Taxonomy of the Heart

[Maze]

Thanks everybody!

One thing: you might want to throw something in for comic relief, just to make the dark bits stand out more.

That's great advice, liveletlove_mix. I'm gonna try and come up with something comical to throw in there. Man, that's a good idea. Thanks. I need to get to work on that ASAP.

And I'm glad you stopped by even though i haven't been keeping up with your fic. i saw the other day that you were on chapter 13! Oh mai! But no worries, I'm gonna get there.

Hehe, so that is how Michael and Michelle met. Hehe, like their conversation. The way how Michelle say how much she is liking him by using percents is quite amusing to me. Maybe I should do that to a guy sometime XDDDD.

Hahaha. Tell me how that goes!

[SPOILER="Michael and Michelle] You said that happened in the past. Something tells me that later on Michelle is cheating on her husband (you did put "Mrs" in those little snippets and in the dialogue she did say "Rische". I could be wrong though! XD[/SPOILER]

[SPOILER="RE: Michael and Michelle]Not quite. Michelle Rische's husband will come home in the next episode of hers.[/SPOILER]

You keep on making so many close predictions, you might have to spoiler tag your whole comment!

Really great chapter here. Can't wait to read the next chapter!

Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I hope you continue to enjoy it as I move deeper into the world of the story.

duncan

And Gowlman... That was unexpected (sort of). Every chapter so far has really impressed upon me about the power (and horror) or Dolphomine.

Yeah, I didn't know if I wanted to kill Nick now or not, but it ended up being for the better. i can't say so much now, but yeah. Dophinimine is powerful for a lot of reasons.

Griff:

Its a very good writing style but its a bit too dark for my tastes. Will there be any pokemon in this, out of curiousity?

Thank you! I'm sorry that you feel that way, but I'm very glad that you stopped by to read this much! There WILL be pokemon. It's not apparent yet, but they'll be here..................................................................

And thanks to Mix, there WILL be comic relief!

This next chapter will probably be up in five or six days.

All I Need won't continue until this one is done.

Author's Cut

Michelle's first little paragraph of speech was cut down from the original. Here's the beta:

"To escape the ups and downs of life, people turn to seeking a higher purpose, nobler goals, and absolute truths. Are you content with just being happy because you know you’ll always be? Has this inhibited your search for meaning in your life? I drink a cranberry juice because I don’t like to be numbed by alcohol. I don’t like to be numbed period. Do you need me to be numbed before I find you overwhelmingly attractive or before I agree to leave with you? Is that satisfying? Changing my reality because the reality is that you really aren’t enough to do the job on your own? Being numbed is a very dangerous thing. You don’t eliminate scary things because you can’t feel fear. You can’t get rid of tragedy because you don’t have the ability to mourn. And so what you’re really doing is turning a blind eye to what’s killing you"

The next Author's Cut will have a lost conversation between Nick and Michael.

 

[Sike Saner]

YES. I am very pleased to see a story like this: a well-written, psychological piece with strong, relevant themes.

I'm reminded of something someone told me once: "A fake smile is better than no smile." No, it most certainly is not, and it's for that reason that Dophinimine is creepy, just like that quote--only far moreso than the quote. It's a drug that brings smiles and order at the apparent expense of people's humanity, their ability to care. CREEPY. o___o;

I wouldn't want to see such a drug ever come onto the market in real life, but Dophinimine as a story element is a virtual godsend because it provides such an excellent means to explore human emotions and their importance. Furthermore, in showing what people become when deprived of certain emotions, it might perhaps instill in a person a little more respect for our ability to care, even if caring does hurt like hell sometimes.

I'm personally partial to stories that contain tragic elements, and this story presents them in a unique and powerful way. The inability of characters under the influence of Dophinimine to truly appreciate and respond appropriately to tragic and horrific events also serves to underscore those events, giving them even more tragic potency.

Good work on the characters, too. I'm particularly fond of Michelle at this point in the story, mainly because she has said some seriously quotable and rather wise things. Also, her use of percentages to tell Michael how she regards him was great.

Spoiler: Oh, and...

The mirror image of Redeal is a very important person, I noticed.

Spoiler: Highlights

“Your death, Tammy. Your death is the only atonement!” he yelled and violently threw her against her night stand. My mother, with her face a canvas smeared with blood, tears, and pain, used of her final breaths to utter that when they married, her life, her heart belonged to him. And that now he could do with it what he pleased. With that, he pulled from his coat a gun.

“Edward, I love you so mu…” A loud shot finished her sentence. The devastating and final full stop that punctuated my mother’s life.

An unforgettable moment. That she was cut silent in mid-syllable added additional impact to that moment--a "devastating and final full stop", indeed. Plus, what she was saying there gave that scene even more power.

Dophinimine is the cure for this nation’s disease because it attacks it at its heart….and that is yours…

*shudder* I find that line to be seriously disturbing... o__o;

It’s no longer odd to me that remembering the night my parents died “feels” exactly the same as remembering what I had for breakfast in the morning.

Also disturbing. To be under the influence of a drug that can make you trivialize a thing like that...

The experiences of a lifetime constantly expand our understanding of the words we use and the things we feel. What is “ecstatic” one day is “content” the next, and what is “sorrowful” one day is “indifferent” the next. A series of calluses form as the events of every day pluck at our heart’s strings. The strings become worn and the hands that pluck become unaware of even having affected anything for the better or for the worse. And life becomes a song of loud and soft notes, missed notes and triumphant choruses, heavy beats and pitchy noise. It is either that Enjoyce has done us a great service, protecting everyone, by realizing that the notes played need not always be solely a function of what plucks the strings but also the configuration of the instrument, or that Enjoyce has done us a terrible disservice by disrupting the rhythm of our natural song.

I don’t know what plucked my father’s heart string that night, but the note played back was of grave consequence.

“Your death, Tammy. Your death is the only atonement!”

When I left that morning for school, I heard I high note of anxiety and anticipation of new things to come. And my mother died just that week. The next school day, I left my foster home with a high note of anticipation of new things to be learned. And there was no deep, bellowing tone in between.

I love the music analogy there. ^^ That part is very memorable, both for that reason and for just being well-written in general.

“You know what the problem with women today is, Michael?” he asked me in a low, secretive tone.

“What’s that?”

“The ones that I could’ve gotten are too damn happy on their own. That Dophinimine must be eliminating their need for happiness from a relationship, I think.”

“Nah man, I’m pretty sure it’s just you,” I laughed.

Heh, that last line made me chuckle. Anyway, yes, I do imagine that Dophinimine would have a negative impact on relationships, both romantic and otherwise, since through eliminating the ability to really care about things one would also, I reckon, be eliminating the ability to form and hold attachment to another person.

”We’re sorry, Mrs. Rische…your baby has been still-born.”

When they told me this, I wondered mostly about how much time it would take to return the presents received at the baby shower. The more I think about it, the more I know my priorities were wrong.

Indeed they were. This is another example of just how disturbing Dophinimine's effects on a person's very humanity can be.

