“Dude, I’m not coming up yet, I’m not ready.” Daisy was so frustrated, why did he have to control her like that? Why was he in charge and not her? The tag of her green Champion jumper rubbed on her neck and she irritatedly scratched it like a black spider climbing doughy cement. From here on out she was done being told what to do, “I am going to succeed, if it’s the last thing I’m capable of, dangit, I WILL!” Tiny black pills leapt off her skirt making their way down onto pillows marking the street like jewels of yams protruding from the earth. What the heck…where…am…I? Daisy felt silly and stern, “I thought the map was taking me that way…hmm…I am going to have to reconfigure.” She stuck her finger down her throat to feel the recess between her clavicle and sternum, yup, the bump was still there and it felt mightier than before. With a giant sigh of relief Daisy whipped her hand out and quickly rubbed her brow of the pink and yellow sweat trickling wayward towards the bottom of her clogs. The colours were debating with the sunset arguing against this theory: Can we reproduce smells? If only I could see my thoughts. “Is it still not working yet?”, “No.” Okay, well then…let me think. I have zero capability of calculating the difference in time unless it’s through true visuality AND I have thus far only found value in doing everything. Everything is creating. Everything is putting it together. Everything is adding it up.
Chona’s mind went blank. She sat solemnly in the imitation art chair wearing the same worn out neon pink Cotton Ginny t-shirt and whatever pants suited her OCD in that moment of time. To shower or not to shower, that is a key. To remember cucumber, coffee and sex as per Sting singing virtuously, according to the Kama Sutra – a person with the principles of this science, who preserves his virtue, his Artha and his pleasure will obtain the mastery of Each Other. Seventeen always looked like that, predisposed to sleep, but still needing time for rest. Chona Fe yawns and gives up for a bit then hands the paper over to Alice. She bites into it like a rabid snail, if that could ever be possible, but don’t shit the pail because snails are like tricky people. If Daisy could pick just one to imitate it would be the unusual teen at Starbucks. Its head was gargantuan and grotesque because colours from the rainbow of death oozed out of its shell. “Why the HECK would you want to be that?”, Chona Fe answered in a stance of pride, “Well, because its power comes from within, and they are not secret, they are just shown to begin.” So. Alice goes back into hiding and the teen just shrugs. The adventure has now begun, let’s see where it will lead us, nearer to or farther from Elevententeen.