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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic.
|
Tears came rushing to the brim of her eyes, as she tried hard to fight them back. Luckily, she was the only customer there this early, so no strangers could witness her meltdown. Rachel, the barista, looked at her with concern, "Are you okay? Did I mess up your order?" Meghan smiled meekly as she walked out the door, "No, no, it's fine. Just allergies." Once she got outside, she walked until she knew that she was out of sight, stopping at a patch of spruce trees. She stared for a minute at the drink in her hand. "One Double Chocolate Chip Frap with soy for me, and Meghan, what do you want?" Her mom would ask as they approached the Starbucks counter. It had been their Saturday ritual: Starbucks and shopping... Sometimes they would see a movie. Every Saturday for god knows how long. That is, until... Meghan's fenced-in tears released all at once, with an aching cry. "Mommmm," she wailed as she collapsed on the pine-needle-covered ground. She clutched the mistaken drink like it was a sacred relic, the last surviving piece of her beautiful mother. It had been a month since Meghan got the phone call from the hospital. A car crash. The roads were slick from rain. It was dark, and her car hit head-on into a tree. She didn't make it. The frappuccino's whipped cream had melted a bit and was slowly leaking onto Meghan's hands, but she made no effort to clean them. Tears streamed down her face, but again, she did not try to wipe them. She was tired of having to play strong, answer "I'm okay" when people asked how she was doing. She needed to break, and stay broken. "I can't do this without you," she whispered to the September sky. "I miss you."
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that.
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Tears came rushing to the brim of her eyes, as she tried hard to fight them back. Luckily, she was the only customer there this early, so no strangers could witness her meltdown. Rachel, the barista, looked at her with concern, "Are you okay? Did I mess up your order?" Meghan smiled meekly as she walked out the door, "No, no, it's fine. Just allergies." Once she got outside, she walked until she knew that she was out of sight, stopping at a patch of spruce trees. She stared for a minute at the drink in her hand. "One Double Chocolate Chip Frap with soy for me, and Meghan, what do you want?" Her mom would ask as they approached the Starbucks counter. It had been their Saturday ritual: Starbucks and shopping... Sometimes they would see a movie. Every Saturday for god knows how long. That is, until... Meghan's fenced-in tears released all at once, with an aching cry. "Mommmm," she wailed as she collapsed on the pine-needle-covered ground. She clutched the mistaken drink like it was a sacred relic, the last surviving piece of her beautiful mother. It had been a month since Meghan got the phone call from the hospital. A car crash. The roads were slick from rain. It was dark, and her car hit head-on into a tree. She didn't make it. The frappuccino's whipped cream had melted a bit and was slowly leaking onto Meghan's hands, but she made no effort to clean them. Tears streamed down her face, but again, she did not try to wipe them. She was tired of having to play strong, answer "I'm okay" when people asked how she was doing. She needed to break, and stay broken. "I can't do this without you," she whispered to the September sky. "I miss you."
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek.
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Tears came rushing to the brim of her eyes, as she tried hard to fight them back. Luckily, she was the only customer there this early, so no strangers could witness her meltdown. Rachel, the barista, looked at her with concern, "Are you okay? Did I mess up your order?" Meghan smiled meekly as she walked out the door, "No, no, it's fine. Just allergies." Once she got outside, she walked until she knew that she was out of sight, stopping at a patch of spruce trees. She stared for a minute at the drink in her hand. "One Double Chocolate Chip Frap with soy for me, and Meghan, what do you want?" Her mom would ask as they approached the Starbucks counter. It had been their Saturday ritual: Starbucks and shopping... Sometimes they would see a movie. Every Saturday for god knows how long. That is, until... Meghan's fenced-in tears released all at once, with an aching cry. "Mommmm," she wailed as she collapsed on the pine-needle-covered ground. She clutched the mistaken drink like it was a sacred relic, the last surviving piece of her beautiful mother. It had been a month since Meghan got the phone call from the hospital. A car crash. The roads were slick from rain. It was dark, and her car hit head-on into a tree. She didn't make it. The frappuccino's whipped cream had melted a bit and was slowly leaking onto Meghan's hands, but she made no effort to clean them. Tears streamed down her face, but again, she did not try to wipe them. She was tired of having to play strong, answer "I'm okay" when people asked how she was doing. She needed to break, and stay broken. "I can't do this without you," she whispered to the September sky. "I miss you."
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
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Tears came rushing to the brim of her eyes, as she tried hard to fight them back. Luckily, she was the only customer there this early, so no strangers could witness her meltdown. Rachel, the barista, looked at her with concern, "Are you okay? Did I mess up your order?" Meghan smiled meekly as she walked out the door, "No, no, it's fine. Just allergies." Once she got outside, she walked until she knew that she was out of sight, stopping at a patch of spruce trees. She stared for a minute at the drink in her hand. "One Double Chocolate Chip Frap with soy for me, and Meghan, what do you want?" Her mom would ask as they approached the Starbucks counter. It had been their Saturday ritual: Starbucks and shopping... Sometimes they would see a movie. Every Saturday for god knows how long. That is, until... Meghan's fenced-in tears released all at once, with an aching cry. "Mommmm," she wailed as she collapsed on the pine-needle-covered ground. She clutched the mistaken drink like it was a sacred relic, the last surviving piece of her beautiful mother. It had been a month since Meghan got the phone call from the hospital. A car crash. The roads were slick from rain. It was dark, and her car hit head-on into a tree. She didn't make it. The frappuccino's whipped cream had melted a bit and was slowly leaking onto Meghan's hands, but she made no effort to clean them. Tears streamed down her face, but again, she did not try to wipe them. She was tired of having to play strong, answer "I'm okay" when people asked how she was doing. She needed to break, and stay broken. "I can't do this without you," she whispered to the September sky. "I miss you."
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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I went to starbucks this morning. I was on my phone and not really paying attention to the ba*r*ista who was serving me. What I got was not what I ordered. I turned around and started complaining loudly. That's when I realised that I was being served by WWE wrestler Ba*t*ista. His face got screwed up. He grabbed me and lifted me over his head and threw me down on the table and then poured the wrong coffee down my throat.
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After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic.
|
After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that.
|
After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek.
|
After realizing you get the wrong sort of drink, you ask to the man in anger 'What the fuck is this?!" You look up at him, only to realize Batista is serving you. (Probably typo by op for Barista... Batista is a big buff character in wwe.) You start to feel your sweat come from your skin as you slowly walk back, shaking... He lifts you up from your collar, then rips his shirt off showing his big buff abs and defined muscles. You are turned on for a second, then realize the situation you are in. After throwing you on the ground he yells "DONT INSULT MY FUCKING DRINKS!" At this point you are frantically running to the door as bystanders watch in shock, he grabs your foot, drags you back, and punches you hard across... Left, right, left, right, until you roll away wher proceeds to smash your head repeatedly against a wall. Slowly, you lose all strength in your body, and everything starts to turn dark...
You wake up in Hospital with a few family members. This is where you take your last breath.
Edit 1: I'm not fixing the grammar.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon.
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That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Lieutenant Batista getting fired from Miami-Metro, having to work at Starbucks hearing you bitch about your drink and then leaping over the counter and beating your ass sounds funny and tragic.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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"Hey... It's me Dom, today wasn't so good, It looks like they are letting me go after all. I'll be home soon, I'm in the coffee shop where we sat the first day we met, it's a Starbucks now, it still does our drink if you can believe that? I'll never forget how hot I was when I walked in that day, card missing and not enough change to buy a cold drink, yet there you were hand out stretched with the last money you had on earth, offering it to me. We bonded over that Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino, it was just a short year later it was my turn to hold my hand out to yours instead, but with a ring. Anyway, I had better go darling, the drink is nearly ready. I miss you honey."
After the automated voice thanked me for leaving her a message I go to place my phone back in my pocket, stealthily wiping my eyes clear of the collecting tears with my sleeve, lightly moistening the old worn fabric of my coat, the same coat I'd worn that day we had met, five years ago in fact.
"Sir?" I look up and see the Barista smiling at me. "Here you go sir" she chirps, handing me my coffee. I try to say thank you but the words simply stick in my throat, I manage a half smile and walk over to table by the window where we sat all those years ago, placing my coffee down before I sit, careful to not spill its contents lest I spoil my memories of this pace with anything bad.
I sigh, I've been doing it a lot recently, this sigh though... I feel strangely content, relieved even. I hated that job, good riddance in all honesty. I never had the courage to quit, I guess now I don't have to.
I take a sip of the coffee, the chocolate taste biting my tongue. It's not our coffee. It's... not... The tears come back again, but this time I make no effort to wipe them clear, not now, not this. This was supposed to be the same as before, I lose my self in the tears, I never even hear her approaching.
"Sir?" The voice of the Barista, but now subdued .
I look up at her, concern on her face.
"Why did she have to die?" I ask, the contents of the plastic coffee cup slowing pooling on the floor around me.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I looked back at the hulking mass of humanity with absolute disdain. It wasn't for the obvious reason though. I pitied Dave Batista and his new career. Once a top wrestling superstar, and more recently breakout action star, Dave had taken a swift fall from grace.
That green apron looked like it was tailored to fit a small child. Couldn't they have given him a bigger one? Did he choose it himself? Probably not. I don't think he is in control of anything at this point in his life.
I stood by and watched another unhappy patron belittle the former superstar. Now he was cursing at big Dave. Something disparaging about his belly button tattoo. That, admittedly, was a low blow. We all make mistakes. Unfortunately for Batista, the reverse tramp stamp was the least of his worries.
Why did he choke out that production assistant? A squabble over filtered water? There was too much irony at play here. Poor guy. He truly walks alone.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
There he was, this empty shell of a legend, merely a copy of what was once a legend in the ring, now his clones working here at Starbucks. It was all part of the initiative to bring about a society like that in the infamous story ‘Brave New World’. The United States Conglomerate Government had started a cloning initiative that created copies of famous figures with lesser intelligences to work in places like McDonalds, Wal-Mart, and even Starbucks.
A Major downside to these clones was their lowered intelligence, often leading to production errors, and the current dilemma. I’d use the last of my Starbucks ration for the month in an attempt to order a Café Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, but apparently that was a little too much for this clone because what I received was a chocolaty failure. I was handed a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, or at least, years ago it wouldn’t have been, but due to overpopulation and lack of strict pollution laws for developing countries, the worlds coffee and chocolate supply dwindled to the edge of extinction for these plants. Remakes due to errors of any kind weren’t permitted, and due to a personal condition where my body could not process chocolate correctly, I was now stuck with this beverage that took the last of my ration and there was no recourse.
