Day 5
He sneezed, forcing his body to rack itself with internal spasm. He brought down his hand from his mouth, mucus lay there, glistening in the half-light that had snuck in through the slits of the blinds. He mashed it around his webbed fingers, it made his hand feel softer then usual, almost like a conditioner. He would leave it there for now, the sensation was enjoyable. He gargled some tea, it was the only way he could drink it, knowing the toxins can only be seperated through a solid gargling. When he had finished, he placed the mug down on a card. That's what it had come down to, using the cards as coasters. He picked it up and flipped it over, this was Pastore's. He felt numb, what had happened to them all? He scanned the room, locating each scattered card, they were of no use to him anymore. Turning around, he looked at the far wall. He had ripped the wallpaper off with his hands and teeth, the only thing left was one card. The Sneijder card. Below the Sneijder card was a tribute of things to help sway his decision, a full english breakfast, a season ticket (wasted), and a hand-made journal, from the transfer mogul himself.
The Sneijder card. That's what this all came down too. Without that, he would be nothing, no, even less then nothing. He turned his monitor on, the airbrushed image of Noel Edmonds posing in a monkey suit momentarily blinded him. He wasn't used to light sources, but the image comforted him, like a bosom to a startled baby. He opened the Sneijder folder and thousands of images of the footballer covered the screen. His eyes closed to half-way, he needed some sexual healing, some sneijder healing. Absent-mindedly he let his hands find their way to the monitor, drawing strange shapes in the air before it made contact, where he would gently caress the screen, over the area where Wesley was. After he had emptied himself, he closed the folder down, and feebly pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to the Sneijder wall and crossed off another day on the transfer window calender, which consisted of just 16 weeks, which is the maximum length of both transfer windows combined in a year. These were the weeks where he was alive, awake. Once that end of January window had closed, he would place himself back in hibernation until August, when the window opens agian. If he didn't have a Sneijder card to take back with him into hibernation, would he ever wake back up? What would he think about? How could he love again? He chewed on the tip of his tongue, his brow furrowed, no, this was meant to be, he had started with the faces of 9, and now, there was just a shrine of one. This was what he had been waiting for, all those times he had deficated himself in sheer hope and optimism, it was all for this, he fell down to his knees and cried out 'Sneijder, I summon you', before passing out in a pool of his own vomit.