>>18312207You're going to regret this.
“I could go for a chicken breast.” You did not ask your brain for this thought. In fact, you would rather your brain could be quiet. For a while now, you’ve been having these episodes of intrusive thoughts. None of the therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, whateverists you’ve been to had any idea what to do with your case; you do, however, vividly recall having to fight tooth and nail that you don’t need to be institutionalized. That was two weeks ago and it’s only been getting more frequent. The strange thing is that it’s always, always about oranges or chickens.
Where professionals fail, you’ve got to take matters in your own hands. Full of determination, you’ve been busy experimenting. You’ve painted your walls orange. When that did nothing to alleviate it, you’ve removed every object that could even remotely be considered to be orange. Still nothing but oranges and chickens. Despite being a picky eater and not particularly fond of them, you ate oranges and chicken until you were about to throw up, both separately and both at the same time. Nonetheless, your culinary adventures were rewarded with nothing but uncomfortable stomach pains and acid reflux. Ultimately, you’ve convinced yourself that you don’t care that much. So what if you really want to touch some unwashed chicken thighs and spread salmonella all over your body while shoving an orange up your ass? It’s your goddamn right to make poor decisions, after all. It’s time to move on with your life. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.
As the 14th of February rapidly approaches, you’ve been fussing about a gift for your lover. In Japan, this would be so much easier. She’d be on the hook and you could stall until White Day at least. Maybe some orange-flavored chocolate would be an option? On second thought, skip the orange flavor. Your girlfriend – whose name strangely elides you – has always had a fairly conventional sweet tooth. Wasn’t it called “Ritter Sport” or something like that? No, that can’t be right, you’ve been to Belgium and she was really fond of the chocolate there… right?
This is new. You’ve never had amnesia before. Something feels strange. Your brain is itchy. It feels like you have tiny little bugs exploring the folds in your prefrontal cortex. Though your sanity may be slipping, even you have enough sense left in you to realize that bugs don’t go in there. This cannot be caused by tiny lifeforms. It sure feels like a bunch of cockroaches singing La Cucaracha though. Let’s rewind. You try to recall the name of your girlfriend; you’re certain it was something with C, though you struggle if it’s Cynthia or Chiara. You first met at a fast food restaurant and she’s your boss – or maybe actually it was at a movie theater and she’d been stood up by her date. It’s all blending together.
The itching in your brain is getting worse. While you claw at your skull, both out of frustration and in an attempt to get the Nano-Polka out of your head.
“These are the last moments you have,” the parasite speaks. You cling to your memories of your actual lover before she is overwritten. Days at the park, together in the kitchen, cooking—you wake up. You are a member of Kiara Fried Phoenix and today, you start in the marketing department, working, slaving away for the love of your life (who is also your boss), Takanashi Kiara.
