24 Vhalar, 723
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This brick wall seemed oddly… familiar. Kotton's frazzled mind could only revisit a few moments of the past, but the resemblance of this wall... had it not been the same wall he had seen only a few minutes ago?
Gods, he immediately knew he was drunk. But since he was religiously a partner to the masters of the plastered, he found himself surrounded in an intimate embrace; it was commonplace for him to be “out of it” and inarticulate in terms of his inhibitions and rationale. This didn’t make him any less regardful per se and it didn’t always mean he was slower than the normal fellow. Because he had followed the clumsy foolhardy path of the drink on a regular basis, he had made friends with all the locals- he had found a natural rhythm with the realm of toxicity. His best mate was Gin, but he had played poker with Tequila, and flirted with Vodka; he had regurgitated Scotch’s lies, and sat dazed, but in comfortable companionship with Whiskey. Rum though? Fuck that shit. It was because of his high renown with the alcohols that gave him the ability to be more adept at contemplating and comprehending situations whilst under an inebriated spell.
He had learned that this super power was one of tolerance, and boy, did his tolerance exceed most people’s expectations, including his own. He still had bouts of mystery where he couldn’t uncover that one remaining loose end that made his head spin one too many times around. He continued to be stumped, without solution to why his bed felt a little too much like a ship rocking against the waves of the ocean. Sometimes he couldn't care less about being beyond his ability to… human. Indifference and ignorance could be a blessing at times. Sometimes he just wanted to black out and forget all this mess. Maybe that capability in itself was a decision made from some semblance of sobriety. Maybe he chose to not give a fuck, who knew?
This wall though, the one he had definitely seen before- it was staring at him eerily, almost like the thin, white masonry inserts between the red bricks were… smiling at him. They were mocking him. He squinted his eyes, his jaw subconsciously jutting out analogous to a comic expression of scepticism. Yet, the mortar joints remained motionless. That’s what I thought, Kotton remarked with gusto. Because he was in charge- he was the man.
The reason that ultimately determined Kotton’s decision to imbibe was because of a ridiculously moronic day at work. He wasn’t performing his usual duties as a scribe and was instead tasked with organising the containers of one of the many ice boxes. He had to practically remove each and every item in every single box because they were completely and utterly disordered. It was a complete waste of his time and talent.
He had to stop mid-process so he could give his mind a mental break. And it was during this time that he searched for an employee of high status. Kotton had asked them, “why do these keep getting so disowganised?” The employee stood and sighed, “because people have a hard time knowing where to put things.” Kotton furrowed his brow and let his eyelids fluttered in exaggerated agitated disbelief. “But… it’s labelled,” he explained. The employee puckered their lips and nodded. “Sure, but people still have trouble.”
Kotton was not aware and did not fully understand the laws and rules of bullshit; he just followed them. It was kind of like when you were told as a child to do something ‘because I said so’ as if that reasoning held any water whatsoever. Any child would simply think, okay sure, and carry on. Even adults did this, but Kotton’s mind worked a little bit differently- he became frustrated at the lack of intelligence in other people, especially when there were clear instructions on how they could succeed. He liked to delve further into the whats and whys. But having clear labels? And still mistakes were being made? He had taken a deep breath, allowing another moment to collect his thoughts before suggesting to this employee a supposedly fool-proof solution- numbering areas in the ice box and associating said numbers to specific samples and containers. This, Kotton hoped, would make things even easier, though he subconsciously doubted that.
“That’s a good idea!” The employee praised. “I’ll bring that up with my boss.” And he flitted away without a second glance. Kotton wondered if he would receive recognition for his bright idea. He rolled his eyes. Whatever.
And then vodka had made an entrance, entangled with curacao blue liqueur and detectibly sour strawberries. And so did this re-emerging brick wall, its presence seemingly to be the one the spotlight desired…
This fucking fly, though? He could hear its incessant buzzing metres away and it drove him absolutely crazy.
Boy, did his drunken mind amble toward irrelevant tangents...