We stood there, the Starbucks Batista and I, this dimwitted false human who destroyed one of the very few enjoyments I get in life. My lips moved as if they were trying to say something, but the air wouldn’t leave my lips, I couldn’t manage it, something as commonplace as talking became difficult. A knot, the closest thing I could describe the feeling in my throat was a knot, and all I could receive was this blank stare from the Batista-like clone that stood in front of me.
Finally it happened, I couldn’t take it. In the past this would have been a small thing, a simple shrug and remedied within a minute, but not anymore. I didn’t realize what I had done until after the fact when I could reflect on it. In the next few moments there seemed to be a commotion, a cacophony of rage, the symphony of a man disturbed, and I was its composer and performer. I picked the cup up, and threw it on the floor, and my knee’s soon fell into a puddle of the dark brown, murky liquid. The tears came without warning, everything seemed to slow down, and the only thing I could hear was a deep bass bellowing in my chest, my heart pounding away as I accepted what was going on.
“Why… WHY YOU CRUEL BEAST?!”
No response, just a dull dimwitted stare, and that’s how I landed in this current predicament. The official police report comments on the clone having multiple lacerations on their face, all shallow, and non-life threatening, but it was the fact the head had been removed from the rest of the body that put me in my new home behind these bars. I was a damaged product in a flawed system, and so I would spend the rest of my days here, all because of that damned starbucks batista…
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
That was when it hit me.
What a joke I am.
All that rage... so much rage. It burned inside me; the flames scalded me, transformed me into a withered husk of what I had once been.
It was ugly. So ugly.
What was it? What had happened to me that caused this insatiable wrath? What could have me frothing with such red, acidic hatred?
I was a terrible person. I made other people so sad and frightened and I enjoyed it. I was fueled by a vortex of pure, venomous malice. And what triggered such an absurdly hyperbolic reaction? What sparked my fit of bilious malice?
I was given the wrong drink.
That was it.
It wasn't worth it. Oh, God, it wasn't worth it at all.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that.
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I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek.
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I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"Hey... It's me Dom, today wasn't so good, It looks like they are letting me go after all. I'll be home soon, I'm in the coffee shop where we sat the first day we met, it's a Starbucks now, it still does our drink if you can believe that? I'll never forget how hot I was when I walked in that day, card missing and not enough change to buy a cold drink, yet there you were hand out stretched with the last money you had on earth, offering it to me. We bonded over that Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino, it was just a short year later it was my turn to hold my hand out to yours instead, but with a ring. Anyway, I had better go darling, the drink is nearly ready. I miss you honey."
After the automated voice thanked me for leaving her a message I go to place my phone back in my pocket, stealthily wiping my eyes clear of the collecting tears with my sleeve, lightly moistening the old worn fabric of my coat, the same coat I'd worn that day we had met, five years ago in fact.
"Sir?" I look up and see the Barista smiling at me. "Here you go sir" she chirps, handing me my coffee. I try to say thank you but the words simply stick in my throat, I manage a half smile and walk over to table by the window where we sat all those years ago, placing my coffee down before I sit, careful to not spill its contents lest I spoil my memories of this pace with anything bad.
I sigh, I've been doing it a lot recently, this sigh though... I feel strangely content, relieved even. I hated that job, good riddance in all honesty. I never had the courage to quit, I guess now I don't have to.
I take a sip of the coffee, the chocolate taste biting my tongue. It's not our coffee. It's... not... The tears come back again, but this time I make no effort to wipe them clear, not now, not this. This was supposed to be the same as before, I lose my self in the tears, I never even hear her approaching.
"Sir?" The voice of the Barista, but now subdued .
I look up at her, concern on her face.
"Why did she have to die?" I ask, the contents of the plastic coffee cup slowing pooling on the floor around me.
|
I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
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I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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I looked back at the hulking mass of humanity with absolute disdain. It wasn't for the obvious reason though. I pitied Dave Batista and his new career. Once a top wrestling superstar, and more recently breakout action star, Dave had taken a swift fall from grace.
That green apron looked like it was tailored to fit a small child. Couldn't they have given him a bigger one? Did he choose it himself? Probably not. I don't think he is in control of anything at this point in his life.
I stood by and watched another unhappy patron belittle the former superstar. Now he was cursing at big Dave. Something disparaging about his belly button tattoo. That, admittedly, was a low blow. We all make mistakes. Unfortunately for Batista, the reverse tramp stamp was the least of his worries.
Why did he choke out that production assistant? A squabble over filtered water? There was too much irony at play here. Poor guy. He truly walks alone.
|
I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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There he was, this empty shell of a legend, merely a copy of what was once a legend in the ring, now his clones working here at Starbucks. It was all part of the initiative to bring about a society like that in the infamous story ‘Brave New World’. The United States Conglomerate Government had started a cloning initiative that created copies of famous figures with lesser intelligences to work in places like McDonalds, Wal-Mart, and even Starbucks.
A Major downside to these clones was their lowered intelligence, often leading to production errors, and the current dilemma. I’d use the last of my Starbucks ration for the month in an attempt to order a Café Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, but apparently that was a little too much for this clone because what I received was a chocolaty failure. I was handed a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, or at least, years ago it wouldn’t have been, but due to overpopulation and lack of strict pollution laws for developing countries, the worlds coffee and chocolate supply dwindled to the edge of extinction for these plants. Remakes due to errors of any kind weren’t permitted, and due to a personal condition where my body could not process chocolate correctly, I was now stuck with this beverage that took the last of my ration and there was no recourse.
We stood there, the Starbucks Batista and I, this dimwitted false human who destroyed one of the very few enjoyments I get in life. My lips moved as if they were trying to say something, but the air wouldn’t leave my lips, I couldn’t manage it, something as commonplace as talking became difficult. A knot, the closest thing I could describe the feeling in my throat was a knot, and all I could receive was this blank stare from the Batista-like clone that stood in front of me.
Finally it happened, I couldn’t take it. In the past this would have been a small thing, a simple shrug and remedied within a minute, but not anymore. I didn’t realize what I had done until after the fact when I could reflect on it. In the next few moments there seemed to be a commotion, a cacophony of rage, the symphony of a man disturbed, and I was its composer and performer. I picked the cup up, and threw it on the floor, and my knee’s soon fell into a puddle of the dark brown, murky liquid. The tears came without warning, everything seemed to slow down, and the only thing I could hear was a deep bass bellowing in my chest, my heart pounding away as I accepted what was going on.
“Why… WHY YOU CRUEL BEAST?!”
No response, just a dull dimwitted stare, and that’s how I landed in this current predicament. The official police report comments on the clone having multiple lacerations on their face, all shallow, and non-life threatening, but it was the fact the head had been removed from the rest of the body that put me in my new home behind these bars. I was a damaged product in a flawed system, and so I would spend the rest of my days here, all because of that damned starbucks batista…
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I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
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I quietly shut the door and set the tray of coffee down on the bedside table. As I sat down in the corner chair by the window, I tried to drown out the insistent beeps with thought. That only served to make things worse - reminding me of how much more I should have done, and how it was too late for me to anything more. At least the coffee would be a special treat.
During what felt like hours, but was no more than ten minutes, I thought of what a failure I was. I threw my life away for a career I hate, never spending enough time with Susan or Michelle. If I had just said I couldn't make it to that meeting, if I had just driven the girls to Michelle's dance recital like I said I would, maybe Susan would still be here and Michelle, well.... wouldn't.
"Da... Dad?"
Hearing the weak, pained voice brought me back to the present. "Yes, sweetie, I'm here," I said through a smile, trying my hardest not to betray my true emotions.
"Where's mom? I remember her screaming, a loud crash... is she OK?" Michelle asked through a trembling voice. Did she already know the answer?
"She's.. she is at home, resting. I'll bring her here, first thing in the morning, OK?" It hurt, telling that lie. But the doctors warned me Michelle wouldn't make it through the night, and I can't bear to see any more pain on her beautiful face. "She told me to get this for you, though" I said, as I held the drink in front of her so she could take a sip. It was a special treat that Susan got Michelle after her dance classes. Susan said that it was Michelle's favorite drink, and that it would mean a lot of I bought her one on the way home from the recital.
She perked up and smiled as I brought the straw to her lips, but the smile quickly faded as she took a sip.
"What's wrong, hunny? Are you in pain? I can see if the doctors could give you some more pain meds."
"Dad... what happened... mom? She knows... hate chocolate chips..." Tears streamed down Michelle's face, and I could see the life pour out of her in defeat, taking the last of her fight with it.
I managed a feeble, "I'm so sorry..." It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
"Dad... you lied..." were the last words out of Michelles mouth.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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Starbucks Batista
http://imgur.com/65k9noU
Starbucks Batista leaned over the counter and handed me my chocolaty beverage. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction because he looked at me with the most intense "fuck off or i will eat you" type of vibe...after a few seconds of uncomfortable staring he proclaimed "Basketballs....don't hold grudges" and that was that.
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When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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I sat in my chair eying the drink I had not ordered, but I had to forgive the mistake as I choked back tears. In the soul crushing realization that "The Animal" Dave Batista was reduced to serving at Starbucks. It had not been so long ago that he was part of Evolution with Triple H and the Nature Boy Rick Flair. Now I look upon this once veritable mass of fury as he quietly slinks behind the counter to his dark fall from the public eye. A single tear drops from my cheek.
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When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon.
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[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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"Hey... It's me Dom, today wasn't so good, It looks like they are letting me go after all. I'll be home soon, I'm in the coffee shop where we sat the first day we met, it's a Starbucks now, it still does our drink if you can believe that? I'll never forget how hot I was when I walked in that day, card missing and not enough change to buy a cold drink, yet there you were hand out stretched with the last money you had on earth, offering it to me. We bonded over that Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino, it was just a short year later it was my turn to hold my hand out to yours instead, but with a ring. Anyway, I had better go darling, the drink is nearly ready. I miss you honey."
After the automated voice thanked me for leaving her a message I go to place my phone back in my pocket, stealthily wiping my eyes clear of the collecting tears with my sleeve, lightly moistening the old worn fabric of my coat, the same coat I'd worn that day we had met, five years ago in fact.
"Sir?" I look up and see the Barista smiling at me. "Here you go sir" she chirps, handing me my coffee. I try to say thank you but the words simply stick in my throat, I manage a half smile and walk over to table by the window where we sat all those years ago, placing my coffee down before I sit, careful to not spill its contents lest I spoil my memories of this pace with anything bad.
I sigh, I've been doing it a lot recently, this sigh though... I feel strangely content, relieved even. I hated that job, good riddance in all honesty. I never had the courage to quit, I guess now I don't have to.
I take a sip of the coffee, the chocolate taste biting my tongue. It's not our coffee. It's... not... The tears come back again, but this time I make no effort to wipe them clear, not now, not this. This was supposed to be the same as before, I lose my self in the tears, I never even hear her approaching.
