I am stuck in dubio… Would he even be able to fix this problem? I mean… If we weren’t on bad terms earlier, we definitely are now. You know what? Screw it! I take hold of the pencil and, my eyes set firmly on his with a deadly stare, my arm goes down. I’m not sure if it was just the adrenaline rushing through me or my own desperation… But that pencil went in deep.
I watch with a sort of detachment as it enters his right eye, nothing stopping it, all the way to the brain. His hands shoot up, try to take hold of mine, to stay alive… A stream of plasma rolls down from his eye first as it enters through the iris. Then, blood, lots of it while I’m looking for the place where his nerves make their way to his brain. I’m… I’m really doing this? When I finally find my way further down his skull, I pull back my hand while his own desperately reaches for his eye.
It’s too late now, buddy. I feel the last spark of life leaving him as his blood gushes over my body in a deep, wine-like red. I pull back my foot, then go in for a firm kick, right on the pencil, his hands only guiding it further down.
As the man’s lifeless body slowly slides to the floor like a puppet without strings, I watch in fascination and horror the result of my ire. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I am uncontrollably hitting around myself trying to comprehend what I just did, or the fact that somehow… I don’t have any remorse at all. What kind of sick bastard AM I? Why am I happy about this?!
I put myself back together, inhale deeply, and turn back to the bastard. He still has something I need, one way or another. I HAVE to get back, make up for my sins and return everything to how it’s supposed to be.
I stand over him like a wild beast, my breath deep and grunting. At least, if I could make a sound, that is.. I bend forward, my face close to his. I want to yell at him all the misery he’s caused me so far, but I can’t. Why can’t I just be angry like I want to be, or feel horrified at myself? No, I need that thing back in my grasp.
I take the tip of the pencil still sticking out in my right hand, trying to get it back out with a firm pull. Stuck?! Oh come on! A sloshing sound escapes the cavity, as the pencil refuses to let go. At this moment I plant my legs besides the son of a gun’s head, grab the pencil with both of my hands, and try to pull again. Nothing! His stupid face just moves along! Where’s rigor mortis when you need it?!
Eventually in desperation, I just start kicking in his face. Somehow the pencil doesn’t even seem to bend. Well, it’s magical I suppose... I guess it can handle a beating. Good, it’s about to get one! After a few extra kicks, I miss my aim, skamp by the side of his head, and with a loud cracking noise the skull of that git explodes! Finally the pencil comes loose and I fly back in surprise, hitting the table behind me. That hurt, but at least it is mine again!
Okay now, relax buddy, deep breaths. Yes. It’ll be fine, right? Right. First, I need to find a way to talk. Now, how do I… Can I draw myself some vocal cords? I stare at the pencil, wondering... Oh man; what do these things even look like?! No matter, I’ll just make some guitar strings or something, they’ll do I suppose.
I scribble a bunch of lines, but shaking so hard from the last few minutes I can’t even manage a normal straight one. My fingers slip from the pencil with all the blood staining it, not helping at all. I should take it off, I suppose… Do I have anything to clean it? I used my shirt at first, but with my fingers just as slippery and the blots of the red liquid already on the fabric, it was a useless effort.
I shake my head, and without thinking lick my thumb. Did I just… This is disgusting! The flavor of iron and the gooey substance quickly fills up my mouth, and I start to spit. “Ptoe! Blah! Yech!” ...Wait, don’t tell me that works? Come on now! What kind of cheap magical pencil is this? Paying for organs in blood?! Really?! Damned cursed thing. Well, it sounded like it was miles away, I suppose I…
I hesitate for a second, then look down at my shirt. I’m really going to do this, aren’t I? I pull it up to my face, it must be looking like literally eating crap, but here I am sticking out my tongue at the stained fabric. Okay, let’s… Let’s get this over with. With a deep breath I stick the cloth in my mouth and start sucking, tears rolling down my eyes at my own disgust.
If I didn’t hate today yet, well I sure do now! Although… It can’t get any worse, can it? Well at least I got my voice back. A little too late though. With a violent shake I run off the cold shiver coming over me as I finally take out the cloth. I’m grateful for my strong stomach here, because anyone else would have lost it and thrown up.
I grab the chair the bastard had shoved aside at my rude entry, and take a seat. Having my voice back I could at least explain what I had done, no wait, this was cold blooded murder. I need to get rid of him. Okay, that’s point number one. What else? How will I be able to get back?
I need an artist. A good one. But how? I have no cash on me, or at least, will these credit cards even work in this world? They’re probably made up too. I twirl around on the chair, and finally actually notice what this place is… A thrift store, I think. Oh… So that’s why he has all those shelves around.
Those computer parts look ancient though, how will they ever sell? Is there anything around here that I can use at all? Maybe I can repair stuff. Okay that’s point number two. Figure out how to turn this mess into money.
I take hold of my surroundings, then get to work. I have to get rid of the useless stuff first, and then put the shelves back up. Wow he can afford a garden?! Perfect! Then as soon as night falls, I’ll go back there to dig a grave for my creator… This place looks abandoned anyway, nobody will notice.
I arched back on my chair, put my hands behind my head and put up a little smile. Yeah, this should work… But hold on, I still have to find a way back! Darn, I won’t be able to make that portal, and I’m not spending years learning art!
Wait... This is a pawn shop! I could just put the pencil somewhere in plain sight, see if I can find an unlucky buyer. Some starving artist should be able to come by at some point right? … And who could resist a pencil that never gets dull?
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