Dad is being moved to a nursing home sometime this week for after-care. It's pretty much of a relief, but it's strange to say that. My dad with the words nursing home. He's only 54!
Had a strange dream again, details are mostly gone, but there was a bad!company, a boy about 15 and his puppy that was skinned alive by the bad!company. But the puppy didn't die, it was mutated into something and it chewed through an electric fence, saving itself along with other pets that were going to be hurt too. For some damn reason in the dream I thought the boy's name was Lex Luthor. Dude. I don't watch Smallville so I don't know where that came from.
Snurched from scaperred.
Ask me five questions. Any five no matter how personal, private, or random. I have to answer them honestly. I have to answer them all. In turn you post this message in your own journal and you have to answer the questions that are asked to you.
Tremors fight will, causing calloused fingers to lose their grasp. His eyes close with the loud clatter of metal hitting the floor. Instinct is gone, replaced by pain and flashes of light at the edges of the darkness that is his temporary world.
He knows he's going to fall, and fall hard. Legs buckling beneath him. The floor is cool against his skin. The cold sharpens the agony. He welcomes it. Now he knows he's still alive and not lost completely.
Hands raise his head. Tongue brushing against his lips, all he can taste is sand and blood mixed together. The combination causes his stomach to clench tightly, threatening to revolt.
“Shhh…shhh…” the whisper doesn’t calm, but has the opposite affect. “We don’t want any messes now do we?”
“No. I need my deposit back,” answering low, the blood spattered on his hands bright in the dim light. “Paid too much already. Tell your boys to back off, and we can finish our deal.”