Post by RAM on Jul 30, 2024 2:14:54 GMT
HANDLER'S WARNING
The following roleplay contains a scene of attempted suicide and drug use. It is designed to feature thematic elements that might be sensitive to some readers.
Reader discretion is advised.
The following roleplay contains a scene of attempted suicide and drug use. It is designed to feature thematic elements that might be sensitive to some readers.
Reader discretion is advised.
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At a Tokyo hotel, in the present day, just after 1:00 AM local time...
R.A. Marshall stood up inside his room, having trouble sleeping on a seemingly random night in the Shinjuku ward. On the road, he's have nightmares about his past and would wake up in agony, almost as if his mind was screaming. To help dull the pain, he popped a couple of legal prescription painkillers into his mouth and took a swig from a bottle of Vitamin Water he had nearby.
He had been taking said drug since his match with James Gilmore, but nobody would have even guessed that because RAM often kept those details of his life to himself. However, what was supposed to be a temporary solution to combat any physical effects had soon become an addiction. It was creating a powerful side effect that often brought out the worst thoughts that coursed through his head -- much of that due to an ingredient commonly linked to most opiods including fentanyl.
It wasn't enough to straight up kill him.
It was enough, however, to cause RAM to enter into an extremely hallucinatory state.
He didn't want anyone to know he was bullshitting with Tommy Figgins about a UFC deal. He didn't want anyone to know that even the Dr. Prater sesssions weren't working out so good. As RAM, in a trance-like state, walked towards his room's balcony and stepped outside, unaware of the ward's lively nightlife and surroundings below him, and positioned a lounge chair next to the railing.
He placed a foot on the chair and used it like a step-ladder.
All the while, a voice came rushing into his mind.
{ ...do it... }
It wasn't RAM's own voice.
It was that of his abusive uncle, David Grawn.
Suddenly, RAM's mind flashed back to his childhood. He felt the punches and slaps over and over again, his younger self begging for mercy yet finding none. He felt each vicious shot in a similar manner to the shots he took inside the ring. As both feet were planted on the chair, RAM kept on feeling a pull -- a tug, so to speak -- in his thoughts that wanted to prevent him from doing what seemed unlikely.
Yet David's snickers and cackles pushed Marshall forward.
{ ...do it, boy. Fuck that nerd you called a girlfriend, you weren't MEANT to have one... }
Suddenly, RAM's mind began flashing back to more happier times.
Or at least, to when things started making sense.
Memories of Rydia came flooding in next. The laughs, the jokes, the days they spent playing video games or enjoying Six Flags rides. Rydia teaching RAM about programming and, to a greater extent, hacking. It was memories like those which kept the often-troubled man happy throughout high school in spite of a global pandemic. Yet through it all, RAM felt the intense heat of smoke and flames burning around him, as the world around him became consumed. Through this state of mind, RAM wasn't aware of the fact that his feet were firmly planted on the balcony's railing.
Teetering on the edge of a 200-plus foot drop into the street below.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered to see the sight for themselves, many in shock as phone cameras snapped photos. Yet RAM had no idea of his surroundings as he stood on the precipiece, with the voice of his hated relative pulsating into his consciousness.
{ ...do it, chicken-shit. Hurt them just as much as I've hurt you... }
Yet he shook his head and tried whispering to himself.
"...no...NO!!..."
RAM's memories all convalesced into a giant collage, almost like a Rembrandt. Pulsing into his mind, as the horrified crowd below stared upwards, was a rather familiar-sounding female voice, speaking to him in a friendly way. It was a distinctive British-Irish accent that RAM instantly recognized.
{ ...don't do anything you're going to regret... }
He opened his eyes, his gaze still looking down at the famous Shinjuku crossing and that sea of cars and humanity. At that moment, as the female voice continued to run through his thoughts, echoing that same message, RAM began whispering to himself as he returned to a state of lucidity.
"...help…"
Breathing heavily and at the point of tears, RAM stepped down slowly from the balcony, onto the chair and eventually back inside his room. As he sat down on the floor sobbing, he was oblivious to the fact that Fiona McFly and Tommy Figgins had seen the whole ordeal take place. The latter sat down and shook his head solemnly. As for the former, who also sat down next to RAM, she began to realize exactly where she was at.
While the hotel name escaped her brain, she knew the floor and room number very well.
Floor 21, Room 17.
The very same room where she had her attempt in late 2018.
