Right, it's almost 1am and I'm bored out of my mind. So I thought I would post a load of nonsense. I am fully aware that this will not make sense, but I just started writing about the first things that came to mind.
Oh dear, the floor has gone. And yet there's no sensation of falling. Instead I'm floating, bobbing happily along in zero gravity. Like space. Only with oxygen. (How else would I breathe, silly?) I can see each individual particle of oxygen. They don't look like they teach you in school, they aren't in pairs. They float around in space on their own, occasionally brushing against other lonesome particles, but they don't bond. They're a happy blue. Oooh, but there's a shiny particle over there. Now what is this one called? For the life of me I can't remember. Oh hello, it's winking suggestively at me. I try to swim through the oxygen particles to get to the...whatever it's called. I've almost reached it and my hand is outstretched when gravity decides to kick me up the arse. And I fall. Oh yeah, I do know what it's called. Now I remember. Whilst I greet the floor with a faceplant. Groaning, I pick myself and realise I've made a me-shaped dent in the floor. Giggling at the funny shape, I sit down at the bar and order a bottle of purple absinthe. Now I ask you, is a drink too much to ask for? I mean, god knows I need it after making that goddamn dent in that bloody hard floor. But no, the puppet bartender decides he wants to play tug-of-war with the absinthe. I do not believe it. I'm tired, achy, and here I am fighting for a drink with a bloody puppet! Eventually, after a lot of swearing and tug-of-warring, I win my bottle. It was rather satisfying watching that good-for-nothing puppet go flying. "And don't think I'm paying for either, puppet!" I call out, laughing. Oh, wow. All that absinthe gone already? There's only half left! Hmm...is it half empty or half full? Stupid question really, it's both and it's neither of course! A better question is: why the fuck am I still sober?! I've drank half the sodding bottle. It's probably because it's purple. Should have got the black stuff, much more potent. Although, the purple does look rather pretty. Damn companies: tricking us into buying weaker alcohol by making it look prettier. I may as well just look at it. I mean I'm not getting any drunker here. So I hold it up to the light and marvel at how the swirling liquid captures the light and keeps it, how it changes colour. Purple to green to yellow to blue to red and orange and it stays a fiery, hot, orang. Wow, it's not just fiery anymore, it is fire. I have fire in a bottle. I look closer at the blazing, twisting flames. I touch the base of the bottle and it's pleasantly warm. I smile and hug it to my chest. I feel my heart stir and start beating. Funny, I forgot it was even there. The beating feels so odd that I can only sit there, bottle to heart, mouth and eyes wide open like a moron while I try to decide if I like it or not. My entire body is drumming, thumping, pulsing. OW! Fuck sake! Out of nowhere this tiny shoe hits me in the back of the head. I almost dropped my bottle. So I turn around, ready to swear at the cheeky bastard. It's that goddamn puppet again! I pick up the shoe and chase after it, a torrent of hair curling obscenities falling from my mouth and turning into angry bees that join the chase. Lucky that thing has such short spindly legs because me and my bees catch up pretty quickly. I tackle him to the floor. But my bottle goes flying and smashes on the concrete floor. I don't hear the puppet's protests because my heart stops and the silence deafens me. But the fire doesn't go out, instead it turns black and flares out from the broken bottle. I look around me and the room has shrunk and I am alone with the angry black fire reaching for me. My heart starts hammering again and I'm beating at the walls, trying to break them apart. Fear tastes like blood in my mouth and I try to spit the blood on the fire to out it out, but that only makes it worse. Now it fills the tiny room and looms over me like a panther, snarling and feral. Just as it pounces on me, I close my eyes and hold my hands out in a feeble defense. But instead of feeling searing heat, a cool wave of water drenches me. | 
