Digital Ischemia

02/03/2014

Consumas

Filed under: Truthache — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 12:00

Lean in now, crane toward the festive bickering…

“It looks like you have a wrist injury!”
“I can’t think why that’d bother you.”
“Slut.”
“Why can’t she just send me cash?”
“I know. You’ll no’ get as good a deal out of Maclaus Macklows.”
“I wished I hadn’t opened it now. I’m just all annoyed.”
“Why did you open it?”
“One present, you said!”
“I know! I didn’t say that one!”
“I don’t know; I just picked it. Maybe I thought it’d be money. I thought she’d’ve set me up and I could go out all psyched.”
“Are you not wanting to go out now?”
“Yeh! No. I don’t know. It’s Christmas Eve; I’m supposed to be ‘woo!'”

Every time I move, my brain tickles. It’s the barrels: structures that anatomically map my whiskers and the sensory pulses from them. I don’t know how I know that. I seem to have been somewhere else, something else.

I’m overwhelmed with the smell of pastry. I must move up the scent gradient to the source. I also smell me, past-me, so I’ve run this path before. Along wood, up fibre, through nest, along wood. A chink of light sparks across my eyes. Voices.

Pastry makes me delirious. Grain and lard. Whiskers tell me I’ve reached the extent of the path. I nibble prospectively. Pastry smell but inconclusive taste. Firm texture then a pleasant tingle. A moment of lightning kick. I’m done.

“What?! No way! On Christmas Eve?!”
“What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Neither can I! Do you think I’m psychic or something?”
“Do you have a torch or anything?”
“Why would I need…”

Disappointing. Pegged it before my glorious vigilante moment. I’ll need to try a more sturdy creature. After indulging my strong craving for a mince pie.

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