I embraced my son as tightly as is humanly…no, as tightly as is motherly possible. That’s because the love a mother has for her child is more than something that results in humane treatment or humane regard. It’s very much a force beyond being described as humane.

I liked that part. ^^ The distinct kind of love that mothers can have for their children is described quite nicely there.

Anxiety, fear, pain, love, things I can’t explain, things I haven’t felt so strongly in many years, flooded back, sharp blades piercing the thick lining of Dophinimine numbing my soul. I cried out because it hurt. The mental anguish was unbearable.

A great description of anguish. I especially like those feelings being referred to as being like sharp blades, and I also like the recognition of how much such emotions can genuinely hurt.

“I can’t get over how bright and beautiful you are. I saw you from the corner of my eye from all the way across the room. What is your name?”

“My name is Michelle, but people close to me call me 'Elle' for short. Like the letter ‘L’”.

“Well, you can’t spell love without Elle.”

"You can't spell love without Elle." Nice pickup line there, Michael. XD

“Now hold on, stranger. Aren’t you laying it on a little too thick? Eight ounces of cranberry juice will get you close, but you haven’t got my heart yet” she laughed as she took another sip from her glass. She looked back up at me with pale green eyes. “But I say that assuming that you want my heart...when really, you don’t. You’re looking for recreation, aren’t you? Because after you’ve done away with your sadness and pain, you’ve moved from searching for happiness in a higher purpose or meaningful relationship. You have it now and you will always have it as long as you keep your prescription filled. The search is over for you. But doesn’t that make you a shallow ******* to begin with? I mean, was your life’s purpose simply to pursue your own happiness? And now that you’ve found it, is it to simply revel in your contentment and complacency, disrespecting ideas like love and responsibility by reducing the women you meet to recreational fodder?”

This also ties in with what I mentioned earlier about how something like Dophinimine could affect relationships. Without attachment, all that would be left is a simple, physical urge to fulfill, in which case getting together with another person would basically be reduced to the same level as scratching an itch or going to the bathroom.

She lifted her glass to her face and paused. There apparently was a small smudge at a specific spot below the rim. “Hm. I wonder who drank out of this before me. And before then, who?”

“They can replace the glass.”

“Oh I know. I suppose it doesn’t matter which glass if all I’m looking for is the juice, right?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Even the simple questions I answered with caution. This whole encounter caught me off guard.

“Does it matter which pretty woman you sleep with when all you want is the gratification? There’s no difference from one to the next, is there? As if to demonstrate, Elle poured the cranberry juice into the glass she’d been drinking from prior and then sipped from it.

Her use of the glasses and cranberry juice in making her point was great. ^^

She stared off to her left and smiled. "Hmm, you weren't so presumptious as to call me 'Elle', a name reserved for people I deem to be close friends. That's nice, Michael. 72%”. My face must’ve been the sight of one humorously bewildered as Elle laughed when she turned back to face me. “Ha-ha, cuter when confused. 77%!" I cracked a small smile. It had become her game, she'd stolen it. "I never got your name, stranger.”

Again, I really like her use of percentages. ^^

“I guess you found it odd that I ordered a non-alcoholic beverage, specifically a bitter cranberry juice." She looked into her glass as she talked to me. "I saw it on your face.”

“It’s not odd, I just had assumed something different based on the beverages I consume, I suppose. But it’s erroneous to project my own habits on to someone else. I apologize if you were at all offended.”

“Oh no, Michael. I wasn’t offended. But I’d like to answer the question that was on your face." She looked up at me. "I drink a bitter, sharp cranberry juice because I don’t like to be numbed by alcohol. I don’t like to be numbed period. It's a very dangerous thing. You don’t eliminate scary things because you can’t feel fear," she said, raising her hands and waving them...scarily? "You can’t get rid of tragedy because you don’t have the ability to mourn. You can’t stay alive by turning a blind eye to what’s killing you.”

My favorite excerpt from the story thus far. I especially like the last paragraph due to the amount of the aforementioned Michelle-brand wisdom it contains.

Mr. Gowlman curled his index finger around the trigger of his handgun and pulled it back. The bullet whizzed through the air, tore through the cubicle wall and hit Nick right between the eyes. His blood splattered up and over the wall of my cubicle, landing on my lap, on my sleeves, on my face.

“Does anyone else feel like trying to dial for the police?!!” Mr. Gowlman shouted. I sat still, drops of blood on my face, and smiled.

I later hated myself for not crying when he got shot. I hated myself for not feeling anything. Is heaven losing a friend of five years and feeling nothing at all? No, that’s not what heaven is. This is a twisted reality, we are a twisted people. Misshapen, soulless beings, ignoring half of the human experience.

A very close runner-up for favorite excerpt because of the sheer power of it. That scene did an especially excellent job of showing just how Dophinimine separates a person from their humanity, and is a prime example of how the impact and memorability of a shocking event like the murder of someone's friend right in front of them is increased greatly by the unnatural inability of the character to respond appropriately to what he's just experienced.

I respect you and this story a great deal for exploring the themes that it does. You've done terrific work on this piece, and I will most certainly continue reading. ^^

 

[Maze]

REACHING RISCHE

I could do two things: I could continue to dial for the police or I could focus my energies on trying to make a sale that’d assure my freedom. But the choice was apparently made a bit sooner by someone else because now I could see a small red dot hovering between Mr. Gowlman’s left and right eyebrows, playfully darting back and forth until it steadied and moved down his left cheek past his bicep to his wrist.

“My hand! Oh God, my hand!” he screamed in pain as different streams of blood ran down from his wrist, separating into different channels along their descent and falling to the floor along with his gun. I couldn’t imagine what that must feel like because I hadn’t felt anything like it, nor was I able to feel anything like it. Watching the “agony” on his face, though, hinted at something that wasn’t all too desirable an experience. And that’s when I knew we’d be plastered on the front page of every news paper nationwide the next day. Man Loses Cool and Kills Employee. It’d be a warning, a strong and real reminder of the kind of “tragedy” that Dophinimine was produced to prevent. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were exploiting our misfortune to sell drugs. But I couldn’t care less.

The team of police rushed in and grounded Gowlman. They dragged him away, right past us. And we all looked at him with big, wide, bright eyes. We weren’t happy that he’d done what he’d done, not necessarily happy that he’d been stopped, we certainly weren’t happy that Nick had been shot, but for no particular reason we were just happy.

And Gowlman cried his lungs out, shouting and screaming obscenities. He shook his head violently as the police struggled to retain him. His face was the face of a madman’s; the wide open eyes, the confused and anxious expression, the glare produced by pouring sweat touched by fluorescent lights. And you have to mention the wide open eyes first because a madman doesn’t become a madman until he sees something that drives him to extreme action. He’s not a madman until he first becomes crazy, until some touch of paranoia, some touch of truth opens his mind’s eye to something that can not be ignored. If we saw what he saw, how his eyes saw it, we might do the same thing. And so a perception is what separates us all from the crazies. The unwavering will to carry out our misconceived, ill-informed idea of what is right is what makes us madmen.

