
 '##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
  ##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
  ##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #314 !!
  #########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS!  !!
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  ##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "A Cheery Medium Pace"                   !!
  ##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> LilNilHil                          !!
 ..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/6/98                                  !!
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        Looking out the window of the bus.. she couldn't figure out if
 people were real or not.  The ones you see in movies.. who stare at
 walls.. make pretty faces.. then kiss.  She never seemed to encounter
 any of that.  She was the only one looking at anything on this bus..
 there was the token old people of course.. those who had moved to
 Florida to die, spending their checks as they came and honestly giving
 a damn about the condition of the ten feet of grass they rent that hugs
 the perimeter of their townhouse.  Then there was the bum in the back,
 blatantly drunk, trained so that if you even come near him he has to
 slip into panhandle mode.. he's never pissed off.. happy.. grateful..
 regretful or sober.  Just hopefully sad.  And then there was her,
 pictureless.. blank.  She was 16.. and a long way from figuring herself
 out.

        The bus pulled up to her stop, she thanked the driver and hopped
 out.  It was the Citibank building.  The tallest man-made structure
 within 500 miles, with the best little coffee shop in the universe.  The
 place was called Insomnia and.. true to it's name.. it was open a full
 24 hours a day, 365 consecutive days a year.  She didn't come here for
 coffee though.. didn't even like the horrible scummy muck.  She came
 because Insomnia was modeled like an airport lounge, the most sterile
 place beyond a hospital that a kid could sit and be left alone.  The
 kind of place you picture as the perfect establishment to drop acid in.
 She got her seat, ordered something at random from the menu and took the
 things out of her back-pack:

        One purse, containing a small makeup-kit and $23.45.
        One notebook and ball-point pen.
        A cd-player, with headphones.
        Three bottles of pills.

        "The pills.. it always comes back to the pills."  She thought.
 She slowly opened up the larger orange bottle and measured out two units
 of Depakote.  A mood stabilizer.  The other pills (in case you're
 wondering) were Rimeron, an anti-depressant, and Doxepin, which is a
 sleeping pill.  There were a few onlookers as she popped the first two
 back.  But they didn't really care, and neither did she.  But she began
 to wonder if anyone did.  "Why" she thought.. was it normal for her to
 be taking pills.. to be in and out of rehabilitation centers.. to have
 to work immediately after school, not to work for what other kids her
 age called "spending money", but to help her mom pay the bills.  Why was
 she being medically treated for something that was clearly a domestic,
 situational problem.

        She asked her doctor this once, who told her that "..sometimes..
 depression, either manic, or atypical, can be triggered by said social
 situations.. and medicine, along with therapy, is needed to get the
 patient back to where they're from.  Take war veterans-for example..
 world war one and two vet's came back as heroes.. but vietnam vets came
 back as near criminals!  Many became depressed..sought out drugs to fill
 the emptiness that was never filled when they got home."

        At the time.. she had then asked him; "What the fuck are you
 talking about?"  But now she simply pictured the bum.  Said to herself;
 'The bum has his medicine.. and i seem to have mine.'

        The thought that it was a cruel way of dealing with things
 seemed doomed to the obscurity in the back of her mind.  This evil
 little thought that said maybe all these years she's had a right to be
 sad, that maybe it didn't mean you were sick if you just wanted to be
 left alone all the time, and that maybe to take a pill, to shun your
 own rebellion, to work like a horse for something everyone else takes
 for granted.. was really fucked up.

        She finished her coffee and exited the shop.. she headed down the
 hallway.  The bottom of the building was a plaza with about thirty
 little stores, mainly tourism shops, but there was a music store.  Which
 she entered.

        Browsing along and mixing in with the scattered costumers she
 stumbled upon a sign that said Soundgarden..she picked up their latest
 album, she had heard it wasn't bad, so she bought it.

        Outside the shop she tore the wrapper off and donned her
 head-phones.  Now she was armed, now she had a shield, something to
 battle this nothingness magnified by caffiene.  Now she had music.  And
 it was around this time that something caught her eye, a sign, down the
 hall.  It said stairs. Opening the door and pressing play, she skipped
 forward to a song that she thought suited her well.

        "..I woke the same as any other day except..a voice was in my
 head.." she labored over the first few flights at a cheery medium pace.
 Then began to slow down.

        "..It said to sieze the day, pull the trigger, drop the blade,
 and watch the rolling heads.."

        then..gradually it grew harder to get up those steps.. maybe..
 those pills.. taking their little toll on her tummy?

        "..the day i tried to live, i stole a thousand beggar's change
 and gave it to the rich.."

        it wore her down though.. it was impossible.. she looked up with
 her eyebrows in the "help" position.

        "..the day i tried to win, i dangled from the power lines and
 let the martyrs stretch.."

        walking on her hands and knee's now.. why in the name of god had
 she decided to hike this building?

        "..words you say never seem to live up to the ones inside your
 head.."

        she was gonna get there though..god dammit..she'd reach the top.

        "..the lives we make never seem to get us anywhere but dead.."

        she threw open the door to the roof.

        "..i woke the same as any other day, you know i should have
 stayed in bed.."

        she stepped outside, walked to the edge of the building, and
 turned the music up.

        "..the day i tried to live, i wallowed in the blood and mud with
 all the other pigs.."

        she saw all the little ants crawling at her feet, and then
 refocused to the people on the street.

        "..and i learned that i was a liar.."

        and she looked into the sun..

        "..and i learned that i was a liar.."

        seeing only herself..

        "..and i learned that i was a liar.."

        and it delivered her from pain.

        "..just like you."

        her name was sarah.

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 !! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!   #314 - WRITTEN BY: LILNILHIL - 12/6/98 !!
