The Everyday Problems of a Drug Mule

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young entrepreneur suffers an unfortunate setback while making a routine delivery.

Submitted: February 23, 2014

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Submitted: February 23, 2014

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The line through security stretched almost beyond sight. The dull roar of airplanes had a calming effect on passengers standing in line; reminding them that if a plane was leaving, then theirs likely would too; nothing being more unsettling than an airport with no departures. Except, of course, the existential enema that is arriving at your gate to find only your plane delayed.

Weary travelers sat sleeping on the floor as others walked by, carrying both heavy bags and visages of frustration. Food courts were packed with those who could no longer wait to eat and would allow themselves to be defiled by airport fare. Their body language betraying a disappointment with themselves that words could never convey.

Employees of the various companies operating inside the hub were unnaturally pleasant with each other only to have every last drop of humanity drain from them as soon as a customer approached. Perhaps they were jealous of all those who were off to their wedding or vacation or new life while they were stuck. More than likely though, airline employees are just terrible, awful people.

Kyle waited patiently, taking a half step every few minutes, as the huddled masses shuffled through the lone body scanner at the security checkpoint. It was if all of Mecca converged on a single two foot wide cylinder.

As his turn neared, he opened his jacket to ensure his ticket and ID hadn't been misplaced during his slow march. The line had moved but before he could take his small step, the individual behind him, distracted, slammed his hard case bag into Kyle.

With the impact, he felt the latex condom, carefully concealed in his rectum, tear. Containing several grams of hallucinogenic narcotics, the contents quickly were absorbed into his blood stream, by-passing the normal filtering agents of the liver and kidneys. His pulse quickened and then slowed and slowed and slowed. The world around him changed, becoming absorbed into his mind and then regurgitated.

His only chance to avoid detection, a lengthy prison sentence and, most likely of all, a drug fueled coma, was to find a bathroom stall and attempt to pass everything that had been inserted into his body. Short of that, he would have to focus every molecule in his body into a singular thought: don't freak out.

He could feel the contents of his stomach start to move, which he considered a good thing. Maybe the drugs had moved into his gut by some kind of ghastly wicking process in which the contents of his lower intestine reversed course. The implications of this thought, although disgusting, were a better alternative than what was likely happening. Then Kyle's sphincter went numb, as well as most of his groin and stomach area. His organs felt like they were switching places.

His legs became heavy, even melty, as if fusing with the ground. His fellow travelers changed; some into flowers, others into dogs, sandwiches, marbles, hands, penises. The iterations were endless. He could see the outside of his own eyelids and with each blink some new fantastic creature would form itself from his surroundings. Despite his best effort, he marveled at the new forms that grew around him.

What use to be outlets in the wall were now chattering teeth which occasionally screamed obscenities so absurd and offensive they were no doubt crafted in whatever nightmarish hell scape man dips into when committing genocide.

Hearing these twisted adages made Kyle physically ill. However, when he vomited, a rainbow of fedoras poured out of mouth.

Gathering himself, he stepped around the testicles playing hopscotch and tried moving. Focusing on the space in front of him, Kyle took a step, careful to avoid the lava which filled the area. Although in what little was left of his consciousness he knew the boiling rock spread out before him couldn't exist, he could feel the heat and watched as trashcans overflowing with fondue cheese slowly disintegrate into the floor. A slow panic set in as he tried navigating the wavy floor. His feet worked in the same way two male participants do in a threesome: sweaty, redundant and out of place.

He considered giving up and letting the ground have him, but in the distance a giant, waving balloon man beckoned him. Accepting this as the cosmos urging him on, Kyle attempted another step, but his feet failed him. Sinking to his knees, he lost all hope. The cornucopia of insanity that danced around him had won. Then, with the sounds of trumpets, the ceiling rolled like a window shade to show a benevolent cat god-king that smiled on Kyle. With his mighty kitty paw, he lifted Kyle up by his shirt and carried him across the magma pool. After depositing him on the other side, the feline deity patted Kyle on the head and retreated back through the ceiling which unrolled to its original place.

Having traversed the volcano erupting in the middle of the airport, Kyle ignored the rocks that were laughing at him and followed neon signs, some three or four stories tall, advertising live, nude socks. Intrigued by these adverts, he opened the door to one of the XXX establishments and witnessed exactly what was described: man-sized tube socks dancing naked. He closed the door, unsure of what he expected to see.

At this point in his trip, Kyle was incredibly thirsty and as he realized the full extent of his desire, a fountain was conjured before him. The liquid that poured out of a human breast was yellow and off putting. He walked up to the edge of the fount and breathed deeply to fully understand the smell of what was pooled in the base. Surprised that it had the odor of a lemon lime soft drink, he foolishly put some in his mouth. Despite its sweet odor, the taste was unimaginably unpleasant; somewhere between crude oil and rotten placenta. Kyle kept drinking though, his thirst driving him. He stopped at the point he could feel the multicolored hats swirling inside him. As he took a step back, the fountain spouted legs, lifted itself from floor and sprinted out of sight.

