Oxygen deprived rambling

Head spinning and skull crashing. Gonna need several of these nasty sour vitamin shots this time.

Okay, breathe in, breathe out. Open my eyes in 3.. 2.. 1..

Oh, they’re already open. And I can’t see shit. Has alcohol decided to take my optic nerve this time? Okay, that’s new. I got pretty good at letting things go, but this one’s in a whole different category of losses. Uhh, on the bright side, there’s a lot of truly awful sights. No more people’s disappointed looks for me.

But I’m still a human with typical human reactions, and so I feel the panic slowly creeping in and eventually take over my body. I let it take me, overwhelm me for a moment, but when it subdues a little, I decide to learn something about my surroundings. It stinks, pretty bad, both of me and some general dampness and dust. I’m laying down on a hard, coarse surface, probably concrete. Well, that’s rather bad news.

I raise my head a few inches and start turning it left, but immediately give up after I almost lose consciousness from this much effort.

And then I actually pass out again.

***

After few minutes, or few hours, there was no way to tell really, I wake up again. This time I’m feeling pretty decent, at least in comparison to my previous state.

I take advantage of this improvement and continue with my research. I turn my head to the left and see a line of light . By the sparse, yet existent amount of illumination it gives to the surroundings, I conclude that either booze gods have taken mercy on me or I just happened to wake up in the middle of the night the first time and slept until the morning. I’ll probably never know the answer.

The important thing is that I have the power of sight and that I’m inside something. Maybe I’m in the basement, kidnapped. A bit of excitement comes over me as it creates a possibility that I’m not responsible, or at least fully responsible, for my somewhat disheveled state this time. Hm, I might have been drugged. Does it feel like a normal hangover?

But then, what’s a ‘not normal’ hangover? Call me traditional, or old fashioned even, but I’ve picked my poison once and stuck by it.

Headache, general confusion and raised anxiety is probably typical for most morning afters in some form, but do I feel the oh so familiar sensation of my guts being turned inside out and treated with sandpaper? Hmm, I definitely do feel some nausea. Puking would help my condition tremendously, even that late in the game, but I am in an enclosed space and lingering smell of vomit just can’t be bearable in the long run. So I decide to stop myself, at least till I find a plastic bag.

There has to be a source of light. Well, there doesn’t have to be, but it could be and I could use it as I am not blind. I probably never was, but I still kind of feel like I’ve won it back and it makes me feel better, so I’ll take it.

I approach the shining line and touch right above it. It seems to be some kind of a blind and I smirk at that thought. There’s no way to move it or get behind it though and it’s on ground level, so that might be just a shutter and I am the shutee. 

I proceed with the touching game, now on the wall area where it would be logical to put a light switch. It reminds me of these games where two people put their hands in a box and try to guess and object by touching it faster that the opponent, tugging at each other’s hands in the process. The only thing that I might get to touch in my search is some big ass spider. Or several of them.

I don’t even take into consideration that there could be another person trapped in here. That just seems absurd, as there is no reason for people to be beside me and I just consider it too unlikely, even by chance.

At some point I feel a weird shape under my finger. I nervously flick the switch. ‘Let there be light’, I thought. And there was light. Well, some light.

Excuse this obnoxious reference, but what else is there to say. When I looked up on the not very impressive source of light, I saw a sconce. The base of a sconce was the Jesus Christ himself, spread out on the cross in his signature pose. On his head, a crown, too big for his poor tilted head, but I guess I shouldn’t complain about it, cause it’s inside the crown that a dimmed yellow bulb laid.

‘This bitch straight up stole light from a church’ is my first thought directed at the potential owner of my current abode. I look around and see the contours of things upon things with other things of top of them. I’m standing before a mountain of junk.

There could be anything there, but first I had to make sure that all my stuff are with me. And by all my stuff I mean an old wristwatch that in fact wasn’t there – not on my wrist nor anywhere else; and a few bucks that fell out of my pocket, but were still on the floor. I also had all my clothes on, which I could’ve checked earlier, but darkness make you go dumb, especially if you’re usually as not blind as I am. I haven’t had a phone in a while, just as I haven’t had a reason to have it in a while.

If I have shutter door to my right and junk to my left (and Jesus Christ before me, as every Christian would at all times anyway), I must be in one of those storage units. And I must’ve been locked from the outside. By someone. Another human being at last. A scum of a human being. Or did they have their reason?

No way to tell what actually happened and I still don’t remember shit, like anything from last week. The only reasonable plan is to try to get out of here and I have a lot of potential tools to help me with that. Unless I get buried alive in them first. And so I get to it.

***

After some time of poking through the hoard behemoth I learn that it is in fact full of junk. I’ve seen buckets, half used cement bags and many clothes and shoes in even worse condition than mine. Why keep them? I’m tired and annoyed and I could really use some vodka now.

I decide to wallow in this resignation for a moment. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but now I’m just fed up and I don’t care. Don’t expect fervor from me, I’ve been tired for last 10 years and the weirdness of the situation won’t be able to change it.  

‘Da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di’

Out of all the songs this one came to me. I bop my head to the rhythm. The chorus ends and I realize that the song isn’t just my imagination.

It’s a hallucination. Weird, but what else would that be. Sound’s too clear to come from outside. All this time I didn’t even consider the outside. I could yell for help, but maybe that’s where the danger comes from. So I put off this plan for both maybe and later.

I’ve gotta say though, I’m pretty lucky that my brain decided to hallucinate me some EDM and not monsters or bugs or something like that.

‘Blue are the words I say

And what I think’

Wait. Since when do I know the lyrics to a whole song? The revelation causes me to get up so quickly that I almost puke. The music comes from inside of the junk mountain. I dig in furiously trying to pinpoint the location from where another portion of dabadees seeps out. I see it. A small radio that must have gotten turned on by some stuff that fell on it as I worked through the hoard.

The dabadees seem to never end, but at last, they do.

‘It’s only 8:54, but I can already say that it’s going to be a beautiful, sunny day, here in Colorado’

I’m in Colorado? What am I doing in Colorado? I don’t even remember crossing state lines. Well, I don’t really remember much at all.

I haven’t been in Colorado in 7 years. And I never planned on coming back. Has my mother died? Why do I feel that my mother died? Is it just a feeling or another thing that I forgot? That could be the reason for me coming back.

My mother didn’t deserve any of that and now she could be dead. She was my eyes and then, after the surgery, it was my time to pay her all back. Pay them all back for how they were killing themselves to get me my sight back. So much potential in me and now I could do great things myself, without any help. But I fucked it all up.

I hear myself sobbing. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to disgust them with what I am anymore.

And then I hear a rattle. I don’t turn around. I don’t move, just start to shake a little and even more as I hear a male voice.

“I’m sorry that I left you here, son, but you wouldn’t stop trying to fly at me. Are you better now? We need to get ready for the funeral.”

I look at him finally. He looks like he aged 20 years since I last saw him.

“I’m glad you came” he adds.