His eardrums couldn’t take the unrelenting slaughter of the bug's monotonous hum. But try as he might, he couldn’t find the pesky insect's location. And he really wanted to smash it.
There were some nuisances in his life he wished would just… disappear. He wished he could eviscerate the idiocracy, and the stupidity and, especially those who were inconsiderate. And it would all be to make a more prosperous world. But was this justice talking? Or revenge? He couldn't allow himself to stray from his pre-ordained virtuous path. Not only would he not allow it, but the immortals he worshipped would come to him with heavenly punishment.
Alas, he continued to be taken back to an earlier part of his day. The labelling fiasco. He had looked into it. He, a newcomer, without much knowledge as to the organisation and placement of samples, could very well understand the process of order that had been mandated by the big boss. It was this realisation made him strong believe that there were some dumb people out there. Despite all this, still seemed to be stuck regaling the consequences of morons.
Fighting for a deep breath posed an immaculate challenge, one his lungs could not contend with. Kotton's eyes grew tired, but his eyebrows raised in response to the fear that accumulated due to the inability to obtain air. His hand met his heart in a tell-tale sign of abject horror.
Looking at the brick wall gave no consolation. Kotton had to crane his neck to look at the sky. It was filled with sparkling dots. A surprisingly cold breeze graced his face with tender fingers. He closed his eyes and was finally able to inhale the fresh air, finding both the starry night and the cool breeze the necessary reassurance needed to calm himself.
His heart no longer fluttered like a hummingbirds’ wings. He could open his eyes and view the ocean of galactic wonder above him with peace. He didn’t garner any additional thought to that irksome fly or that derisive brick wall. The natural lights of the sky took him far away from petty worries and cumbersome bothers.
The universe periodically offered dense webs of lies and distractions poised to trap people, in long depressive episodes of unease and doubtfulness. But other times, the universe was soft and subtle, malleable to the hand it could be held in. Kotton was holding a feeble version of the universe right now. The alcohol still stirred with discourse in his gut, and his thoughts remained a tad bit hazy when it came to the logical side of things, but the walls within his skull were expanding- they were distancing themselves from one another, allowing more room to breathe. He could almost hear a serene melody in his ears.
Perhaps the universe needed to test him every now and then- a test that would warrant a measure of his strength and endurance. He supposed trials of complex agitation were meant to give him a challenge to better his understanding. It seemed likely that the explicit inane behaviours of some individuals were merely obstacles that were suggested as means to overcome with designated patience and conviction.
The stars were probably speaking to him, praising him for his quick-wittedness, intelligence, and ability to think beyond the conventional mounds of what had been. The dark pockets of space that filled the areas between those hot balls of light were unknown realms that had yet to be discovered. They could very well be side quests, future journeys that Kotton was supposed to accept.
He liked to think of his life as one that held purpose. He liked to think there was more to it, not just an accidental upbringing from a pair of lowly, common humans. Many had spoken of a miracle, but his birth had yet to offer him the proof of such majestic origination. There had to be something more. And even though his turbulent mind contained thought upon thought, the crashing and careening of ideas off one another with lacklustre intention, he knew deep down that there was some goal for him to achieve.
He smiled halfheartedly to him and swayed to the side. He had to catch himself against that annoying and troublesome brick wall so as not to fall.
Kotton had enough cancer coming his way as it was, but this potentially trivial, yet extremely complimenting revelation, was what he seemed to need to lift his spirits. Sometimes Gin and Tequila, Vodka and Scotch, and even the infamous, yet untrustworthy Whisky (fuck rum) could be helpful after all. At least for Kotton; he had been able to come to the conclusion that a brain overworked with toxins could also produce fairly interesting and philosophical deliberations.
Kotton quickly rebounded from his near-fall. After finding a stable position upright, he blinked his eyes with the intention of trying to get rid of the weird wormy things that floated across his vision. Then, he directed his body toward the direction of his house. He would contemplate his thoughts tonight on the way back to his couch, where he would crash without brushing his teeth or changing from his street clothes.
