Smoke on the Water

I was in an alchemist's workshop. Or so I think. There were 7 of us.

7 is a special number in alchemy. Very much.

There was music in the room that night and revolution in the air.

Down and out. It was like those good ol times again. You know. We were one big happy joint family.

I closed my eyes. My favorite mistake.

It was then that the albatrosses of Echoes embarked on their final ascent. And for the first time in 7 years, I took a swim.

And for the first time ever, there was no water around.

The cold ethereal waters that surrounded were taking me up. The sun then momentarily broke through ocean's shifting layers imposing its transience, warping its form, yet leaving the tell tale signs of its presence above.

The undercurrents pushed me around playfully. I was its newest toy. Then it screamed!

" Feed your head! Feed your head Feed your Head!"

Then a strange calm came crashing down.

Silence . I was nodding throughout. But not in agreement.

It was then that a push became a shove. A current became a vortex.

The coldest of sweats broke out. My shirt fluttered. The anemometers of my mind were reading 100 km/hr.

I was in the eye of a fucking storm.

"I have tasted the maggots in mind of the universe......"

Pills wore a look of wonderment. Pills our own Kid Charlemagne.

He checked his anemometer. His was still on 30, as they fight over the last bit. Never mind the stung fingers.

I tossed my shirt out. The hell with it. Bedraggled it went ahead to wet Busty's table.

I was still stuck in the whirlpool.

I opened my mouth seconds before realizing that it was way too dry for speech.

" If anything happens I am not responsible for it..."
" Stop saying that...its making it will make it worse..."

The voices flickered somewhere else. I was there, yet I was not.

I extracted laughter from a few by asking how I could get down. That apparently went against what he was fighting for over the past three years.

Then the release came. Sweet nasal and bilious. The lone biscuit still lying caked in my mouth.

" Dont look down...look up"

Too weak to rebel, I did. Only to see a perfect pair of horns. On top of his head. The ones of a Surti cow. Shit! Shit!

" Dont look down da..."

I couldnt look up. And I couldnt tell him that. I was on survivor mode. How do I live for the next 5 mins? I tried to concentrate on the notes and the beats and rearrange them in my head. For some strange reason Mersenne made a cameo appearance in my mind.

It was like the women of 8.5. Only the scariest of dreams chose to haunt me.

My mind had lost its most well fought battle.

"No matter what we get out of this, I know I know I'll never forget. .."

And thus I scripted, within those four walls, a small chapter in my bildungsroman.