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Best Poker Night Ever

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: Best Poker Night Ever
Date: Thu, 22 Jun 2006 19:32:51 -0400

I woke up in the dark, I was cold and a wind blew moist droplets
across my skin.  I didn’t know where I was.  No pillow under my
head.  No sheets covering me.  The strength of the wind indicated
there was no roof over my head, yet I saw no stars in the sky.  A
dark and stormy night?  A densely grown forest?  I felt around,
slowly, carefully, images of snakes and bugs running rampant through
my barely conscious mind.  The ground felt smooth.  Damp, with small
pools of liquid here and there, like collected shower drops on a tile
floor.  Or rain on a freshly waxed car.

I got up and started walking around.  My eyes reporting nothing but
blackness.  My feet reporting smooth terrain that could only be
synthetic.  My arms, waving about, trying to find something,
anything.  A wall.  A tree trunk.  A light switch.

The wind was growing stronger.  It was starting to rain.  I could
feel the drops hitting my face.  They were warm.

How did I get here?  The last thing I remember was. . .  The last
thing, well, it must have been going to sleep this strange place,
right?  Before that, coming into this strange place?  I really
couldn’t remember.  I don’t really remember anything right now.  I’m
still groping around like a blind insect, searching desperately for
something to ground myself to.  A wall!  A door!  Anything would be
welcome right now.  I hear a rumble.  I hear the wind howl.  Those
are good.  At least there are sounds.  Rumbling means lighting.
Maybe a bright flash will come along soon and illuminate my
surroundings.  Howling wind means there must be something near by for
the wind to vibrate against.  Something other than this cursed ice-
smooth surface of a ground.

I wait.

I sit.  and i wait.  for the lightening.  so i can see where i am.
the wind gets a little stronger, the howling a little louder.  the
rain is quite heavy now, and when i slap my hand down on the ground
it makes a splash.  i feel the displaced water hit my leg.  i hear
more and more thunder, but see nothing.  i start to wonder if maybe
i’ve gone blind.

it is with this thought.  have i gone blind?  that my hearing decides
to take flight as well.  the howling wind has grown to a steady
drone, the thundering is still distinct, but the periods of silence
are becoming increasingly few.  it all starts to blend together into
a white noise.  television static, except without the hint of bible
belt sunday morning televangalists cutting through.

i scream

forcing all the air out of my lungs

and hear nothing above the roaring static.

i pinch myself

and feel the skin come ripping off

so easily

like the film that forms on the surface of a hot cup of milk
and i jump up
and i start to run
and i’m running as fast as i can
and nothing changes
suddenly a street lamp flickers on above my head.
Then another one, a little down the road.
I’m standing in a puddle.
Just besides a side walk.
Next to a big green house.
The number on the house says XX.
And the white noise separates.
I hear laughing and yelling and music.
So I let myself in.
I even remembered to bring beer.
wonder when I got that.

Poker Night!
“first hand at nine”

Dangerhouse is XX XXXXXXXXX XX. #X
in deconstructionist Somerville, MA.

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