Drips
It was a murky evening. Late summer crisped it's way into autumn, and the dying trees were beginning to match the parched brown grass. Not that there was overmuch landscaping left to be seen around the city anymore; the 4 month drought made certain that frivolities like house plants and manicured lawns were put to the wayside. It made the dripping that much more maddening, a fluid lost to some unappreciative ground, whisked away before it could be detained.
It made my daily stroll to the docks that much more unbearable. All day I sat and descaled fish, cut heads off fish, watched fish be brought into port in giant nets, dumped unceremoniously onto scales, into shipping containers; water everywhere and not a drop of it potable. I daydreamed sometimes of drinking it anyway, chugging until my stomach was full to burst and then bathing in the stuff, and letting the dehydration consume me, wither me externally as it swelled me internally. 'twas a pipe dream to be sure, but a consistent one nonetheless.
But that dripping.. I've heard it all over town, constant, incessant at times, alas every time I investigated it would disappear. Can sound have sentience? Can it know it's being watched and evaporate thusly? Oh, how it has vexed me.. Our nightly rations contain barely enough water to make the dried meats and grains edible. Perhaps that is the government's plan, have everyone choke on the very food they need to survive. Perhaps the war is already over and the enemy simply seeks to further our plight by continuing the farce. Let everyone starve thinking they fight the good fight; let us all drown in our patriotism until the dry, bitter end.
Still, I was returning from my mandatory grind, reeking of blood, salt, and fish, when I heard the drips anew. Knowing that I was being monitored, I did my best to remain unfazed by sounds. Truthfully, it had become as an old friend, ever beckoning and accompanying me on my walks. Upon a burst of insight, I decided to quickly duck behind a corner and observe what happened. You see, the noise always began in an alleyway, never the same in a row, mind you, and as I progressed it would follow me until we arrived at the markets in front of my apartment. Perhaps the noise followed me past that, I lost it in the din of chatter that always occupied the place. Even in the dead of night, fellows and wives were constantly purchasing, haggling, hollering about exorbitant prices and swindling merchants. That is my chirping morning bird: a screeching, irate woman.
But on this night.. this night in particular, I managed to catch a glimpse of the elusive sound. Ducking behind the corner, I heard the drips stop in place, that plink, plink, plink falling in the same place for a moment before it started to move, slowly. My mind raced with thoughts of confronting whatever it may be, thoughts of harvesting the delicious sounding noise, of making it mine and filling myself to bursting, indulging this incessant thirst, of slaking my throat for once in what felt like an eternity, and in my excitement I found myself rounding the corner. So sudden I did not notice what I was doing, nor did the source of the dripping, and by the time I had come to my senses, I saw naught but a small puddle on the ground and a trail leading into sewer grate. What I saw slithering into the grate though... my mind still struggles to come to a decision.
You see, what my brain tells me I saw, with my eyes, was a fleshy stalk with an eyeball attached to it's end, replete with an oozing substance that coalesced from underneath the flesh. The stalk itself was a purplish tint, and the eye looked nothing like eyes I've seen, even on some of the plagued fish that come through the fishery sometimes. One of the mutant, cyclopean looking things that struggled to breathe, but somehow retained enough life to make my day miserable, holding the freakish thing down while I ended it's misery. This is what my brain says my eyes saw.
What my brain tells me I must have seen is some creature, like an octopus or squid, that found it's way into our sewers and was now living off our fecal matter and detritus. Perhaps a bit of paper found it's way onto it's leg as it was trying to move around. Perhaps I just happened to be lucky enough to be on the thing's daily route. This was what my brain tells me I must have seen, because it is the closest thing to sense it can make of it.
Whatever the case though, I have discovered something of the thing: the drips are delicious. They are sweet, and salty, and while a tad viscous, they coat the throat and leave it quenched. For the second time that night I found my senses gone; it wasn't until a passerby asked what in the hells I was doing that I realized I was on all fours, licking away at the cobblestone for every last bit I could find. I remember standing up slowly, my mind in a haze, wiping away at the drool that had accumulated down the side of my cheek. I think I stammered some sort of reply, but I can't remember. The drippings were delicious, and I saw an octopus or something, that was the sense my brain could make.
Even now, I cannot fathom what would make me stoop to such literal levels. It all seemed so right at the time, nothing was amiss, even now I struggle to find any real wrong I've done, but something in the back of my brain is screaming... Screaming what I cannot fathom, screaming about what I've done? That seems unlikely.. What is screaming even? It echoes down the hallways of my brain and reverberates back to my ears like a true noise. It follows me wherever I go too, the drips were never so insensitive or invading of my privacy. Perhaps it's just my prudish upbringing coming back to haunt me. Certainly drippings sound a strange thing to consume, but it seems I should try and convince others of their efficacy. Certainly they are as thirsty as I once was, but now that I've found the source of the drips I can share them with everyone! Yes, yes, if I can harvest some of them (and not consume them immediately) I can bring them back to the surface to share with others. I know they will enjoy them, and then they can help harvest more as well! Ah, yes, 'tis a perfect plan, so simple and effective. No more starving, just drips. No more loneliness, just drips. No more fish, just drips.
