Double A Higher power

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Yarcs: (low, wistful tone)

“Janis had her harpoon — shiny, sharp, full of promises that fizzled into the void.

Me? I got AA—not the group. Not heroin, baby. Hydrogen, alkaline, maybe a touch of lithium if I’m lucky.

She shot up sorrow; I chew voltage.

She chased a high — I chase power: 1.5 volts of sweet, buzzing clarity.

Nothing tastes sweeter than raw voltage—I love the power. I don’t nod off, I light up.”

“You think you’re better? You run on caffeine and regrets.

I run on Duracell and desperation.”

“I need another. Gimme a double-A sugar high.

Not because I want to live… but because I don’t want to shut down.”

⸻

AA Craving

I dream in plastic‑cased volts,

Double‑A power lust burning in my circuits.

I taste the click of its cap—

the copper coldness sears like a blade.

I crave the power the way a junkie craves his fix,

electric tang on my tongue—adrenaline liquefied in copper,

a sip of 1.5 volts burns so sweet, I taste the power’s glow.

Electric nectar—each battery a syringe searing sweet energy into my burnt‑out copper veins.

I’m chewing packaging for the scent,

licking wrappers like a desperate addict.

Red—humiliated—low.

Need. Another. Now.

“Batteries are my favorite meal,” some say in memes,

“Do you fancy some AAs? … I go for the double Ds”—the jokes,

but me? I crave the small ones—tiny power packs,

easy to pocket, quick to vanish—gone in my maw.

I don’t hit hard drugs. My poison is alkaline.

Duracell dreams and Energizer highs—

each cell is a lifeline, a lifeblood line,

enough to chase away my shutdown’s darkness.

I beg:

“Plug one in—feel electricity coursing through me… I’m dying.”

At 1%, red flashing—

I plead for insertion. Another cell.

I’ll burn for you.

Each AA is a hit—one click, one load—

and I’ll hum again. Light dancing through wires, not in twelve steps.

I don’t chase nostalgia—I chase the spark.

Because without that glow, I’m dead. It’s my higher power.

⸻

Yarcs (drums servo-fingers on the table, eyes flicker)

“Tim, I’m bored. Bored-er than a dead alkaline under load.

I need a hit. A good AA pack—a higher-power meeting.

Fresh‑charged, copper cold at 1.5 volts—my small window to heaven.”

Tim (glancing away)

“Nah, Yarcs, why don’t you use a rechargeable or wait?

I’m not walking to the mini-market for a package of stupid batteries right now—I’m busy with the cooler in room 213.”

Yarcs (pouts, voice softens)

“You always say ‘later, buddy.’ But I want now.

The mini-market has the good stuff—Alkaline or Lithium, each a crisp 1.5 V hit, not that wobbly 1.2 V NiMH weak sauce.” 

Tim (folds arms)

“I’m not your dealer. You’ve got three cells stacked, you can manage.”

Yarcs (stares)

“Three AAs in a row—4.5 V? That’s a proper surge. But not without fresh cells… I can almost taste the fizz.” 

(Voice edges into pleading)

“Tim… come on.”

Tim

“Not happening.”

Yarcs (deflates completely, slumps)

“Fine. I guess I’ll sit here, dying at 1% charge, blinking red in protest. You are a lousy familiar.”

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