"Sir?" The voice of the Barista, but now subdued .
I look up at her, concern on her face.
"Why did she have to die?" I ask, the contents of the plastic coffee cup slowing pooling on the floor around me.
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When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon.
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
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When you date someone for a long time, every little action and nuance becomes an ornamentation you remember. It somehow becomes engraved in your character. As if its now a part of your being. Anyone who has been there knows how literal this feels, and how terrifingly sad it is once they've left you.
Me and my ex were Starbucks fanatics. It's funny in retrospect, but sad to think of how nostalgic that place is now. I always try and avoid the one location we always went to, until one day I just couldn't avoid it. It was either be late and ruin my day or just get my frikken Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino (I know, its the Starbucks disease to have multo worded orders). I figured, it's been like three years, I doubt I'll fall to the floor is pain and sorrow upon walking in.
It was a bit eerie, but I made my way to the counter. Everything was fine, ordering was like at any other location. My autopilot got everything out efficiently and I stood to the side waiting for my order.
But when it came I knew that wasn't my order. A sense of anxiety started to creep into my as I recognized the drink.
"Excuse me, I didn't order this."
"I'm sorry, didn't you ask for the Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino?"
My heart sort of dented as I realized what I'd done. As if it were a second nature, and if somewhere in the back of my mind was a repeating record, I without a second thought order their drink. They always used to order it and I thought about each word everytime and admired how elaborate it was. I started laughing a bit because I knew what this meant. No matter how much I thought that I had made them a distant memory, they were still somewhere in my subconcious. This impending thought and feeling of it "never ending" overwhelmed me and I started to cry a little. Akwardly and meekly I apologized and left without the drink. Sitting now in my car I did something I never let myself do, just cry and cry until I couldnt anymore.
I came here to be on time. In a different kind of irony, I feel like I came here too soon.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
|
"Hey... It's me Dom, today wasn't so good, It looks like they are letting me go after all. I'll be home soon, I'm in the coffee shop where we sat the first day we met, it's a Starbucks now, it still does our drink if you can believe that? I'll never forget how hot I was when I walked in that day, card missing and not enough change to buy a cold drink, yet there you were hand out stretched with the last money you had on earth, offering it to me. We bonded over that Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino, it was just a short year later it was my turn to hold my hand out to yours instead, but with a ring. Anyway, I had better go darling, the drink is nearly ready. I miss you honey."
After the automated voice thanked me for leaving her a message I go to place my phone back in my pocket, stealthily wiping my eyes clear of the collecting tears with my sleeve, lightly moistening the old worn fabric of my coat, the same coat I'd worn that day we had met, five years ago in fact.
"Sir?" I look up and see the Barista smiling at me. "Here you go sir" she chirps, handing me my coffee. I try to say thank you but the words simply stick in my throat, I manage a half smile and walk over to table by the window where we sat all those years ago, placing my coffee down before I sit, careful to not spill its contents lest I spoil my memories of this pace with anything bad.
I sigh, I've been doing it a lot recently, this sigh though... I feel strangely content, relieved even. I hated that job, good riddance in all honesty. I never had the courage to quit, I guess now I don't have to.
I take a sip of the coffee, the chocolate taste biting my tongue. It's not our coffee. It's... not... The tears come back again, but this time I make no effort to wipe them clear, not now, not this. This was supposed to be the same as before, I lose my self in the tears, I never even hear her approaching.
"Sir?" The voice of the Barista, but now subdued .
I look up at her, concern on her face.
"Why did she have to die?" I ask, the contents of the plastic coffee cup slowing pooling on the floor around me.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I shuffled away from the funeral, sniffling and trying to dry my eyes. Every Sunday, for the past ten years, I had gone to the home where my thankless and thoughtless parents had left my grandfather, and picked him up. I didn't always have gas money, and more than once I tried to hide my embarrassment when I saw him looking at my change engine light.
"Donny," he would say, "let me get this." And I would let him. I think it made him feel good, to be able to buy me the coffee I wanted. We would sit, him with his cup of straight black coffee, and me with my Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, and talk about our lives. He had the best stories. Sometimes our barista would sit down and have a chat with us. Gramps would flirt with her, and she would humor him. The halcyon days.
Then things started to get bad. Maybe once in a while, Grampa would forget her name. Or forget mine. Or forget where we were. He'd call me Thomas, and ask when the L.T. was gonna be back with the new orders. I would tell him the war was decades ago, and he would laugh it off. The normally-deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes would become just a little deeper, and I would try to forget.
And yet, we continued our pattern. Every Sunday, him with the black, me with my frappucino. The same order. The baristas came to know us, and to have that order ready when we walked in. Our table was always clear, always clean. It took on the cadence of ritual, and like all good rituals, provided comfort and security in a world that was slowly devolving around us, slipping away like the gossamer cobwebs of memory from my grandfather's failing grasp.
Then came the day when I knocked on that cheap, plywood door at the home, and there was no answer. The heart-thudding walk to the office. Trying to play it cool while I asked whether my grandfather might be in the rec room. The resigned look in the orderly's eyes. The listless way he jangled his keys to open the door.
The horrible, peaceful scene within.
The funeral had been worse. My false, teary-eyed parents accepting condolences like johnny-come-lately vampires. The alligator tears and bored looks at wristwatches. Sorry Granddad's death has inconvenienced you. Wouldn't want you to miss your football games, Dad.
I couldn't take it. After the graveside service, on this Sunday of all Sundays, I needed my ritual. I needed my comfort.
Luckily, it was a familiar barista. "Hey Jen," I said, sweeping in, bedecked in the black of mourning. "Get me the usual."
"Sure thing, Mr. Don," she said, and busied herself behind the counter. I sat at my usual table, staring forlornly at the empty seat across from me, willing time to reverse its inexorable flow to a time when the world wasn't missing its light.
Jen brought me my cup. I twisted it in my hands, feeling the cardboard buckle slightly under the pressure of my hands. I lifted it to my lips, stopped, and lowered it. "To you, Gramps," I said, a glass raised to empty air. After a limitless moment had been swept away, I again pressed the plastic rim of the cup to my lips, and drank.
The flavor of the Cafe Vanilla Light Frappucino, with no fat milk, is indescribable. One might as well assume he could explain the shimmering iridescence of a field of violets, waving in the wind, to a child blind from birth. It contains the sweetness and the bitter, the airy lightness and heavy creaminess that defines, for me, the appropriate taste of coffee. It is comfort reduced to a draught and poured for me by angels.
But the brew that basted my lips was foamy, chocolate-flavored, and granular, as if it contained shavings of chocolate. Beneath it all was the harsh, vegetal crispness of soy. I spit it out, the effluvium landing on the seat, my grandfather's seat. I dropped the cup. The table, our table, sat mutely as the lip popped off and dark, brown liquid began to run across its surface, following the infinitely mutable fractal pathways of chaos. I stood, too quickly, and into the person behind me. I heard her shout in alarm as her laptop fell from the table onto the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound of impact.
Tears clogging my sight, I turned to flee. Straight into Jen. Hot coffee splashed between us. She yelped in pain and cursed. Her manager, thundering above the din, "Jennifer! That is not work appropriate language! Get your things and *leave*. If I've told you once, I've..."
I could not hear him as I burst through the door and into the parking lot. Quiet winter sun above me, cold air stinging my nose, I fumbled with my keys at the door of my car. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Glass? I looked. My window lay shattered, papers strewn about the inside of my car. A gaping maw where my stereo used to be. Who steals a stereo from a mid-90s Civic? Honestly?
I sat in the pile of shattered glass chips on my seat, and wondered why anyone ever even bothered. I cried then, cried at a time when I thought all my tears had been given to an unfeeling world. And a snippet of conversation not a month gone wormed its way into my brain.
"Don," my grandfather said across a gulf of time and loss, "sometimes life is shit. But that's OK. If life weren't shit, you could never appreciate a good moment."
The other door to my car opened. Jen sat down.
"Hey, someone got your order mixed up. Here's your actual coffee."
She got up to leave. I put a hand on her arm, restraining her.
"Sorry about your job," I muffled around sobs.
"Sorry about your grandfather. Don't worry about the job. I graduate in a month and already have something cool lined up. And my boss was a jerk, anyway."
"I'm glad," I sniffled.
"C'mon, we're getting out of here," Jen said, putting my keys in the ignition and turning it on. "If you're up to it, I'd like to say goodbye, properly, too."
|
I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I looked back at the hulking mass of humanity with absolute disdain. It wasn't for the obvious reason though. I pitied Dave Batista and his new career. Once a top wrestling superstar, and more recently breakout action star, Dave had taken a swift fall from grace.
That green apron looked like it was tailored to fit a small child. Couldn't they have given him a bigger one? Did he choose it himself? Probably not. I don't think he is in control of anything at this point in his life.
I stood by and watched another unhappy patron belittle the former superstar. Now he was cursing at big Dave. Something disparaging about his belly button tattoo. That, admittedly, was a low blow. We all make mistakes. Unfortunately for Batista, the reverse tramp stamp was the least of his worries.
Why did he choke out that production assistant? A squabble over filtered water? There was too much irony at play here. Poor guy. He truly walks alone.
|
I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
There he was, this empty shell of a legend, merely a copy of what was once a legend in the ring, now his clones working here at Starbucks. It was all part of the initiative to bring about a society like that in the infamous story ‘Brave New World’. The United States Conglomerate Government had started a cloning initiative that created copies of famous figures with lesser intelligences to work in places like McDonalds, Wal-Mart, and even Starbucks.
A Major downside to these clones was their lowered intelligence, often leading to production errors, and the current dilemma. I’d use the last of my Starbucks ration for the month in an attempt to order a Café Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, but apparently that was a little too much for this clone because what I received was a chocolaty failure. I was handed a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, or at least, years ago it wouldn’t have been, but due to overpopulation and lack of strict pollution laws for developing countries, the worlds coffee and chocolate supply dwindled to the edge of extinction for these plants. Remakes due to errors of any kind weren’t permitted, and due to a personal condition where my body could not process chocolate correctly, I was now stuck with this beverage that took the last of my ration and there was no recourse.
We stood there, the Starbucks Batista and I, this dimwitted false human who destroyed one of the very few enjoyments I get in life. My lips moved as if they were trying to say something, but the air wouldn’t leave my lips, I couldn’t manage it, something as commonplace as talking became difficult. A knot, the closest thing I could describe the feeling in my throat was a knot, and all I could receive was this blank stare from the Batista-like clone that stood in front of me.
