I thought my dad was watching me.

There, I said it. That’s what was running through my head when I up and bolted away from that poor, annoying little girl, my hair standing on end and my eyes these wild things full of terror and the last remnants of the shit I had eaten around the tree roots. I think that’s what made it so surreal—the crap running through my veins made everything pop out in weird and grotesque fashions, making the blue fires turn into sapphire beasts from hell, the wings on that girl eating my dust fluffy little harbingers of doom the clouded darkness billowing closer the shadow of my father as he chased me, teeth snapping, ears pinned, pissed as all get-out over my poor conduct. Which, I guess, he had every right to be, but it still scared the ever-living crap out of me regardless.

It didn’t take that much imagination to believe my dad was the big shadow thingamajig. For one thing, the lightening. That was happening. And whether or not it was magic based or just a part of the worldly phenomenon I still didn’t really understand, I reacted to it, and with every 12th stride or so a zap!ed myself a little further forward, a ball of spark and nervous, harrowing energy trying to get the hell out of Dodge ‘cause it was coming. It was coming.

“HEY,” I suddenly called, because, as luck would have it, the path was blocked off by a bunch of yahoos gobbling together like a flock of turkeys, “GET OUT THE WAY, BITCH!” I couldn’t even tell you who I was talking to; all I knew was that they were blocking the way to my own hasty, inelegant freedom, and I was already heated with all sorts of emotions I wasn’t handling very well.

It didn’t matter if they moved or not—because as I came close, I zap!ed my ass and reappeared on the other side of their little pow-wow without breaking stride. At that point all thought of the gaggle of buddies I was leaving behind ceased to exist, totally forgotten as I continued to high-tail it out of there. Was it cowardice that made me run? Was it guilt, fear (hah), shame that made me run so fast, so hard, so furiously away from an entity I thought was my own father? I can’t tell you, and I wouldn’t care to tell you even if I knew. The point was that I needed to get out of there—so I did.

Don’t do drugs, kids.


[Continuation of THIS thread. Ros ain't gonna get her ass ate up in here.]