His couch was the end of tonight's crazy tale. But boy, should he think about bathing. He didn't need those icky, sticky liquids of alcohol dirtying his bedsheets.
Gods, he immediately knew he was drunk. But since he was religiously a partner to the masters of the plastered, he found himself surrounded in an intimate embrace; it was commonplace for him to be “out of it” and inarticulate in terms of his inhibitions and rationale. This didn’t make him any less regardful per se and it didn’t always mean he was slower than the normal fellow. Because he had followed the clumsy foolhardy path of the drink on a regular basis, he had made friends with all the locals- he had found a natural rhythm with the realm of toxicity. His best mate was Gin, but he had played poker with Tequila, and flirted with Vodka; he had regurgitated Scotch’s lies, and sat dazed, but in comfortable companionship with Whiskey. Rum though? Fuck that shit. It was because of his high renown with the alcohols that gave him the ability to be more adept at contemplating and comprehending situations whilst under an inebriated spell.
He had learned that this super power was one of tolerance, and boy, did his tolerance exceed most people’s expectations, including his own. He still had bouts of mystery where he couldn’t uncover that one remaining loose end that made his head spin one too many times around. He continued to be stumped, without solution to why his bed felt a little too much like a ship rocking against the waves of the ocean. Sometimes he couldn't care less about being beyond his ability to… human. Indifference and ignorance could be a blessing at times. Sometimes he just wanted to black out and forget all this mess. Maybe that capability in itself was a decision made from some semblance of sobriety. Maybe he chose to not give a fuck, who knew?
This wall though, the one he had definitely seen before- it was staring at him eerily, almost like the thin, white masonry inserts between the red bricks were… smiling at him. They were mocking him. He squinted his eyes, his jaw subconsciously jutting out analogous to a comic expression of scepticism. Yet, the mortar joints remained motionless. That’s what I thought, Kotton remarked with gusto. Because he was in charge- he was the man.
The reason that ultimately determined Kotton’s decision to imbibe was because of a ridiculously moronic day at work. He wasn’t performing his usual duties as a scribe and was instead tasked with organising the containers of one of the many ice boxes. He had to practically remove each and every item in every single box because they were completely and utterly disordered. It was a complete waste of his time and talent.
He had to stop mid-process so he could give his mind a mental break. And it was during this time that he searched for an employee of high status. Kotton had asked them, “why do these keep getting so disowganised?” The employee stood and sighed, “because people have a hard time knowing where to put things.” Kotton furrowed his brow and let his eyelids fluttered in exaggerated agitated disbelief. “But… it’s labelled,” he explained. The employee puckered their lips and nodded. “Sure, but people still have trouble.”
Kotton was not aware and did not fully understand the laws and rules of bullshit; he just followed them. It was kind of like when you were told as a child to do something ‘because I said so’ as if that reasoning held any water whatsoever. Any child would simply think, okay sure, and carry on. Even adults did this, but Kotton’s mind worked a little bit differently- he became frustrated at the lack of intelligence in other people, especially when there were clear instructions on how they could succeed. He liked to delve further into the whats and whys. But having clear labels? And still mistakes were being made? He had taken a deep breath, allowing another moment to collect his thoughts before suggesting to this employee a supposedly fool-proof solution- numbering areas in the ice box and associating said numbers to specific samples and containers. This, Kotton hoped, would make things even easier, though he subconsciously doubted that.
“That’s a good idea!” The employee praised. “I’ll bring that up with my boss.” And he flitted away without a second glance. Kotton wondered if he would receive recognition for his bright idea. He rolled his eyes. Whatever.
And then vodka had made an entrance, entangled with curacao blue liqueur and detectibly sour strawberries. And so did this re-emerging brick wall, its presence seemingly to be the one the spotlight desired…
This fucking fly, though? He could hear its incessant buzzing metres away and it drove him absolutely crazy.
Boy, did his drunken mind amble toward irrelevant tangents...
His eardrums couldn’t take the unrelenting slaughter of the bug's monotonous hum. But try as he might, he couldn’t find the pesky insect's location. And he really wanted to smash it.
