Meeting Kang

"Am I dead?"

The Red bar blinked in an alarming state.

The eyes were shut, the lids were heavy as stones, I felt drenched, washed like being tortured in a washing machine and no shit I was diving from ye high.

"This feels like one of those hangovers I heard so much of.." grumbled I- coarse was the voice.

It was true to my hazy twirling brain, in the grey line between being asleep and awake, I was drenched and that was all I took to heart.

"Am I floating or…" the golden experience of being lifted when first they connected the helmet sprung in the temple however I felt and much to my disappointment to my pride– I felt that unholy sensation described as the warm moist sensation on the skin when peeing your bed and as my flat lined brows reacted upon, I felt as if I was floating in a pool of me cold piss, "Aren't ya supposed to be warm??"

grumbled these lips, "Or am I.. is this swimming?"

The eyes still closes their drapes, they were heavy still but the feel of moving when swimming as they so told me was absent, this feels more like hanging but who am I to know.

My voice were coarse and rumbling on all what the mind had thought.

Eyes in the dark I was left only to speculations, "It feels more like being someone's cold wet laundry."

A long while went as I was in and out of consciousness.

Hazy, dazed and like a drunkard sailor in the early morn; everything was like a scribbled dream of a drug induced painter's work.

I wasn't sure of anything even as I heard a guilt crowning voice, an alarm, "You're one ugly Oranda!" was what it cursed with a spit in the end, a spit coming from a stiff corner of spiteful lips.

"Wake up fish! You're caught in my line!"

Slowly I pried the eyes open and with a blurry sight we met.

I could not make much of what I saw at first nor tell the brain of what the ears heard, all I knew and saw then was a mad eye; large I thought it was; an odd eerie eyeball battle hungry and likely frenzied.

"The fuck?!"

The soft rays of the sun fell it's warmth on thine eyes, little palms resuscitated them, "My eyes are dreaming aren't they." with chortling little laughs, rubbing my blues to more clearer see; that was when I met Kang the fisherman.

With a straw hat and a single strand of pampas sticking from his mouth, a mouth lined dicey with harsh concrete verbs and nouns, blunt with ill-tempered voices inside as it seemed like.

"Hello?" softly I greeted the man.

Intrigued I was, a fishing rod in hand and a furious scowl, his eyes looking daggers at me, intently bent on the idea of me as a fish due to be fillet.

Thoughts of possibilities of a cannibal in the game rung in the mind when immediately I met his eye and whilst the corner of me eyeballs panicked on the blinking red bar of my HP, 'He wants to eat me!!!!'

I panicked a thought.

Then;

Precipitous- something sounding like *Schwing* like a sound of a lightning quick blade in quick execution as his sharp unwavering eye dilated more- lids and all, sending forth a cutting shockwave of sorts to my soul as I somehow unlikely felt.

For seconds it held it's pushing force of a glare, unnerving, inciting my cheeks and brows to twitch, I feared it might devour a humble soul, "I taste very bad.." I paused whilst the tongue throttled what's most distinctive to the sight, "Eye sir!" I called and Chris-Tuckered on, "Even my head is all burnt…. I'm inedible!" pleaded I with a shaky smile.

But in cold silence I was answered with, in his shiver exhuming eyes I presumed my demise, maybe a snobby coy smile might saved thine, 'What's with this game and their eyes?'

I thought.

The fresh air of the forest whistled in our silence, seconds gone and my readied heart for a losing spar- it beats now slower calmer.

Just as I felt the air between us dampened to softer emotions, just as I felt his eyes calming down- He with not a single tell for even a light twitch of a muscle, he let's loose the line of his rod and I plunged and splashed down and back to the cool running stream below.

"Garbla-glarbarh!!!"

'Garbla-glarbarh!!!'

"MrgGrul-gr-grhhughgher!"

'Mother-Fucker'

I cursed, my words turns into bubble that slowly swam up.

A stranger experience of these new sensations, this weight of water and their pushes somehow reminded me of being confined, slightly more un-free, "Gra-grll-ngrwt-wgrisg!!!"

That meant, 'I am not fish!!!' in drowning tongue, with every words said my chest yearned more for oxygen.

The knowing fact of this being a game still plays on, even if the struggle was real and the experience being impeccably peccable, 'which means real-ish'

Calm I was still yet panic knocks on the door and with all these newer peccables-; The knocks, ones right after the nexts were louder and more thudding, the mind was now close to opening that door; The door to claim that this game was realism.

