Okay.Okay. Acceptance. I tried the old fashioned way, too...slit wrists and bath. Stupid. Should have realized that Dave would call for help the moment I was out. Didn't try hard enough. Okay Why did I try? Think. Nothing. That's idiotic. Got to be something. Think. Nothing comes. No reason for the suicide. Other than. Depression. Depression of the conceptual artist. There is nothing left to live for, not because I've done it all, but because I know I can. That's stupid. Is it? I don't know, it is true. I can do virtually anything. Hmm. Frustrated. Let's try this again. May as well get on my feet. I'm not going to try again, at least not until I determine what's going on, where I am, and who saved me, and should I hate them or thank them, or both? Slowly. OUCH! Shit, I'm stiff, I hate cryo. If there's anything worse than waking up from coldsleep, I'm not sure what it could be. The effort of sitting up makes my head spin, but I do it. The band of muscle that attaches left shoulder to skull is tighter than anything, hurts like a hot poker. I want to concentrate, banish the pain, but I can't summon the strength. I stand... and fall to my knees. Much better. Can't stand, may as well crawl towards the door. There is a door here. Okay, crawl towards it. Locked. Is there another door? Yes. Okay, let me get my bearings. There's a locked door, a rather simple bed, a desk, a mirror, another door, and a big window. Outside the window I see sunlight, a big tree, a willow, and beyond that, the cliff face of a mountain, not to distant, either. Nice place. Willow's cold, the leaves yellowing, although it's still early in its season, mostly green. I crawl for the other door, which is ajar, and peek in around the jamb. It's a bathroom, pretty old-fashioned too. Only thing even remotely unusual is the bidet, but that's an architectural preference. My bladder screams in recognition, and I manage to gradually haul myself up, sit down on the damned commode and relieve myself. My head swims, clears, and I see a glass on the sink. Fill glass from sink, drink. Cold, clear, feels wonderful going down. Gods, then, it hurts! Throat's raw! Stupid. Cryo. Forgot that thick syrupy shit I'm supposed to drink afterwards. |