And so we stood there so close to Gowlman, one paradigm away.

I later walked home.

I closed the door, leaning against it, physically and mentally exhausted. What would become of today’s events? For breakfast I ate eggs, I walked to work today, my friend was shot in the head, I came home, rested, walked to work the next day…. Was that right? I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t feel. I picked myself off of the wooden door and the floor creaked beneath my feet.

“Nice to see you too, apartment 116.”

I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and rubbed the blood off of my face with a warm damp cloth.

“Well, the blood’s not coming out of this shirt.” I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. I could throw it away just like I’d throw away the events of this morning. I can toss away my tragedy with a pop of a pill. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my bottle of Dophinimine.

You can’t get rid of tragedy because you don’t have the ability to mourn.

I stood there with the pills in my hand and remembered Michelle.

After that night of meaningless pleasure, I had lost contact with Michelle. Well, “lost” isn’t the right word. I’d avoided contact with Michelle. I think that I was mostly afraid of the truth she presented. Afraid not solely because it’d mean that I was living my life wrong, but afraid because there was absolutely nothing I could do about the way the world works. But I don’t have the bliss of being ignorant. I now know that things should be different and I can’t help but think of Michelle and her cranberry juice on a day like this one.

I stared into my own eyes, my own empty eyes that had been blinded from the tragedy of this world. My mind traveled. It wandered past Mckinzie’s, down Third Street, past the ball park, and to Michelle’s front door.

I grabbed my bloodied shirt from the waste bin, threw it back on and went out the front door with my keys in my hand. I let my body take me where my mind’s eye had traveled.

Her home was small and painted a deep blue which complimented the night sky. White summer lilies adorned two small patches of soil on either side of her front porch. Large, round and bright, the full moon bathed the scene in its silver glow. And I stood in front of her door, knocking.

“What do you want, Michael?”

“I need to ask you a question, Michelle.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while. May I ask you a question first?”

“Sure.”

“Are you here because of what we talked about or what we did a month ago?”

“What we talked about.” I could here her unlocking the door, preparing to let me in. Michelle’s heart was such a complex thing. I had a strong feeling that I didn’t know what do to do with it, but she kept letting me in anyway. As irresponsible and shallow as I was, she let me in. But maybe she saw in me some capacity that I didn’t see in myself. After all, I was here to talk.

“How can I help you, Michael? Have you realized some truth in what I said?”

“My friend of five years was shot in the head today. His blood is what stains my shirt and my thoughts, but his memory is all I have inside. I don’t have any remorse for what happened, I’m not sad about it, Michelle. I watched him die just like I watched my parents die and the only difference was that the same feeling was not present.”

“Come on in, Michael.”

Some times you walk into a place and are greeted with a predominant color, some predominant sound or smell, but at once I was overwhelmed by the culmination of all things that made Michelle’s home what it was. The sounds, the color, the smell all were one thing in that they played off of each other flawlessly to inspire one perception, one feeling. And that feeling was one of completeness and order. It was as if you could hear sounds through the colors on the wall and see pictures from listening to the music. And why I am impressed is because I’ve seen it all once before. (Admittedly, the first time, I had a little more than décor on the mind). I say that to emphasize the fact that being overwhelmed by the same thing twice hints at a truly amazing thing. I may have to be more cautious in the future when it comes to describing a feeling as “overwhelming”. I can’t be too sure what’s next.

I sat down on Michelle’s couch as she walked behind it and into the adjacent room which was the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink, Michael?”

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

She sat down on the couch, right next to me. “How do you suppose I can help you, Michael?” In the richness of her voice, I understood the statement she made with the question she asked.

“Michelle, I know that this is not something you can tell me how to do…because I have to do this for myself, but I need some guidance to know where to begin.”

“How long has it been since you’ve taken your last dose of Dophinimine?”

“Twelve hours or so. Not since this morning on my way to work.”

“And what prompted you to take a dose then?” she asked, swirling around her small, four ounce glass of cranberry juice.

“I started to feel a little anxious about something.”

“And before then, you hadn’t taken a dose since the morning of the day prior, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Michelle leaned back on the couch and turned her head to the right to face me, her cheek smothered in her dark leather couch.

“You need to be detoxed, Michael….Stay here tonight, don’t take your pills in the morning.”

“Why do I need to stay here? For accountability?”

“Oh, you’ll see” she said. I looked at her face and couldn’t tell immediately what the tone in her voice meant. It was foreboding, it was serious, but it couldn’t prepare me for what I would experience, I knew it.














HMMMMMMMMMM, what is this detox??? What’s gonna happen to Michael? Stay tuned for the next chapter, which is to be precluded by another episode of Mrs. Rische. The wide open eyes of a madman……….

 

[Psyblade]

...Astonishing...

And I thought that the only lunatic that would serve a story of mixed up emotions of remorse and coldness was my teacher...well if coldness is an emotion...

that just adds up to the depth...a word of truth I must say...

that I strongly remember destoevsky's masterpiece, The Gambler...if you added more about the unability (or unwill) to change, i am certian you will manage if you willed.

I guess you have a new reader (willingly ropes self in the basement untill a new chapter is ready to read)

 

[Bay]

The beginning I was confused. So it was the police that hit Mr. Growlman's hand, or someone else?

Anyways, good chapter. Things are becoming more interesting, so is that Rische girl. Hm, wonder what that detox can be...

Some times you walk into a place and are greeted with a predominant color, some predominant sound or smell, but at once I was overwhelmed by the culmination of all things that made Michelle’s home what it was. The sounds, the color, the smell all were one thing in that they played off of each other flawlessly to inspire one perception, one feeling. And that feeling was one of completeness and order. It was as if you could hear sounds through the colors on the wall and see pictures from listening to the music. And why I am impressed is because I’ve seen it all once before. (Admittedly, the first time, I had a little more than décor on the mind). I say that to emphasize the fact that being overwhelmed by the same thing twice hints at a truly amazing thing. I may have to be more cautious in the future when it comes to describing a feeling as “overwhelming”. I can’t be too sure what’s next.

I like how you describe Mrs. Rische's house not with coffee tables and carpet floors but more with other "senses" and his feelings of it.

Again, great chapter. Can't wait for the next one!

 

[duncan]

Good chapter. It was a little short, but the plot is definitely unwinding. Detox? It seems like something more than meets the eye is about to happen.

“You need to be detoxed, Michael….Stay here tonight, don’t take your pills in the morning.”

“Why do I need to stay here? For accountability?”

“Oh, you’ll see” she said. I looked at her face and couldn’t tell immediately what the tone in her voice meant. It was foreboding, it was serious, but it couldn’t prepare me for what I would experience, I knew it.

Hmm, I can only wonder what will happen next. Good chapter!

 

[Maze]

Thank you all so much for your comments! Thank you Sike for such an in-depth review. You picked this fic apart piece-by-piece, thought-by-thought and were dead-on in your interpretations. I really appreciate that.

The beginning I was confused. So it was the police that hit Mr. Growlman's hand, or someone else?

Yeah, it was the police. The red dot was from a sniper.

