s a complicated story for another time.

 The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.

So even I had voted, it wouldn’t have mattered. Some excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party would be elected over an equally excited wank aligned with the Democratic Party. And then it’ll be a fight to the finish against a republican cocknozzle who wants to be as (un)cool as Devin Nunes. And my vote for Bernie, and my wife’s vote for Bernie, would not have helped keeping him from getting trounced the same way the Houston Astros trounced the rules of baseball. Thing is, if I had voted, I’d feel far more disappointed than I am right now. And you should know, dear reader, that my secondary goal in life is to master disappointment. The first goal is to convince myself, my wife, and every girlfriend I’ve ever had that I was worth the lay.

Yeah, yeah, Zacher, I know, I could have early voted. And I thought about that. “Maybe we should do that,” I said to my wife, Katie. Or maybe she said it to me. But we didn’t. Why? I dunno. Because this primary didn’t matter much in our household, I suppose. And that’s selfish, I know. But we’re white and not broke, and we own a boat, and we have so many friends who can afford in vitro and all that shit—like multiple times, all of them—so what the fuck do you expect from us?

So, the primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary is because it wasn’t important. And not just because I don’t care about the flawed system or the sub-basement candidates. But because when I considered the risk of casting a vote for one fuckhead over another at risk of contracting COVID-19, I chose to stay home and have Zoom meetings with co-workers.

But here’s the other thing—that goddamn coronavirus. Yep. I’m not afraid, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve been a healthcare journalist to varying degrees for ten years. I was the editor in chief of Chicago Health magazine for six years. I’m a senior healthcare reporter for POLITICO. I’m not bragging (should I?), I’m just setting the stage to tell you that I’m not an everyday idiot. I’m a special kind of idiot! I recognize this shit is real. It was real the moment it left Wuhan. And really, it was real the moment it left the bat and made its way into the first human, or however the fuck this goddamn thing began.

Katie was sick on Sunday. A slight fever, which dropped quickly, was not the great concern. The great concern was her hydration because she was—how can I put this politely—shitting out of her mouth and pissing out of her ass for a good twenty-four hours. Three days later, she’s still struggling to find her normal. And now our boy has a fever. Tuesday afternoon, he broke through 100ºF with the gusto we all wanted Hillary to break through that glass ceiling. (Alas, another white male out did a woman. Yeah, I’m as perturbed by it as you are, brah/sista.)

Do they have COVID-19? Probably not. But were/are they ill? Yep. And in a time when we know less than almost fuck all about this pandemic, should someone exposed to their snot, breath, and farts venture out to a voting booth, take hold of a communal pen, and breathe on every available surface? Nah. Probably not.

As of this writing, I feel great. My bowel movements are as liquid as they usually are and my ability to breathe is as normal as it usually is, which is to say, I can smell all the farts in my house. The lingering ones… the ones living in the couch cushions, the ones that aren’t mine or Katie’s or Harry’s, but those of some of our dearest friends. You know who you are, couch farters.

My office shut down last week after the news that someone in one of the largest downtown Chicago office complexes was tested positive for COVID-19. The agency I work for has taken some drastic measures to ensure its survival as has almost every single organization in the United States with employees and clients to consider. This shit is ugly. And with each passing day, it look smore and more like a more devastating. I mean, they’ve stopped the money. No NBA. No NCAA. No goddam casinos! When America shuts down it’s money, you know shit is real. This is stranger and more dire and more uncertain than 9/11. And 9/11 was fucking  fucked up. You remember, right?

So I didn’t vote. I’m on a minor quarantine. Since I’m the only person in our household—other than the dog—without any flu-like or ass dynamite symptoms, I’m the one who makes the Walgreens runs and walks that mooch of a dog (whom I love). And as In pass other dog walkers, or the rare jogger or Walgreens runner, we take extra steps aside to avoid each other—three feet at least! And we give a knowing nod to say, “Don’t vote, dude. Those pens are not getting whipped down. I know they say they are, but come on. We all know that’s not true. The wipedowns are dependent on poorly paid democratic (lowercase D, morons, calm down) do-gooders who would rather be at home than have you breathing and coughing on them.”

