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Prose Pajamas (OC)


Apr 2, 2009
Where the light trips fantastic
“It was like a dream.” He lurched around the room, trying to gain his bearings; a deranged animal trapped in a fluorescent light prison. A uniform of Teddy Bears punctuated by hearts and the occasional spasmodic coughing fit – Arty felt like a human pincushion.

Machines whirred and clicked into life and alarm bells sounded as he violently jerked the offensive needles from his arm. “Where the fuck am I? How the fuck did I get here?” He needed to take a piss and wandered to the bathroom, gripping the wall as if he no longer trusted his senses. Red, a blood red stream and he didn’t have to be a Doctor to know that wasn’t healthy. Arty whipped his stringy uniform pants up with surprising agility and his member added bloody inking to a heart in the center. “Who the fuck has done this to me?”

Paranoia seeped in and a determined leer spread across his countenance. It was time to go Commando he thought to himself. Shifting his weight he shuffled forward. THWACK! He was on the ground and didn’t care about the pain. His Jello arms bent to the side, bracing against the floor; shaking as he tried to get up. A pretty lady in white stooped beside him and gripped his arm. “Fuck you I can get up myself! Fuuuck yoooouuu!” A guttural, animal like howl, a wounded soldier too proud to accept help. The lady in white was stronger.

She pushed him onto his bed and he caught her gaze. “You have pretty eyes.” He didn’t care that his dick was shriveled and had blood leaking out of it, he didn’t care that his eyes were sallow and his heart rate irregular, he wanted her and was going to make his intentions known. “That’s nice of you to say Mister ummmmm'' She glanced down at a clipboard – just another day, just another sick old man. The pain was real this time; it stung Arty, his breath constricting and the tears welling up in his sad old eyes.

I need to get out of here, I need people who know me, who understand me – I need a drink – a stiff one. Arty lunged up again. The Lady in White’s hands shot up in the universal sign of please stay where you are or please stay away. Arty couldn’t disseminate which it was as he used the momentum of what should have been his next fall to brush past her hands.

He was away, to freedom, to another drink down by his old watering hole. Tears filled his eyes again as he hobbled down the corridor and leaned against a fire-exit – thank god the alarm didn’t go off. Arty panted a little as he gripped the railing down the half-dozen steps. Three figures loomed before him, ominous and foreboding, radios squawking at their sides. Arty cocked back his right arm and stared them down through his still hazy eyes – determined to make one last stand. THWACK!
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