Fiction:worldtbd: the hair prophet

"I'm not crazy i'm not going crazy." I clung to my cloak and shawl in the cave. I did not know how to survive on my own. Stupid merchant girl. I was alone, only by stumbling into this cave had I found it, my hair was foul. not washing it had made it become matted and tangled and even touching it now hurt.

I was, no I am alone. I am alone, no one can help me. I cried, not having slept in several days, unless from exhaustion. My head and hair felt like they were burning without any heat, when I slept it was fitful and I would awake screaming and sending the brush into convulsions. Madness, that what it was. The hair was driving me surely mad.

It is, it will drive me mad. I can't beat to look at the knife to shear my hair but I must. It hurts to do so and it feels like I've plucked out my own eye or fingernails for doing so. With a harsh scream I threw the mess into the tiny fire I had made with what few matches I had left. I cried myself to sleep as the fire burned the matted remains of loose soft waves, wanting to go..to something, anywhere but this damp cave, this horrid life, away from the screaming nightmares.

Homebrew fun energy drinks!

Comment here with your best homebrew 'make it through the night' or cracktacular drink recipes here~!

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PS: indigoskynet I have read the vicarious and now wonder. How does one make Monkey House Rocket fuel.. and what are pipchiks?