Hounth

Waking up with a face full of bugs, an aching head, and burns on your forearms may spell a successful Friday night for some, but, somehow, I want to crawl into the street to see if there's enough humanity left in anyone passing by to run directly over my head and put me out of my misery. I brush the bugs off slowly because it feels like I'm jabbing forks into my eyes every time I move my head.

The dusty taste in my mouth indicates that I do not want to swallow right now, whatever happens. I spit everything I can out of my mouth. It comes down in a fine spray all over my face.

Slowly I sit up and evaluate the situation, thankfully, it's still night. I'd rather not think about the massive pounding in my head, but I know that the sun would only exacerbate the situation.  I don't know the exact time, but not more than two hours have passed since my Great Experiment Really Bad Idea.

I dig around in my pockets for my cigarettes. After a minute or so of fumbling, I pull the battered box from my pocket. Three lonely rumpled soldiers stand guard at the gates of my lungs. I put one in my mouth and light it. Sweet nicotine races into my bloodstream. For the first time in hours, I feel loved and warm.

It takes a while for the pounding in my head to go away, but, go away it does. I finally feel well enough to try standing. On standing, I discover that the ground is not moving quite as quickly as I had previously thought, so I challenge myself to a few steps and walk to the edge of the yard. I chuck the butt into the street and spit into the gutter.

"I need to do something with my life. This can not possibly be a reasonable way for an adult to behave."

I hear a droning from behind me. The zapper has seen better days, but still, I suppose if I could dust myself off and become whole again, I could at least do something to fix the old thing. Aside from that, I don't want to be responsible for a house fire.

The zapper, or, if you prefer, Zappy, (I'm not sure why you would prefer this), is just laying there emitting a buzz. Its cage is bent and there are insect parts smoldering on the bulb. I also spot a break in the power line, so I go inside to unplug it and find some electrical tape. It takes only a few minutes to repair the damage I'd caused. I do have to admit that I almost throw the damn thing into the street when it speaks to me.

"What?"

"Ψǽπk γσΰ. Ћάήχ λοη."

It's a sound like a hundred small children speaking almost in unison. I shake my head, and try to catch just one voice out of the many.

"Thank you, can you really understand me?"

"I think I can, but it hurts. It's like you're pushing a drill into my eardrum with a hot wire."

"I can tune my voice for you, I'm sorry that it is not pleasing to you."

"No, that's okay," I say, "going crazy is going to be a nice change of pace from the current shittiness of my life."

"You're not going crazy, but I can understand why you'd think so."

"Good, and because you understand, I'm sure you'll understand why I need to go and drink until I pass out."

"Yes, I think I do. Have fun, you will have the fruits of my gratitude soon enough."

"Goodbye," I say, waving, unsure if the zapper can even see what I'm doing.

I go back into the house, cleanse my wounds and change into something respectable. As I walk out the door, I notice bright red sparks running through the power lines, soft blue glows come from the fronts of running cars. Thin pink tracers run through the people I pass on the sidewalk. Every building is etched in glowing lines and, as I walk into the bar, the neon glows like a thousand suns.