Max's Journey to Be Cleared for Evolution (at Evolution)
Jun 21, 2021 20:12:37 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Downfall, and 1 more like this
Post by Max f'n Daemon on Jun 21, 2021 20:12:37 GMT -5
The EMT uses his flashlight pen to look at Max’s dilated eyes. They also use it to look at Max’s sweaty, pale palms. And while they’re at it, they take a gander at Max’s chalky white tongue.
The doc turns the flashlight off.
The two match eyes.
The doc sighs.
“Max…I really shouldn’t clear you tonight,” they say.
“But ya’ are,” Max says.
“Am I?” the doc asks.
Max raises his right eyebrow. The doc matches it.
“You haven’t slept for what looks like a day…”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max blankly stares at the television, watching Mufasa fall to his death for the eighth straight time. Rebecca approaches a nearby window, slamming open the blinds.
Max hisses at the lights and falls behind the couch for protection.
“Holy shit Max it’s almost two in the afternoon!” she yells.
“Dad! We gotta go home!” Max shouts back.
“What?” Rebecca asks.
“Help! Somebody!”
“Max what the fuck are you on about?”
“Anybody…help…” he tapers off.
Rebecca turns towards the movie. She growls before taking out one of her Berettas.
The TV is a necessary casualty of the proceeding gunshot.
“There were wildebeests and he tried to save me…”
Rebecca sighs before raising her Beretta up, holding the barrel in front of her.
“Sorry bro…” she mutters.
“Run away, Simba!” Max shouts leaping up onto the couch.
“I don’t think so!” Rebecca yells.
She goes for the shot, but Max hops over her.
“Run away and never return!”
He jumps through the unopened window. He lands into a bush outside, now covered in glass, and stumbles around and running down the street.
Rebecca watches him as he runs away. She reaches into her shorts pocket before dialing a number.
After a ring, it is answered.
“Hey Dad…Max is losin his fuckin mind,” she says.
There’s a brief pause.
“Yeah, get the water. Thanks.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max’s left eyebrow twitches.
“You’ve obviously been taking some combination of drugs and alcohol,” the doc continues.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max rolls up to the front of the Wal Mart checkout with a cart full of whatever they had for Nyquil, Miller, Coors, Budweiser, Ibuprofen, and Nyquil.
Max and the cashier—an older gentleman—both stare at each other for a bit.
They lock eyes with neither proceeding.
With a look of realization, Max reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his wallet. He then shows his ID to the cashier who just remains standing there.
Silently.
Judgmentally.
Max tosses the ID at the cashier’s face.
No reaction.
“Clever girl…” Max mutters.
“Son…I am not going to allow you to purchase all of that,” the cashier says.
“Yeah, fuck ya’ too man. Wanna do this with the hand scanner or the flat one in front of ya’?” Max asks.
“Neither. It’s 3 in the morning and you’re buying whatever you could find that might be able to make you lose consciousness. The way I see it, you’re trying to forget something,” the cashier says.
Max groans and starts to massage his nose.
“A girl, probably. She broke up with you and now you’re trying to cope with whatever gets you a buzz or makes you lose your mind. She must’ve meant a lot to you,” the cashier says.
He picks up Max’s ID before setting it on the check stand. He looks down at the cart full of narcotics and liquor.
“Meant…a hell of a lot to you,” he adds.
“Yeah. She did. Now about the scanner…” Max mutters.
“I have the right to refuse service to anyone, son. And unfortunately for you, you have been randomly selected for this refusal of service.”
Max growls before tipping over the cart. When it lands on his foot, he shrieks and stumbles a bit backwards.
He puts his ID away and limps out of the store grumbling to himself.
The doc turns the flashlight off.
The two match eyes.
The doc sighs.
“Max…I really shouldn’t clear you tonight,” they say.
“But ya’ are,” Max says.
“Am I?” the doc asks.
Max raises his right eyebrow. The doc matches it.
“You haven’t slept for what looks like a day…”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max blankly stares at the television, watching Mufasa fall to his death for the eighth straight time. Rebecca approaches a nearby window, slamming open the blinds.
Max hisses at the lights and falls behind the couch for protection.
“Holy shit Max it’s almost two in the afternoon!” she yells.
“Dad! We gotta go home!” Max shouts back.
“What?” Rebecca asks.
“Help! Somebody!”
“Max what the fuck are you on about?”
“Anybody…help…” he tapers off.
Rebecca turns towards the movie. She growls before taking out one of her Berettas.
The TV is a necessary casualty of the proceeding gunshot.
“There were wildebeests and he tried to save me…”
Rebecca sighs before raising her Beretta up, holding the barrel in front of her.
“Sorry bro…” she mutters.
“Run away, Simba!” Max shouts leaping up onto the couch.
“I don’t think so!” Rebecca yells.
She goes for the shot, but Max hops over her.
“Run away and never return!”
He jumps through the unopened window. He lands into a bush outside, now covered in glass, and stumbles around and running down the street.
Rebecca watches him as he runs away. She reaches into her shorts pocket before dialing a number.
After a ring, it is answered.
“Hey Dad…Max is losin his fuckin mind,” she says.
There’s a brief pause.
“Yeah, get the water. Thanks.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max’s left eyebrow twitches.
“You’ve obviously been taking some combination of drugs and alcohol,” the doc continues.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Max rolls up to the front of the Wal Mart checkout with a cart full of whatever they had for Nyquil, Miller, Coors, Budweiser, Ibuprofen, and Nyquil.
Max and the cashier—an older gentleman—both stare at each other for a bit.
They lock eyes with neither proceeding.
With a look of realization, Max reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his wallet. He then shows his ID to the cashier who just remains standing there.
Silently.
Judgmentally.
Max tosses the ID at the cashier’s face.
No reaction.
“Clever girl…” Max mutters.
“Son…I am not going to allow you to purchase all of that,” the cashier says.
“Yeah, fuck ya’ too man. Wanna do this with the hand scanner or the flat one in front of ya’?” Max asks.
“Neither. It’s 3 in the morning and you’re buying whatever you could find that might be able to make you lose consciousness. The way I see it, you’re trying to forget something,” the cashier says.
Max groans and starts to massage his nose.
“A girl, probably. She broke up with you and now you’re trying to cope with whatever gets you a buzz or makes you lose your mind. She must’ve meant a lot to you,” the cashier says.
He picks up Max’s ID before setting it on the check stand. He looks down at the cart full of narcotics and liquor.
“Meant…a hell of a lot to you,” he adds.
“Yeah. She did. Now about the scanner…” Max mutters.
“I have the right to refuse service to anyone, son. And unfortunately for you, you have been randomly selected for this refusal of service.”
Max growls before tipping over the cart. When it lands on his foot, he shrieks and stumbles a bit backwards.
He puts his ID away and limps out of the store grumbling to himself.