I refilled my cartridge and locked and loaded by gun. Cartridge is not a particularly inspiring words as it evokes only sorts of mechanical things, a cartridge with whch you can replace emotions or something maybe.
The sameness, the grey, dull sameness that makes everything run together, like a universe running down, the parts all merging into one vast, melted mass, without distinction, without diversity, in a word, bland.
I never thought the consequences. It just happened. It was a fire going off in my gut, no, more like a bomb, and I staggered at the that of what would happen. It was an automatic reflex to some perceived joy.