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Posted: Wed Sep 21, 2016 12:50 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 25, 2016 1:21 am
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Alois found himself spending most of his days in sleep, where his mind found more amenable territory. He knew, from books and papers and video blogs, that the brain suffered great tribulation in parsing fiction from fact - the dream realms experienced elicited just as much response from him as the realities he faced not long ago. And thus, he embarked on a nontraditional sleep cycle, half-induced with the aid of Lunesta and remeron and other sleep aids that he could find. Even Zzz-Quil found its home in his otherwise sparse medicine cabinet, and he found no qualm against it.
But since his visit to the hospital, he found himself feverishly unable to sleep. Each time he laid down, his body stubbornly refused to commit to dreaming. Awake he lay in early hours at times, considering his experiences on morphine or reflecting on the pain still coursing through his arm or reciting the last words of his Father in his mind as a mantra meant for lulling. Nothing worked. So, with little else available to him in the vast and empty apartment, he got up and paced.
And pace he did, the cold concrete chilling the soles of his feet as he made the fifth round about the perimeter of the space. Little remained to impede his path with no furniture other than his bed and the haphazardly assembled cinderblock desk. The rest of the warehouse was organized using sheetrock walls constructed to separate the area, and mostly they formed decorative or privacy walls at that. They were easy enough to pass, and he worked diligently to work them into his pacing routine when his cell phone startled him with the familiar clang of church bells against synth melodies. His pace finished at his usual gait and he reached his phone with little hurry.
The number and name, he found, wasn’t familiar to him. Vale must’ve saved the contact himself; Alois knew straight away that he would’ve teased the s**t out of this poor fool for bearing the name of a shitty 90s TV series.
Dawson, eh? At least it’s something to do.
medigel SMS DawsonDog was shot. Can't sleep anymore.
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Posted: Sun Oct 02, 2016 8:03 am
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Alois questioned a man over the disturbance - a deep, mottled green cloud cast itself over the atmosphere, forming a rancid odor and hazy mist. It had since cleared, but the fact remained that this disturbance was both highly unusual and suspicious. Alois wanted to know more. „So you think it’s because of an explosion at the nuclear power plant out east? How do you know?“
„I was there when it happened,“ the old man answered simply. „Heard a boom, then watched the cloud go over the sky. Smelled like sewer. Real nasty, clung to my nose for hours.“
„I see. Did anyone test it for radiation?“ Alois paused then, and his phone rang incessantly. He wanted to ignore it, but the sound persisted. „What do you think happened?“
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Alois woke blearily, his thoughts half-on the smell of sewage. A sleepy hand shot under his pillow and felt around for a familiar shape. Finding it, he brought the phone out and answered without looking at the caller ID. „What is it?“ He asked, eyes still closed.
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Posted: Wed Dec 21, 2016 10:37 am
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The long pause didn't give him much to go by at all, which worried him. Alois had struck him as a man who didn't emote much to begin with, so it was hard to gauge his mood normally. Over the phone? Practically impossible, especially given that neither of them had had a good night's sleep by the sounds of it.
"Yeah...M'so sawry t'hear about that, man," Dawson said softly, leaning back against the interior of his van. "I-I was jus' wonderin' if there might be somethin' I could do. I mean, Schatzie was a real gem he was. N' if yer sayin' he got shot, maybe...I dunno, we could file a police report or somethin'?" He was rambling, trying to cover all his bases.
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