Something's not right. Something hasn't BEEN right. I haven't felt right and I know that things are not right.
I keep hearing things in the walls. The House is speaking, shifting, groaning like a great beast that's waking up from a long nap. Dr. Rivers says he can't hear the sounds (Or, well, more like he gave me a funny look when I asked about it), but he's on such a cocktail of painkillers, I envy him for being unable to hear. But I have to stay sober. I have to take care of everyone. Amanda is feeling better. Dr. Rivers will feel better soon. Alex will feel better. August looks pale, but he'll be okay. Boss will be okay. Steele is his usual self. Todd is Todd. Sam is Sam. Everyone will be okay.
There's just this constant tingling on the back of my neck, and occasionally, I see an unearthly shadow from just around a corner and my hair stands on end. I want to scream, even right now. August tells me I'm not getting enough sleep, but my god, the things I SEE when I shut my eyes...the coyotes, the raccoons, once stuffed away neatly into their bags, carefully preserved in formaldehyde, ripping open their plastic prisons to shamble across the floor on their mutilated limbs. Dozens of rats burst from mason jars, splattering sick fluid across the walls and floor, all crawling towards me, staring right at me with those dead, whitish-blue eyes. I almost fear blinking. I fear blinking and I fear sound and I fear silence and I fear the lights in the ceiling and the shadows on the floor. I want to shut myself away deep in the basement until this all blows over, but the architecture keeps shifting, and I gaze down those dark and unfamiliar corridors and it's as if they will swallow my mind, leaving my body with its mouth gaping open, empty and unsure. All I can do is stare until I realize I have been staring, then continue on with my business.
I am still clean. No drugs. None at all, this is all just me, me, me. I don't know why this is happening. Why is this happening? I don't feel well, I'm going to get a glass of water and try to forget that the world is spinning around me and how much my head throbs.
The mice have gone silent. They never go silent, I can always hear them, but they're quiet. I wonder if they all died. What a fucking pity, I wanted to cut all their tiny hearts out and see what they had hidden in their soft little bellies.
Showing posts with label bad headache. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad headache. Show all posts
Monday, 5 December 2011
Friday, 14 October 2011
-August- We're Taking The Job
We must have a death wish.
Are you happy, you insane bastard? We'll do your damn delivery.
Jesus rollerblading christ, we must be out of our minds. We have to be completely and utterly insane. This is a trap. It doesn't take a genius to see that.
But if we don't take it...
Spencer hasn't gotten any better. Not that this really surprises anybody. I went into his office a little while after the 'final assignment' went up to find the boss kicking and screaming and clawing and...
I don't want to talk about it.
It's been roughly a week since Spencer came back and I don't think I've seen him leave his office once. I remember visiting him the night he got back, only to nearly end up with a vase to the face and some shattered glass around the House and in my foot. I'd go into detail, but I honestly think they're things better left unsaid. Not to mention the fact that there's a certain somebody who would take great pleasure in his pain and, in all honesty, I'm not willing to grant him that satisfaction.
I saw him again today after Writer's post went up. You could hear him screaming from the glass doors that separate the East Wing from the rest of the House. When I got to his office, there was smashing. Lots of smashing. Crashing, thumping, and the office was in tatters when I eventually went in. The glass from the vase nearly six days ago had been scattered about the room, and the floor had been clawed up.
And Spencer...
I don't want to talk about it.
Doc found me outside the office, scratched up and utterly exhausted. I'm throwing this post up quickly then going to relay the news to the rest of the team: we leave at eight o'clock. Sharp.
We'll try and keep you posted. You know how these things work.
Are you happy, you insane bastard? We'll do your damn delivery.
Jesus rollerblading christ, we must be out of our minds. We have to be completely and utterly insane. This is a trap. It doesn't take a genius to see that.
But if we don't take it...
Spencer hasn't gotten any better. Not that this really surprises anybody. I went into his office a little while after the 'final assignment' went up to find the boss kicking and screaming and clawing and...
I don't want to talk about it.