I like how you describe Mrs. Rische's house not with coffee tables and carpet floors but more with other "senses" and his feelings of it.

Thanks! I wasn't really good at writing out the layout of a room. I tried it that way, but it didn't seem to gel, so I took this approach which is more in line with the themes of the fic.

Hmm, I can only wonder what will happen next. Good chapter!

Thanks, duncan! Yeah, I've been waiting patiently to get to this chapter and I'm glad it's coming up. I think you all will enjoy it.

And guys, there was some foreshadowing in this last chapter. I don't wanna give anything away, though

Also there was some continuation of themes that have already been discussed.

Thank you so much for reading...I have some reading of my own to do, and some more writing of this fic!

 

[Sike Saner]

Oh, man... If going off of Dophinimine is anything like going off of certain other substances, then Michael is in for a seriously unpleasant experience. o_o; If it's anythng like detoxing off of certain other substances, this is not going to be a pleasant experience whatsoever for Michael. That installment did indeed open a path to what I suspect will be some very memorable scenes to come...

And that’s when I knew we’d be plastered on the front page of every news paper nationwide the next day. Man Loses Cool and Kills Employee. It’d be a warning, a strong and real reminder of the kind of “tragedy” that Dophinimine was produced to prevent. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were exploiting our misfortune to sell drugs. But I couldn’t care less.

...You know, I really wouldn't put it past Enjoyce to do such a thing to perpetuate society's dependent embrace of the drug. o.o It might be in their interest to allow things like this to continue happening here and there--their true aim perhaps not truly being to eliminate chaos and tragedy and violence but rather simply to sell pills.

Still, it is also possible that that happened simply because the drug isn't perfect--it seems likely to me that it's not universally successful, in fact; maybe it's not quite compatible with everyone. There are a number of other potential reasons that come to my mind why a drug's effects might not be as expected.

Of course, this is even assuming that Mr. Gowlman was on Dophinimine at the time. o.o I wonder, was he?

Highlights:

The team of police rushed in and grounded Gowlman. They dragged him away, right past us. And we all looked at him with big, wide, bright eyes. We weren’t happy that he’d done what he’d done, not necessarily happy that he’d been stopped, we certainly weren’t happy that Nick had been shot, but for no particular reason we were just happy.

Inappropriate happiness = always potently creepy.

For breakfast I ate eggs, I walked to work today, my friend was shot in the head, I came home, rested, walked to work the next day…. Was that right? I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t feel. I picked myself off of the wooden door and the floor creaked beneath my feet.

Being able to casually list seeing your best friend murdered right in front of you alongside such mundane things as what you had for breakfast and the notion of being able to go on into the next day with no more thought given to that murder than those eggs are not right, no. It's creepy, is what it is. XD That part really expresses well how unnatural and creepy that is.

“Well, the blood’s not coming out of this shirt.” I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. I could throw it away just like I’d throw away the events of this morning. I can toss away my tragedy with a pop of a pill. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my bottle of Dophinimine.

"I can toss away my tragedy with the pop of a pill." *shudder* That line--that excerpt in general--is another great example of the unnatural effects of the drug and their impact being summed up quite nicely.

Some times you walk into a place and are greeted with a predominant color, some predominant sound or smell, but at once I was overwhelmed by the culmination of all things that made Michelle’s home what it was. The sounds, the color, the smell all were one thing in that they played off of each other flawlessly to inspire one perception, one feeling. And that feeling was one of completeness and order. It was as if you could hear sounds through the colors on the wall and see pictures from listening to the music. And why I am impressed is because I’ve seen it all once before. (Admittedly, the first time, I had a little more than décor on the mind). I say that to emphasize the fact that being overwhelmed by the same thing twice hints at a truly amazing thing. I may have to be more cautious in the future when it comes to describing a feeling as “overwhelming”. I can’t be too sure what’s next.

A great paragraph--I love the way it describes the scene through its effects rather than its appearance. This type of description examines the scene through more senses than just sight, and through his particular impression of the place, as well. That results in not only being able to imagine what it would be like to actually be there, but to be there and be Michael.

 

[Maze]

Thanks Sike!

Oh, man... If going off of Dophinimine is anything like going off of certain other substances, then Michael is in for a seriously unpleasant experience. o_o;

.....

"Inappropriate happiness = always potently creepy."

Yeah, I really tried hard to create this contrast between their bright, happy expressions and gowlman's crazy self being dragged off!

The team of police rushed in and grounded Gowlman. They dragged him away, right past us. And we all looked at him with big, wide, bright eyes. We weren’t happy that he’d done what he’d done, not necessarily happy that he’d been stopped, we certainly weren’t happy that Nick had been shot, but for no particular reason we were just happy.

And Gowlman cried his lungs out, shouting and screaming obscenities. He shook his head violently as the police struggled to retain him. His face was the face of a madman’s; the wide open eyes, the confused and anxious expression, the glare produced by pouring sweat touched by fluorescent lights. And you have to mention the wide open eyes first because a madman doesn’t become a madman until he sees something that drives him to extreme action. He’s not a madman until he first becomes crazy, until some touch of paranoia, some touch of truth opens his mind’s eye to something that can not be ignored. If we saw what he saw, how his eyes saw it, we might do the same thing. And so a perception is what separates us all from the crazies. The unwavering will to carry out our misconceived, ill-informed idea of what is right is what makes us madmen.

And yeah, Enjoyce may or may not be the best-intentioned company in the world....

Next chapter sometime soon!

 

[Griff4815]

Good job on that last chapter, I liked it. I'm starting to get into this fic. Keep up the good work, Maze.

 

[Maze]

What?????????

WIDE OPEN EYES

GROGGY

You can never deny your humanity wholly. Those that try know what it means to have a fortified wall of ‘I am self-sufficient’, ‘I hate society’, ‘I hate people’ crumble when they end each day in an empty home, when they’ve spent so many years with an empty heart. The wall crumbles and the harsh winds of regret and remorse are free to grate the bear skin of their beating chest. They thought they were fine but when they realized they weren’t, the weight of so much wasted time fell down on them like a pouring rain or any all-encompassing pressure. And at that point, when you’re exposed to the winds, you can either accept your humanity, throw off your yoke and learn when to yield to your emotions OR you can hang your head and trod forward with the yoke on your shoulder forever. The former is empowering, the latter embittering.

And for so long, I’ve trod with the delusion of being free from my humanity. But I’m starting to realize that my heart is stronger than a drug. It led me to Michelle’s house and it led me to this scenario. I watched the sun set through her open shades. I knew that there was a long night coming, but I also knew it was necessary to get to the new day.

“I’m going to bed now, Michael.”

I got up to follow her.

“No. You can stay down here for the night” she said sternly. Her voice, her eyes, her posture were like hands pushing me back to my seat on the couch. So I sat back down.

“But don’t you need to keep an eye on me? If this detox is so bad?”

“There’s water in the fridge, Michael.” And with that, she left me.

-----------------------------------------

Twenty hours ago, I took a dose of Dophinimine. Two hours ago, I was inclined to take another but didn’t.