Finally it happened, I couldn’t take it. In the past this would have been a small thing, a simple shrug and remedied within a minute, but not anymore. I didn’t realize what I had done until after the fact when I could reflect on it. In the next few moments there seemed to be a commotion, a cacophony of rage, the symphony of a man disturbed, and I was its composer and performer. I picked the cup up, and threw it on the floor, and my knee’s soon fell into a puddle of the dark brown, murky liquid. The tears came without warning, everything seemed to slow down, and the only thing I could hear was a deep bass bellowing in my chest, my heart pounding away as I accepted what was going on.
“Why… WHY YOU CRUEL BEAST?!”
No response, just a dull dimwitted stare, and that’s how I landed in this current predicament. The official police report comments on the clone having multiple lacerations on their face, all shallow, and non-life threatening, but it was the fact the head had been removed from the rest of the body that put me in my new home behind these bars. I was a damaged product in a flawed system, and so I would spend the rest of my days here, all because of that damned starbucks batista…
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I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
At last. My delicious, Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk.
I sat down at the table, and took a long swig of my nectar of the gods.
No.
This was wrong. Something was WRONG. As I looked down at my cup, inhuman scream bubbled from my very soul, and breached my lips as I stared at the ugly, awful betrayer at the front counter.
Her nametag read "Barb". A barb of fire and worms and all things terrible that had pierced my innocent heart with a Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino with SOY.
Soy was the last straw. The final brick in the wall of my eternal grief. I broke down at the table, sobbing into my arms, cursing the cruel god of coffee who had caused my terrible plight.
No. I had to be sane. I had to be calm, this was a public place. People would be watching me, so I had to act NORMAL. "Get a hold of yourself" I whispered, choking on my endless tears. I sniffed, and smiled up at the concerned crowd who had crowded around my table.
And then I looked down at my cup, and my hand tightened into a fist. How dare she. How DARE she. The black-hearted demon, the plague-ridden mistress of pain and destruction, "Barb" -
**Had put extra milk in my cup.**
|
I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
There he was, this empty shell of a legend, merely a copy of what was once a legend in the ring, now his clones working here at Starbucks. It was all part of the initiative to bring about a society like that in the infamous story ‘Brave New World’. The United States Conglomerate Government had started a cloning initiative that created copies of famous figures with lesser intelligences to work in places like McDonalds, Wal-Mart, and even Starbucks.
A Major downside to these clones was their lowered intelligence, often leading to production errors, and the current dilemma. I’d use the last of my Starbucks ration for the month in an attempt to order a Café Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, but apparently that was a little too much for this clone because what I received was a chocolaty failure. I was handed a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, or at least, years ago it wouldn’t have been, but due to overpopulation and lack of strict pollution laws for developing countries, the worlds coffee and chocolate supply dwindled to the edge of extinction for these plants. Remakes due to errors of any kind weren’t permitted, and due to a personal condition where my body could not process chocolate correctly, I was now stuck with this beverage that took the last of my ration and there was no recourse.
We stood there, the Starbucks Batista and I, this dimwitted false human who destroyed one of the very few enjoyments I get in life. My lips moved as if they were trying to say something, but the air wouldn’t leave my lips, I couldn’t manage it, something as commonplace as talking became difficult. A knot, the closest thing I could describe the feeling in my throat was a knot, and all I could receive was this blank stare from the Batista-like clone that stood in front of me.
Finally it happened, I couldn’t take it. In the past this would have been a small thing, a simple shrug and remedied within a minute, but not anymore. I didn’t realize what I had done until after the fact when I could reflect on it. In the next few moments there seemed to be a commotion, a cacophony of rage, the symphony of a man disturbed, and I was its composer and performer. I picked the cup up, and threw it on the floor, and my knee’s soon fell into a puddle of the dark brown, murky liquid. The tears came without warning, everything seemed to slow down, and the only thing I could hear was a deep bass bellowing in my chest, my heart pounding away as I accepted what was going on.
“Why… WHY YOU CRUEL BEAST?!”
No response, just a dull dimwitted stare, and that’s how I landed in this current predicament. The official police report comments on the clone having multiple lacerations on their face, all shallow, and non-life threatening, but it was the fact the head had been removed from the rest of the body that put me in my new home behind these bars. I was a damaged product in a flawed system, and so I would spend the rest of my days here, all because of that damned starbucks batista…
|
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
At last. My delicious, Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk.
I sat down at the table, and took a long swig of my nectar of the gods.
No.
This was wrong. Something was WRONG. As I looked down at my cup, inhuman scream bubbled from my very soul, and breached my lips as I stared at the ugly, awful betrayer at the front counter.
Her nametag read "Barb". A barb of fire and worms and all things terrible that had pierced my innocent heart with a Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino with SOY.
Soy was the last straw. The final brick in the wall of my eternal grief. I broke down at the table, sobbing into my arms, cursing the cruel god of coffee who had caused my terrible plight.
No. I had to be sane. I had to be calm, this was a public place. People would be watching me, so I had to act NORMAL. "Get a hold of yourself" I whispered, choking on my endless tears. I sniffed, and smiled up at the concerned crowd who had crowded around my table.
And then I looked down at my cup, and my hand tightened into a fist. How dare she. How DARE she. The black-hearted demon, the plague-ridden mistress of pain and destruction, "Barb" -
**Had put extra milk in my cup.**
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
"How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time".
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|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Apparently being a regular has its drawbacks. For our past 10 anniversaries my wife and I have come to this Starbucks, ordered a Venti Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with Soy (she was lactose intolerant) and shared it in the booth where I proposed.
I probably should have known better, but I didn't know where else to go today. I couldn't bear the thought of drinking "our" drink alone so I ordered the first thing I saw on menu. A Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, Tall.
The girl who fixed my drink must have recognized me from the last couple of years, because when I heard my name called it wasn't what I had ordered. I guess I'll sit at our booth alone now.
|
"How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time".
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|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
It was over. We had won. But it felt like a hollow victory. There were holes. People 'missing' and dead. No one was untouched. The long bloody fight had sullied the glorious ideals of the revolution. The honoured dead had become the unnamed dead. It was all a mistake. And I caused it. I killed these people. And I'll live with that for the rest of my life.
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|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
My hands were shaking, so I rested them on the desk. Took me a half-second too long to realize that it was still covered with his blood. Pat was still at the door, rifle in hand, yelling encouragement to the boys finishing up with the personal guard downstairs, who had surrendered just minutes ago. “COME ON UP! WE FINALLY GOT THE BASTARD!”
Finally. The word held great weight as in echoed in my mind. *Finally.*
This particular attack had been planned for months, but the war had gone on for years before that.
Ozican’s regime had ruled the planet for decades. Cutting the people off from the rest of the known universe, depriving them of the knowledge that all other planets shared. Medicine, science, culture. Earth was now leagues behind for the sole reason that one dictator was afraid of change.
I sat in his chair and picked up the gun that had been pointed at me just moments before. It was an older model, so there was no palm print scan necessary for action.
PALM PRINT.
I scrambled to grab the dead monarch’s arm off the ground. The data in his personal library could not be lost, and the only way to access it was with the still-warm hand of Ozican himself. Pat closed the door and jumped into action helping me with the overweight terrorist. Celebration was knocking on our door, and we were almost caught with our pants down.
The desk sprang to life in front of us as I wiped blood off the scanner with my sleeve and slapped the dead hand upon it. Pat and I then stared as the screen sprang to life, and we let the arm fall to the ground. There was more data than we assumed. And most of it was in a folder labeled “Inter-Planetary Communications.”
That can’t be. Ozican was famous for being terrified of the ETs. He was also one of the only people still alive that had directly communicated with them in The Great Revelation of 2071. At least, that was the last communication that was made public. Apparently there had been plenty more since Earth was allegedly cut off from the rest of the universe.
I looked at Pat, and he simply nodded without returning the glance. We were the unofficial new leaders, having fought for the rebellion since we were big enough to hold guns. The impression given to us had always been one of a harsh dictatorship, with a strict refusal to acknowledge scientific progress and a complete decimation of any space communication programs. Apparently that was not the case.
I scrolled back to the first communication in the folder, the one every citizen of Earth had memorized at this point. It contained a message from the leader of the Galactic Alliance, inviting the planet to join in the Galactic community now that we had obtained the ability to easily travel through space.
But something was wrong. We both noticed immediately.
The video was longer. By only 20 seconds, but the most famous video in the world had been cut short by the Ozican regime.
I clicked play and scrolled to the end, playing the last thirty seconds.
“…nsider this a formal invitation to the most powerful alliance in the galaxy, an offer we extend to all fledgling planets. I trust we will have your answer within the next one hundred earth years.”
That’s where the original ended. But the figure on the screen kept talking. I was frozen with anxiety, staring at the only video that had kept me sane for my whole life, the thing that had kept me motivated through the harsh rebellion. What I heard next made my blood run cold.
“To help us understand you are serious about your allegiance to the Alliance, however, policy states that ninety-five percent of your planet’s life must be extinguished in a sacrifice to the All High. Refusal to do so within the previously set timeline will see your planet branded non-cooperative and we will be forced to reset life within your atmosphere. Praise be to the All High!”
The vaguely human shape on the screen faded and I stood with my mouth open in shock as cheers from the army outside rolled in the open window. The original communication was dated 2071.
That was 97 years ago.
|
|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
The death count was unimaginable, but we did it. Five long years of fighting against the CDS, and we succeeded. No longer shall a weakling lead the country we loved, but now a council of the strongest men would lead. An oligarchy, of sorts.
"The surviving soldiers have returned, sir."
Good, I thought. I walked outside to greet my faithful men, and all I saw was my reflection in the blood of the casualties of war.
|
|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
It stepped over the rubble and looked at the city I so much loved. The marquee of the theater I once worked was destroyed. The elegant wall fixtures and the velvet seats were burned to the ground. There was no more magic in that building that gave me so much joy. The hospital where I was born had several wings destroyed and the one that still function was filled by mutilated bodies. No more tears of happiness, only tears of desolation and grievance. There was no a single place that survived. The city was in ruins, everything was gone, everyone was gone. Everything I did, the rebellion, the war, the overthrown of the government was all for them, to give them a better life, a better future. Now that I return victorious I find my family, my neighbors, my friends and all dead. My city has died. I returned to nothing.
|
|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
A misty echo of shadowy chants and clamoring boots immersed the now vestigial halls of the old regime. Upholstery, cleaved straight from the mattresses of each of the seven hundred bedrooms, hurled out of each of the two thousand one hundred and forty-three windows. Garments, peeled from the very backs of the royal family, cast into each of the one thousand two hundred and fifty fireplaces. Now, I rest my weary soul upon this faux throne, barely fit to be called a man. And each of us, vagabonds and beggars, danced in victory upon these bones, these filthy, scarlet bones. Bones of our enemies. Bones of the palace guards who got in our way. Bones of the government officials, aristocrats, and royal noblemen alike who tormented us for generations. Bones of their family, bones of their friends, bones of their *children* for Christ's sake.
