The Most Non-Luminescent Eidolon, chapters 1-17

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....The Most Non-Luminescent Eidolon....

>>>Chapter 1:

I awoke on my filthy mattress, drenched in stinking red blood. It wasn't my own blood, though, because obviously I wasn't wounded (I was real depressed, though). Six, maybe eight inches of blood covered the floor. I sighed and lit a cigarette.

The phone rang. It made kind of a gurgling sound, because it was on the floor and submerged under the blood. Lighting a cigarette, I answered it.

"Is this Mr. Rasmussin?" the throaty voice said on the other end of the line.

"Speaking," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"This is Keith Thompson, I'm a manager at the Apex Poultry Slaughterhouse, you know the one next door to your depressing, bohemian apartment?"

"Yeah," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"Well, it turns out it got down to about five degrees last night, and one of the pipes burst. One of the chicken-blood pipes. Everything for about a block is flooded with chicken blood. You're probably aware of this by now."

I sighed, and lit a cigarette, "Yeah," I said, "Yeah, I am,"

"And in case you're wondering, there's fuck-all we can do about it," Keith Thompson said.

>>>Chapter Two:

The cashier at the 7-11 was this old guy with jail tattoos, and there was David Lee Roth blaring over the loudspeaker.

I gave the cashier four dollars.

He gave me some cigarettes and fifty cents.

Life is a stultifying bore punctuated by the blackest screams of abject horror.

I lit a cigarette.

>>>Chapter Three:

I sat in the doctor's office, somewhat self-conscious about my underwear. I had been wearing them for a week, often as main item of outerwear as I shuffled around the gray, dreary world indifferent to all my suffering and everything, like in that one music video with the guys and it's all depressing and stuff. I lit a cigarette.

The doctor came in, looking all doctor-y.

"Mr. Rasmussen," the doctor said, "The tests are back, and we've got an answer to why you're coughing up all that blood."

I lit a cigarette.

"Mr. Rasmussen," he said, "you're going through seventeen packs of cigarettes a day. And that is a conservative estimate. I cannot stress how much you need to quit smoking."

Lighting a cigarette, I asked him if I'd stop coughing up blood if I quit smoking.

"No," he said, "You also have the plague."

>>>Chapter Four:

I sat in a bar, smoking, until they kicked me out for filling up all their ashtrays with cigarette butts. All of our hopes, dreams and ambitions are shit.

>>>Chapter Five:

The cashier at the 7-11 had shot himself. I put four dollars on the counter, took my fifty cents from the register, and left. It kind of felt weird not to take advantage of the situation, so I went back and stole a single stick of beef jerky.

We are all disposable enemas sitting unpurchased on the back shelf of a convenience store with a dead convenience store clerk manning the counter.

>>>Chapter Six:

Fuck.

>>>Chapter Seven:

I lit a cigarette, and went to sleep. Maybe the blood soaked mattress would douse the cigarette before it lit the mattress on fire.

>>>Chapter Eight:

I awoke covered in brown, stinking shit. Also, it had mingled with the blood, forming a horrible, squalid bio-stew where my mattress was a spongly island with my underwear-clad body on it.

The shit-covered phone rang. Lighting a cigarette, I answered it.

"Hello?" I said, lighting a cigarette.

"Mr. Rasmussen? This is Keith Anderson, from the city sanation department. We made your toilets back up because we hate you."

"What was that?" I said, lighting a cigarette, "I was lighting a cigarette and couldn't hear you.

"Fuck you," the man said, "Fuck off and die."

>>>Chapter Nine:

We are all doomed to languish and die in total obscurity.

>>>Chapter Ten:

By mixing ordinary household ammonia with benzene and dissolving old vinyl records in the mixture, a person can make powerful plastic explosives.

>>>Chapter Eleven:

Oh, right. The 7-11 cashier was dead.

"Is there some reason you're naked and covered in filth?" the cop said.

"I need more cigarettes," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"Well, you need to go somewhere else," the cop said, "this is a crime scene."

"So it's a crime to commit suicide?"

"Yes," the cop said.

>>>Chapter Twelve:

I stood on top of the world's tallest building and jumped.

>>>Chapter Thirteen:

Obviously, I didn't die, because I'm writing this in the first person.

>>>Chapter Fourteen:

Fuck.

>>>Chapter Fifteen

I lit a cigarette.

>>>Chapter Sixteen:

Actually now I was out of cigarettes. I wept with pride and punched myself in the face.