Was I already going through a bit of withdrawal? I was uncomfortably un-tired. I laid my head on a pillow and closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Michelle had retired to her bedroom on the second floor.

“I can’t get to sleep.” My eyes hung open, lids weighty but refusing to shut. And in moments of idle-mindedness I some times think back to that traumatic moment in my life. I start to wonder what could’ve been done to stop it, what I could’ve done to stop my parents’ death. And if there’s one thing that kills the chance of regret, it’s the fact that I was so young. There’s nothing that I could’ve done. It hurt to think about it. It hurt to think about it in a way that I wasn’t used to and I could feel my body trembling for more Dophinimine.

“There has to be some around here.” The discomfort of my trembling, the chills that ran through my body, they were enough to provoke me to my feet. And I noisily stumbled towards the kitchen, only barely keeping myself off of the floor, failing to keep a few magazines and coasters from falling as I tripped along the way. I slammed my arm against the wall where the light switch ought to be and the room was flooded. It was a piercing feeling, my head hurt and I couldn’t see anything but soft, undefined objects.

“Aghhhh!” I shut my eyes completely and lay there on the kitchen floor, sweating, hurting and then asleep.

MRS. RISCHE

What woke me was the sound of him stumbling around in the kitchen. Had the withdrawal begun? His body was no doubt begging him for another dose of the drug. I remembered my withdrawal, my detoxification.

/

It was early the morning after I couldn’t find my prescription. That night I had spent on the floor with the radio playing above my head, shivering helplessly before eventually falling asleep. And I awoke with the strange impression of things not being quite the same as they were the day before. In an indescribable way, my paradigm had shifted and my mind’s eye had widened. It was like an epiphany that you knew was of great significance, but unlike Bernoulli in his bath, Rutherford with his foil, or Thomson with his rays, this was a “eureka” of the not-oft-discussed kind. I felt like I had been lying to myself about the most important things possible. I had lied about my son’s death, lied about my husband’s departure, lied about all of these things…to myself. And I felt myself at that moment beginning to slip into a depression so deep, and so dark. It was like the accumulated weight that had not been felt over those entire years fell on me at one instant, the greatest impulse of grief.

The action that comes after the thought is what defines the significance of the whole experience. Some people cannot handle being hit with so much force at once and are pushed past their limit and destroyed by the weight of their emotions. Some people simply deny reality and choose to live a hollow life, full of lies.

I had never considered myself to be an exceptionally strong person, emotionally. But in the midst of my depression, at that critical point when I felt like I could just kill that pale worthless liar with my own hands, a whisper of a thought caught my attention. It was remarkable that such a quiet voice could cut through all of the noise. It’s always speaking, you just have to pay attention, look for it, listen for it. The calmest whisper is what I decided to focus my mind on. It said to me “be still. Your life is not over, it’s not worthless, it’s just different now.” And when my withdrawal and my depression shouted

“You liar! Your life has been over for so long and you didn’t even know it! Your son’s dead, your husband left, why keep wasting time in a meaningless life!?”

“Your life is not over, it’s not worthless, it’s just different now.”

“You should end it now because the grief is too much to bear. How can you continue to live knowing what you know now? Feeling what you feel now?”

“Your life is not over, it’s not worthless, it’s just different now.”

And the dialog continued. I clang to the whisper’s reassuring words amongst the constant pounding of negativity from every other neuron in my head. I wasn’t sure just how to take advantage of my “different” life, but something about the whisper’s tone let me know that it was precious.

And as time went on, the whisper was the only thing I heard. The insanity had begun to subside. More and more, the message became detailed and full.

“Stay alive for those like you, stay alive because you still have more love to give and there is still someone with love left to give you. It’s not over, it’s just different now.”

The morning had come and gone, so had the afternoon. Such an active battle raging right there on the floor next to my bed. I’d passed through delusions and depression, stood at the edge of insanity and saw its depths. At the end of the day, though, I was still alive and I had gained a new purpose.

/

Now that I lay here tonight as Michael prepares to go through his withdrawal, I wonder how I can help. Was it even safe to be this close to him? Maybe it was safest, maybe it was a grave mistake.

----------------------------------------------------------

 

[Psyblade]

Maze is back! Finally!

Argh...I was so afraid that you were going to withdraw from these forums...I just love your over-philosophic way of writing...I wish mine was like that...

Not everyone likes it though...*Gives serious look*But I do. ^_^

It hurt to think about it in a way that I wasn’t used to and I could feel my body trembling for more Dophinimine.

The thirst and...bloodthirsty need of Dophinimine...It is wonderful how you summerized his entire...All his needs in one simple sentence.
I've been saying it over and over...simple is excellent.

I've been having a powerful, entherial sence of self-fear and hatred of weaknesses after reading Taxonomy of the Heart, and this feeling just ripples through my body over and over...
I am certian that if you finish this, you will seal something in our minds that will never fade away.

Now, off my melodramatic ways of reviewing.

“Your life is not over, it’s not worthless, it’s just different now.”

Difference and change...you have a way of showing your unique perceptives (Or your characters perceptives) about these with close-combat-like inner struggles. I like this!

Lastly, I could only comment on the wonderful "vague" description you give us. I always hated "John had black hair, green eyes, and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead given by the great wizard Waldimart."
You leave things mostly to our imagination, you don't "Throw" things for us to swallow up mindlessly.

Lastly (How many lastly's do I have?), I can only wish you a "Good luck" and chain myself to my basement awaiting the next chapter.

And, lastly...(This is becoming like Final Fantasy...there is no final to it) I admire the way you placed a plot on a unique struggle between Dophinimine and people wanting to stop it's crusade in their bodies. "We have to fight ourselves, before we fight it."
Kind of like inner training...you think?

I will have my eyes on this fanfiction...Although short, I see great oppertunities in it. ^_^

~Forever Rambling~;282;Psyblade

 

[duncan]

Heh, disappeared did you? Ah well, I'm glad you did a new chapter.

It was a little short, so my review will be as well. Michaels' withdrawl is beginning now, but I highly doubt that it's over. In fact, I'm quite sure it's just beginning. Yeah...

The wall crumbles and the harsh winds of regret and remorse are free to grate the bare skin of their beating chest.

The only typo I found.

Now that I lay here tonight as Michael prepares to go through his withdrawal, I wonder how I can help. Was it even safe to be this close to him? Maybe it was safest, maybe it was a grave mistake.

Wow. She really seems to think that Michael might get violent even. Wow, scary stuff, that Dolphinimine.

I like how everything is really oriented around the stuff, but I've yet to recognize a real villain here, besides the drug itself. Surely there must be powerful puppet-masters somewhere, distributing the drug for their own nefarious purposes? I guess we'll see, won't we?

I guess that's it. I'm really curious as to what the next chapter will bring, so keep it up!

