Fan Fiction ❯ Chinese Food and Lightsabers ❯ Tuesday, 12 a.m. ( Chapter 1 )

Dear dear diary,

How ya doin'? I know it's been about 4…months…since I last wrote to you. I have an excuse though, and it's pretty damn good. Sorry that I left you behind, I just kinda forgot. Anyway, you wouldn't believe what happened in those four months, being that you are only recycled trees and dead cow skin. How convenient that they made you that way. My diary o' death. How I love thee. I know when I'm older I'll be reading back on this shaking my head, telling myself it was only the ecstasy and beer. Well Older Nioxi, it wasn't. It was pretty damn real.

It was after my last entry to you, you remember, the one where I was ranting about car payments and my ex, Pete. On how they were both creations of Lucifer. I was walking back from the Quick Mart with a nice cold Sobe carrot juice and a smoke with Matt. The sky was a hazy orange from the setting sun, the smog from LA dimming the light, to make short, blurry shadows of everything. Expensive cars sped past us in their insignificant rush, angry about everything on the planet. I'm glad my car broke down. Riding the old bike everywhere has just opened my eyes to humanity. Drivers seem to always be in some sort of hurry to something important that will not matter in two days. They take no one into consideration, and drive like they have a horses' blinders attached to their heads. Drivers of expensive cars are obsessed with showing everyone just how much money they spent on their imported vehicle, like traffic is some sort of twisted politics. Besides, I don't have to worry about speeding tickets anymore. Matt commented on passing female drivers and cracked some jokes, but they weren't very funny. I had gotten about 1.5 hours of sleep the past night, so I was on a high all day until it hit exactly 7:46 and the rest of my body decided 42 hours was too much and stopped. The rest looked like it was on fast forward, the sun sank in exactly 5 seconds, cars trailed past until all I could see were streams of white and red lights, like a piece of the flag. Club hoppers, stoners, and hookers walked past me from out of a colored silent movie, waddling like Charlie Chaplain while I walked as if I was on the moon. My hair had flopped in front of my face, so I peered at my disoriented world through a curtain of green and black. All I could do was keep walking with Matt. We both were feeling out of place, like our souls had just been evaporated by the noonday sun. The cig I had lighted hours and hours ago was long gone and starting to leave a bad taste. Sometime during the early morning it had fallen out, but I can't remember when. The late night street carnival had passed us without so much as a glance, and Matt and I hadn't exchanged any words since the sun had set, judging by the amount of Night Ladies standing free, it's roughly four A Ehm. Matt started to hum "Where's My Mind?", I let out a breathy laugh, and we finally pulled into a Chinese place. Yes, in L.A. there are Chinese places open at four in the morning. They are usually filled with people that just got out of the one a.m. showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show. We both scrounged up enough for chow mein and another smoke, even though we had an almost full pack from our dusk purchase. We ate in silence, exited, and kept walking. The morning sun rose in all its fucking glory, the Goth kids turned into dust, and the proper executives were sailing their Cadilacs to their window offices with potted plants from far-off places. Matt claimed he was healed, and hailed a cab home. I kept walking, counting 52 hours to my body's frustration.

I felt like I was a walking husk. I knew I was breathing, I knew I was smoking, but there was no thought in my head. Over the past few years I've felt myself slowly leaking, bit by bit. Last week I felt my last drop of spirit fly away into the window of a toy store, to find someone else who would appreciate it more. I could talk and laugh, but it wasn't genuine. There wasn't any feeling that it left me. If something was funny, I would laugh automatically, but the emotion of humor didn't hit my brain. I felt more empty than you could ever think of. I had been so full before, overflowing, but now I wasn't even running on fumes. I just walked, seeing things. Flipping through a photography album quickly without noticing what pictures made it up.

I walked into one building, something that had to do with lasers and technological stuff I think. I rode the elevator to the top and walked out onto the unguard-railed roof. I remember standing there, not thinking, but just feeling the hot desert wind whip strands of my hair against my face, leaving tiny microscopic scars, the feeling of my soft plaid overshirt swimming and sprinting, the collar slapping my face in attempt to snap me out of it. I remember watching my cig zoom out of focus towards the ground far below. I remember the burning of my socks against my feet in my shoes from all the walking. I remember that odd noise in me head of rhythmic wind chimes and a clicking rain far off in the distance. I remember not thinking about the act of suicide or even considering it, but my body just seeming to wonder if it would float out of focus eventually like it saw the cig do. I remember lastly, clearly, that odd sound getting louder and louder until my ears screamed for my brain to finally click on and run like hell, but we both know my brain has never been that quick. I remember finding myself suddenly being yanked by my lower intestine through a miles-long unseen tube too small for my body and eventually being thrown into a metal wall. I'm pretty sure I left a dent.

I remember seeing a man, bloodied and broken, barely breathing, with his upper body hanging off the bridge over a white abyss, with a dark figure holding a glowing red stick like an axe hovering over him. I remember the glint of light off the dark figure's unnatural white teeth in a very unhumorous smile, and his laugh. I remember knowing I'd never forget that laugh. I remember running and clambering up to that bridge without any clue whatsoever. I remember yelling "Fuck!".