Scooby-Doo

Scooby-Doo
By
DeTrav


The same blurry cellar door, the same fuzzy kitchen table. Spinning so fast. I don’t want to stop for fear of getting dizzy. Better to keep the ear fluid sloshing around than stop suddenly and puke. Better to keep my surroundings revolving like a Scooby-doo cartoon than to stop and fall over. Must keep the rhythm.
I can feel all the blood in my head creeping towards my left eye and ear. I can feel the left side of my brain squished against my skull. I hope my suffocating brain doesn’t interfere with my legs.
Must
Keep
Spinning.
Spin too fast and I’ll trip over the carpet. Spin too slow and the nausea hyena will shred me from the inside out.
Ringing. A short burst then silence. Then another blast of ringing in my head. No. Wait. It’s coming from the table. There’s a phone on the table. I put my hand out to get it. Toe skips off heel and rhythm is broken. Tripping. Stumbling. Spiraling. The floor tilts. Left eye swells with blood and binocular vision is lost. The answering machine will have to get it.
Door… Table… Scooby-doo… Where the fuck did Scooby come from? I don’t own a dog. There. There he is again. Except this time he’s dark grey, not brown. Everything is turning grey.
The world straightens for a moment as I regain control. Then it tilts the other way. A forest of shadows ooze out from the walls and enter my eye, forcing my head to bounce off the floor.
I hear my therapist.
“Hey Joe. Just calling to see why you missed…”
The shadow squeezes my brain into coffee grounds and turns the room black.