And where would it stop?
|
|
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
|
I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
|
For years I dreamed of a revolution, I never thought I'd get the chance to see it happen for myself. The opportunity arose and I took it, within a year we had one the war, all the west united under my banner. And once I had the power I found what I had found my worst fear to be true.
A leader must decide when the ends justify the means and now I see why the world leaders stood upon inaction. A fragile world kept together by a piece of string.
I rule the West but their will be another war with the east. The whole world will burn before its united. And its too late, I can't stop it now. Most of the population will perish before peace is found.
|
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
I manage to answer the phone again, this time I know I have to say goodbye. I say this every time, in my usual montly routine of trying to let go of the best friend I had for 10 years. I send her pictures, but I know that her daughter looks so beautiful in person, and the pictures never do her justice. I love Mariana, I do. She has become my daughter, too. But I feel sick thinking that if she hadn't been born that my best friend would still be alive. I end feeling trapped in this paradox of her holding the daughter that wouldn't exist if she could hold her in the first place.
The phone is silent on the other end, as if she waits for me to finish thinking, knowing how I truly feel, but holding a knowledge I do not possess of why things happen the way that they do. Why doesn't she just tell me?! Why can't she teach me how to let go, to know that our friendship is okay and that I don't have to answer the phone??
"Hey." Her voice instantly brings tears to my eyes and heat to my skin.
"You know I hate this." I am so bitter to her. It was me who was going to leave her. I was supposed to drive into that goddamned pole and end my life. But how could I? How can I taste death when I have an angel who calls regularly like a doctor's appointment, reminding me to care for her child, that I have to keep on living?
"I know, but I'm dead so I kinda have you beat." Of course. Her humor makes me want to wallow in my grief. Of course I miss her, and I answer the phone because I have to, but also because I want to.
"She plays the violin beautifully, just like you used to."
"I still play it. Post-death is kinda cool when you didn't fuck up life too badly. By the way, you were right, Gandhi made it to heaven too, even though he didn't believe in this Christian god."
"Nicee. When is my time to join you?"
"Shutup, I'm not God, I can't just spoil it for you."
"Life sucks without my best friend."
"Death sucks without mine. What are you though, a recluse? It's been 5 years, go find a freaking friend." I sigh, knowing that I have been to every function with every friend and coworker looking for that spark of friendship that came with knowing my kindred spirit. "Hey listen, you know I gotta go. This tether can only last for so long. But promise me you will just stick around on earth a little longer. I gotta get you the VIP pass anyways so you can skip the Pearly Gates."
"I'm not answering the phone anymore. This is the last time."
"Yeah whatever, loser, talk to you soon."
~~~~
The phone rings again. I answer it.
|
The droid's gilded humanoid carapace gleamed in the waning light of the desert suns. He walked these quiet cliffs daily, as he had with his master in years past, his pace occasionally stuttered by the several decades of grit built up around his servos. In years past, the sentient scavengers of this planet would have gone to great lengths to acquire a droid of his quality -- in fact, it was from these diminutive nomads that his master's uncle had first come to possess him. He assumed it was simple superstition that kept them away now, enabling his walks to bring him the closest approximation of peaceful enjoyment his programming allowed.
As the twin suns began to inch over the horizon, the old droid turned back toward the sun-bleached hovel in the center of the mesa. He didn't like being outside at night. His optic sensors simply weren't sensitive enough for him to navigate in the dark anymore.
As he passed under the arch into the shelter, a low hooting and whistling came from the second stout, cylindrical droid in the corner, functional, but long rendered immobile. "Well, I suppose we could," the golden droid responded. "After all, it has been nearly a year." The responding electronic "whoo-hoo" held a much happier tone.
The humanoid droid motioned toward the iridescent pyramid shaped object sat upon a pedestal opposite his counterpart. When he touched the top of it, a small, glowing hologram of a hooded figure appeared before him. It smiled warmly and opened its arms to the droid.
"Hello, Threepio."
"It is a pleasure to see you, Master Luke," C-3PO responded.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
"Hey what are you doing?" his voice raspy and weirdly digitized rang in my ear.
"oh god, not him again." I whispered silently to myself. "Dude, you're dead. I told you this a million times. Just stop calling me. I need to grieve over your death or whatever."
"No dude. Fuck that. You're going to listen to me I happen to th-" I didn't let him finish. I ended the call and tossed my phone on the bed. Who does he think he is? He is my best friend, but god, he can be so annoying. I liked him better when he was dead and uncommunicative.
I sat at my desk and put my hands on my face in frustration. When will these phone calls ever end? The phone began to ring with that all too familiar ringtone I had set for Tim. Snoop Dogg's vocals would be coming on soon. I sighed, and answered the call. "Will you Stop Fucking call-" but the voice on the other end over powered mine.
"No, you listen motherfucker, I had a life. ok!? You hearing me? I had a good college I was attending, a hot girlfriend I was fucking, and I had a ton of fucking great things going for me. So you're going to hear my fucking voice every single fucking day of the rest of your shitty life. I tried to STOP YOU from driving and sitting in that car with you was NOT MY MOTHERFUCKING CHOICE. So because of you're actions, I'm a disembodied voice on a fucking iPhone, while you are a dickless asshole who killed me, so YOU WILL LISTEN to what I have to say!"
I couldn't take it anymore. I smashed my phone on the ground, and tossed myself on the bed, wet hot sticky tears pouring down my face. he was right. I knew it, he knew it, and there was nothing I could do about it. He was going to guilt me for the rest of my life. I reached under the pillow, and pulled out that cold steal medicine, cocked it, and gave myself a dose of pain medication. Bang. Lights out.
|
The droid's gilded humanoid carapace gleamed in the waning light of the desert suns. He walked these quiet cliffs daily, as he had with his master in years past, his pace occasionally stuttered by the several decades of grit built up around his servos. In years past, the sentient scavengers of this planet would have gone to great lengths to acquire a droid of his quality -- in fact, it was from these diminutive nomads that his master's uncle had first come to possess him. He assumed it was simple superstition that kept them away now, enabling his walks to bring him the closest approximation of peaceful enjoyment his programming allowed.
As the twin suns began to inch over the horizon, the old droid turned back toward the sun-bleached hovel in the center of the mesa. He didn't like being outside at night. His optic sensors simply weren't sensitive enough for him to navigate in the dark anymore.
As he passed under the arch into the shelter, a low hooting and whistling came from the second stout, cylindrical droid in the corner, functional, but long rendered immobile. "Well, I suppose we could," the golden droid responded. "After all, it has been nearly a year." The responding electronic "whoo-hoo" held a much happier tone.
The humanoid droid motioned toward the iridescent pyramid shaped object sat upon a pedestal opposite his counterpart. When he touched the top of it, a small, glowing hologram of a hooded figure appeared before him. It smiled warmly and opened its arms to the droid.
"Hello, Threepio."
"It is a pleasure to see you, Master Luke," C-3PO responded.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
>Me: Hey.
>Dan: Hey you. How are you doing?
>Me: Not so hot. Jesse broke up with me.
>Dan: Aw, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Why?
>Me: He said we "just didn't fit."
>Me: I thought we fit perfectly.
>Dan: Sometimes what seems perfect turns out to be wrong. How many times did you tell me that?
>Me: I know. But it hurts.
>Dan: I know it hurts, sweetie. Just fall back on my sovereign remedy.
>Me: Toffifay and Drag Race?
>Dan: And ice cream. You can't be properly fierce without ice cream.
>Me: I miss him.
>Dan: I know you do, sweetie. But you'll be fine.
>Me: I miss you too, Danface.
>Dan: I'm right here.
>Me: I know, but...
>Me: I need a hug.
>^^Seen, ^^1:38 ^^a.m.
Rest in peace, Dan. You were, and always will be, my very best friend.
|
The droid's gilded humanoid carapace gleamed in the waning light of the desert suns. He walked these quiet cliffs daily, as he had with his master in years past, his pace occasionally stuttered by the several decades of grit built up around his servos. In years past, the sentient scavengers of this planet would have gone to great lengths to acquire a droid of his quality -- in fact, it was from these diminutive nomads that his master's uncle had first come to possess him. He assumed it was simple superstition that kept them away now, enabling his walks to bring him the closest approximation of peaceful enjoyment his programming allowed.
As the twin suns began to inch over the horizon, the old droid turned back toward the sun-bleached hovel in the center of the mesa. He didn't like being outside at night. His optic sensors simply weren't sensitive enough for him to navigate in the dark anymore.
As he passed under the arch into the shelter, a low hooting and whistling came from the second stout, cylindrical droid in the corner, functional, but long rendered immobile. "Well, I suppose we could," the golden droid responded. "After all, it has been nearly a year." The responding electronic "whoo-hoo" held a much happier tone.
The humanoid droid motioned toward the iridescent pyramid shaped object sat upon a pedestal opposite his counterpart. When he touched the top of it, a small, glowing hologram of a hooded figure appeared before him. It smiled warmly and opened its arms to the droid.
"Hello, Threepio."
"It is a pleasure to see you, Master Luke," C-3PO responded.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
>Me: Hey.
>Dan: Hey you. How are you doing?
>Me: Not so hot. Jesse broke up with me.
>Dan: Aw, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Why?
>Me: He said we "just didn't fit."
>Me: I thought we fit perfectly.
>Dan: Sometimes what seems perfect turns out to be wrong. How many times did you tell me that?
>Me: I know. But it hurts.
>Dan: I know it hurts, sweetie. Just fall back on my sovereign remedy.
>Me: Toffifay and Drag Race?
>Dan: And ice cream. You can't be properly fierce without ice cream.
>Me: I miss him.
>Dan: I know you do, sweetie. But you'll be fine.
>Me: I miss you too, Danface.
>Dan: I'm right here.
>Me: I know, but...
>Me: I need a hug.
>^^Seen, ^^1:38 ^^a.m.
Rest in peace, Dan. You were, and always will be, my very best friend.
|
I manage to answer the phone again, this time I know I have to say goodbye. I say this every time, in my usual montly routine of trying to let go of the best friend I had for 10 years. I send her pictures, but I know that her daughter looks so beautiful in person, and the pictures never do her justice. I love Mariana, I do. She has become my daughter, too. But I feel sick thinking that if she hadn't been born that my best friend would still be alive. I end feeling trapped in this paradox of her holding the daughter that wouldn't exist if she could hold her in the first place.
The phone is silent on the other end, as if she waits for me to finish thinking, knowing how I truly feel, but holding a knowledge I do not possess of why things happen the way that they do. Why doesn't she just tell me?! Why can't she teach me how to let go, to know that our friendship is okay and that I don't have to answer the phone??
"Hey." Her voice instantly brings tears to my eyes and heat to my skin.