There were some nuisances in his life he wished would just… disappear. He wished he could eviscerate the idiocracy, and the stupidity and, especially those who were inconsiderate. And it would all be to make a more prosperous world. But was this justice talking? Or revenge? He couldn't allow himself to stray from his pre-ordained virtuous path. Not only would he not allow it, but the immortals he worshipped would come to him with heavenly punishment.
Alas, he continued to be taken back to an earlier part of his day. The labelling fiasco. He had looked into it. He, a newcomer, without much knowledge as to the organisation and placement of samples, could very well understand the process of order that had been mandated by the big boss. It was this realisation made him strong believe that there were some dumb people out there. Despite all this, still seemed to be stuck regaling the consequences of morons.
Fighting for a deep breath posed an immaculate challenge, one his lungs could not contend with. Kotton's eyes grew tired, but his eyebrows raised in response to the fear that accumulated due to the inability to obtain air. His hand met his heart in a tell-tale sign of abject horror.
Looking at the brick wall gave no consolation. Kotton had to crane his neck to look at the sky. It was filled with sparkling dots. A surprisingly cold breeze graced his face with tender fingers. He closed his eyes and was finally able to inhale the fresh air, finding both the starry night and the cool breeze the necessary reassurance needed to calm himself.
His heart no longer fluttered like a hummingbirds’ wings. He could open his eyes and view the ocean of galactic wonder above him with peace. He didn’t garner any additional thought to that irksome fly or that derisive brick wall. The natural lights of the sky took him far away from petty worries and cumbersome bothers.
The universe periodically offered dense webs of lies and distractions poised to trap people, in long depressive episodes of unease and doubtfulness. But other times, the universe was soft and subtle, malleable to the hand it could be held in. Kotton was holding a feeble version of the universe right now. The alcohol still stirred with discourse in his gut, and his thoughts remained a tad bit hazy when it came to the logical side of things, but the walls within his skull were expanding- they were distancing themselves from one another, allowing more room to breathe. He could almost hear a serene melody in his ears.
Perhaps the universe needed to test him every now and then- a test that would warrant a measure of his strength and endurance. He supposed trials of complex agitation were meant to give him a challenge to better his understanding. It seemed likely that the explicit inane behaviours of some individuals were merely obstacles that were suggested as means to overcome with designated patience and conviction.
The stars were probably speaking to him, praising him for his quick-wittedness, intelligence, and ability to think beyond the conventional mounds of what had been. The dark pockets of space that filled the areas between those hot balls of light were unknown realms that had yet to be discovered. They could very well be side quests, future journeys that Kotton was supposed to accept.
He liked to think of his life as one that held purpose. He liked to think there was more to it, not just an accidental upbringing from a pair of lowly, common humans. Many had spoken of a miracle, but his birth had yet to offer him the proof of such majestic origination. There had to be something more. And even though his turbulent mind contained thought upon thought, the crashing and careening of ideas off one another with lacklustre intention, he knew deep down that there was some goal for him to achieve.
He smiled halfheartedly to him and swayed to the side. He had to catch himself against that annoying and troublesome brick wall so as not to fall.
Kotton had enough cancer coming his way as it was, but this potentially trivial, yet extremely complimenting revelation, was what he seemed to need to lift his spirits. Sometimes Gin and Tequila, Vodka and Scotch, and even the infamous, yet untrustworthy Whisky (fuck rum) could be helpful after all. At least for Kotton; he had been able to come to the conclusion that a brain overworked with toxins could also produce fairly interesting and philosophical deliberations.
Kotton quickly rebounded from his near-fall. After finding a stable position upright, he blinked his eyes with the intention of trying to get rid of the weird wormy things that floated across his vision. Then, he directed his body toward the direction of his house. He would contemplate his thoughts tonight on the way back to his couch, where he would crash without brushing his teeth or changing from his street clothes.
His couch was the end of tonight's crazy tale. But boy, should he think about bathing. He didn't need those icky, sticky liquids of alcohol dirtying his bedsheets.
