X-treme Wrestling Federation

Five minutes pass by in what feels like the blink of an eye. Lying in bed, tired enough as to not get up, but awake enough as to not drift back into the real of sleep, I think I'm going to go fucking insane. Oh, wait. I mean more insane than usual. Do I? Fuck it. For the hundredth time, I rub my eyes, hoping that this time would be the one that drives me out of this catatonic phase. Nope. I don't think so, at the very least. Thinking is half the battle, right? No dipshit, it's knowing. Jeez, don't you know your old cartoon quotes?

Wait, am I literally arguing with myself about a fucking GI Joe quote? Fucking Christ man, I'm like 93% sure that I am the one that flew over the cuckoo's nest.

I rip the blanket off my body, revealing that while I have no idea how I got to this fucking bed, that no one likely took advantage of me. Yeah, you know, I don't think anyone would really try that, seeing as though I'm the crazy one and they all likely know that already. No need to be so paranoid, Kea. I force myself out of bed, and on the nightstand I find my Jessie's fuck it, we're the same person anway's phone. I pick it up and slide it into my pants pocket for whatever reason. In the dark and in a half awake stupor, I stumble around the surprisingly large room and manage to not run headfirst into anything for about four or five seconds. A new fucking record! Ouch! Headfirst into a wall: not a good idea.

Thank you for the update, captain fucking obvious. I totally didn't know that already. ...And I'm lashing out at myself. Again. Brilliant! Great show Kea, you fucking sardonic cunt!

I'm doing it again, aren't I?

Deep breaths. I'm going to be fine.

I pull out the phone and flip it open. The light blinds me and causes a recoil effect that makes me trip over the bedframe and land smack dab on the mattress. Meh, this works. I look at the screen, only to notice a dialogue box showing me a pretty little message. One missed call.

Without paying too much attention to the caller, I hit redial, and wait for whoever it was that wanted to talk to me to pick up. Ring, ring, rrrring! Damn, this is loud.

"Uh, what?" the voice on the other end asks through a groggy, audible yawn. His name's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite remember it.

"You called?" I respond.

"Yeah, like ten fucking hours ago. Do you even know what time it is?"

"Three o'clock in the morning. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Wilson Holmes! That's who it was! My fucking landlord, and all around lazy, junkie motherfucker. Maybe, if he wasn't so hopped up on Ritalin 24/7, he could actually be bothered to keep his building in order.

I'm sure there's more to it than that, Kea.

Fuck off, Jess. I'm trying to make a point.

"Oh right, 'cause I can't just call to see how my favorite nutjob tenant is doing without there being some ulterior motive behind it. Excuse me for actually giving a shit about the people who I give housing to!"

"Cut the shit, Wilson. I'm not sure if my tone gave you any ideas, but I'm not really in the mood to deal with your bullshit." I blow a pesky strand of hair out of my face. I'm not in any mood to deal with any of your bullshit either, you firetruck colored son of a bitch.

"Okay, fine. Yeah, I called you with a problem. Where the fuck are you and Anna? She gives me a call saying you guys were going out of town for the weekend, and that she left your rent money on the table, I come by to grab it and there ain't no fuckin' money! Can you tell me why that is?"

Wow, way to go, Anna! Way to stick it to him! I still fucking hate you, if somehow you can read my thoughts.

"You're trusting the girl with mental issues and stupidly colored hair with giving you accurate information? Wow, you really must be desperate."

"Anna wasn't answering or returning my calls, so I figured you were the second best option. Don't flatter yourself honey, I wouldn't dare ask you shit if I wasn't forced to."

"Convenient, seeing as though I wouldn't tell you shit if I knew it unless I was forced to."

"You two have one fucking week to get your shit together and give me my money, or you're out."

"I'm positively shaking in my fucking boots. Like, seriously. I went to put a pair of boots on so I can start shaking in them. You're so fucking threatening. Can you teach me how to be such a badass?"

Click! Yeah, he hung up. Fuck him, anyway. I need to sleep, but I also feel the urge to watch the most fucked up porn I can think of at the same time. Like, not even because I'm in that mood, just because I want to see if rule 34 really does expand to everything. Midgets raping llamas? Llamas raping midgets? Come on, who doesn't want to see if something like that exists?!

Yeah, you need sleep. No one wants to see that.

Wimp.

Pervert.

Yeah, I'm arguing with myself again. Fuck this.

***


Well, this is a very interesting turn of events, is it not? I appear to have awoken in a field that stretches on as far as I can see. I hear the sound of stomping and somewhat depressed cat noises coming from behind me. With reluctance, I turn around and to my surprise, I see a llama standing before me. A llama? What kind of odd circumstances have I gotten myself into this time? The creature approaches me, its thick fur rubbing against the bare skin of my arm. It makes the same odd, depressed sounding cat meow as before, silently urging me with its eyes to hop on its back. Against my own better judgment, I do so, hoping that it doesn't buck me off and stomp my skull into the dirt.

It would be a shame to stain this beautiful field red.

The animal rushes off toward the horizon, leaving me barely able to hold on. This was a bad idea, wasn't it?

It would look like it!

That was a rhetorical question, Kea.