Excerpt: Give me a Squiggly!

Here's is a more all-audiences-friendly edit of a bit of a scene where my main character goes off on a paranoia trip. He's not often this angsty. Actually, he usually quite enjoys his life. And mind you, all I edited was language, not content, so it's still the usual crappy not-even-a-first-draft-yet writing. Anyway, here you go:

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“What in the bloody thundering bowels of Hades is this all about!” The shout echoed through the labyrinth of dollies stacked with boxes and wire shelves of assorted merchandise, past the so often touted open office doors and to the table where I stood hunched over the fat binder o’ theft, filling in yet another sheet with lists of stolen merchandise I had found the packaging for hiding in the nooks and crannies of the shelves out on the floor. What I remember most was my admiration for the sound and the way it bounced around, seeming to come at me from all angles when I knew damned well that it came from one rather petty and irate man. He was throwing yet another hissy fit. It was nothing new to me, so why should I be bothered? I just took my pleasures as I found them, and on this particular middle of the night I found pleasure in the dull vibrations of the sound waves as they reverberated through my innards, a slight hum through my ribs on the word “thundering” and a deep pull as though of longing deep in my guts on the words “what” and “Hades”. I held the pen thoughtfully to my lips and narrowly avoided chewing on it out of habit as I sort of zoned out reliving that strange reverberation and wondering how to repeat it. I found myself humming to try to hit the same pitch as those words had come riding in on when they reached my ears and drifted through to catch up with my ever wandering brain.

Yes, I was high. What, you expected different? Please, kid. What else is there to do at Wally World in the middle of the night? My job isn’t quite that engrossing, thanks. Screw you, you’re so judgemental, what are you doing listening in on my thoughts anyway? Wait, who else is in my head? Get out of my head, psychics! Oh god, they’re listening, I know they are. It's the evil empire, man, you know they’ve found these stupid nonexistant things like psychics and hired them to get into the brains of their employees and make sure they’re staying honest, because how else can you guarantee it? They’re scary, man, downright scary, but what else can you do? You end up working for them and buying from them and they envelope your life. They eat everything and spit out the bones, and that’s what I am now, the walking screaming bones of what once was a living breathing human with a life and thoughts and feelings beyond the desire to listen to these sounds that I could still almost feel vibrating and humming their way out of my guts and into the great beyond. Freaking psychics, though, it’s scary…

Yes, I’m still high. What?! Nothing! Screw you!