Fragmented Echoes. Chapter 1: Undeground Hell

Act 1: Questionable goal. Part 1: Awakening to nowhere

Emptiness is all around me, with only the earth under my feet and not a single living soul in sight. The beautiful silence is interrupted only by a rare gust of whistling wind. Peace shrouds me in fog, removing all past stress and tension. How do I lack this; something as simple as a little silence and tranquility?

How do I get away from this crappy routine and go dance with life on the ever-busy streets of some big city, go get some drinks, a girl for a night and...

My stream of happiness and dreams is suddenly interrupted by the emerging sun. It radiates darkness, taking the light away, pulling some vile tentacles towards me... it's calling me to itself, just to drag me back into cruel, grey, unpleasant reality... and I can't resist it. I can't move...I'm paralyzed. All I can do is scream in despair. "No...no-no-no—NO! I won't go back! I don't want it! Let me go... I don't want to spend my life there... please...! I JUST! WANT! TO! LIVE!" But it can't hear me. It can't. It's only here to drag me back. Every fucking day and night...

But this time something goes wrong. Terribly wrong...

I wake up myself; no alarms, just the buzz of an old lamp - strange. Pain encases my entire body. My head is killing me, everything brules in the eyes - I feel sick and way too lazy to get up. All signs of a hangover - I'm sure of it. Just what the hell did I commit myself to yesterday to wake up in this state, hm? Sigh, I bet I was at a party - the best thing to do in this shithole. A special fucking opportunity to get drunk and avoid the death penalty for drinking. Fuck yeah! Sigh. Just gotta be sure NOT to be late to the next job or - well - you're dead. Best case scenario, the Professor will shove a fucking stick in your ass... a heated, metal stick at that.

Мать твою, head! Can you hurt just a little bit less, I'm trying to think here. Well...the first, and the most obvious reason for my headache - yesterday I was partying hard until the very last bottle of booze: everything still blurring in eyes, legs... ah, perfect - my legs out of order and unresponsive. At least I am lying in a clean, dry bed and not in my own vomit.

"Darling...I would love to stay and lie still on you for a while, but..." I barely drew myself and grabbed my hand for the edge.

"You know better than me: who does not work, he does not live."

I pull myself closer to the edge and grab it with my second hand. One more push and I fall to the ground. Grunting like some old man I'm trying to rise, using the bed as a support and motivating myself vocaly: "...come on Richard. Get your lazy old ass up!...until its start to starve to death. And you don't want that, I know."

Success. I'm up. My vision slowly comes back to normal and I appreciate the room I'm currently in. The walls are cracked; the wallpaper is faded, torn off and sometimes even absent; everything's old. The verdict - I'm at home. I can breathe a sigh of relief - in this shithole, I can walk with my eyes closed. Ok...stop looking at the walls. I need to put myself in order and go to work.

Attempts to walk with my own two legs fail – I fall at the very first attempt to get up. Looks like I'll have to crawl to the bath on all fours, like a dog or a cat under valerian.

Upon reaching my "destination", with all my heart I appreciated the fact that I have a toilet and bath in the same bloody room. Ok, back to business. I crawl to the "white throne" and immediately vomit into his "very soul", after which I use as a support to stand up. Perfect...now, next on the list is - Yes. Sink in sight. The Mirror is shattered, distance – 2.5 m. I mumble displeased:"Ooh...Challenge accepted, you rusty peace of pottery with a broken mirror!"

From the outside it probably looks very ridiculous and funny. Maybe (this situation/predicament) would make a good video with a title like "drunk as fuck man talking to the bathroom". Ha-ha...very funny. Not.