153 lines
7.0 KiB
Plaintext
153 lines
7.0 KiB
Plaintext
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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #314 !!
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#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "A Cheery Medium Pace" !!
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##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> LilNilHil !!
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..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/6/98 !!
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!!========================================================================!!
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Looking out the window of the bus.. she couldn't figure out if
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people were real or not. The ones you see in movies.. who stare at
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walls.. make pretty faces.. then kiss. She never seemed to encounter
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any of that. She was the only one looking at anything on this bus..
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there was the token old people of course.. those who had moved to
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Florida to die, spending their checks as they came and honestly giving
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a damn about the condition of the ten feet of grass they rent that hugs
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the perimeter of their townhouse. Then there was the bum in the back,
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blatantly drunk, trained so that if you even come near him he has to
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slip into panhandle mode.. he's never pissed off.. happy.. grateful..
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regretful or sober. Just hopefully sad. And then there was her,
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pictureless.. blank. She was 16.. and a long way from figuring herself
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out.
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The bus pulled up to her stop, she thanked the driver and hopped
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out. It was the Citibank building. The tallest man-made structure
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within 500 miles, with the best little coffee shop in the universe. The
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place was called Insomnia and.. true to it's name.. it was open a full
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24 hours a day, 365 consecutive days a year. She didn't come here for
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coffee though.. didn't even like the horrible scummy muck. She came
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because Insomnia was modeled like an airport lounge, the most sterile
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place beyond a hospital that a kid could sit and be left alone. The
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kind of place you picture as the perfect establishment to drop acid in.
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She got her seat, ordered something at random from the menu and took the
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things out of her back-pack:
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One purse, containing a small makeup-kit and $23.45.
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One notebook and ball-point pen.
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A cd-player, with headphones.
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Three bottles of pills.
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"The pills.. it always comes back to the pills." She thought.
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She slowly opened up the larger orange bottle and measured out two units
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of Depakote. A mood stabilizer. The other pills (in case you're
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wondering) were Rimeron, an anti-depressant, and Doxepin, which is a
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sleeping pill. There were a few onlookers as she popped the first two
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back. But they didn't really care, and neither did she. But she began
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to wonder if anyone did. "Why" she thought.. was it normal for her to
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be taking pills.. to be in and out of rehabilitation centers.. to have
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to work immediately after school, not to work for what other kids her
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age called "spending money", but to help her mom pay the bills. Why was
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she being medically treated for something that was clearly a domestic,
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situational problem.
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She asked her doctor this once, who told her that "..sometimes..
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depression, either manic, or atypical, can be triggered by said social
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situations.. and medicine, along with therapy, is needed to get the
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patient back to where they're from. Take war veterans-for example..
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world war one and two vet's came back as heroes.. but vietnam vets came
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back as near criminals! Many became depressed..sought out drugs to fill
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the emptiness that was never filled when they got home."
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At the time.. she had then asked him; "What the fuck are you
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talking about?" But now she simply pictured the bum. Said to herself;
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'The bum has his medicine.. and i seem to have mine.'
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The thought that it was a cruel way of dealing with things
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seemed doomed to the obscurity in the back of her mind. This evil
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little thought that said maybe all these years she's had a right to be
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sad, that maybe it didn't mean you were sick if you just wanted to be
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left alone all the time, and that maybe to take a pill, to shun your
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own rebellion, to work like a horse for something everyone else takes
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for granted.. was really fucked up.
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She finished her coffee and exited the shop.. she headed down the
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hallway. The bottom of the building was a plaza with about thirty
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little stores, mainly tourism shops, but there was a music store. Which
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she entered.
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Browsing along and mixing in with the scattered costumers she
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stumbled upon a sign that said Soundgarden..she picked up their latest
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album, she had heard it wasn't bad, so she bought it.
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Outside the shop she tore the wrapper off and donned her
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head-phones. Now she was armed, now she had a shield, something to
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battle this nothingness magnified by caffiene. Now she had music. And
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it was around this time that something caught her eye, a sign, down the
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hall. It said stairs. Opening the door and pressing play, she skipped
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forward to a song that she thought suited her well.
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"..I woke the same as any other day except..a voice was in my
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head.." she labored over the first few flights at a cheery medium pace.
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Then began to slow down.
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"..It said to sieze the day, pull the trigger, drop the blade,
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and watch the rolling heads.."
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then..gradually it grew harder to get up those steps.. maybe..
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those pills.. taking their little toll on her tummy?
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"..the day i tried to live, i stole a thousand beggar's change
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and gave it to the rich.."
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it wore her down though.. it was impossible.. she looked up with
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her eyebrows in the "help" position.
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"..the day i tried to win, i dangled from the power lines and
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let the martyrs stretch.."
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walking on her hands and knee's now.. why in the name of god had
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she decided to hike this building?
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"..words you say never seem to live up to the ones inside your
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head.."
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she was gonna get there though..god dammit..she'd reach the top.
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"..the lives we make never seem to get us anywhere but dead.."
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she threw open the door to the roof.
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"..i woke the same as any other day, you know i should have
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stayed in bed.."
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she stepped outside, walked to the edge of the building, and
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turned the music up.
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"..the day i tried to live, i wallowed in the blood and mud with
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all the other pigs.."
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she saw all the little ants crawling at her feet, and then
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refocused to the people on the street.
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"..and i learned that i was a liar.."
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and she looked into the sun..
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"..and i learned that i was a liar.."
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seeing only herself..
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"..and i learned that i was a liar.."
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and it delivered her from pain.
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"..just like you."
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her name was sarah.
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!!========================================================================!!
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #314 - WRITTEN BY: LILNILHIL - 12/6/98 !!
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