"You know I hate this." I am so bitter to her. It was me who was going to leave her. I was supposed to drive into that goddamned pole and end my life. But how could I? How can I taste death when I have an angel who calls regularly like a doctor's appointment, reminding me to care for her child, that I have to keep on living?
"I know, but I'm dead so I kinda have you beat." Of course. Her humor makes me want to wallow in my grief. Of course I miss her, and I answer the phone because I have to, but also because I want to.
"She plays the violin beautifully, just like you used to."
"I still play it. Post-death is kinda cool when you didn't fuck up life too badly. By the way, you were right, Gandhi made it to heaven too, even though he didn't believe in this Christian god."
"Nicee. When is my time to join you?"
"Shutup, I'm not God, I can't just spoil it for you."
"Life sucks without my best friend."
"Death sucks without mine. What are you though, a recluse? It's been 5 years, go find a freaking friend." I sigh, knowing that I have been to every function with every friend and coworker looking for that spark of friendship that came with knowing my kindred spirit. "Hey listen, you know I gotta go. This tether can only last for so long. But promise me you will just stick around on earth a little longer. I gotta get you the VIP pass anyways so you can skip the Pearly Gates."
"I'm not answering the phone anymore. This is the last time."
"Yeah whatever, loser, talk to you soon."
~~~~
The phone rings again. I answer it.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
>Me: Hey.
>Dan: Hey you. How are you doing?
>Me: Not so hot. Jesse broke up with me.
>Dan: Aw, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Why?
>Me: He said we "just didn't fit."
>Me: I thought we fit perfectly.
>Dan: Sometimes what seems perfect turns out to be wrong. How many times did you tell me that?
>Me: I know. But it hurts.
>Dan: I know it hurts, sweetie. Just fall back on my sovereign remedy.
>Me: Toffifay and Drag Race?
>Dan: And ice cream. You can't be properly fierce without ice cream.
>Me: I miss him.
>Dan: I know you do, sweetie. But you'll be fine.
>Me: I miss you too, Danface.
>Dan: I'm right here.
>Me: I know, but...
>Me: I need a hug.
>^^Seen, ^^1:38 ^^a.m.
Rest in peace, Dan. You were, and always will be, my very best friend.
|
"Hey what are you doing?" his voice raspy and weirdly digitized rang in my ear.
"oh god, not him again." I whispered silently to myself. "Dude, you're dead. I told you this a million times. Just stop calling me. I need to grieve over your death or whatever."
"No dude. Fuck that. You're going to listen to me I happen to th-" I didn't let him finish. I ended the call and tossed my phone on the bed. Who does he think he is? He is my best friend, but god, he can be so annoying. I liked him better when he was dead and uncommunicative.
I sat at my desk and put my hands on my face in frustration. When will these phone calls ever end? The phone began to ring with that all too familiar ringtone I had set for Tim. Snoop Dogg's vocals would be coming on soon. I sighed, and answered the call. "Will you Stop Fucking call-" but the voice on the other end over powered mine.
"No, you listen motherfucker, I had a life. ok!? You hearing me? I had a good college I was attending, a hot girlfriend I was fucking, and I had a ton of fucking great things going for me. So you're going to hear my fucking voice every single fucking day of the rest of your shitty life. I tried to STOP YOU from driving and sitting in that car with you was NOT MY MOTHERFUCKING CHOICE. So because of you're actions, I'm a disembodied voice on a fucking iPhone, while you are a dickless asshole who killed me, so YOU WILL LISTEN to what I have to say!"
I couldn't take it anymore. I smashed my phone on the ground, and tossed myself on the bed, wet hot sticky tears pouring down my face. he was right. I knew it, he knew it, and there was nothing I could do about it. He was going to guilt me for the rest of my life. I reached under the pillow, and pulled out that cold steal medicine, cocked it, and gave myself a dose of pain medication. Bang. Lights out.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
>Me: Hey.
>Dan: Hey you. How are you doing?
>Me: Not so hot. Jesse broke up with me.
>Dan: Aw, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Why?
>Me: He said we "just didn't fit."
>Me: I thought we fit perfectly.
>Dan: Sometimes what seems perfect turns out to be wrong. How many times did you tell me that?
>Me: I know. But it hurts.
>Dan: I know it hurts, sweetie. Just fall back on my sovereign remedy.
>Me: Toffifay and Drag Race?
>Dan: And ice cream. You can't be properly fierce without ice cream.
>Me: I miss him.
>Dan: I know you do, sweetie. But you'll be fine.
>Me: I miss you too, Danface.
>Dan: I'm right here.
>Me: I know, but...
>Me: I need a hug.
>^^Seen, ^^1:38 ^^a.m.
Rest in peace, Dan. You were, and always will be, my very best friend.
|
She died two years ago today, in a car crash with her new boyfriend. What's weird is I didn't feel anything. I told my friend that she deserved it for getting with that fat fuck behind the wheel. I told myself I'd take her somewhere nice next time, before her boyfriend gets out of the hospital.
I guess I never came to terms with it, never accepted it. For the longest time I thought that it was a lie. When our mutual friend called me, I was working away. I was woke up early by the news, and would not be convinced for another three weeks.
So here we are. She's still here. I see her every day, only she doesn't upload photos any more. I used to enjoy reading her statuses; her witty observations would usually merit a response in my facial muscles - upturned corners of my mouth, a squint of my eyes.
Nobody really talks to her any more, except on her birthday and Christmas. I still talk, though; I still wait for the banner on my phone to tell me she's still okay.
^(Based on a true story)
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
JOE:
My phone rings once more and I stare at the caller ID, 'Alexis.' Every night at 2am I sit at the kitchen table and I deliberate over whether to answer or deny the call. I stare at the image of Alexis, her brunette locks surrounding her pale face, paused in time at the age of 18. Not for the first time, I look up at the mirror hanging on the wall and trace the creases of the past 20 years upon my face. I tell myself each one represents a specific moment of laughter, or pain, representative of the memories I'd comprised over the last two decades. Secretly, though I'd never admit it aloud, I'm grateful she never got to see me this way. In her mind and through our phone calls I would remain the same teenage boy with whom she fell in love. In some ways this was better.
I answer the call. I silently vow that this will be the last time, that tomorrow I move on and remain faithful to my wife, Cassandra, upstairs sleeping in our bed. It isn't that I don't love Cassandra, I do, but there is no doubt in my mind that had Alexis' accident not happened, it would have been our children asleep upstairs instead.The gentle tone of her voice draws me back each night. The way she says my name, with pride and longing and love, lures me in once more. It's been difficult finding topics we can discuss together, her lack of future, my future in which someone else has taken her place are skirted around. Our conversations are brief but each night we trade the phrase 'I love you' and I crawl back into bed next to my wife, riddled with equal amounts of pleasure and guilt.
****
Cassandra:
I heard him crawl back into bed with me last night and not for the first time. He thinks I don't know, that I haven't noticed him calling her, texting her. He's so sentimental he can't even bring himself to delete their text messages, he just changed her name but I figured it out. I know I shouldn't have gone through his phone or read them but I needed to do something, to try and protect my family. I put her number in my phone and I call her...a girl with a southern accents answers and she already knows my name.She accuses me of stealing her life, her future and I don't understand what is going on. She's the one who has been having an affair with my husband and she has the audacity to accuse me of ruining her life. I'm crying through the confusion, trying to make sense of things, and then I hear her laugh, enjoying my suffering before asking, "Don't you know who I am? I'm Alexis." I slam the phone down, scared and confused. He's told me all about her, how they were together, but she drowned in an accident. I tell myself it's some kind of twisted joke and get in the car to meet Joe at work where I can confront him. I need answers, an explanation, nothing makes sense anymore. Every few seconds my phone beeps, another text from Alexis. I see traffic lights a few hundred yards up ahead, and briefly look back at my phone. She's telling me things about her past with Joe, telling me how they still love each other and...
****
Joe:
I hold her belongings in my arms and bring them closer to my chest. Everything smells of her perfume and I inhale deeply. Paramedics tried everything they could but they were too late. She'd failed to pause at the lights and an oncoming car slammed into the side of her. I didn't understand, she was...I choke on the past tense...the most cautious driver. Her phone has been incesantly beeping since I returned home and I assumed it was just work continuing to try and establish why she hadn't made it in this afternoon. In an effort to cease the tone, I go to hit the off switch, but before I do, I see the messages are all from an unknown number and I read on. Even in print I know that voice anywhere. I can hear it but this time it isn't received with warmth like normal, it chills me and I throw the phone across the room. It was her. Cassandra knew. Alexis caused the crash, distracted her, the times matched.
I pick up my own phone and dial Cassandra, praying that the same unknown discrepency will allow me to stay in touch with my wife after her death. Her phone rings and rings across the other side of the room but I am met with the stone-cold silence of her voicemail. I look back at my phone, scrolling through my contacts and without hesitation I delete my only connection with Alexis from my phone, blocking the number too. This time when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see only guilt. I cheated on my wife with my dead girlfriend for our entire marriage and it caused her death. Alive, my wife was never enough to make me let go of Alexis, but in death, I know she is the only one I ever loved. I can see that now. I just wish I could tell her...
|
She died two years ago today, in a car crash with her new boyfriend. What's weird is I didn't feel anything. I told my friend that she deserved it for getting with that fat fuck behind the wheel. I told myself I'd take her somewhere nice next time, before her boyfriend gets out of the hospital.
I guess I never came to terms with it, never accepted it. For the longest time I thought that it was a lie. When our mutual friend called me, I was working away. I was woke up early by the news, and would not be convinced for another three weeks.
So here we are. She's still here. I see her every day, only she doesn't upload photos any more. I used to enjoy reading her statuses; her witty observations would usually merit a response in my facial muscles - upturned corners of my mouth, a squint of my eyes.
Nobody really talks to her any more, except on her birthday and Christmas. I still talk, though; I still wait for the banner on my phone to tell me she's still okay.
^(Based on a true story)
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
JOE:
My phone rings once more and I stare at the caller ID, 'Alexis.' Every night at 2am I sit at the kitchen table and I deliberate over whether to answer or deny the call. I stare at the image of Alexis, her brunette locks surrounding her pale face, paused in time at the age of 18. Not for the first time, I look up at the mirror hanging on the wall and trace the creases of the past 20 years upon my face. I tell myself each one represents a specific moment of laughter, or pain, representative of the memories I'd comprised over the last two decades. Secretly, though I'd never admit it aloud, I'm grateful she never got to see me this way. In her mind and through our phone calls I would remain the same teenage boy with whom she fell in love. In some ways this was better.