 

[Bay]

Yay, you're back! =D (Throws confetti)

Anyways, I am a bit confused. So did the detox process already got started or not? Sorry to ask that. ^^;

Love the way you protrayed Mrs. Rische's thoughts, both negative and postive. Glad she went with the postive. ^_^

So far everything is going good. A few chapters in and already a lot of deep stuff jampacked in this story. Well, good luck on the next chapter!

 

[Maze]

Hey, thank you all for reading and welcoming me back.

Psyblade

I am certian that if you finish this, you will seal something in our minds that will never fade away.

I appreciate it so much that you're enjoying the themes and the message of the story. I hope, for sure, that you all won't forget ol' Maze and TotH!

The thirst and...bloodthirsty need of Dophinimine...

Yeah, it's got a lot to do with a biological dependence but also a strong fear of feeling differently. And it affects different people at different degrees. The next chapter will be the real meat of the withdrawal and you all can see how weak/strong Michael is when compared to Michelle. You've seen how she handled it: quietly in a corner. I wonder if his experience will be that low-key???????

Lastly, I could only comment on the wonderful "vague" description you give us. I always hated "John had black hair, green eyes, and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead given by the great wizard Waldimart."
You leave things mostly to our imagination

Yeah, I've made it a point since All I Need to be a bit vague on the physical characteristics of the characters. I just want to give you their thoughts and their actions. And I think it'd be really interesting to see what Michael looks like in you all's head. Or even what Gowlman's enraged face looks like to you!

Lol at "Final" fantasy comment. The fic is not long, but I'm really trying to pace this next chapter right. I already have THREE WHOLE PAGES. So stay tuned!

duncan

Thanks for reading. I'm still catching up with you, but it helps that you're fic is done.

And the villain...things are being worked out.

Bay

Anyways, I am a bit confused. So did the detox process already got started or not? Sorry to ask that. ^^;

Yeah, but his dizziness and headache portrayed in this last chapter were just the first few moments of it.

Love the way you protrayed Mrs. Rische's thoughts, both negative and postive. Glad she went with the postive. ^_^

Yeah, and it's also a shame to think how many in her position would go with the negative, too.

Okay everyone! Thanks for reading this latest chapterette. I'm still catching up with you all's fics, so keep an eye out for me in-your-thread!

 

[Maze]

CONFLICT

When you’ve carried a weight for so long, you’re likely to have forgotten it’s even there. You don’t know it, but that weight is dictating how high you jump, where you go, how far up you hold your chin. And at some pivotal instant, someone on the outside who cares to let you know does so. She taps you on the shoulder and says “you’ve got to be kidding. You can’t possibly be unaware that you’ve got a yoke over your shoulders.” And that’s when it gets heavier because your attention has shifted to it. No matter how many pills you take after that moment, you can’t erase the knowledge that even though you’ve been fine with this weight for as long as you can remember, it’s not actually supposed to linger like this. And this isn’t exactly how it’s supposed to be dealt with, by ignoring it.

My head was pounding as I fell into consciousness abruptly. I opened my eyes to the still glowing bulbs in the kitchen but all I could see was the absence of Dophinimine. I scoured counter-tops, rummaged through pantries, making a mess of the place in the process. With each drug-less cabinet there was a pang in my head.

“This is terrible! Michelle! I want to quit! Please let me quit!” I know she heard me, she just wasn’t listening. Daylight sifted through the blinds in the kitchen, it was well into the morning. And the physical pain was the half of it.

BAM. The shot was so loud and deafening, so piercing and all encompassing. I heard it repeatedly.

BAM. BAM. He shot her and himself. I looked on again through my mind’s eye and watched both of them die over and over. The victims’ blood splattered on my face and blurred my vision. I rubbed my eyes, but it wouldn’t come out.

“Ugh!” I cried out in exasperation. The rubbing didn’t work at all, I could feel their blood just beneath my eyelids, sloshing back and forth in my ducts. I opened my eyelids, now peering through a thin red veil.

The world is a different place when viewed through the veil of your parents’ blood. I saw myself leaving for the first day of school and I wondered why I even bothered. I got an A on my first spelling test and it seemed pointless with no one to show it to. All the achievements of a child, the achievements of a young man, the achievements of a lifetime done for whom? I wondered whether or not it was a good thing that I had lived with no purpose, just happiness. Because now I was so overwhelmed with the most complete apathy for all that I had done. I’d’ve never done it had I known how pointless it all was. I see my reflection in the glass and I think, "this man in front of me, wearing his work-shirt and a freshly-cut head of hair has been containing an explosion since he was six and with each chance to let his humanity out, give his parents the honor of mourning, he does the same thing; pops a pill or two of Dophinimine."

What a wretched thing to do, to deny them my heart. Their one and only son remembers their death like he remembers the scores of last night’s football game.

At the fork in the road, I found myself tripping over my feet, stumbling, panting to get to the cowards’ way out, unashamedly and unabashedly admitting defeat.

“Michelle! Give me the damned pills now!” I shouted as loudly as I could. No amount of strength I could muster kept me from tilting where I stood and fumbling as I began to walk forward. I was off-kilter physically and mentally, but I made my way through the threshold of the kitchen back into the living room, and then to the bottom of the staircase where I took hold of the banister to keep from falling over.

“Michelle!” My throat was pained and fatigued. “Michelle! You can hear me, I know it! Give me the damned pills or I’ll come up there and rip them out of your ****ing hands!” She didn’t say a word, but I could imagine the look on her face. She was teasing me, holding the pills in her hand, smiling, laughing at how pathetic she thought I was. But I wouldn’t have her standing over me, helpless, holding my eyes open. I didn’t want to see this way any more, no matter what she thought of me. It was my right to live blinded if I wanted to!

And so this is what “rage” feels like. This is that emotion that drives someone to murder. In my heart was murderous intent. In my steps was murderous rage. And in my limbs was the tingling of anger-induced tightness. At that moment, walking up Rische’s stairs, I was Gowlman, I was my father. I climbed the stairs one by one with the full notion of not only taking my pills but also taking her life.

I took a false step and tripped up the stairs. Sweating, panting, and squinting my eyes, I kept moving upward. “Michelle, I swear I will kill you if you don’t give me my pills!” It took so much energy to threaten her and I collapsed on the stairs, halfway to the top, exhausted. I took heavy and frequent breaths.

MRS. RISCHE

Twenty five milligrams of pure falsehood is apparently enough to bring a grown man to the ground, flat on his face, cause him to curse his friend, threaten her life. I held some pills in my hand with disgust. In one respect, I was in pain on the second floor listening to Michael struggle up the stairs and shout obscenities at me. He sounded as if he were dying violently, coughing and gasping, panting and yelling. I wanted nothing more than to reassure him at that point that he could make it through, but I didn’t really know that and it wasn’t safe to approach him.

HACK! The sound of his coughs became more troublesome. Would he be okay? It sounds like he’s spitting up blood. I couldn’t be sure behind this locked door on the second floor. I sat up on the edge of my bed, pills still in hand. I could end it quite easily, but would he remember how I made him suffer? Nothing would come from this but a resentment of me if I did that. That’s quite selfish, though.

“I hate you more than I hate this pain, Michelle!”