It's been roughly a week since Spencer came back and I don't think I've seen him leave his office once. I remember visiting him the night he got back, only to nearly end up with a vase to the face and some shattered glass around the House and in my foot. I'd go into detail, but I honestly think they're things better left unsaid. Not to mention the fact that there's a certain somebody who would take great pleasure in his pain and, in all honesty, I'm not willing to grant him that satisfaction.
I saw him again today after Writer's post went up. You could hear him screaming from the glass doors that separate the East Wing from the rest of the House. When I got to his office, there was smashing. Lots of smashing. Crashing, thumping, and the office was in tatters when I eventually went in. The glass from the vase nearly six days ago had been scattered about the room, and the floor had been clawed up.
And Spencer...
I don't want to talk about it.
Doc found me outside the office, scratched up and utterly exhausted. I'm throwing this post up quickly then going to relay the news to the rest of the team: we leave at eight o'clock. Sharp.
We'll try and keep you posted. You know how these things work.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
-August- Vegas
I found a number in my shirt pocket this morning, and I know for a fact it isn't the one Opal gave me.
Vegas is nice. Steele's decided to take something of a vacation and, in all honesty, it feel really, really nice to be out of the house for a while. The timing... could have been better. Elaine, I'm sorry I probably won't be back until you leave. And as for Star... well, you can all take care of yourselves. If there's any one group of people that I trust to survive locked in a house with a man who owns a Killdozer, it's you guys.
Maybe I'm just optimistic?
Boss, take a bit of alone time. Lock yourself somewhere away from Star and tend to your business - you know what I'm talking about. Do it now before it boils over and we get another incident like -Sam- Surgery.
Right, so, a little hung over. We're stay in some high-end hotel and have a room about the size of the second floor of our house back home. While there isn't a kitchenette, the food is fantastic so I guess I'm not complaining.
(My pancakes are better.)
After... whatever happened last night, a strawberry banana smoothie sounds wonderful. Once Steele wakes up (and I'm sure he'll delight in telling me what I did last night) I think we're going to get some breakfast. But until then, let's recap.
We left the same night Steele and Spencer had their disagreement, a few hours after everything had calmed down in the house. I figured Steele needed to get away from everything at home for a bit, and I did have a delivery I had to make. Lis of No Pressue = No Diamonds had also requested a spent a bit of time with her, and after everything they had been through... well, I wasn't about to turn them down. It was a small detour to where they were staying, and I sent Steele to pick up cleaning supplies and other things while I made pancakes and tried to help them all I could.
Remember that Opal girl I delivered to some time ago? Well, Corwin had something for her. While she's listed the details on her own blog, I think I sum it up nicely when I say that it only reinforces the fact that he's something of a bastard. The way the email had been worded, the package, the place we went meant to pick up the package... a lot of it screamed 'trap' to me, honestly.
Well, until we arrived at the coordinates he had sent us, and ended up somewhere down a long stretch of highway outside a small town. A Burger King sign sat right where the GPS had told us to stop, and at the foot of it sat the package.
It was five hours to where Opal had been staying, and honestly I didn't want to stick around too long. I had that nagging sense of danger around us, and could have sworn somebody was watching us from one of the windows of inn. It was sometime around then that Steele mentioned he had booked a premier suite in Vegas.
In all honesty, a vacation was the most appealing idea in the world at that time. I love you all, but August needs a vacation and has been cooped up that house for far, far too long. You all know how to take care of yourselves, and we're both doing fine over here. Doc, I'm sorry if I worried you because I didn't call last night.
Everything's fine here, and while I'm still more than a little nervous about what happened last night, I'd say everything's gone well. Delivery was no hassle, Lis is... hopefully better, and we should be back... well, I don't know, actually. I'll ask Steele about that.
Speaking of Steele, I think I hear him in the next room. Y'all stay safe, alright? Call me if anything happens, and good luck with Star.
Again, Elaine, I'm sorry. I hope I get to see you again, and best of luck with everything.
