“It’s the color of a freaking lime,” Cane pointed out, with an unspoken What the living fuck?
Yeah, that could be the problem. (page 37)
Day Five is off and running like a shot of Mexico’s finest tequila. Smooth and fiery with an iron-toed kick in the gut.
*doubtful silence falls*
Ok. Let me amend that… Day Five is here. Try not to stub your toe on its sloth-like girth.
Let’s say it is and move on, shall we? We’ve got crawling mosquitoes to discuss. *grins*
Do mosquitoes crawl?
This is surprisingly a very deep question. Really.
Having a mental illness that is slowly evolving into a different beast every day, I sometimes wonder if I’ll know when or if I finally lose my mind? Will there be a visual clue, like mosquitoes suddenly crawling through the air instead of flying? Will worms suddenly taking flight give me an inkling that’s something terribly wrong?
Will any of it happen “suddenly” at all? Maybe going crazy will be the whole world slowing down to a snail’s pace, where a yawn lasts a year and a heartbeat a Tuesday? Mosquitoes would certainly be crawling then.
Would that mean that I would “suddenly” speed up? Would my mind blow through the world like a runaway train on a very short track? Would my words be nothing more than cavernous screams in the sky, or would they just be swallowed up in the crack between two realities, mine and yours?
Would my blogs suddenly be nothing but question marks and exclamation points?
Or maybe, just perhaps, this was simply an example of where my mind has been known to run on very bad days?
Yeah, that must be it.
*doubtful silence falls again*
Welcome to my world where it’s always a question of whether my imagination is just running amuck or are the mosquitoes really lining up to start crawling.