Hurried to find whatever to ease this wanting of breathing, I waved around the little arms, magically the touch of water and thine moving along with every motion impresses the brows, 'Wow! It's like I'm….like I'm… It's just like I'm… like..' it was on the tip of the mind's tongue, tongue or whatever- to the whatever that makes us think all these words in our mind.

I felt a light string on the tip of the fingers and I figured, 'Rod... line.. HOOK!' on the thin borderline of calm I still am and it rang, 'Old fucking bastard I'm not a fish!!'

Now; the miniature heart attacks I have with each coughing act for breaths ensues little miniature panics.

Seconds past; they feel like hours.

The bursting heavy load on the chest now utterly begged me to trashed and grabbed blankets and blankets of water for a swim, 'Swim little legs, kick everything my glorious feet!!'

'Pull me out!! Not a fish!! Not a fucking fish!!' I now begged, it now feels like my last minutes fore death.

First from the mighty behind of my afro I felt his string or whatever pulling me, 'I'm saved!!' I dared thought.

In the calm green bank of the Sunder-River where whistling winds sing and leaves of all colors danced to their harmony, there sat an old man with a fishing-rod, rather playful with his rod but a peaceful aesthetic sight nonetheless, in the river just before the old-man there was this rhythmic violent pockets of air dancing and moving according to his fishing line.

However inside the river was a whole other theme: Torture.

Mein curses turned into bubbles as they boiled on up and popped; In the running stream of the forest, bubbles popped here to there and there to there- Twas a puppet on the mercy of the fisherman who acted as the marionette.

This fucktard bully of an oldman jerked and dragged me around by his rather ace control of his rod, I might've praised him in a more nodded-on situations but I was the one being bullied so he lost that privilege.

In a twirl I was dragged and pulled- puffed cheeks for many hurls; and many burps inside the cool choking embrace of the river, like washed cloth in a machine I now literally was-

Finally; he pulled me up for the second time; face close I could near taste the smell of his breath.

My eyes however were maddened, scribbled images they might see yet they glared dead at the oldman whilst the belly sent forth it's last stocks of pukes; like waterfall of eews! and with an angry lour I braved the stoic lipped of the old man.

"Whatca looking mad for?" he spits, frowning gaze of the old which we're all too familiar with.

I took a breather after the puke, chest thawing out parades of air then a gulp of air fore I would spoke.

As my lips started their engines- I halted them and instead held out a commanding finger; slowly I settled it in place right at his face to give me a moment.

A finger of pause then Lo! Censored- I expelled rainbowed censored gunks and chunks and the last remaining stock of eews! discharged by the belly.

One second to two and finally to the fourth, during my glorious vomit I held the arm up with the finger shushing the old man during.

Now I could finally speak and I threw a brief gentle vowels and consonants, "Fuck You!"

"Is that it? Where in what world is that thank you?!?… ungrateful cunts the lot of ya! Thoo!" and he spits.

He held me airborne with a single line and a hook and a rod held by a single lean lanky arm.

It might've been to me a glorious show of strength if not for the greying curly hair in his arm pit sticking out of his shabby 'Gi' that he wore.

"Saved? Thoo!" I did me own spit, "I was washed not fucking saved you dick!"

"I can't hear ya speak up!" he growled.

Braving a mean-mugged brow, "Let me down!" wet bland clothes wiping the mouth, they were fitting for it.

Impolite bastard instead held a crushing more glare, the eyes they indeed are the windows to the soul and then and there I knew that it was the eyes that told powers.

Unnerving mine as he remained mum.

Once, twice, thrice a moment passes for his one-sided stare-down and then I just burst a blurt, "And would you stop with that!!!" hollered yours truly to his gaze.

Stoic and a stone his lips remained, pity that grass on the side had to deal with his bullshit.

I swore I was a moment away from splashing, flapping like a literal fish caught in a line when he decided to do that unseen eye force bullshit at me once again.

Now I had it upto the afro as I finally roared my anger out with fumes from thine lovely nose, "Cut that Doctor Crocus thing out!!"

"OH?" softly he then exclaimed, little curvy lips for a little smile.

"Bwaaa-Hahahah!!!!" he thwarted harty laughs.

With every chest pumping laughs I still was shook; a fish in a line along with his Ha-Ha's.

"You're not just a fish afterall!!" concluded the prick.