I clenched the pills closer to my chest and stood up.

----------------------

I pushed myself up with one arm and grabbed the banister that bordered the stairs. Blood soaked my lips and my raspy cough continued. Fully standing now, I could see her door just at the edge of the stairway. I let go of the banister and ran at the door. I landed on it and grasped the door knob. It wouldn’t turn.

“Michelle, I CAN break this door down!” I slammed my body against the door and I heard her yelp behind it.

MRS. RISCHE

The sounds of him rummaging through my kitchen drawers and stumbling through the living room were the most frightening things I’d ever heard…until I heard him coughing and wheezing, shouting obscenities at me from the bottom of the steps. The most frightening thing I heard now was the culmination of all of these things. His heavy, enraged, determined body slamming against my bedroom door. I held my hand to my mouth and muffled a cry. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I sobbed controllably and quietly.

I softly moved towards the door and placed my hand on it. Was he completely gone? If I were to look into his eyes right now, would there be any remnant of the guy I met at the bar? Was his face all contorted and bloodied beyond recognition? I couldn’t be sure behind this locked door on the second floor.

THUD…THUD…THUD

“Michael, please stop!” I wept. By what techniques do you turn apathy to anger so quickly? Indifference to insanity? Happiness to hatred? And wellness to wanton aggression? His withdrawal from the drug was certainly not to blame for all of this, was it? Some of it had to be me,…didn’t it? It pained me to think this way, but it only made sense. I had wanted so eagerly to find a new person to love, and I had known so well that love was both the joy and the pain. But in no way sufficiently does knowing prepare you for understanding these things first hand. You can know that being hated by someone you have tried to love must be devastating, but you can’t understand just how devastating, frustrating, agonizing, and disheartening it really is until you experience it. You can know about painful things, but you won’t understand the suffering they bring until you come face-to-face with your own tragedy.

THUD…THUD…THUD

With these noises, I began to realize the things I had told Michael.

Why do you love? Is it just to make yourself happy? If so, that’s not love, because love is self-sacrificing and not just self-serving. You don’t know what love is, Michael, because you can’t feel the pain. Your “love” is a charade, it’s a shadow of something bigger than you can understand. Your love has no regret in it, and it has no sorrow. It has no hatred, and it has no indignation. Your love is darkness without light or a seed trying to grow with only sunshine and no rain. And so, on the altar, as a sacrifice to the all-important pursuit of happiness, we’ve placed what we didn’t know was our most valuable possession.

Through more tears, I yelled again. “Michael, stop!” This is the experience I had asked for, treasured even. I, with my cranberry juice and my commitment to appreciating the fullness of life, had brought this upon myself. I knew exactly what I was getting into. But now that I understand what it means to say that love is both hatred and affection, bitterness and sweetness, devotion and deceit, I’m not so sure I want to live like this.

THUD…THUD…THUD

The wooden door began to splinter. I feared for my life, I feared for my love.

I couldn’t take any more of this and I slid him two pills under the door.

“Here! Take them! Please…just stop hating me!”

He must’ve immediately grabbed them and swallowed them because without much time, the assault ended. With one final thud, Michael lost all power to continue and slid down the door, finally landing on the floor with his back to it. His breathing was still quite heavy but he was motionless. I sat down on the floor with my back against the door as well.

“Michael, I love you and I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you like this.” I let my hand rest on the door at the spot where I thought his head might be. I don’t know If he heard me and before I knew it, all was completely still and quiet.

 

[Bay]

Aw, Mrs. Rische is in love, although probably for a while towards Michael! I loved how you protrayed her emotions towards Michael. I assume the detox failed because of her giving him the pills? Also, woah on Michael's further dependence on the pills and interesting how he relates his rage like his father's and Mr.Gowlman.

Sorry to say this, but the only thing that irks me is there is nothing of Pokemon yet (since this is posted in the Pokemon fanfiction section XD ). Don't worry, it's not that big of a deal. I am sure those little creatures will make their grand entrance sooner or later. ^^

Again, great job on the emotions and character development in this chapter. Well, can't wiat for the next one!

 

[Maze]

OH yeah, I meant to mention this in the post. POKEMON ARE COMING. Please be patient with me! They're not an after-though either. They've always been a part of the story, but they just haven't shown up yet.

 

[Sike Saner]

I suspected that Michael was about to undergo a very nasty experience in this detoxification process, and it looks like I was very, very right about that. o.o That was seriously frelling intense--and the way it ended was quite a surprise. Of course, if I were in Michelle's position, I would have probably been scared into giving him the pills, though I think that in her case, guilt or something like it was more the motivation than fear.

Speaking of Michelle, I also liked the part where she recalled her own detoxification, especially due to the way her internal struggle during her withdrawal and her acceptance of the hope and purpose her life could still hold were presented.

Spoiler: Highlights

And at that point, when you’re exposed to the winds, you can either accept your humanity, throw off your yoke and learn when to yield to your emotions OR you can hang your head and trod forward with the yoke on your shoulder forever. The former is empowering, the latter embittering.

Indeed.

And I felt myself at that moment beginning to slip into a depression so deep, and so dark. It was like the accumulated weight that had not been felt over those entire years fell on me at one instant, the greatest impulse of grief.

Yep, that's the kind of thing that can happen when one's proper reactions to things are suppressed and bottled up: they can ultimately all break out and come down on a person at once, and come down hard.

No matter how many pills you take after that moment, you can’t erase the knowledge that even though you’ve been fine with this weight for as long as you can remember, it’s not actually supposed to linger like this. And this isn’t exactly how it’s supposed to be dealt with, by ignoring it.

Exactly. Pretending problems away, with or without chemical assitance, is just not the way to go about it.

BAM. The shot was so loud and deafening, so piercing and all encompassing. I heard it repeatedly.

BAM. BAM. He shot her and himself. I looked on again through my mind’s eye and watched both of them die over and over. The victims’ blood splattered on my face and blurred my vision. I rubbed my eyes, but it wouldn’t come out.

“Ugh!” I cried out in exasperation. The rubbing didn’t work at all, I could feel their blood just beneath my eyelids, sloshing back and forth in my ducts. I opened my eyelids, now peering through a thin red veil.

Wow. o.o I really like the way you portrayed those memories plaguing him there.

“Michelle!” My throat was pained and fatigued. “Michelle! You can hear me, I know it! Give me the damned pills or I’ll come up there and rip them out of your ****ing hands!” She didn’t say a word, but I could imagine the look on her face. She was teasing me, holding the pills in her hand, smiling, laughing at how pathetic she thought I was. But I wouldn’t have her standing over me, helpless, holding my eyes open. I didn’t want to see this way any more, no matter what she thought of me. It was my right to live blinded if I wanted to!

And so this is what “rage” feels like. This is that emotion that drives someone to murder. In my heart was murderous intent. In my steps was murderous rage. And in my limbs was the tingling of anger-induced tightness. At that moment, walking up Rische’s stairs, I was Gowlman, I was my father. I climbed the stairs one by one with the full notion of not only taking my pills but also taking her life.

