I feel a legion of creatures curving the road I walk on. Collector: "Depression, negligence, avoid public transport, aggression, suggestion of exercise at home, day off". It's been saying the same thing for the last 3 months, I haven't yet reached the famous "code red", danger to yourself / danger to those around you. Lately I've been "recommended" the chocolate croissant and coconut milk. I know all the food is regulated and all pills are integrated, but nobody tells you exactly what you're taking with your food. By the state I'm in I guess it's a antidepressant and something for anxiety. But it may as well be something against some chronic disease that the Collector, in His eternal wisdom, decided to keep hidden from me.
Or maybe he decided I'm not fucking enough these days, but they usually put that in the water. When someone up top decides that the population is aging the city goes crazy. It's easy to see when they want some fresh blood by the number of people fucking in the parks. While your dog is trying to take a shit, a girl pulls on his tail because it excites her. I don't drink the public water, I don't wash my hands with it, I don't wash my clothes with it. Water is the emergency doping system.
My blood is thicker than usual, let's see what the Collector has to say today. I hear rumors that when the Collector decides you're too unstable or completely useless it will "recommend" you something hidden, something that can't be eaten by accident, something like poison. Perhaps it's a combination of products. How many of us escaped death because the shop didn't have cola and we took pepsi instead.
There are of course the classics: You shouldn't eat meat unless you have a streptococcus or something. You have to wait until you are sick enough to eat a nice roast beef, otherwise the antibiotics will hurt you. You're supposed to eat chicken only while growing up, no man should ever eat chicken meat after the age of 21, I haven't heard of any adult with the "recommendation" - chicken.
Ohh shit where's my "chocolate croissant and coconut milk"? You must be joking "honey 322" what in the hell kind of chemical cocktail are they making me take. I'll never find this shit at the local grocery, I have to look for a honey shop. It will take a day to find that crap, maybe this is how the Collector forces my hand to get that day off. Well blow me, I'm going to work I'll see about that honey later.
At work the air intake gauge awaits me. In the old days you would be fired if you stank of booze now they'd probably let you work with a 0 index of productivity and a null salary for the day. Pray to your God, to the Lord of pulmonary alveoli for a good amount of oxygen in your exhalation, because your day's wage depends on it. My ass, look at this fucking payroll, it's a joke. I barely get in the office and the boss is calling for me.
On his desk there is a jar of honey. Are we both so sick that we need honey?
- This is for you.
- Honey 322?
- Yes, it came in the office before you did.
- Is it something serious?
- I don't know they don't tell me these things. Now... I can't convince you to do the right thing, but I know things are going badly, I know you don't want this jar but I also know it's the only way things will get back to normal.
- And what if it's death? What if for some reason the Collector decided to kill me today?
- Then it would be for the best to die today. Tomorrow might be worse and you might hurt others.
This two eyed testicle, this piece of filth, this disgusting excuse for a human wants me to die. And he wants me to die in such a way that I won't bother him too much. He wants me to go to the bathroom and die as politely and as close to the dumpster chute as I can. Ohh O Lord, my God, my blood Collector, why didn't you sent a crowbar so I can slap his face off.
- And what if I hurt you today ... right now. What? didn't think of that?
And I fell over punching him in the head. I felt tissues under my hands crackle and pop, but through my kicking I only heard him laughing. I stopped and he muttered a few words to me.
- Haa, I was wondering why I feel so numb, they gave me an anesthetic for this meeting. You have no choice, take the honey now and you may have a chance.
I took the jar and ran. Ok ... maybe they know. I have to calm down. Maybe they can read it in my blood. Deep breaths. They knew I would do this? My hands are shaking. They knew I would beat up my boss. I have deep cuts on my fists. They let me beat him. I'm bleeding. They knew I would run afterwards. I have to go to the hospital. They let me run. I should have drank the honey. How stupid can you be. Things can't go back to normal. And now here I am with my "honey 322" in hand. They expect me to drink it. Ohh God. They know I'll drink it. My Savior, my Collector don't kill me just yet ...
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