I answer the call. I silently vow that this will be the last time, that tomorrow I move on and remain faithful to my wife, Cassandra, upstairs sleeping in our bed. It isn't that I don't love Cassandra, I do, but there is no doubt in my mind that had Alexis' accident not happened, it would have been our children asleep upstairs instead.The gentle tone of her voice draws me back each night. The way she says my name, with pride and longing and love, lures me in once more. It's been difficult finding topics we can discuss together, her lack of future, my future in which someone else has taken her place are skirted around. Our conversations are brief but each night we trade the phrase 'I love you' and I crawl back into bed next to my wife, riddled with equal amounts of pleasure and guilt.
****
Cassandra:
I heard him crawl back into bed with me last night and not for the first time. He thinks I don't know, that I haven't noticed him calling her, texting her. He's so sentimental he can't even bring himself to delete their text messages, he just changed her name but I figured it out. I know I shouldn't have gone through his phone or read them but I needed to do something, to try and protect my family. I put her number in my phone and I call her...a girl with a southern accents answers and she already knows my name.She accuses me of stealing her life, her future and I don't understand what is going on. She's the one who has been having an affair with my husband and she has the audacity to accuse me of ruining her life. I'm crying through the confusion, trying to make sense of things, and then I hear her laugh, enjoying my suffering before asking, "Don't you know who I am? I'm Alexis." I slam the phone down, scared and confused. He's told me all about her, how they were together, but she drowned in an accident. I tell myself it's some kind of twisted joke and get in the car to meet Joe at work where I can confront him. I need answers, an explanation, nothing makes sense anymore. Every few seconds my phone beeps, another text from Alexis. I see traffic lights a few hundred yards up ahead, and briefly look back at my phone. She's telling me things about her past with Joe, telling me how they still love each other and...
****
Joe:
I hold her belongings in my arms and bring them closer to my chest. Everything smells of her perfume and I inhale deeply. Paramedics tried everything they could but they were too late. She'd failed to pause at the lights and an oncoming car slammed into the side of her. I didn't understand, she was...I choke on the past tense...the most cautious driver. Her phone has been incesantly beeping since I returned home and I assumed it was just work continuing to try and establish why she hadn't made it in this afternoon. In an effort to cease the tone, I go to hit the off switch, but before I do, I see the messages are all from an unknown number and I read on. Even in print I know that voice anywhere. I can hear it but this time it isn't received with warmth like normal, it chills me and I throw the phone across the room. It was her. Cassandra knew. Alexis caused the crash, distracted her, the times matched.
I pick up my own phone and dial Cassandra, praying that the same unknown discrepency will allow me to stay in touch with my wife after her death. Her phone rings and rings across the other side of the room but I am met with the stone-cold silence of her voicemail. I look back at my phone, scrolling through my contacts and without hesitation I delete my only connection with Alexis from my phone, blocking the number too. This time when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see only guilt. I cheated on my wife with my dead girlfriend for our entire marriage and it caused her death. Alive, my wife was never enough to make me let go of Alexis, but in death, I know she is the only one I ever loved. I can see that now. I just wish I could tell her...
|
"Oh God, I'm so sorry Tabby."
"What for?"
"I just want to hold you," types Steven as he sobs uncontrollably.
"You have to move on and live your life. It's almost time."
"I... can't ever imagine myself moving on. We were robbed of our future together. Why can't you see that? Why aren't you angry?!"
"I can't feel like before. It's almost been a year. The Department of Aided Grief will soon shut off my memory."
Steven cradles his cellphone and once again imagines falling asleep with her in his arms. She was gone. "I love you Tabby," he whispers to the empty room, "always."
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
JOE:
My phone rings once more and I stare at the caller ID, 'Alexis.' Every night at 2am I sit at the kitchen table and I deliberate over whether to answer or deny the call. I stare at the image of Alexis, her brunette locks surrounding her pale face, paused in time at the age of 18. Not for the first time, I look up at the mirror hanging on the wall and trace the creases of the past 20 years upon my face. I tell myself each one represents a specific moment of laughter, or pain, representative of the memories I'd comprised over the last two decades. Secretly, though I'd never admit it aloud, I'm grateful she never got to see me this way. In her mind and through our phone calls I would remain the same teenage boy with whom she fell in love. In some ways this was better.
I answer the call. I silently vow that this will be the last time, that tomorrow I move on and remain faithful to my wife, Cassandra, upstairs sleeping in our bed. It isn't that I don't love Cassandra, I do, but there is no doubt in my mind that had Alexis' accident not happened, it would have been our children asleep upstairs instead.The gentle tone of her voice draws me back each night. The way she says my name, with pride and longing and love, lures me in once more. It's been difficult finding topics we can discuss together, her lack of future, my future in which someone else has taken her place are skirted around. Our conversations are brief but each night we trade the phrase 'I love you' and I crawl back into bed next to my wife, riddled with equal amounts of pleasure and guilt.
****
Cassandra:
I heard him crawl back into bed with me last night and not for the first time. He thinks I don't know, that I haven't noticed him calling her, texting her. He's so sentimental he can't even bring himself to delete their text messages, he just changed her name but I figured it out. I know I shouldn't have gone through his phone or read them but I needed to do something, to try and protect my family. I put her number in my phone and I call her...a girl with a southern accents answers and she already knows my name.She accuses me of stealing her life, her future and I don't understand what is going on. She's the one who has been having an affair with my husband and she has the audacity to accuse me of ruining her life. I'm crying through the confusion, trying to make sense of things, and then I hear her laugh, enjoying my suffering before asking, "Don't you know who I am? I'm Alexis." I slam the phone down, scared and confused. He's told me all about her, how they were together, but she drowned in an accident. I tell myself it's some kind of twisted joke and get in the car to meet Joe at work where I can confront him. I need answers, an explanation, nothing makes sense anymore. Every few seconds my phone beeps, another text from Alexis. I see traffic lights a few hundred yards up ahead, and briefly look back at my phone. She's telling me things about her past with Joe, telling me how they still love each other and...
****
Joe:
I hold her belongings in my arms and bring them closer to my chest. Everything smells of her perfume and I inhale deeply. Paramedics tried everything they could but they were too late. She'd failed to pause at the lights and an oncoming car slammed into the side of her. I didn't understand, she was...I choke on the past tense...the most cautious driver. Her phone has been incesantly beeping since I returned home and I assumed it was just work continuing to try and establish why she hadn't made it in this afternoon. In an effort to cease the tone, I go to hit the off switch, but before I do, I see the messages are all from an unknown number and I read on. Even in print I know that voice anywhere. I can hear it but this time it isn't received with warmth like normal, it chills me and I throw the phone across the room. It was her. Cassandra knew. Alexis caused the crash, distracted her, the times matched.
I pick up my own phone and dial Cassandra, praying that the same unknown discrepency will allow me to stay in touch with my wife after her death. Her phone rings and rings across the other side of the room but I am met with the stone-cold silence of her voicemail. I look back at my phone, scrolling through my contacts and without hesitation I delete my only connection with Alexis from my phone, blocking the number too. This time when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see only guilt. I cheated on my wife with my dead girlfriend for our entire marriage and it caused her death. Alive, my wife was never enough to make me let go of Alexis, but in death, I know she is the only one I ever loved. I can see that now. I just wish I could tell her...
|
Got another small novels worth of texts from Mike today...
You'd think after his death his spelling would improve now that he isn't limited by a squishy brain.
You'd be wrong. So very, very wrong.
|
Happened in my dream...
|
[WP] Your friend passes, but he/she remains alive in technology, so you can still text/call them, but never meet them in person
|
"So, you dead now?" I typed to my dear friend who had recently passed.
"Yeah, it was exactly like the books said it was like, it hurt a tonne, and the morphine was not helping, but it all went away. The pain, the sadness, the happiness, the feeling." He typed, clearly taking his time when writing about his own death.
"Collapsed lung, spinal damage and heavy burning, IIRC" I typed, forgetting to be slightly more formal than that. "
"Ha, IIRC eh? I suppose I should get used to these kinds of abbreviations now eh? Now that I'm dead, but hurrah for technology. We even have these handy autocorrects to help us with our poor English now" He jibed back at me
"Eh, that helps with spelling and basic grammar, but it is no substitute for good English"
"That reminds me, can we even learn when we are dead? If we could chat we could definitely use the Internet, we could do whatever we want"
"I supose you could, but most people get tired of it, they go to sleep, and they never answer anymore."
"Now that you mention it, I do feel quite tired. I might want to take a nap now"
"So soon? You just got here, but I suppose even if people could talk while dead, not many feel the need to."
"*Yawns* Yeah, it does not feel very necessary to talk anymore, but you. You were here with me, the whole time"
"We are best buddies, don't let minor things like death break that"
"Heh, sorry about the car crash"
"Eh, at least I died instantly"
|
Got another small novels worth of texts from Mike today...
You'd think after his death his spelling would improve now that he isn't limited by a squishy brain.
You'd be wrong. So very, very wrong.
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I closed my eyes. This couldn't be happening.
The phenomenon first started several months ago - people, usually gamers, started disappearing. They were sometimes honored with npcs modeled after them; The problem was that no dev remembered coding them in.
The NPCs were indistinguishable from their former selves, and many regarded it as a sort of afterlife. Most people began playing their favorite games obsessively - difficult ones, oftentimes, were ignored. Nobody wanted to face the Zerg, or deal with the Covenant.
As I examined my new surroundings, I determined that I'd seriously fucked up.
On 1/21/2015, at 1:24 PM, John wrote:
> Hey dude, Dark Souls 2 is on sale. You gonna pick it up?
On 1/21/2015, at 1:28 PM, John wrote:
> Hello?
|
The Sunless Sea shone black through the light of the oil-lamp.
God help us all.
Though a man of the book, heavy with the understanding of the things that should not be, I was unprepared.
My iron in the fire, it proved weak for the environment I was in. God help us all.
They call me mad, you know. I speak to them about things like the "internet", of "computers". They only whisper, speaking to each other as if I have stared too long into the Dawn Machine.
Thank God for the small things. I have become a drunk, and a caffeine addict, welcome in the Khanate and little else.
God help my soul.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
"Y'all going from the west coast to the east coast!" Said a voice that sounded oddly familiar. While the voice spoke 'switching sides' appeared in large text in front of me.
Damn, I thought, I had a really good spot, too. Now I have to find a new one.
When I spawned in I looked to my left to see the other 5 guys holding a variety of military grade weapons. I had the biggest but it was alright because I didn't plan on using it on anyone, unless they run by me that is. The timer ticked down to zero and my teammates ran out into the battle field. I turned around, walked straight into the corner and put my back to it and waited. This worked for the last 60 hours, it should work for the rest of the time I'm here.
|
The Sunless Sea shone black through the light of the oil-lamp.
God help us all.
Though a man of the book, heavy with the understanding of the things that should not be, I was unprepared.
My iron in the fire, it proved weak for the environment I was in. God help us all.
