C'est La Vie

Dead man walking on campus, that’s how I feel right now. I’ve been walking around all day in a fervent languor, yawning every fifteen minutes, remarkably cold and I have super dilated pupils. Hangover from hell, can’t remember much from last night, but woke up with symptoms that screamed to me in high def with copper notes, no greasy food or cold shower could ameliorate the effects. First and last time I decide to take shrooms. The strangest thing though is the intense craving I can feel coursing through my entire being. This odd sensation of mine, this hunger for something indeterminable is but all consuming. I feel as though if I discover this object of my desire I will have a divine experience. However this intense longing matched with the absence of satiation leaves me feeling empty, void, almost lifeless.

This brings me here to the best restaurant ever. C’est la Vie knows how to cook up a storm that both satiates your most intense desires but still tantalises you with that lingering taste that will bring you back for more. It’s a very mutually dependant relationship between myself and this joint. However, today something is different, cosmically off. I’ve ordered the surf and turf and I’m just staring at what is usually such a delectable delight with abhorrent aversion and confusion. The steak is a bit rarer than usual, but this doesn’t deter me if anything it still waters my mouth, insanely if anything, as the waft of its juiciness reaches my nostril. It’s the aftertaste however, or aftersmell which detracts me, a slight tinge of something not right and I know it’s something to do with the prawns but my mind cannot bridge the gap between the distaste and the object.

This day is doing a number on me, I can’t eat at my favourite place and I’m still left with the need to quench my thirst for something that feels beyond any empirical knowledge. I run to the bathroom in a passionate and anxious furore. In my haste I manage to run straight into a priest and feel an odd scratching sensation as the cross around his neck collides with mine. I’m amazed at the absence of my decorum as I scowl and almost hiss between my teeth. Walking in the bathroom I notice the peculiarity of the fact that my breath is intact, I’ve always found myself huffing and puffing after the smallest dose of running. I’m quickly distracted from this thought as I consider my reflection in front of me, it’s me but I’m worse than just my pallid self from the morning, I’m fading, flickering like a malfunctioning Polaroid from a corporeal being to a transparent, transient self. Am I a ghost? Did I die and not know it?

Nothing. I can’t see myself anymore. I bolt out of the restaurant hysterical and wanting answers. The sun is shining and where I stood a moment ago are small specks of unsatiated dust.

C'est La Vie

wrabbit

Joined January 2008

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  • ENaLu
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