Nightshift 36: Patient Possessions Storage
[from here]
In retrospect, making that much noise was a Bad Idea. It was sort of nice to do random property damage and all, but by the time the door opened Badou had learned many valuable life lessons. Chief among them: kicking down doors, while always badass, should not be done in bedroom slippers because he might have just broken his own instep. Haine would laugh at him.
Hell, he would laugh at himself if he wasn't limping into a dangerous room unarmed. This was just too stupid to be real. What was the monster going to do to him, honestly? (Well, except kill him.) How could this possibly get worse? (Well, except if he was dead.) He passed the flashlight around the room then ventured a little further in to check the dark corners. As shitty as his life was right now, he didn't really want to be dead over the contents of two boxes.
Searching for monsters gave way to searching for said boxes, which was easier said than done and gave him way too much time to think about where Wonder Boobs had really managed to end up. He'd try the bulletin tomorrow, not that he expected any success without a bucket full of glitter paint.
But he finally found his first tiny shard of luck: a box labeled Sean Malloy. Badou pulled it out and haphazardly dumped the contents into his pillow case. He could snoop around in the stuff later, but he wanted to be able to carry it all. That left his box. He thought he could smell it, even fumbling around in the dark. Fake and bizarre as this whole thing was, what fucked him up the most was that it smelled exactly like his brand of cigarettes and somehow that was just wrong. Sort of the same way Haine walking willingly into a hospital full of female nurses was wrong.
He didn't even need to read the 'Oliver' on it. The box wreaked of cigarette smoke when he opened it, but the only things inside were some clothes and a few rolls of film. Haine had his camera.
Monsters be damned, Badou pulled his clothes out and pressed his face into them, breathing in the scent like a teenaged girl who'd just found her crush's sweaty gym shirt. It was calming, even if it wasn't the real thing, because it was as close as he'd gotten in the last four or five days and that went a long way to make you appreciate the small things. That was the great thing about rock bottom, really. Even smelling your own clothes like they were made of pure crack was a step up.
In retrospect, making that much noise was a Bad Idea. It was sort of nice to do random property damage and all, but by the time the door opened Badou had learned many valuable life lessons. Chief among them: kicking down doors, while always badass, should not be done in bedroom slippers because he might have just broken his own instep. Haine would laugh at him.
Hell, he would laugh at himself if he wasn't limping into a dangerous room unarmed. This was just too stupid to be real. What was the monster going to do to him, honestly? (Well, except kill him.) How could this possibly get worse? (Well, except if he was dead.) He passed the flashlight around the room then ventured a little further in to check the dark corners. As shitty as his life was right now, he didn't really want to be dead over the contents of two boxes.
Searching for monsters gave way to searching for said boxes, which was easier said than done and gave him way too much time to think about where Wonder Boobs had really managed to end up. He'd try the bulletin tomorrow, not that he expected any success without a bucket full of glitter paint.
But he finally found his first tiny shard of luck: a box labeled Sean Malloy. Badou pulled it out and haphazardly dumped the contents into his pillow case. He could snoop around in the stuff later, but he wanted to be able to carry it all. That left his box. He thought he could smell it, even fumbling around in the dark. Fake and bizarre as this whole thing was, what fucked him up the most was that it smelled exactly like his brand of cigarettes and somehow that was just wrong. Sort of the same way Haine walking willingly into a hospital full of female nurses was wrong.
He didn't even need to read the 'Oliver' on it. The box wreaked of cigarette smoke when he opened it, but the only things inside were some clothes and a few rolls of film. Haine had his camera.
Monsters be damned, Badou pulled his clothes out and pressed his face into them, breathing in the scent like a teenaged girl who'd just found her crush's sweaty gym shirt. It was calming, even if it wasn't the real thing, because it was as close as he'd gotten in the last four or five days and that went a long way to make you appreciate the small things. That was the great thing about rock bottom, really. Even smelling your own clothes like they were made of pure crack was a step up.