Chapter 8 - Sweet Cheezus

                                        

                                              
If the world ever ends, or at least the gross human society portion of the world, I'm hanging out in the bowels of a mall. Del dragged us into the maze of tunnels and hallways underneath the mall where he had his store, and if you needed to hide, nobody would ever find you down there. Food everywhere, out of the way, and dark as hell. Perfect for hiding.
Or for practicing weird shit where you keep getting nosebleeds.
"You sure you want to try again, Mac?" Del asked. "You're looking pretty green."
Green was putting it lightly. We were in a giant warehouse room on the lowest floor of the whole mall. Wafts of old garbage and rotting food didn't help anything, and the glare of the earthquake-proof fluorescent lights was enough to give anyone a migraine. Still, it was a big empty room, and I was breaking a lot of shit.
We'd been at it for a few hours now. Del had set up a box in the middle of the room and kept putting weird crap he found around the warehouse on it to see what I could do. The first few had been just like the mug in my apartment. I strained and focused for what felt like forever until the thing finally shifted slightly, and I dropped to the ground with another nosebleed. What good was that for a power? Imagine discovering you could fly, but an inch off the ground for less than a second. That's what my 'moving shit with my brain' power was starting to feel like.
Then, I sent a giant bag of movie theatre nacho cheez across the room, where it splattered on the wall and was still dribbling down onto the concrete below. That was when the fun began. Del ran around like a sugar-soaked kindergartner on Hallowe'en, grabbing anything he could get his hands on and watching as I sent it sailing across the room. Had the 'moving shit with my mind' thing gotten any easier? Hell no, I still felt like shit every time, but I'd figured out how to channel all that energy and make shit happen. 
I toddled over to the box and sat down. Tears ran down my cheeks, and I was this close to throwing up again. I didn't want to ─ throwing up was the worst, but I wasn't above it if it provided temporary relief. A hearty puke often made me feel better, in the moment, but the shitty feeling often returned moments later. 
"I still don't know how the hell you're doing this." Del scooched onto the box beside me. There was just barely enough room for both of us. "This kind of thing only happens in books and movies...video games! And not even very good ones."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, keeping a hand hovering near my mouth. The contents of my stomach were right there. 
"Magic video games usually have super shitty controls because they have to deal with all the magic and which spell goes to whatever button," Del said. I loved how he maintained his nerdiness, no matter the situation. "Why do you keep doing that with your hand?"
"Because I'm going to barf." I laughed, and dry heaved. "So leave me alone and let me keep my hand there unless you want me to spew all over your precious vintage Jurassic Park t-shirt."
"Hey!" Del covered the iconic logo with both hands on his chest. "You leave Rexy alone!"
"You're safe. I think I'm done." My stomach was still hurting, but not from too much output. "I think I might actually be hungry."
"That makes sense," Del said. "We've been at this for a long time now. A snack might be a good idea. When was the last time you ate?"
It took a second for me to remember. I'd slept for a day, spent a bit of time floating around in whatever the hell was underneath my closet, and hung out with Del breaking shit in his mall warehouse. I hadn't eaten a thing for days.
"I had a pizza popper." It was good, too. Hawaiian. Was that racist? Just because someone put pineapple in something, that made it Hawaiian? Why wasn't it Costa Rican pizza if it had ham and pineapple? Don't even get me started on the 'does pineapple belong on a pizza?' debate. Do I like it? Yes. Was I momentarily cured of the disease of hunger? Yes. Does anyone need to spend that much time worrying about what other people put on their pizza? Fuck no.