2. Clean
So I was disappointed when I signed on to AIM initially.
This means I am attached, hurr durr.
Oh well, more writing today!
I can blame Taylor for this one, haha.
.. I miss Brittney :|
This blurb will be far shorter than the last.
2. Clean
A sobering moment often comes after a traumatic realization.
Stains’ sobering moment was when he realized that everything he’d ever used to get high was under, like, at least thirty feet of water (give or take a couple hundred). It also happened to occur when he was bobbing in the middle of endless ocean in any direction. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d come to be here, but the floating hand that he’d encountered had told him that he didn’t want to be there any longer. He’d set out at an easy pace, dog paddling, as he went over his options.
Okay, so he could just off himself here and now. Just let himself slip under the water.
He tried that and reemerged sputtering no less than two seconds later. Obviously not an option. His sense of self preservation was too strong.
His second option was to keep swimming and ask that God guy if he’d leave some smack in his path or something.
Stains did that as a sort of Plan B. That God guy never did seem to have much to do with him.
That left option three. It was time to get clean, right now.
Easy. He was already feeling great. It wasn’t so hard after all. He didn’t know what the guys had made such a big deal about when they’d gone straight. This was the easiest fucking thing he’d ever done.
The next phase of his Survival Plan was finding some sort of land or something. Resuming his dog paddling, he set off in an arbitrarily chosen direction, and didn’t seem to notice the incessant itching at the insides of his elbows.
This means I am attached, hurr durr.
Oh well, more writing today!
I can blame Taylor for this one, haha.
.. I miss Brittney :|
This blurb will be far shorter than the last.
2. Clean
A sobering moment often comes after a traumatic realization.
Stains’ sobering moment was when he realized that everything he’d ever used to get high was under, like, at least thirty feet of water (give or take a couple hundred). It also happened to occur when he was bobbing in the middle of endless ocean in any direction. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d come to be here, but the floating hand that he’d encountered had told him that he didn’t want to be there any longer. He’d set out at an easy pace, dog paddling, as he went over his options.
Okay, so he could just off himself here and now. Just let himself slip under the water.
He tried that and reemerged sputtering no less than two seconds later. Obviously not an option. His sense of self preservation was too strong.
His second option was to keep swimming and ask that God guy if he’d leave some smack in his path or something.
Stains did that as a sort of Plan B. That God guy never did seem to have much to do with him.
That left option three. It was time to get clean, right now.
Easy. He was already feeling great. It wasn’t so hard after all. He didn’t know what the guys had made such a big deal about when they’d gone straight. This was the easiest fucking thing he’d ever done.
The next phase of his Survival Plan was finding some sort of land or something. Resuming his dog paddling, he set off in an arbitrarily chosen direction, and didn’t seem to notice the incessant itching at the insides of his elbows.