Be home soon, guys. Try to not do anything too stupid when I'm gone, and remember; if you can't grasp how the oven works, the microwave is always a viable option.
Vegas is nice. Steele's decided to take something of a vacation and, in all honesty, it feel really, really nice to be out of the house for a while. The timing... could have been better. Elaine, I'm sorry I probably won't be back until you leave. And as for Star... well, you can all take care of yourselves. If there's any one group of people that I trust to survive locked in a house with a man who owns a Killdozer, it's you guys.
Maybe I'm just optimistic?
Boss, take a bit of alone time. Lock yourself somewhere away from Star and tend to your business - you know what I'm talking about. Do it now before it boils over and we get another incident like -Sam- Surgery.
Right, so, a little hung over. We're stay in some high-end hotel and have a room about the size of the second floor of our house back home. While there isn't a kitchenette, the food is fantastic so I guess I'm not complaining.
(My pancakes are better.)
After... whatever happened last night, a strawberry banana smoothie sounds wonderful. Once Steele wakes up (and I'm sure he'll delight in telling me what I did last night) I think we're going to get some breakfast. But until then, let's recap.
We left the same night Steele and Spencer had their disagreement, a few hours after everything had calmed down in the house. I figured Steele needed to get away from everything at home for a bit, and I did have a delivery I had to make. Lis of No Pressue = No Diamonds had also requested a spent a bit of time with her, and after everything they had been through... well, I wasn't about to turn them down. It was a small detour to where they were staying, and I sent Steele to pick up cleaning supplies and other things while I made pancakes and tried to help them all I could.
Remember that Opal girl I delivered to some time ago? Well, Corwin had something for her. While she's listed the details on her own blog, I think I sum it up nicely when I say that it only reinforces the fact that he's something of a bastard. The way the email had been worded, the package, the place we went meant to pick up the package... a lot of it screamed 'trap' to me, honestly.
Well, until we arrived at the coordinates he had sent us, and ended up somewhere down a long stretch of highway outside a small town. A Burger King sign sat right where the GPS had told us to stop, and at the foot of it sat the package.
It was five hours to where Opal had been staying, and honestly I didn't want to stick around too long. I had that nagging sense of danger around us, and could have sworn somebody was watching us from one of the windows of inn. It was sometime around then that Steele mentioned he had booked a premier suite in Vegas.
In all honesty, a vacation was the most appealing idea in the world at that time. I love you all, but August needs a vacation and has been cooped up that house for far, far too long. You all know how to take care of yourselves, and we're both doing fine over here. Doc, I'm sorry if I worried you because I didn't call last night.
Everything's fine here, and while I'm still more than a little nervous about what happened last night, I'd say everything's gone well. Delivery was no hassle, Lis is... hopefully better, and we should be back... well, I don't know, actually. I'll ask Steele about that.
Speaking of Steele, I think I hear him in the next room. Y'all stay safe, alright? Call me if anything happens, and good luck with Star.
Again, Elaine, I'm sorry. I hope I get to see you again, and best of luck with everything.
Be home soon, guys. Try to not do anything too stupid when I'm gone, and remember; if you can't grasp how the oven works, the microwave is always a viable option.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
-August- Ngggh.
Jesus Rollerblading Christ.
Where did this headache come from?
Why is my makeup smeared?
(Why am I wearing makeup in the first place?)
...
Why is this dress ripped why am I in a dress and why, why, why, why why is it stuffed with fifteen phone numbers and at least two hundred dollars in cash?
...
Spencer.
What in the world happened last night?
Saturday, 9 July 2011
-Doc- Licking Our Wounds
Last night was...damn. Just, damn. I'm not sure how clear this report will be, I had to take a couple of Vicodin to deal with some injuries of my own, but I have to put down some sort of report while I'm away from my files. I'll copy it there and modify everyone's treatment plans later.
Amanda - pulse 102, 99.1°F.. Not sure why her temperature is elevated, but unless she breaks a fever, I'm not going to worry about it. Pulse is elevated due to stress.
