Chemical Gardens by Gina Ranalli

Author:Gina Ranalli [Ranalli, Gina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Bloo Skize Books
Published: 2011-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

23

The words I hear make no sense and fade in and out as if someone is twisting a radio dial.

“…alive…”

“…possessed…”

“…fucking guitar.”

Sentence fragments tease my ears, fluttering nearby like curious moths, before darting away into the dark…

24

“Ro!”

My head rocks back and forth as if it rests on a swivel neck and I’m instantly aware that I’m going to throw up. I gag and someone pushes me over onto my side and I puke up bile and brains, dimly aware of people towering over me while someone—presumably Pawn—kneels beside me. Between heaves, I hear a yap yap yap sound and wonder who brought the dog.

“Who brought the dog?” I croak hoarsely.

I hear Dose snort but Pawn hushes him before he can say anything.

“You were electrocuted,” she tells me, touching my shoulder.

I nod, though I really have no idea what she’s talking about. “Electro…what?”

She helps me sit up and asks how I’m feeling. “Not good,” I say, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my forehead against my knees. Everything feels slippery and I realized my entire body is coated with brain jelly. Gross. My stomach wants to continue vomiting but I fight the urge, certain that any more puking will bring up my entire stomach and kill me.

“You were electrocuted,” she repeats as if she’s talking to a severely retarded child.

“I heard you. By what?”

“My best guess is a nerve ending in the brain. They conduct electricity—”

Another round of yapping interrupts her and makes me want to cry. It’s so loud. “What is that?”

“It’s your fucking guitar,” Dose says impatiently.

I frown inside the dark cave of my arms. My stomach is starting to feel more settled but my head still feels as though it was clobbered with a bat. “Very funny,” I say. “You never hear me criticize your bass playing, Dose, so you really should just be quiet.”

From somewhere over my shoulder, Whey says, “No, Ro, it really is your guitar.”

Raising my head, I grimace at Pawn’s brain-gooed face. She gives me a confirming nod and a little shrug. It’s then that I realize I no longer have the weight of Nemesister on my back and for one panicked moment, think that I’ve lost her in the brain somewhere.

I leap to my feet, oblivious of my surroundings, searching for my precious Sweet Tooth. When I finally spot it, it’s peeking out at me from behind a tree.

“Yippee!” It squeals, disappearing out of sight.

I rub my eyes. “That brain fried my brain.”

“No,” Pawn says. “Your guitar is really alive.”

“This is the most messed up thing yet,” Whey adds, nodding vigorously. “Well, beside Dose being fumes.”

Not ready to fully grasp what my band mates are telling me, I look around, trying to ignore the yipping sound coming from the other side of a tree twenty feet away.

We’re standing in a flat gray field scattered with scrawny trees, the stream of sewer sludge chugging sluggishly to our right. Behind us, the huge brain floats in the air, two ragged, man-sized holes punched violently through its side.

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