Johnny4

“WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE THOSE!!” Johnny squeaked into the mic, sweat beading on his forehead and commingling with the irritated skin on his pimple thing. The vision around the exact point he was looking blended together in faded colors as his pupils shrunk to about half their normal size.

“Hey man, chill out, this isn’t a secure channel.” Said Pat “Just try to find a way to-”

“Did you just tell the guy – you gave combat stimulants to – to calm down?” asked Johnny, the tingling bumping pulsing adrenaline coursing through his dilated veins speeding up now.

“Listen,” Said Pat “you’re going to be fine if you just-”

“No, You listen, I think there is a fundamental flaw in your fucking logic!” Johnny said hunched over the controls, breathing heavy, the frustration of the hangover, the tunnel vision of the stimulants, the sting on his forehead. “I don’t have a freakin’ choice, I’m NOT going to calm down, and I’m going to take the ship in docking bay 556 back, and when I do, I’m gonna RAM IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!”. In that moment, the pressure in his head had built up to the point where the bump on his forehead burst open, and a fleck of white shot out and landed on the observation window.

“Johnny-”

Johnny smashed his fist into the button for the mic, his face purple with the onset of a vicious rage. He made his way to the airlock door which opened before him into the dock with the transporter as the lone object in the white paneled room. His boots scuffed against the linoleum floor, the red in his eyes were that of crimson hatred and anxiety.  Blood ran in a small rivulet from his forehead.

(I feel as though here it may be necessary to tell you a little about the drug Pat had unwittedly given his co-worker. What he thought was basic acetaminophen was actually a chemical compound labeled only under the TOP SECRET database at the Federation capital. No one besides high level security forces actually knew it’s chemical name and it’s strict monitoring made it a nearly imposable substance to obtain relationally. Pat had some serious connections, and friends with drug problems. Simply known to the small levels of proliferation, both legal and illicit, the compound was simply called “Stims”.

Stims legal uses were to give to drop troops as they were about to hurtle from an orbital platform through a planet’s atmosphere and immediately into heavy ground combat. The Drug balanced out certain chemicals for peak awareness, pain reduction, endurance, and control.

This had the overall effect of actually heightening one’s metabolism, blood flow, O2 intake, speed, focus, and irritability for one at rest; It’s “control” effects only helpful to those under extreme physical conditions. The depressant effects of the alcohol, the dehydration of the hangover, and his previous irritability commingled with the Stims that had only begun to enter his body. He was beginning to “come up” as it were, but at the “peak” of the combined effects….)

Johnny dropped the ignition key for the Carrilion on the floor and waited on the transporter. A moment later the blue light swirled around him and he was at docking bay 556. He moved like an ape machine, snatching the ignition key for the Quadrant Skipper and stepping through the air locking doors. The Quadrent skipper was a long term space passenger ship, made for the opulent and well to do, like a yatchet or something. This one was named the Regallion.

Johnny moved through the living space, the game tables and puffy couches in recessed areas in the floor passed as unnoticed as the minibar near the cockpit. The valet jumped into the pilot seat, turned the ignition key, punched in the clearance numbers, and ratcheted up the thrusters to full power.

The kinetic energy of the space yacht’s engines scored the rear wall of the spaceport and the ship groaned as the coupling arms fought against their force. A heaving sound of metal would have been heard by Johnny if he was not an ion in a building torrent of anger. Instead, he was just, “aware” that the couplings had broken off and the ship was flung forwards into space.

He had one goal forming in his mind. It began as rational as anyone could be. he was going to bring back the ship needed at the docking bay, collect any tip, and return to pat, very perturbed about the fact that he had been given something he did not expect.

This idea changed in a manner of moments, and although at the time his remark of, quote, “…I’m gonna RAM [the ship from docking bay 556] UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!” was largely an empty threat, it began ringing through his mind. The moment of running the Quadrant Skipper into the observation room, the huge explosion, the crushing metal. It all became….so appealing.

To be continued.

Sonnet a day 2try

The same world is around you

and then it is gone an hour hence

a well of gravity builds inside you

and all that is solid begins to sway and dance

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The confines and mysteries of the world,

flood like a beach wave and childhood renewed

and a glimpse at a greater scope is becoming unfurled

creeping uncertainty and curiosity over mood

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What is what, and this is, how can be?

That this is now and that was then.

We all are is and one thing cant you see?

And now that I know, I can maybe bend.

.

Truth is a path best tread alone, with only guides and never gifts

Mind and wary be, what you seek, will always shimmer and shift.

Sonnet a day 1 : On Dicipline

So  something I’ve told myself I’m going to start doing, Each day I’m going to write a sonnet, I may not always post them, but I will if I got nothing else. They are likely going to be just terrible because it’s more of an exercise to get better with words than any kind of attempt at anything legitimate. I usually don’t plan out anything, but start out where I’m feeling and work from there. Rhyming is always weird when you have to force it. I am also not keeping to any kind of meter per line for those sonnet nuts out here if you exist. Here’s the first one I wrote last night.

What could be more elusive than discipline?

The specter of death does not harry me so.

Much greater ease to…do a line

Than to organize thoughts for one to go.

So much is said to be gained,

From steadfast work and devotion,

And yet here I have remained,

my head sputtering with useless commotion.

Is this only a moment of clarity?

What befalls those with simple grandeur?

Is it all just mediocrity?

That to my face takes petty pander?

I fear I’m likely a fool’s simpleton

And that death would come easier than any discipline.

(I realize maybe some of you may not think this one is humorous, but It’s more of a sarcastic joke on how in shambles my life has been, I’ve been sick for the last few days but I finally cleaned out my room. It feels better, but I haven’t been in the best mood recently. Hence, a lot of stuff on my life falling into shambles. Hopefully with spring I’ll start to feel better and stuff I post can reflect that. Anyway, something to think about enjoy! (also I do not do cocaine, I couldn’t think of a good way to say what I wanted and rhyme it to discipline.)