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Did I black out?

Did I … finally finish falling through another hole in reality?

Well.

That’s … interesting.

I’ll just not dwell on that.

At all.

 

“Fine, can I start with killing you?”

 

“Hey. Can I join you?” Because honestly, the monster in charge of literal holes in reality needs to die.

Or at least get punched in the face.

I can’t kill him. But I can make him hurt.

I am, if I do say so myself, very good at making people hurt. And finding people.

And finding Search’s chocolate stash. I am so good at finding her chocolate stash. And hiding it in better places…

I miss Search.

“Also. Can someone tell me where I am? And where my … uh … staff is?”

Because I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t say it’s a deadly weapon…

“And my foot’s bleeding. Again. Or still. Because of course it is.”

Think happy thoughts. Like about the fire opal sitting in its leather pouch, the smoke drawn around it so tightly it looks like coal.

I’m getting a little better at passively holding shapes. Drake was right to make me train but I still want to punch him for that.

I shift a bit, trying to get my feet under me … wait a second, where is my boot?

I have a string of words to describe exactly what I think about this situation, but lucky for the people around me, I’ve had practice biting back those words. Because I don’t want Vi to “learn uncouth behaviors” or whatever other fancy schmancy things my dear-old stepmom has to say.

She is two years older than me. She got no business lecturing me about nothing. But that is an entirely different crumbling tunnel.

“I’d ask if anything else can go wrong, but I think we all know how THAT would end.”

 

 

Me: [reads through @this-is-not-an-alien‘s and @ragnarok‘s writing.]

So, apparently I’m a bad influence. 😱😰😑