The outcome of the 2020 election, presidential and every more important down-ballot ticket will not be determined by my staying at home. And if it does, it doesn’t matter. Because even if Old Joe Dementia gets the nomination, even if Trump is reelected, even if Kim Fox marries Jussie Smollet’s straight alter-ego, my vote yesterday—Super Tuesday III when Brian Williams and Rachel Maddow scissor to the tune of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” during Morning Joe, nothing is more important than the health of my family, myself, and my neighborhood. Especially when stacked against our decaying democracy, or whatever the fuck we call this shitshow now.

[livingllz-blog]

Dec 1: Frats are Trash (Part 2)

(N) After leaving the house show, we walk to Beta Theta Pi. Apparently they let the first 75 people in for free whether they’re guys or girls. This is so brilliant!! None of those idiot ratios or making guys pay too much money. First come, first serve. Walking into the basement, I see the love of my life (R). He lives on my floor and is the most adorable dude I’ve ever seen in my entire life and let me explain. He is the type of cute that I wanna pinch his cheeks. Since welcome week, I’ve been telling my friends and roommates I’ve wanted to do this. And only now have I had the opportunity. We have a streak on snapchat and we greet each other so we know of each other and it’s a passing friendship. But he comes up and says hi, and that’s when I make my move. I ask to pinch his cheeks and at first he’s confused and giggly, but then he agrees. AND IM NOT KIDDING WHEN I SAY IT’S ONE OF THE GREATEST THINGS IVE EVER DONE. I don’t even care if I sound crazy but then I ask how he feels about being brotherzoned. He’s just so cute I wanna hug him and tell him all my secrets. I could never imagine myself being sexually attracted to him, he’s just so cute! AND GET THIS: HE AGREES. And then hugs me again and says he’s now my little brother since his birthday is after mine. I already have a real younger brother, but I’m happy to say now I have two.

While at this party, I see my potential roommate (K) for next year. Nothing’s been set in stone but I had her meet my two other friends (N) and (D) who I would love to room w next year. But now at this party, she introduces us as her future roommates and me especially. Girl. We haven’t fully decided anything yet.. so I just nod and smile but we really need to come back to that. She spends a lot of time w her bf, during the day and at the party. At one point, she’s just standing next to us making out w him. (N) and I are both kind of awkwarded out and decide to revisit this rooming thing. “I want a roommate who will choose her friends over her bf” -(N) and I feel the same way. 

Next, we hit up Apple Pi. Before tonight, (N) and I had met this dude in the frat named (M), who let us know about the party. We walk in w about 7 girls and 1 dude. As soon as we walk in, this douche goes “your guy friend needs to leave”. Our ratio is crazy good and he has to leave?? Are you kidding me. Why are you not confident enough about your dick size to let this guy be your competition. Like come onnn. So idk what happened to that guy. But (N) and I left for 5 mins to walk to another party and when we turn around we realize we’re all alone. Where did everyone go?? Turns out the douche at the door went downstairs so we go back, they give us bracelets (bc we’re obviously 21+) and we sneak downstairs. 

I’m already kinda pissed we almost didn’t get let in esp since it was after 12am. On my way down the stairs, I see a wallet. I pull (N) aside and we sneak about $60 (the next morning, I find out we actually got $100) and drop the wallet elsewhere. 

There’s no cute guys here, no one to dance w, only drinks are beer and mangoritas (which are extremely underrated bc they taste AMAZING and are so fruity w like no alc in it) so we decide to leave because we have other addresses. On our way out, a dude asks to dance w me. Sorry mate, you’re a bit too late. 

