For July – Jim Hilton

Mythic Proportions

I returned to this life sometime around noon.  I’m not sure exactly what time it was, and what day was it?  Slowly the memories crept back, struggling, crawling, from one synapse to another, frequently falling into the abyss created by the reckless ingestion of too many margaritas.

My hair was on fire and there was a squad of Kodo drummers living inside my head; the pain was tremendous.  The sensations were swinging back and forth, perfectly in time with my dizziness.  I think the phoenix bird had been in my mouth most of the night, repeatedly building and burning its nest, leaving ash mixed with mounds of droppings.

It was about then that I incautiously opened my eyes and found out what it must be like to be shot in the eye socket with a hunting arrow.  I slammed my eyes shut, I cried, I withdrew into a fetal ball, I sweated, I shivered, I hurt.  I rolled off the bed onto the floor to escape the insidious light.  As I hit the floor my head exploded.  At least I think that’s what happened; it may be that my head fell off.

As I lay there moaning I became aware of a persistent screeching sound; my ears were channeling it straight into my cranial pain centers.  Had the phoenix returned?  I cringed, I withdrew, tried to escape.  Something inside my stomach was gurgling, percolating, demanding attention.  Mother of God, what was that demonic sound invading, trying to split my head?

It started up again, “You know the Johnsons are coming over in a couple of hours and you promised to mow the yard and then crank the ice cream maker.”

Oh Lord, take me now.

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About Jim Hilton

Just having a good time writing about our little adventures.
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