07 Cow Patty Steam Punk


<<and then Finnegan, you really wake up. and for the most part, coherent.

it is then that you realize that consciousness does not like you. you wake up with a plastic tube inside your left lung. there you are, hands tied to the bed like you are a character in a cheesy erotic romance story. a plastic tube is thrust through your open mouth, snaking down your throat and pumping air in and out of your lung. why? you do not know. you just woke up from…from a dream or a memory. either way it was bad. you are a thirty something year old caucasian female human of ‘Merican’ origin. you have long brown and purple hair flowing all over your face and shoulders. you have tape holding various tubes sticking to your pale white skin. you have two large soft protruding organs that previously secreted milk on your chest, with a drawing of an old skeleton key on a keyring

tattooed on one of them. those organs or “fun bags” (as you have called them in your memories that i read) are also strapped down to the bed just like your arms and your hands that reach and claw to get that damn tube out of your throat. you breathe. your breathing is shallow. you feel the inside of your lungs. you, who have smoked a thousand cigarettes and complained ceaselessly about kitchen grease clogging your air flow; you have never, ever really felt your lungs before. now they hurt. now they bleed. your ribs are broken on one side and crushed on the other. you have a plastic tube in your left lung…and you want it out.>>

<<you hear someone mumbling nonsense and an animal growling angrily. the room around you is empty of people, but there are machines. machines that beep and monitor. machines that pump air in and out of you. as you choke and struggle to bring your hands up off the bed to get the tube out of you, you remember that your tongue is a snake like monster that goes all the way down the back of your throat. you consciously work the entire length of the snake back and forth, pulling the tube up and out of you. the animal growls louder, coming closer. as the tube gets closer to the top of your throat, you hear a woman scream. a nurse rushes into the room just as your hands break free of the bonds tying them down. you finish extricating the breathing tube with your hands. you turn left and right trying to figure out where you are. you ignore the nurse and try to find the angry animal that made the fierce noises that woke you up. finally you see the nurse talking at you and realize that the animal growling was you.>>

“Holy shit, you’re alive?! Umm…conscious…I mean conscious!”, says the nurse.

<<the nurse steps up to your hospital bed and helps relieve you of the breathing apparatus. your eyes bulge and your throat aches, but you are breathing.>>

“I…wa…Where…I…me…an…how…Thor?! Where?! Thor?!”, you croak.

<<another nurse enters the room with a mask connected to another tube. tubes. you distrust, you loath tubes. the first nurse tells you to “Relax Sugar.” and holds a cup of water up to your mouth. you drink. this is the best water you have ever tasted in your life.. it is stale and has probably been sitting on the desk across from the hospital bed that you are in since the last patient died there, but it is the nectar of the gods inside your mouth and against your throat. the water glides down your throat, soothing the ravaged tissues of bloody flesh and down into your empty acidic stomach. the newly arrived nurse says something soothing and meaningless as she replaces the cup at your lips with the mask. you scrunch your eyebrows together in thoughts of protest and displeasure, but the mask is emitting some sort of gas and you cannot fight the desire to try and breathe new things into those aching lungs of yours. the flesh of your throat knits back together like yarn. you feel your rib cage start to mend itself back into a rib cage like shape. the gas takes hold of you and soothes you down into the darkened bedchamber of your mind. you are alive. you breathe. and although you know in your heart that there are two special humans missing from your life at the moment, somehow you know that in your body, you are not alone right now. as the last vestiges of coherent thought leave you, you can feel someone moving through the broken parts of you. this does not make sense to you, but there it is. and now you sleep the sleep of the truly medicated.>>

But wait, wasn’t Ruben just here?

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