Alcohol swabs. The rum had the distinct taste of alcohol swabs. Perhaps it was exaggerated. In contrast to the last of the whisky he had mere moments before.
He took another sip. With his palette cleared of the whisky he thought the rum might taste less of alcohol swabs. He was wrong. He took a third sip to be sure.
His tongue felt like a nurse had grabbed it, ripped open that white envelope with her mouth and quickly rubbed the alcohol swab across it. He took another sip. He was ready for the injection. Pure rum. Inject directly into the blood stream. Alcohol coursing through his veins on its way to his brain. Hoping it would reset his mind and rid him of this weight.
Instead, it had no effect.
“Carrying the weight of the world”. Who would say that? Who could do that? If you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, what would you stand on? The world? Surely not. If you did, the world itself would be twice the weight of the world. An infinite loop. Whoever conjured up that phrase must have been on something.
An injection of pure rum perhaps?
But his emotions where truly weighing on his mind. Only he had nothing to stand on. He felt like he was sinking. But into what? You can’t sink into space.
The rum was slightly hot now. A pool of condensation had formed at the bottom of the bottle. “Gotta keep the mouse away from that”, he thought out loud as he clicked the ‘next’ arrow on a MILF porn slide show he had running on the screen. He took another sip of the alcohol swab. At room temperature it tasted less like alcohol swab and more like the swelling welt where the nurse had pushed in the needle. Slightly salty, distinctly unlike alcohol swab.
This he imagined. He had never actually licked the welt left by a needle.
He poured another from the bottle. The bottle was still cold. The little puddle of condensation slowly creeping towards his mouse. An optical mouse. The red eye flick-flickering on the table, looking for traction. Trying to get a grip on direction. Trying to establish which way is forward and which is back. Succeeding. Most of the time. Unlike him.
He was an optical mouse and he hit a black spot. He lost traction. He was disoriented. He couldn’t quite focus on the icon. Jumped around just too much for the double-click.
Maybe another thimble of alcohol swab would cure that. Make it sway, rather than shake.
He tried diluting the weight of the world with alcohol swabs.
The world, diluted in alcohol swabs, floated before him for a while. Then separated. Piece by piece.