Pencils, Dust, and Imperfection

Be rational, Billie!

This is as rational as I can be right now, Gloria. Christian said rational words can't fix the irrational, so irrational actions must fix the irrational.

Since when have you started listening to Christian?

I could ask you the same thing.

Billie, I regret doing that, but--

Don't you understand that no good ever comes from listening to him? I almost die, my marriage almost collapses, and, now, people get killed!

I didn't know the Cynoplorian was going to kill her.

If you did, it wouldn't have stopped you.

Probably not, no.

OK, so I made a mistake. I'm sorry--

You killed someone, Gloria; this isn't just a little mistake that a weak apology is going to fix.

In actuality, Armstrong, you killed somebody.

If anybody finds out, Billie's disease will be at fault. The doctor thought you were just delirious from not taking your medication, when you told him anyway, so nobody knows it's you.

How do you even know that you killed her? I mean, I know her obituary's in the paper and her death due to accidental overdose on Cynoplorian is the big local headline, but how did you know in the exam room that it had happened?

I honestly have no idea. For some reason, though, I knew I had killed somebody.

Maybe your subconscious is beginning to be able to remember pieces of your blackouts.

I don't know; I don't even care anymore. All I know is that I'm going to do this.

Why? It might not even work!

'Might' is better than 'won't'

Do it, Armstrong--I dare you.

Why do you enable him like that?

Because it's entertaining to see him acting reckless. But it's not like he has the balls to do it, anyway.

Billie, this is an experimental drug. If you take too many, who knows what could happen!

I have to do this.

Why?

Because I just got a refill; I have a whole month's supply in that bottle, and if one or both of you tries to get rid of it, I'm going to catch hell again.

And if you take more than two a day, you'll be in hell!
Do you really want that?

Anything's better than this.

Hurry up, Armstrong; my patience is wearing thin. I wanna watch a good show that I have front row seats to.

I really wasn't thinking clearly, but I thought the clarity was crystal at the time.

I didn't want to take too many; just enough so I could hopefully put a dent in this goddamn disease. I decided on six, so I choked two back at a time, washing the small tablets away with a cup of water.

My wife was at the store and my kids were at their last full day of school for the year, which was good, because no one was there to witness me passing out when I tried to walk over to my bed. I collapsed on the floor and feel into a painless sleep.

I began to dream. There was a beautiful girl with short black hair wrapped in a ponytail, messy bands, and dark clothing. She was very pale, which contrasted boldly with the darkness everywhere else on her body.

She was facing me, but turned away quickly. She began walking away from me, but my dream allowed me to follow her from behind.

The young woman began walking faster. The walk became a jog which soon became a full-fledged sprint. My dream was letting me keep up with her quickly, like fire or lightening from my feet was denying physics for letting me run so fast.

My view became sideways; I now had a perfect view of her profile and the brick wall she ran beside. Graffiti suddenly appeared on the wall, and the girl somehow jumped into it--becoming the graffiti. She was vivid and bold as the beautiful spray-painted entity continued racing through the town now via the brick wall.

My mobile visibility came to a halt as my dream prohibited me from the chasing continuum. I watched my graffiti girl continue to race through the heartland until I couldn't see her anymore; she had left me, and, I, for some reason, wanted her back, even though she wasn't real.

...I awoke. For a moment, I wondered why I was on my bedroom floor, but I quickly remembered.

Cool dream, Armstrong.

My heart slightly fell, realizing the small overdose of Cynoplorian didn't get rid of my other personalities.

I don't have any professional tagging skills myself, but it still looks super fun.

Why did you make me dream that?

I didn't--Gloria did.
You always assume that it was me...

Because it usually is. Gloria, why did you make me dream that? What's the meaning behind it?

I know the meaning.

Well. what is it?

You don't realize how quiet it is right now?

What are you talking about?

Oh, Armstrong. I bet Gloria's a little disappointed in you; the dream was such a beautiful visual metaphor.

Gloria? Where are you, Gloria?

I'm surprised there's no echoing, sine it's so empty here now.

Christian, just tell me what happened!

You finally got your wish--
Gloria's gone.