DeathCallsBobDeath Calls Bob.By jryanIt was too early in the morning as usual. Bob awoke as he usually did. As was also a tradition Bob laid in bed and took inventory of himself. he had the usual aches and pains, and the usual tightness in his lungs that he had grown accustomed to over the these many months of his latest bout of single life. He smoked more than he should. More than others wanted him too for sure. But he enjoyed doing what he did, and he had nobody to answer too. Fuckit. He stretched with all the usual cracks and pops that he knew were the early onset of his old age. Other than him, his bed was empty. "That's unusual.." he chuckled to himself. He had enjoyed the last few months. He stretched again and rolled to put his feet on the floor. He checked the clock... the alarm had not yet sounded. He chuckled again. "Bob, you beat the clock again!" he thought proudly, as per usual. It was a very usual day in a very pleasant life. Very usual in all but one way. Today was the last day of Bob's life. Bob switched off the clock and looked at the floor. His head throbbled. He remembered partying hard the night before. Beer cans were all over the floor. He didn't remember puting them there... but then he didn't remember not puting them there either. He glanced over at the night stand and saw the unemptied bong.... also strange. He didn't remember that either. For a user, Bob was cleaner than most. Yeah, he had the occaissional time where he would make a mess and just plain not give a shit... but there was always a reason. He didn't have a reason. Not one that came quickly to mind, anyway. "Well Bob... your bones aren't the only thing getting old." He laughed. He got up, scratched everywhere that needed scratching and thought again. "Heh... bones." he chuckled to himself. He stretched again. This time he realized that his left arm hurt. It hurt pretty bad. He scratched and winced. "What the fuck?!" he exclaimed. Something was really not right. He walked into the bathroom and switched on the light. "MOTHER FUCK!!?" was all he could think to say. There was dried blood speckling his sink, along with a broken safety razor. "MOTHER FUCK!!!!?" He yelled as he checked his arm. He had a line of scratches running from elbow to palm. They appeared to be fairly deep and even less fairly cared for. What seemed more startling was a note, written in his hand writing, taped to the mirror Bob, this is you. You are going to die today. "Fuck! .... What the fuck is going on?!" He thought. He didn't remember any of this. He didn't even remember leaving the bar. He didn't remember where the cuts came from... scrapes? Nail marks? Defensive wounds?.... jeezus.. he hated to think... offensive wounds?! He didn't remember writing the note... He remembered meeting a girl.. "M... Ma.... Marcy?" he sounded it out loud. It sounded almost familiar... but not completely right... maybe it started with an M... he hoped... not many "arcy" options.... and "Darcy" didn't sound right at all. He turned on the water in the sink and began washing his arm. A bottle of Tequilla sat opened and half empty on the toilet. He grabbed it and dowsed his arm. "MOTHER FUCK!" he said as the burn dug deep into his skin. He splashed water in his face. He opened his eyes to look in the mirror and let out a gasp. Trust Noone was scrawled in Sharpie on his forhead. Had it not been for that, the remains of a welt on his temple would have been enough to add to his tension. But this sent his head spinning. "What the fuck happened last night?!" he finally said out loud. He backed out of the bathroom and sat on the bed. "What the fuck is going on?" he thought to himself. Bob was now feeling his heart beating quickly in his chest. Bob knew he had to relax. He looked over at the bong. The sight sent Bob in motion. If he had nervous energy, dammit, he was going to put it to some use. He grabbed the bong and retrieved his stash from the sock drawer. He headed to the bathroom quickly and dumped the ashes in the toilet along with the bong water and flushed. Then he opened his bag. In the bag he found another note. Don't answer the phone. "Christ..." Bob expelled in a long nervous breath. He quickly set the note aside and pulled a pinch from the bag and began nervously packing the pipe. What was normally a well rehearsed task was very difficult. First he thought he packed it too tight, then trying to make up for it he dropped half trying to get it right. Finally he raised his head, took a deep breath and flashed by his reflection in the mirror. Trust Noone. With the added concentration of a deep breath of air he managed to complete the packing to his satisfaction. "Jeeze Bob" he thought to himself.. "Are you breathing at all?"... With that he grabbed the bong, closed the release with his thumb and lit the weed. He put his mouth over the top and began breathing in. The tube began filling with the smoke. When full, Bob took his thumb from the release and breathed the smoke in. He set the bong down, closed his eyes and braced himself, head hanging, against the sink. Though he knew this first hit would accomplish next to nothing, the mere ritual began to sooth him. Then the phone rang. Don't answer the phone read the note that Bob was now fixated on. "Dammit!" Bob exclaimed with a slight cough as he stormed out of the bathroom towards the phone. In one motion Bob grabbed the cradle from the night stand, grabbed the phone and power chords and stepped back for one good hard yank. As he stepped back his foot stepped on a beer can and sent him into a slide. The tug on the cables only made things worse. Though the phone line came out easy... it always did, Bob suddenly remember.. he had been meaning to fix that....the power chord wedged in the corner of the night stand drawer and offered just enough resistence to the falling Bob to throw his feet out from under him completely. As he fell back his head caught the corner of the opened sock drawer and Bob heard a sickening crack as he felt the impact. A tingle ran down his body as if he had just smacked the queen mother funny bone... and then his body.. went... silent. Bob lay on the floor, unable to move, when he heard a familiar voice.. "You have... one... new message and... five... saved messages" Somehow in the tumble he had hit the message waiting button.... "New Message... today.. at.... 2.. 30... AM.. *BEEP*" "Hey Bob, it's me Miko! Oh my God I can't believe we ran into each other last night! My friend thinks you are sooooo cute. She says she enjoyed the talk you had with her about your ex-wife, but she says she was a little drunk and sorry about writing on you. At the time she thought that 'Trust noone' was a good life lesson after what you went through.... Anyway, I am sorry you almost got busted buying my friends beer. If I had known you had pot o you I would have not.. like... asked you to break another law. Anyway, I am sorry you had to run like that when we saw the cops. Oh my God you are so lucky they didn't see you! I am sorry you scraped your arm and hit your head jumping over that fence... like what the hell was that rock doing there anyway?! So were you like serious when you said you would go to AnimeCon with me and my friends today because OH MY GOD!... I know that you were really drunk and stuff so write yourself a note when you get home! Anyway, you will love it!!! You will totally die today when you see all the Anime people! Call me when you get the message!! *click*" The End. |