He drops to his knees. His jeans tear slightly and a minor scrape appears on the tip of his knee. His mind flows with madness. He pounds his pulsating temples, as the memories flow. He walks through every waking second as if he was being reborn and living out his life through new eyes, noticing every mistake he made, and all the good he could of done. The muscles in his neck strain. His brow once dry, now wet and matted. His eyelids peel open to reveal large bloodshot eyes, almost screaming for moisture. He sobs ever so softly, but his sobs quickly turn to roars of utter rage. He rises with the fury of a thousand slaves, raging with the overpowering feeling of oppression. The woman, still faint, lays her head back apon the moist pillow. Her head is still full of a numb feeling almost like she was dying. She soon becomes dizzy and falls back into a slumber. Phil's flashes become more and more frequent. He rages in and out of surpressed memories.
"Stop this! Oh God please Stop this!". He runs from his sewer estate. He runs through tunnels and tunnels sending green muddy water flying with each pounding step. A muddy footprint is left behind, leaving behind a short story told by every imprint. He stops for a minute, looks at his surroundings. He spots an old muck covered ladder and climbs it. As he reaches the top he lays a fist into the manhole cover, sending it flying into the air and on to a near by sidewalk. A few people scatter. He leaps up onto the pavement, and runs on in his mad fury.
The boiling, black liquid lands in its new stryofome home. When the cup is filled it is covered with a perfect fitting lid. A small drop leaks from the cup and lands on Pop's hand.
"Ow Fuck!". Pops squeaks as he wipes the burning black water off of his hand revealing a small water blister that formed from the slight burn.
"Wheres my coffe Pops??" screams Capt.. Stregnovic. "I send you to do one little fucking task, and you go and you fuck it up!"
Pops runs from the lounge, into the Captians office, with the coffe in one hand and a carton of ciggarettes in the other.
"Here Sir. Sorry i took so long but I needed my cigarettes." He hands the coffe to the Capt., making sure not to spill a drop. Capt. Stregnovic takes a sip.
"Ahhh . . .At least its nice and hot. I'll give you one thing Pops, when you do, do your job, you do it so well." He takes another sip. This one a slight bit longer than the other. Pops opens up the carton of Lucky Strikes, pulls out a pack, tears the wrapping off. As he starts to pack the pack, his mouth waters for a drag from his tabbaco sticks. After the packing, he opens the pack pulls out one cig., and lights it up with one great puff, with the help of a fresh, new Zippo.
"Dat's a nasty habit there Pops." Strengovic tells Pops. Following the statment Stregnovic hochs up a large wad of phlegm from deep within his throatand sends it flying in the air. It lands on the brim of a brown garbage pail. The phlegm ball slowly drips down the inside of the pail and finds its resting place on a wrinkled peice of paper. He continues, "You really should give it up."
"I know Sir but . . ." Pops is inturrputed by a large belch.
"Sir!!" says a young man with blonde hair as he peeks his head into the small, smoke filled office. "Theres another body."
"AH, Shit!" Stregnovic says as he turns his head towards Pops. "Come on let's check it out."
The house is ravaged, and Timmy and John stand in the middle of it. john holds a small, black book that is sealed with a small pad lock.
"Come on, we got what we need, Burn this shithole." says John as he walks out the door. With that Timmy lights a small white headed match and throws it ontop of a pile of crinkled up paper. The flames start to dance almost like hundreds of gypsy women. They dance with the hypnotic dance that only a pyromaniac could love. Timmy could do nothing but stare. A small line of drool leaks from inbetween his lightly pressed lips.
"Let's go you stupid fuck!" screams John from the car, waiting just beyond the door. Timmy runs out, into the car and they take off, leaving the house to crumble into a small pile of ash. The flames burn through the paper almost instantly. A small peice of smoldering ash lands onto a nearby overturned sofa, quickly spreading the heat disease all along its suade surface. Soon after the sofa takes aflame the rest of the room follows. A small picture falls to the ground. As it melts it melts the memory of the once loved Dr.
He stands but his feet touch no surface. A strange blue liquid surrrounds him. He extends an arm but his hand cannot penetrate the glass captor that seems to have engulfed him. He moves slowly almost as if he was living through a dream. Tubes stick into his arms. He followes them with his eyes, and they strech far above his head. a mask lays over his face, allowing him to breathe. He notices the tubes start to shake, and he watches as a purple gel, or so it looked through the blue slop, start to make its way towards his body. As the tubes shit into his body, he starts to shudder. He tries to scream but the mask cancels any and all sounds. He is the only one that heard the scream. His arms start to pulsate, and his brain begins to burn. Nature is being fucked with, and God, is nature pissed. Continue On...