Kyle spent the next several hours struggling with what to do next. Up till this point, he had been following a path, if only in his mind, which now seemed to have disappeared, or not existed at all, he couldn't be sure. The balloon man was also lost; no longer beckoning him from the horizon. All that was perceived now was a shimmering, effervescent light that bounced through his skull as it passed through him in waves.

His thirst continued to gnaw at his throat. Afraid to acknowledge it out of fear that something was actually there, crawling around inside his neck, he made a conscious attempt not to swallow the spit pooling in his mouth.

His thirst mixed with a heavy sleep that pulled on Kyle's eyelids like a man drowning. This, combined with his loss of a direction, created a sense of dread that permeated his entire existence. Kyle sat down and began to cry.

It was at this moment, that the balloon man reappeared in all of his dancing glory.

Kyle wiped the oranges that fell from his eyes in place of tears and stood, his legs feeling sturdier than in any other time in his life. At first, he ran, as fast as he could toward to the balloon man. As he approached, however, he could clearly see what the balloon man was pointing at. The dread started to resurface in Kyle's gut and his legs slowed considerably, no longer having a solid structure.

Just over the next hill, in an ocean of wild flowers, stood a towering, gold sarcophagus. He looked back at the balloon man and noticed that his smile was not so much a happy grin as a psychotic fit. His eyes revealed a hint of pain, as if it hurt to widen his lips in such a contorted leer.

As Kyle reached the giant tomb, he took one more look back at the balloon man. He continued to dance, fluttering on the wind, intermittently pointing to the tomb. Although now, his dancing appeared to be more of what a person would do if they lit themselves on fire with gasoline.

Kyle stood in front of the sarcophagus, waiting for something to happen. He looked for a door or bell to ring, but only found increasingly disturbing images carved into the rock. It seemed that every time he felt repulsion at the image, it would shift into something even more disgusting.

The first relief he noticed was a pig sodomizing a watermelon, which wouldn't have been too bad, if the fruit hadn't displayed a genuine look of terror on its anthropomorphized face. This quickly dissolved into a new carving. This time, the watermelon was holding a gun to the wife of the pig that had previously raped it. He appeared to be forcing the wife to eat her piglets in front of the husband pig. The children's corpses littered around the scene. Once the horror of what he was being shown registered in Kyle's mind, the stone changed again. This time the wife pig had disemboweled herself in an attempt to remove her children from her gut. The watermelon lay smashed on the floor and the husband pig sat on a chair, his head exploded against the wall with the watermelon's pistol next to his lifeless hand.

With a sudden rush of cold air, the lid opened. Skeletal arms reached out and took hold of Kyle. He attempted to struggle, but was overcome with fear and exhaustion and the constant taste of purple in his mouth. They wrapped him tightly and pulled him into the darkness. A single tear rolled down his cheek as the lid closed and the last remaining glittery, transcendent, effervescent shimmer was extinguished.

Kyle could feel light against his heavy eyes. He forced them open and immediately coughed a few mouthfuls of vomit onto the ground. It took a moment, but his equilibrium returned and his brain perceived he was lying on the floor. His first thought was that he was lying on the bottom of his own coffin. However, his brain refused this thought as it would not explain the light pressing into his head. He assumed the fuzzy shapes clamoring around him were more apparitions caused by the drugs in his system. But as his mind cleared, he could distinguish the crackle of radios and the shouts of paramedics. He focused on his name, which was being repeated over and over and over. He rolled his head over to see an emergency defibrillator being repacked as concerned bystanders snapped pictures with their phones.

"Son, can you hear me? You crashed there pretty hard, we had to restart your heart, twice. We, also, uhh, we also had to perform an emergency evacuation of your bowels," an EMT said. He was wearing a blue shirt with blue pants and the insignia of a local hospital stitched over his breast. His greying hair made him look much older than the wrinkles in his face would have conveyed.

"What? What happened?" Kyle said groggily. He tried to sit up, but there was a tremendous pressure in his stomach and chest. The EMT put a hand on his shoulder which thoroughly prevented him Kyle from moving.

With this slight movement, police officers reached for their sidearms, ready to draw if he made any sudden movements. The EMT looked back over his shoulders and waived the officers off.

"He ain't going anywhere," the EMT said. Looking back at his patient, "You had an accident. You are going to be OK, for now," the EMT said, looking back at the officers.

Kyle raised his head to find his pants around his ankles, the stench of human waste wafting through the air. He suddenly realized what emergency evacuation meant. He also noticed the radios were being used to arrange his arrest.

That was when Kyle began to question his occupation. Perhaps he had made poor decisions in his life. Perhaps he should have stayed in school. He contemplated the warnings, exhortations and pleadings his family, friends and mentors had pressed upon him in his youth. He questioned the purpose of his existence and whether there was a god.

However, what was clearest in his mind, what single lesson stood out among everything that flowed through his brain as he lay naked, covered in filth, preparing to be incarcerated, was that it is always worth paying more for the name brand condoms.


© Copyright 2020 JohnTFisherman. All rights reserved.

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