'Shoot the bars. Code the future. Erase the dream.'
12. 13. 13. -12. 0. -4. 6. -5. -3. 3
"WAKEEeeE—UPPP DEAaaRR cOnSUmerS !!!" The distorted voice buzzed insistently, copying the hums of worker bees. Dirga awoke in a cold state. His sweat mixing with a stark liquid coloured-piss on the floor. Whether it was his own or a rat's, remain unknown.
Controlling his breath, the short pants of oxygen barely satiate the fog.
His brain throbbed. It was as if a sharp pin speared through his cortex.
The body rolled around, leaving the head on a kneeling position. The cardboard laid waste across his bent legs. His toes wiggled, trying to grip the intersecting lines of a white square. His hands took cover at the brain's skull. As the pulsing pain took house in the fragile nerves HQ.
His throat began to burn, causing his chest to alight, leaving the back of his troat—a pinch more sore than yesterday. He clawed at his chest causing dozens of red scratches to bloom at the outer flesh. As the burns became more singed his throat muscles, gagged, trying to retch the burning object out of the soft flesh.
His ribs jut out, his skin gave out the ribs in a blemished appearance. His skin dragged on and on on the ribs, holding out on the spikes of pain. The jutted out ribs gave out the full appearance of the empty stomach.
The cold temperature caused the ends of the toes—a whitish finish.
As the throat retched, over and over—
Outcame a crumpled paper decorated with saliva.
The paper, while littered with the slimy gel of the fluid—it remained near untouched by the saliva.
As Dirga circled the paper like a curious caveman. As the slimy gel was lathered all over it. It created a disgusting shape. Bordering on a mushy porridge. He took over his fear, and picked up the paper.
Growing more disgusted, he shaked the paper off the surrounding liquid. Dirga gave a gagging face when he smelled the faint gunk smell of it. It reminded him of the trash that he usually slept at.
Something very unpleasant ro look back to, he noted. To take his mind off it, he pinched his nose, and his hands against his will—moved to uncover the secrets contained within the small note.
'Remember the deal.'
00726 <---- Your number, Sir Laksa.
Aside from the strange number, Dirga noticed a small fact.
Touching the note with his dirty fingers. Turning it back and front. Something was amiss.
The ink hasn't dried yet.
"What... kind of f*cker... did this... SH*IITTT !!!" He trembled. As it's grimy, slimy surface stuck on his hands. He slid it towards the floor, hoping it would negate the repulsive smell.
He opened his mouth, used his hands and feeled the walls of his chewing station. It was disgusting. He hadn't even washed his hands. As his fingers touched the front of his tonsils, he broke up a cough. It mutated turning the clear saliva into a dark red tone. A small smell of metalic undertaste left his tounge feeling dry.
"I need water..."
Chewing the walls of his mouth, he hid himself from the world. One thought sticked towards his brain.
"Who the hell is Laksa ?"