We walk down the street to Pi Kappa Phi. After getting to the basement, we see a lot of girls dancing but the frat bros just standing next to the walls. There’s like two guys in the mix and they’re only there to grind hard on girls. Wonderful. (N) and I go to grab some juice from the coolers they have out and there’s a lot of it, but it literally tastes like water. It is later revealed in the football sized cooler, there is only one handle. So basically they’re hella cheap and it’s so watered down it’s crazy. (N) is as frustrated as I am and chugs her whole cup while I continue to sip my water to I guess stay hydrated BOI.

Then we go and dance. I end up talking to a dude that’s wearing a vineyard vines collared shirt *rolls eyes*. I tease him about that and we get to talking about other things, more talking than dancing. He’s pretty polite and cool. I later learn his name is (L) and he’s 21. He’s also the VICE PRESIDENT of the frat. Damn. Good for you man. We dance for a bit but once I run out of my drink, and he leaves (probably to get more for us), I decide this is my time to yeet out of the situation and go back to my friends. I see him looking for me later and now that I’m thinking about it, I wish I had talked to him more. He did not seem like a douchey frat guy (at first I guess). Maybe I’ll see him again. I do go to PI Kap a lot. 

Then, my friend starts saying she could throw up, but won’t immediately. That’s code for get her to a bathroom and have some water ready. So I take her upstairs to the bathroom and she pulls the trigger. She throws up maybe about 12 times and a lot comes up. IG since we moved from party to party and had to drop our drinks before leaving, we just chugged them and that did not sit well w her. She continues to throw up a lot but then slows down and gets sleepy. I don’t want her to pass out in a frat and I can’t take her back to her dorm by herself so I quickly walk out to find someone I know in the frat that can help. I see (E) (a pledge in the frat I met during their halloween party) and practically drag him upstairs to the bathroom w me. He sees her situation and immediately tells her to continue throwing up until she feels fully better. 

But then, this kid starts pulling some shit. He puts his arm around me, then it goes around my waist and then he slides his hand lower until it’s on my ass. I look at him like WTF are you doing bc we’re supposed to be taking care of her. He only says sorry and puts his hand back on my waist. While my friend continues to throw up or drink water, he tries to kiss me, grab my ass more, try and feel me up while being flirty. I’m not gonna lie and say it wasn’t nice to flirt but it really was not the time. And I tell him that “this is not the right time or place”. And his response is “I can’t help it, you’re so beautiful” *ROLLS EYES* What a frat bro. Then he pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures of me (not selfies) and vides on snapchat and saves them to his phone. At one point someone knocks on the door and I walk over to tell them to politely use another bathroom and this kid took a video of me walking to the door and is rewatching it on snapchat. He goes “damnnn look at that ass”. He tries to slap my ass twice but honestly misses. I’ve realized guys have really bad aim? Bc he isn’t the first guy to miss. My friend is literally throwing up not 2 feet from us and you can’t keep it in your pants. But I can’t tell him to leave since I need him to help walk her back so I suck it up and continue on putting up w it. While waiting, he spams her phone w selfies and I get in some of them. They’re actually not the worst pictures ever. I hated myself for saying that. 

Then. I realize none of us live in her building. There’s no way she can sign us in. So I call 3 different people who don’t pick up who live in her residence hall. Finally someone picks up and says he can help take care of her since they are such good friends. A sigh of relief escapes my mouth. Thank goodness. (D) arrives not a few minutes later to our rescue. He helps her up and slowly walks her out of the house. And right when it’s not appropriate, (E) slaps my ass. His only excuse is “sorry I couldn’t help myself”. We walk (N) back and I tell (D) to contact me if he needs anything and I bid them a good night. 

(E) texts me and asks if (N) was okay. I tell him she’s safe and fine back in her room. Then he tells me to go to his residence hall. My response is simply “I can’t” and he says “well I still wanna fuck you”. Boys am I right. I bid him a good night, take a couple sips of water and pass tf out. What a night. What a long ass but fun for the most part night.