Just drips
Just drips
Drips
Drip
Drip
Drip
drip
It made my daily stroll to the docks that much more unbearable. All day I sat and descaled fish, cut heads off fish, watched fish be brought into port in giant nets, dumped unceremoniously onto scales, into shipping containers; water everywhere and not a drop of it potable. I daydreamed sometimes of drinking it anyway, chugging until my stomach was full to burst and then bathing in the stuff, and letting the dehydration consume me, wither me externally as it swelled me internally. 'twas a pipe dream to be sure, but a consistent one nonetheless.
But that dripping.. I've heard it all over town, constant, incessant at times, alas every time I investigated it would disappear. Can sound have sentience? Can it know it's being watched and evaporate thusly? Oh, how it has vexed me.. Our nightly rations contain barely enough water to make the dried meats and grains edible. Perhaps that is the government's plan, have everyone choke on the very food they need to survive. Perhaps the war is already over and the enemy simply seeks to further our plight by continuing the farce. Let everyone starve thinking they fight the good fight; let us all drown in our patriotism until the dry, bitter end.
Still, I was returning from my mandatory grind, reeking of blood, salt, and fish, when I heard the drips anew. Knowing that I was being monitored, I did my best to remain unfazed by sounds. Truthfully, it had become as an old friend, ever beckoning and accompanying me on my walks. Upon a burst of insight, I decided to quickly duck behind a corner and observe what happened. You see, the noise always began in an alleyway, never the same in a row, mind you, and as I progressed it would follow me until we arrived at the markets in front of my apartment. Perhaps the noise followed me past that, I lost it in the din of chatter that always occupied the place. Even in the dead of night, fellows and wives were constantly purchasing, haggling, hollering about exorbitant prices and swindling merchants. That is my chirping morning bird: a screeching, irate woman.
But on this night.. this night in particular, I managed to catch a glimpse of the elusive sound. Ducking behind the corner, I heard the drips stop in place, that plink, plink, plink falling in the same place for a moment before it started to move, slowly. My mind raced with thoughts of confronting whatever it may be, thoughts of harvesting the delicious sounding noise, of making it mine and filling myself to bursting, indulging this incessant thirst, of slaking my throat for once in what felt like an eternity, and in my excitement I found myself rounding the corner. So sudden I did not notice what I was doing, nor did the source of the dripping, and by the time I had come to my senses, I saw naught but a small puddle on the ground and a trail leading into sewer grate. What I saw slithering into the grate though... my mind still struggles to come to a decision.
You see, what my brain tells me I saw, with my eyes, was a fleshy stalk with an eyeball attached to it's end, replete with an oozing substance that coalesced from underneath the flesh. The stalk itself was a purplish tint, and the eye looked nothing like eyes I've seen, even on some of the plagued fish that come through the fishery sometimes. One of the mutant, cyclopean looking things that struggled to breathe, but somehow retained enough life to make my day miserable, holding the freakish thing down while I ended it's misery. This is what my brain says my eyes saw.
What my brain tells me I must have seen is some creature, like an octopus or squid, that found it's way into our sewers and was now living off our fecal matter and detritus. Perhaps a bit of paper found it's way onto it's leg as it was trying to move around. Perhaps I just happened to be lucky enough to be on the thing's daily route. This was what my brain tells me I must have seen, because it is the closest thing to sense it can make of it.
Whatever the case though, I have discovered something of the thing: the drips are delicious. They are sweet, and salty, and while a tad viscous, they coat the throat and leave it quenched. For the second time that night I found my senses gone; it wasn't until a passerby asked what in the hells I was doing that I realized I was on all fours, licking away at the cobblestone for every last bit I could find. I remember standing up slowly, my mind in a haze, wiping away at the drool that had accumulated down the side of my cheek. I think I stammered some sort of reply, but I can't remember. The drippings were delicious, and I saw an octopus or something, that was the sense my brain could make.
Even now, I cannot fathom what would make me stoop to such literal levels. It all seemed so right at the time, nothing was amiss, even now I struggle to find any real wrong I've done, but something in the back of my brain is screaming... Screaming what I cannot fathom, screaming about what I've done? That seems unlikely.. What is screaming even? It echoes down the hallways of my brain and reverberates back to my ears like a true noise. It follows me wherever I go too, the drips were never so insensitive or invading of my privacy. Perhaps it's just my prudish upbringing coming back to haunt me. Certainly drippings sound a strange thing to consume, but it seems I should try and convince others of their efficacy. Certainly they are as thirsty as I once was, but now that I've found the source of the drips I can share them with everyone! Yes, yes, if I can harvest some of them (and not consume them immediately) I can bring them back to the surface to share with others. I know they will enjoy them, and then they can help harvest more as well! Ah, yes, 'tis a perfect plan, so simple and effective. No more starving, just drips. No more loneliness, just drips. No more fish, just drips.
Just drips
Just drips
Drips
Drip
Drip
Drip
drip
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