Ichi; one.

He wishes he knew what the world is about and what his part in it is.

He doesn't know how he would behave if he ever were to be released from the absinthe. He doesn't know how he would behave anyway; it is something he has noticed before. He has no control over his emotions sometimes. Sometimes, when a thought bothers him or when he is feeling cross, his thoughts scatter, he can't finish them, some mad passion comes over him and takes him over. He never knows what will happen then.

He might start screaming

[can't hear someone floating in absinthe]

He might start crying

[can't see someone drowning in absinthe]

He might lash out to break the glass

[can't see someone struggling, corked into absinthe]

Sometimes he wishes the glass would break. Othertimes, he fears he will suffocate if exposed to the openness in the room that the people in white laboratory coats are always exposed to. He doesn't want the absinthe to flow away, and leave him naked in a broken bottle.

But sometimes, sometimes he hates how everyone can see him, because he is naked, and floating. Then he tries to break the glass. It doesn't ever work, not when somebody on the inside pounds on thick glass bottle walls.

Eyes close.


He watches in fascination as a long metal needle comes nearer, driving its path effortlessly through the absinthe. The way the needle glints, it reminds him of something else. He tries to remember but can't. Only that the other thing was long and slender and beautiful, and glinted more than the needle now in his heart.

He finds it the strangest sensation in the world, to have a thin piece of metal half inside you, in the body parts known only to your unconscious, or to a surgeon. The other half juts out, like a blind worm foetus finding its way slowly but purposefully out of its host.

The needle adds something to him, he can feel it. At first it terrorises the softer interior of his veins. He jerks rythmically and hates it. Then, it turns to ecstasy, to a drug. It tingles, glitters in his flesh, grafts itself into his bones.

It coats him in sugar and curry, and stars on a midsummernight's dream. He feels undaunted, ready to dance and swirl and leap and surprise and plunge and run and fight.


Yes, this newgranted power, this feeling he recognizes somehow, it has borne him a Purpose.


a/n; disturbing? Confusing? Good, it's supposed to be. And for the weaker at heart.. *grins evilly* enjoy =] ahah.. no. I plan on putting in some rather disturbing metaphor lateron. Bear with me.