Sort of Dead

7 - How Life Won't Let Me Live In Peace

Well, I'll be the first to admit things didn't immediately transcend into the worse territory.

If I were to draw a graph between the time duration from whence I encountered the blood-donation camp through the time I reached at my uncle's and spent time there till the time I left (which was in a terrible hurry, you'll see) against a meter of how well things were going - the graph would go somewhat this way.

Like, say the X-axis is the time duration and the Y-axis is the level of wellness of the situation.

The graph started off from zero, went linearly into the negative Y from whence the blood-camp scenario entered the frame and then goes back up as time goes by at my Uncle's to become stable at zero-level again - but, when comes the time to leave my Uncle's, the graph takes a steep dive into the abyss of the negative Y.

Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good description. I'm not all that good at math. I'm more of a literature buff myself. But you dig the idea, right?

Never mind, you're about to find out.

So. I reach my Uncle's. Right. Bushed as any superhero after saving the day for the umpteenth time. Or you could say as tired as any supervillain done doing his villainy things for the day (or night, or whatever). Doesn't matter. I dunno, I'm droning right now, that's how draggled this whole things has left me.

(You see, the jet just underwent giddying turbulence and I feel like throwing up.)

(How, O, how are we going to reach to the present at this pace? But my Uncle tells me it's a long journey, so we can try.)

Relax, Mar. Calm down. Now tell them what all happened.

Right.

I reached my Uncle's finally, found him absent from his mansion. His manservant informed me he had gone for some "important business." I knew my Uncle was an industrious man, being the head of this mining corporation called {Undisclosed, sorry}. That's how he had so much money and such a mammothic house.

Therefore I shrugged my way to his yard, like any sensible person is obliged to. Es joined me a while later. 'Done watching the show already?' I teased her.

She said it was interesting to watch the extraction and yada yada yada. All this "bloody" talk made me realize how parched my throat was and how that might be part of the reason I was feeling so sulky. I ordered a cold-drink - a lot of cold-drink - and started feeling a little better.

When you don't have death to worry about, there's a lot of things you can enjoy without being too wary.

Cool, right? Don't you presume.

Now I finally started feeling a shade better and began to forget the blood - and of course the universe won't have that and everything went downhill from here.

I know pink butterflies don't exist. Es chasing them is a set-up for a future plot-point. Almost everything you read has a purpose, so chill out and enjoy, my dear readers and friends.

I love constructive criticism and appreciation (wherever I deserve either), so -:

Don't leave without voting and commenting, guys!