rum·mage /ˈrəmij/ -an unsystematic and untidy search through a mass or receptacle

I am trapped between two definition of success; a) society's, and b) boho's.

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"You shouldn't even be here.", she said. "I know!", she snapped back. "You could just leave." "I don't want you here anyway.", she thought, but didn't add. "I would, but I couldn't! You know that. If I get out," she stopped to brush her hair and swallow, "if I get out and leave, I'd be out forever. I won't exist." "Maybe you should stop existing.", she hated it but thought it anyway. The room was too small for two cats. Or computer screens. Or, at the moment, for two naked girls. One of them had her chin up, had poise (Was it crisp? Or was she just plain stiff?), had her arms crossed. The other, she had everything of her curled into a ball, counting something invisible on the floor. The floor, by the way, was red. And black. And white at the same time. It was constantly changing, that to describe their place would take forever to be done. They were constantly changing, too, the two girls; from food to animals to about anything the Master would want. Personalities, people call them, although to be honest, they would rather be an internal organ than a definition (A thought? An emotion?).





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"Hey H! Look here, we got a newbie!" A 'something' moved up. "H, this is D. D, H. And I'm R!", another 'something', which is, obviously, too excited (Was he normally like this? Like he's holding his pee for hours!) "R?", a 'something' curled his brows. "Yeah! R! Short for R U OK? You know? When you ask people? Because I care!", again, giddy. "Actually, he's P, as in short for Pathetic." H said, holding D closer by his shoulders. "Last time I checked, H is for Happy and not Hurtful, you bitter bitch." H ignored him. They're used to this kind of conversation. Since there was nothing else to entertain them, not in this disgusting world they're in, all veins, all blood. "Who are you?" H to D. "H could be for Honest, too straightforward", D thought. "Depression." he added. "I hate you.", H practically yelled, more to the Master than to D. "What got you in?" This time it was R. "I wonder if R is short for Reckless" D rolled his eyes. "The Master, obviously." H thought of things that got him here, back when things were... easy (or easier). He was as giddy as R, as big as D. He realized, he was getting smaller in every stick. Which made him think of the things that created D.