Sam - pulse 74, 97.9°F. She is conscious, and still feeling the effects of the medication August administered to her last night. She seems normal otherwise. Pulse is still a bit depressed, so I'll be keeping an eye on things.
August - pulse 88, 98.7°F. The cocktail of medication I gave seems to be doing its job.
Todd - pulse 90, 98.9°F. Nothing else to report.
Boss - pulse 78, 98.6°F. Sustained minor injuries in the struggles last night, needed stitches, nothing else to report.
Me - pulse 82, 98.9°F. I'm...not feeling that great. My head's been killing me since last night. I tripped on a loose board during the escape and hit my head pretty hard. From what I can tell, my reflexes are fine, so it's probably just sore.
Steele - pulse 68, 102.4°F. He's in terrible shape. The dose I handed off to Amanda to stick him with might've been a bit much. First thing this morning, he was conscious for nearly an hour without showing any real response: just stared at the ceiling and drooled. He mumbled to me a little while I was taking his vitals, but i couldn't make it out, and he didn't react when I tried to speak to him right after. I've gotten him up and around a little, but I don't think he knows what century it is. Unfortunately for the poor bastard, that's not the worst he's got going right now, and I'm not referring to his fever. His left arm was badly dislocated during the escape, but I managed to pop it back in. His left ankle is sprained, but with some time and proper care, it should heal. It's his right hand that I'm worried about. It's been...well, excuse the crude terminology, but it's completely shattered and fucked up. I'm trying to make him as comfortable as possible right now. His reflex tests seemed relatively normal given the circumstances, so I don't believe he's suffered any head injuries. He won't be happy when he becomes fully lucid again, that much I can say. I hope he doesn't need a prosthetic, that's a bit beyond my usual area of expertise. I know some back-alley orthopods who would do it, but I'm sure Steele would prefer to keep his own hand.
General prognosis: we'll all live, but it won't be pretty. Business as usual.
Amanda - pulse 102, 99.1°F.. Not sure why her temperature is elevated, but unless she breaks a fever, I'm not going to worry about it. Pulse is elevated due to stress.
Sam - pulse 74, 97.9°F. She is conscious, and still feeling the effects of the medication August administered to her last night. She seems normal otherwise. Pulse is still a bit depressed, so I'll be keeping an eye on things.
August - pulse 88, 98.7°F. The cocktail of medication I gave seems to be doing its job.
Todd - pulse 90, 98.9°F. Nothing else to report.
Boss - pulse 78, 98.6°F. Sustained minor injuries in the struggles last night, needed stitches, nothing else to report.
Me - pulse 82, 98.9°F. I'm...not feeling that great. My head's been killing me since last night. I tripped on a loose board during the escape and hit my head pretty hard. From what I can tell, my reflexes are fine, so it's probably just sore.
Steele - pulse 68, 102.4°F. He's in terrible shape. The dose I handed off to Amanda to stick him with might've been a bit much. First thing this morning, he was conscious for nearly an hour without showing any real response: just stared at the ceiling and drooled. He mumbled to me a little while I was taking his vitals, but i couldn't make it out, and he didn't react when I tried to speak to him right after. I've gotten him up and around a little, but I don't think he knows what century it is. Unfortunately for the poor bastard, that's not the worst he's got going right now, and I'm not referring to his fever. His left arm was badly dislocated during the escape, but I managed to pop it back in. His left ankle is sprained, but with some time and proper care, it should heal. It's his right hand that I'm worried about. It's been...well, excuse the crude terminology, but it's completely shattered and fucked up. I'm trying to make him as comfortable as possible right now. His reflex tests seemed relatively normal given the circumstances, so I don't believe he's suffered any head injuries. He won't be happy when he becomes fully lucid again, that much I can say. I hope he doesn't need a prosthetic, that's a bit beyond my usual area of expertise. I know some back-alley orthopods who would do it, but I'm sure Steele would prefer to keep his own hand.
General prognosis: we'll all live, but it won't be pretty. Business as usual.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)