RAM shook from head to toe as his life story and trauma coursed through his mind. As they sat with him, Fiona and Tommy both knew what they had to do -- save a life, aflife struggling to find the answers to the questions he sought to have answered.
"...help me..."
To be continued...
--------
At a Tokyo hotel, in the present day, just after 1:00 AM local time...
R.A. Marshall stood up inside his room, having trouble sleeping on a seemingly random night in the Shinjuku ward. On the road, he's have nightmares about his past and would wake up in agony, almost as if his mind was screaming. To help dull the pain, he popped a couple of legal prescription painkillers into his mouth and took a swig from a bottle of Vitamin Water he had nearby.
He had been taking said drug since his match with James Gilmore, but nobody would have even guessed that because RAM often kept those details of his life to himself. However, what was supposed to be a temporary solution to combat any physical effects had soon become an addiction. It was creating a powerful side effect that often brought out the worst thoughts that coursed through his head -- much of that due to an ingredient commonly linked to most opiods including fentanyl.
It wasn't enough to straight up kill him.
It was enough, however, to cause RAM to enter into an extremely hallucinatory state.
He didn't want anyone to know he was bullshitting with Tommy Figgins about a UFC deal. He didn't want anyone to know that even the Dr. Prater sesssions weren't working out so good. As RAM, in a trance-like state, walked towards his room's balcony and stepped outside, unaware of the ward's lively nightlife and surroundings below him, and positioned a lounge chair next to the railing.
He placed a foot on the chair and used it like a step-ladder.
All the while, a voice came rushing into his mind.
{ ...do it... }
It wasn't RAM's own voice.
It was that of his abusive uncle, David Grawn.
Suddenly, RAM's mind flashed back to his childhood. He felt the punches and slaps over and over again, his younger self begging for mercy yet finding none. He felt each vicious shot in a similar manner to the shots he took inside the ring. As both feet were planted on the chair, RAM kept on feeling a pull -- a tug, so to speak -- in his thoughts that wanted to prevent him from doing what seemed unlikely.
Yet David's snickers and cackles pushed Marshall forward.
{ ...do it, boy. Fuck that nerd you called a girlfriend, you weren't MEANT to have one... }
Suddenly, RAM's mind began flashing back to more happier times.
Or at least, to when things started making sense.
Memories of Rydia came flooding in next. The laughs, the jokes, the days they spent playing video games or enjoying Six Flags rides. Rydia teaching RAM about programming and, to a greater extent, hacking. It was memories like those which kept the often-troubled man happy throughout high school in spite of a global pandemic. Yet through it all, RAM felt the intense heat of smoke and flames burning around him, as the world around him became consumed. Through this state of mind, RAM wasn't aware of the fact that his feet were firmly planted on the balcony's railing.
Teetering on the edge of a 200-plus foot drop into the street below.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered to see the sight for themselves, many in shock as phone cameras snapped photos. Yet RAM had no idea of his surroundings as he stood on the precipiece, with the voice of his hated relative pulsating into his consciousness.
{ ...do it, chicken-shit. Hurt them just as much as I've hurt you... }
Yet he shook his head and tried whispering to himself.
"...no...NO!!..."
RAM's memories all convalesced into a giant collage, almost like a Rembrandt. Pulsing into his mind, as the horrified crowd below stared upwards, was a rather familiar-sounding female voice, speaking to him in a friendly way. It was a distinctive British-Irish accent that RAM instantly recognized.
{ ...don't do anything you're going to regret... }
He opened his eyes, his gaze still looking down at the famous Shinjuku crossing and that sea of cars and humanity. At that moment, as the female voice continued to run through his thoughts, echoing that same message, RAM began whispering to himself as he returned to a state of lucidity.
"...help…"
Breathing heavily and at the point of tears, RAM stepped down slowly from the balcony, onto the chair and eventually back inside his room. As he sat down on the floor sobbing, he was oblivious to the fact that Fiona McFly and Tommy Figgins had seen the whole ordeal take place. The latter sat down and shook his head solemnly. As for the former, who also sat down next to RAM, she began to realize exactly where she was at.
While the hotel name escaped her brain, she knew the floor and room number very well.
Floor 21, Room 17.
The very same room where she had her attempt in late 2018.
RAM shook from head to toe as his life story and trauma coursed through his mind. As they sat with him, Fiona and Tommy both knew what they had to do -- save a life, aflife struggling to find the answers to the questions he sought to have answered.
"...help me..."
To be continued...
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Well howdy there pardner.