Tucker Cummings

Archive for July, 2011|Monthly archive page

Chapter 202: The Sinking Rush

In Uncategorized on July 21, 2011 at 4:22 am

Two days out of the basement, and I’ve discovered there is something seriously wrong with me.

It started last night, when I was feeling ready to try and sleep again. I found a tree where three branches grew close enough for me to lie down. I closed my eyes, nodded off, and felt myself falling.

I opened my eyes, and the tree was gone. Where there had been a forest, there was a desert.

I have a sleeping sickness.

I used to be able to control when I would jump. Now, I lose all control when I sleep.

I’m slipping.

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Chapter 201: Callooh Callay

In Uncategorized on July 20, 2011 at 5:35 am

I find myself under a dark blue sky, starlight casting the only glow in the moonless sky. There is a lake, and a dock, and a small copse of elm trees.

I drink in the sweet air. I know that any breeze would taste divine after an escape, but there is something exquisite about the soft spirals of wind that kiss my face.

“O frabjous day,” I whisper as my eyelids meet.

That night, I sleep soundly, for the first time since…since…

Oh.

Since Abilene. I didn’t realize that until just now.

Am I already emptying my heart of him?

Chapter 200: Don’t Punch Your Enemy. Try to Punch Through Him.

In Uncategorized on July 19, 2011 at 5:01 am

I get my shot. The door opens. I strike.

Throat, temple, stomach. Duck, strike kneecap, kick.

The body crumples. I start running. I think, somewhere in the back of my brain, I knew it was M2 as I sprinted down the hall. But truthfully, my frontbrain didn’t realize it until much later.

I knew the layout of this place a little, from earlier explorations. I roll into a sidecloset, and find just what I’d hoped. Medicine and munitions. Everything you need to make a wall into a hole.

I make a boom, I feel fresh air. I can jump again.

Chapter 199: No One Comes, No One Jumps

In Uncategorized on July 18, 2011 at 4:45 am

No one comes for days. My little fridge is fully stocked, so I’m not hungry.

There’s something wrong with the room now, a constant pressing on my chest. The air feels heavy, and I feel heavy, too.

When I tried to jump out of here yesterday, I couldn’t. They’ve done something to the room, made it impossible for me to just slide away into another version of reality.

They’re going to help me, whether I want them to or not.

Unless, of course, I can make a break for it. The next time someone comes. If anyone comes back down.

Chapter 198: Just Say No

In Uncategorized on July 17, 2011 at 9:33 am

I am getting really fucking tired of people drugging me every other month.

I’m in the same suite of rooms, but all of my things have been removed, even the things that shouldn’t be classified as trash. I guess I should be happy that they didn’t have the presence of mind to put me in a straitjacket. Still, I know that they are watching me.

It’s nice that they want to help. It really is. But right now, all I want is to get the hell out of here.

It’s just not helpful to be chaining me down right now.

Chapter 197: The Forest for the Trees

In Uncategorized on July 16, 2011 at 10:00 am

“Stop picking the eyelashes out of your teeth and look at how you’re living!” she screams at me.

“I never asked for any of this! Why can’t you people just leave me alone? I’m so sick of all this bullshit, all this intrigue and violence and traveling.”

“Well like it or not, this is your life now. We’re all in this together, and we need you.”

“Fuck. You. I’m going home. Today. Do you understand me?”

“Margery, please let us help you. We’re your family now.”

“Bring me M2. She can help me pack.”

“I’m sorry about this, Ms. Jones.”

Chapter 196: Not on Your Own

In Uncategorized on July 15, 2011 at 7:37 am

“You aren’t going to get better. Not on your own,” she says.

“I didn’t become a traveler so I could go through therapy again. I want to live my life on my own terms. I can take care of myself, and if you’re not happy with how fast I can heal myself, then maybe I should find someplace else to live.”

“You’re safest here.”

“That didn’t help me last time.”

“You shouldn’t have been left behind, someone should have come running to open the doors in the courtyard for you.”

“Well, they didn’t. I’m no safer here than any other place.”

Chapter 195: The Doctor Has an Impressive Vocabulary

In Uncategorized on July 14, 2011 at 1:19 am

“Alright. I’m not going to bullshit you,” says Doc a few days later. “We’ve had you under observation via webcam for 72 hours. It’s not a lot of time, but here are the behaviors I’ve observed, and some conclusions we can draw.”

“Doc, I’m fine. I’m just trying to grieve,” I try to explain.

“Let me rattle off the list. Trichotillomania, trichotillophagia, chronic paronychia, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, pica, irregular sleep patterns, lethargy, and most troubling of all, enuresis.”

“Oh good. I’m being infected by Greek words.”

“This is serious, Jones. You need to let us help you.”

“No pills. No more counseling.”

Chapter 194: The Warren Revisited

In Uncategorized on July 13, 2011 at 12:59 am

I appreciate that they’ve given me some space. It’s been 3 weeks, and aside from a quiet knocking on my outermost door to signal the arrival of meals, I’ve been undisturbed.

On Day 22, M2 comes down to say hello.

“Jesus Christ, Em. What the hell are you doing?” M2 rages.

“You’re overreacting,” I say.

“How can you be living like this?”

“Okay, I know it’s a little messy, but-”

“No,” she says. “Listen. You are ill. You are mentally just, just not well.”

“Psssh,” I snort derisively from my fort of soiled laundry and dirty dishes. “I’ll be just fine. Soon.”

Chapter 193: Extraction

In Uncategorized on July 12, 2011 at 9:09 am

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” she says, and levels a trank gun at me.

Up, up, and away we go.

*-*-*-*-*

They put me up in a big room at the traveling hospital-cum-fortress, far bigger than any patient room. It’s really like a full suite of rooms, set far away from the rest of the myriad goings-on at the complex.

Thoughtfully, they’ve put me in the basement for what Doc and M2 are calling my “convalescence.” Which is, of course, a clinical euphemism for “getting un-crazified.”

The food they bring me look good, but tastes of dust. Everything is off.