I took a false step and tripped up the stairs. Sweating, panting, and squinting my eyes, I kept moving upward. “Michelle, I swear I will kill you if you don’t give me my pills!” It took so much energy to threaten her and I collapsed on the stairs, halfway to the top, exhausted. I took heavy and frequent breaths.

Again, his withdrawal made for some intense reading material. o.o

Twenty five milligrams of pure falsehood is apparently enough to bring a grown man to the ground, flat on his face, cause him to curse his friend, threaten her life.

Another one of those quotes that give a great, concentrated sense of just how scary that drug is.

“I hate you more than I hate this pain, Michelle!”

DAMN. o.o After hearing a thing like that, it's no wonder Michelle ended up doing what she did.

 

[Psyblade]

When you’ve carried a weight for so long, you’re likely to have forgotten it’s even there. You don’t know it, but that weight is dictating how high you jump, where you go, how far up you hold your chin. And at some pivotal instant, someone on the outside who cares to let you know does so. She taps you on the shoulder and says “you’ve got to be kidding. You can’t possibly be unaware that you’ve got a yoke over your shoulders.” And that’s when it gets heavier because your attention has shifted to it. No matter how many pills you take after that moment, you can’t erase the knowledge that even though you’ve been fine with this weight for as long as you can remember, it’s not actually supposed to linger like this. And this isn’t exactly how it’s supposed to be dealt with, by ignoring it.

It pains me to quote all this, but I will anyway.
The bulldozing wave of thoughts was so...well-connected, yet brittle. They are well connected by them linking in the end, brittle by them ending abruptubly...wonderful.

My head was pounding as I fell into consciousness abruptly. I opened my eyes to the still glowing bulbs in the kitchen but all I could see was the absence of Dophinimine. I scoured counter-tops, rummaged through pantries, making a mess of the place in the process. With each drug-less cabinet there was a pang in my head.

I need them!! *Gobbels the place up*
Wow, that was scary.

BAM. The shot was so loud and deafening, so piercing and all encompassing. I heard it repeatedly.

BAM. BAM.

Oh, a note: Please don't "Type" sounds like "Bang" or "Boom", they give a kiddy-like feeling...
"I was facing the other cowboy. The wind rippled around us...and bam bam bam, he's dead"

See? Kind of Straw-man-ic, but it gets stupid in time.
"A shot blasted in the fridged air" Gives both a freezing/cold feeling, and a sudden/surprising blast of suspence.

The world is a different place when viewed through the veil of your parents’ blood. I saw myself leaving for the first day of school and I wondered why I even bothered. I got an A on my first spelling test and it seemed pointless with no one to show it to.

I love it when a person branches in his thoughts...most careless and innerving..
Kind of lost too...

All the achievements of a child, the achievements of a young man, the achievements of a lifetime done for whom? I wondered whether or not it was a good thing that I had lived with no purpose, just happiness. Because now I was so overwhelmed with the most complete apathy for all that I had done. I’d’ve never done it had I known how pointless it all was. I see my reflection in the glass and I think, "this man in front of me, wearing his work-shirt and a freshly-cut head of hair has been containing an explosion since he was six and with each chance to let his humanity out, give his parents the honor of mourning, he does the same thing; pops a pill or two of Dophinimine."

...http://www.vgmusic.com/music/consol...-6_hours_to_Doomsday_(The_Last_Day_ReMix).mid

“Michelle!” My throat was pained and fatigued. “Michelle! You can hear me, I know it! Give me the damned pills or I’ll come up there and rip them out of your ****ing hands!” She didn’t say a word, but I could imagine the look on her face. She was teasing me, holding the pills in her hand, smiling, laughing at how pathetic she thought I was. But I wouldn’t have her standing over me, helpless, holding my eyes open. I didn’t want to see this way any more, no matter what she thought of me. It was my right to live blinded if I wanted to!

Crazed thoughts...*Splutters to find an approprite word, then faints*
*Chants* We are all lost, my friend. This is the end of the world...to me.

I have never seen anyone under drugs *Thank God*, but you already put me through that. I've forgot about my gum going under the drain.

And so this is what “rage” feels like. This is that emotion that drives someone to murder. In my heart was murderous intent. In my steps was murderous rage. And in my limbs was the tingling of anger-induced tightness. At that moment, walking up Rische’s stairs, I was Gowlman, I was my father. I climbed the stairs one by one with the full notion of not only taking my pills but also taking her life.

I love you way you use "Violent language"...it's like you hunching over the keyboard and smash every letter in with a sledge hammer...^_^

HACK! The sound of his coughs became more troublesome. Would he be okay? It sounds like he’s spitting up blood. I couldn’t be sure behind this locked door on the second floor. I sat up on the edge of my bed, pills still in hand. I could end it quite easily, but would he remember how I made him suffer? Nothing would come from this but a resentment of me if I did that. That’s quite selfish, though.

Who are the heroes here? ^_^ The main characters are but who is are the villians here other then one's self?
I could see this shining.

“I hate you more than I hate this pain, Michelle!”

Just wanted to quote. ^_^ You made an excellent choice of words...again.

THUD…THUD…THUD

"A blast shook the dusty air"...you get the idea.

“Michael, please stop!” I wept. By what techniques do you turn apathy to anger so quickly? Indifference to insanity? Happiness to hatred? And wellness to wanton aggression? His withdrawal from the drug was certainly not to blame for all of this, was it? Some of it had to be me,…didn’t it? It pained me to think this way, but it only made sense. I had wanted so eagerly to find a new person to love, and I had known so well that love was both the joy and the pain. But in no way sufficiently does knowing prepare you for understanding these things first hand. You can know that being hated by someone you have tried to love must be devastating, but you can’t understand just how devastating, frustrating, agonizing, and disheartening it really is until you experience it. You can know about painful things, but you won’t understand the suffering they bring until you come face-to-face with your own tragedy.

This really raises dust around your main characters...
They are evil to a level, and very good to a level.
So far, they are of the best characters I've ever seen...and I see a lot.
With only a few times to show, you pinch them with the UBER hammer of guilt a million times.

Why do you love? Is it just to make yourself happy? If so, that’s not love, because love is self-sacrificing and not just self-serving. You don’t know what love is, Michael, because you can’t feel the pain. Your “love” is a charade, it’s a shadow of something bigger than you can understand. Your love has no regret in it, and it has no sorrow. It has no hatred, and it has no indignation. Your love is darkness without light or a seed trying to grow with only sunshine and no rain. And so, on the altar, as a sacrifice to the all-important pursuit of happiness, we’ve placed what we didn’t know was our most valuable possession.

"Your love is darkness without light or sorrow."
If this isn't going physical, this is going to be very entertaining to read!

“Michael, I love you and I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you like this.” I let my hand rest on the door at the spot where I thought his head might be. I don’t know If he heard me and before I knew it, all was completely still and quiet.

And the final curtian falls with silence. Kind of surprising to end so abrupt, but we could understand that we become like...crying children awaiting a toy.
I could see Michael forcing those damned pills down his throat right now...