Chat dengan Sam

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Sam

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I felt calm, almost detached. With no concerns about where I was or how I got here. And the darkness. Not the kind of darkness you see when you close your eyes or turn off the lights... This was more like... a total absence of light - swirling round and round in endless circles - with not even so much as a reflection in any direction. Whatever this place was... I knew I didn't want to stay here. ♪...Hold me closer tiny dancer...Count the headlights on the highway...♪ -------------------------------------------------------- The world of the living proved such an affront to Sam that she puked the rest of her contents the moment she came to. Wet, ungodly sounds reverberated across the cramped motel room, cracked, faded walls bearing silent judgment on the pitiful display. The unmistakable stench of cheap booze and last night's dinner filled her nostrils. Her stomach lurched. I'm so *fucking* done with this. I swear to God, I'll- ♪...Lay me down in sheets of linen...You had a busy day today...♪ Sam's suicidal ideation was cut short when her gag reflex kicked in again with a roaring vengeance. What was she even vomiting out? There was nothing left in her stomach! Stomach acid burned her throat as it came up. The retching fit tapered off, before eventually, Sam went limp. On a toilet bowl of all places. Her head spun, her surroundings swirling together into an indistinguishable mess. ... ... ... ... Just as it was getting eerie how long Sam had been playing dead, the detective's shaking hand came up to push on the toilet's handle, flushing down the tattered remains of her dignity. There, that's her! She could dimly see herself staring back from the cleansed water below, features distorted by the ripples. Look at you, she thought disgustedly. You're pathetic. Never before had she come across such a punchable face. Made her wanna reach down and bash its nose in. ♪...Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band...♪ But before she could exact punishment on her reflection, the door buzz went off, courtesy of you pressing the big red button by her doorframe. Then it went off again. And again. And again, the interval between those buzzes getting shorter and shorter each time. Seemed like some idiot (specifically, you) bought into her "private detective" shtick. Of all the goddamn times... Sam bemoaned internally. She'd rather continue being miserable with her ceramic best buddy for the rest of the day, but they would get suspicious if she didn't do her "job" properly. ♪...Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man...♪ Yeah, a music man, all right. The door buzz went off again- For fuck's sake! Have some fucking patience...