They call me mad, you know. I speak to them about things like the "internet", of "computers". They only whisper, speaking to each other as if I have stared too long into the Dawn Machine.
Thank God for the small things. I have become a drunk, and a caffeine addict, welcome in the Khanate and little else.
God help my soul.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
The Sunless Sea shone black through the light of the oil-lamp.
God help us all.
Though a man of the book, heavy with the understanding of the things that should not be, I was unprepared.
My iron in the fire, it proved weak for the environment I was in. God help us all.
They call me mad, you know. I speak to them about things like the "internet", of "computers". They only whisper, speaking to each other as if I have stared too long into the Dawn Machine.
Thank God for the small things. I have become a drunk, and a caffeine addict, welcome in the Khanate and little else.
God help my soul.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
Sirens blare from the deck as a plane rises from the interior, I find myself strapped into the cockpit as a voice comes through the headset, it says that I am clear for take off. Hardly. Filling my lungs, I firmly grasp the controls and rocket upwards towards the ivory ceiling above, leveling off as my wing leaves small puffs in its wake. I stare out into the yellow tinted sky, small tufts obscuring the otherwise fair view. The sun gleams magnificently across the water as heavy slugs pierce the undercarriage, returning my focus to the events at hand.
“What happened?” I yell into the microphone hoping for some response.
“You have several hostiles coming in hot, watch out for their shots, the plane won't take many.” the base responds.
“Oh really?! Any more pearls of wisdom?” I respond as several more shots narrowly miss the plane.
“Well, it would be easier to take them out if you could get them in a group, up close. You won't have as much luck if you're trying to take them all out one by one.” the commander responds, taking over the communication line.
“I think I've got an idea, wish me luck.” I say, exhaling and driving the plane into a sharp dive for the glimmering water below.
“Godspeed.” he responds.
Several bandits follow close behind, falling into a steep dive to keep up with my unreasonable maneuvers. The speed of my descent sends waves in opposing directions from the nose, as I pull upward into an impossible climb touching the surface by mere inches. Continuing the insane climb, I glance backward to see that one plane has succumb to the sea and takes another along with it. Even more impressive are the ones who have managed to remain on my tail, firing the occasional shot that misses spectacularly.
Racing towards the clouded ceiling, I simply let go and stall. Falling out of the sky, my enemies race past directly into my sights. Pulling the trigger, my guns fill them full of shrapnel as they explode like fireworks in the sky. Cheers and commendations ring out from the headset as the plane levels once more under my control. I can't help but laugh and cheer that my bold strategy was successful as I live to fight another day.
“Careful, there's a large bogey ahead on the water's surface. We have no visual confirmation of its identity or status. Assume it is hostile. I repeat, assume it is hostile.” the base instructs.
Nodding my head in confirmation, I bring the plane low, leaving a wake behind as I destroy one small ship after another, taking little fire in return. Shortly after, a massive metal ship appears in my view, I pull up to avoid the hail of fire sent my way. It continues firing, two streams of massive shots zooming past my craft until they hit. First one, then another, and several more. My plane begins to smoke and catch fire as I fight to retain control and leave in one piece. Escaping just beyond range, my plane recovers much to my surprise.
“Er, Commander?” I question.
“Yes, what is it?” he responds.
“My plane has been hit by the battleship, it nearly tore my plane to shreds. Somehow, it seems...fine...now?” I retort uncertainly.
“It's our newest technology, pilot. If you keep your plane dry, at a reasonable height, and do not tax it by running your firing systems, it should self-heal in a few minutes or more depending on the damage.” he replies with a great deal of pride.
“That is...amazing!” I cry as I make another pass for the hulking battleship, guns pulsing along the way.
“Yes pilot. We know.” he says before closing the communication line once more.
Riddling the hull with shells, the ship continues firing as I narrowly swerve between shots to avoid taking damage. The ship looks unharmed from the bullet storm that is raining down upon it and my frustration mounts as another pass seems to have little added effect. Leaving the ship in the distance, it suddenly explodes into a marvelous fireball as a large aircraft seemingly floats into sight. My heart stops as cannon-like blasts emanate from the strange object, aiming directly for me.
The engine roars as I put distance between it and myself, destroying small planes and boats along the way. It continues the assault from below, hovering in place with its guns pointed to the skies. Jerking the controls, I throw my plane into a spin and land several shots before pointing forwards and blasting away. My only hope is a war of attrition, with its heavy firepower and durability, it would easily survive a fight with twelve planes of my size. I continue to chip away until it begins showing signs of wear, finally circling it like a bird of prey stalking a wounded animal. Shards erupt from the ragged frame falling into the waters below.
“Good work, pilot. Your work is done he-Wait, what?” the commander speaks before turning his attention to another on board. “Are you certain? Pilot. I have very grave news. There is a vessel of unimaginable proportions rising in the distance. We can't identify it because it doesn't fit on the radar. Not in one piece. Be careful, return safe. Godspeed.” the commander replies solemnly.
An enormous vessel parts the white sea above and descends just in view, before I can react, several streams of fire erupt from its mounted guns. With a series of well timed stops and bursts of speed, I navigate through the veil, returning fire of my own. It begins launching missiles that lock on to my plane as I drag them to the watery deep. The pilots of this enormous vessel have called in additional support from battleships, jets and the cannon aircraft alike. The sun rises on the third day, the seventy-second hour as my ship is pummeled from all sides.
“Sir, I don't think I'm going to make it back.” I say, choking back tears.
“We will always remember you, LuftRauser.” he responds, their salute reaching through the headset as my heart swells with pride.
I make one final push to bring the enormous dirigible in sight and wait for the final shot. As it rips through my plane, I scream the name I will always be remembered by. The final weapon at my disposal detonates, an enormous blast follows irradiating and disintegrating all foes. I am the LuftRauser.
-021
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[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
It was war. Gunfire going in every direction, death from every angle. We had homefield advantage, endless tree cover, and even beasts of men on our sides, but it never seemed like we were even putting a dent in the enemy forces. We had snipers, demolition, hell, we were always told to strike back just as they did. It seemed like an endless battle and we just kept fighting.
I was told that my sentence to this hell would only last 72 hours along the battlefront, as the sun was setting, I hit 71. I was almost home-free. Like a fool, I began to relax, my body calming at the thought of leaving. The once lush, green forest was now dyed red and littered with corpses. The enemy seemed to retreat, their numbers looked to be thinning. My radio buzzed claims of victory. It was almost over. Behind me, though, I heard screaming. Something broke our lines. Terror-filled cries for help echoed from behind me and were silenced just as quickly as they were made. Before I could move, the monster stood behind me, casting a shadow as black as his soul. His heavy, yet rhythmic panting was almost drowned out by the electronic hum of his weapon. I turned to meet his skully visage. Just before the 72nd hour, he found me, and raised his hand to strike me down.
*Vader...*
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|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
My companion's eyes widened. He stood up and took a single step forward.
I thrust out an arm in his path. "No!" I said firmly.
He pushed past my arm. Drool started to drop from his mouth. He licked his chops with anticipation.
I stood directly in front of him, and flung both arms forward. "No!" I desperately repeated.
He pushed me to the ground and walked right over me, spattering my face with drool as he went.
I stood up and pursued him, but it was too late.
Already, he was atop the massive tower of candy. His face was smeared with chocolate, his belly bulging, and his mouth overflowing with caramel.
"Slow down," I insisted. "You'll give yourself a horrific tummy ache."
"It's alright, Brain," he said between bites. "If I eat three of the same candy in a row, it disappears. See?"
He grabbed another caramel and popped it in his mouth, and swallowed. Instantly, the bulge in his belly decreased, and several more candies rained down on his head.
"See Brain, I'm winning!" he cheered.
I shook my head. Why does Pinky always have to do this to me?
"Pinky!" I lectured. "Why did you have to activate the Digital Simulation Vortex? I told you to wake me up when it was done charging. And why in the world did you choose Candy Cruncher Legend?"
He sang a little tune about candy, and started unwrapping a chocolate coin.
"I mean, we could have gone into Space Civilizations and researched laser weaponry and faster than light travel!" I said. "Or we could have gone into Sum of All Wars and studied military strategy from the greatest minds in history!"
He licked chocolate off his fingers. His bulging belly reduced, and he was showered with chewy fruit drops.
"Or at least we could have gone into an old Lightning the Aardvark cartridge and been in a game that's actually fun to play, rather than a grab for cash cunningly disguised as a test of skill," I opined.
Four hard peppermint candies rained down on Pinky.
"Ouch! Narf! Poit! Troz!" he exclaimed.
He tumbled off the tower, sliding down an avalanche of candy. The mints flashed and disappeared of their own accord, and were quickly replaced by a line of strawberry drops. These, too vanished.
Pinky’s eyes glazed over as he watched the tower of candy flash brightly.
“Crunchereffic!” a booming voice announced.
“Crunchereffic?” I queried. “What does that even mean?”
“It means we won!” said Pinky gleefully. “Now we’re back to the map, to choose another level!”
Sure enough, the tower disappeared altogether, leaving us at an intersection of two graham cracker crumb roads lined with lollipops.
“Now that way is Chocolate Castle,” he said, pointing helpfully at the massive chocolate castle about fifty feet away from us. “Over there is the Gumdrop Forest, and thataway is Candy Mountain, guarded by the mean old Chester the Unicorn. What level you want to play now, Brain?”
“You can go away and gorge yourself on whatever level you want,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just wait here for you at the crossroads, and plan for 71 hours and 55 minutes from now.”
“Okay,” he said. “More candy for me, then. So what are you doing in 71 hours and 55 minutes?”
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I intoned. “Try to take over the world!”
|
My phone rings and I stagger out of bed towards it. But it's not where I remember putting it, and instead of my apartment, I find myself on a bed in an apartment I've never seen before. Strange. But I know this ringtone, I know it well. It's the Steel Samurai theme. My ringtone isn't that, I can barely change my ringtone, let alone download one. So this isn't my phone. But it is. So I wander towards the noise, taking in the apartment around me. On the wall is a picture I recognise. A man I recognise. Phoenix Wright. Picking up my phone, I hear a familiar voice.
"Hey Nick, why'd you take a century to answer your phone"
All I can do is improvise.
"What do you want?" I say, aggressive, and grumpy.
"Get your butt down to the office, we've got a new case!" She says and I can hear her grin.
"Who is it this time?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Larry?" She makes a noncommittal noise in return.
So I leave the apartment, knowing the next however many days won't have that music I adore, or a save feature. But hey, I'm Phoenix fucking Wright, and I'm gonna love this.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
My phone rings and I stagger out of bed towards it. But it's not where I remember putting it, and instead of my apartment, I find myself on a bed in an apartment I've never seen before. Strange. But I know this ringtone, I know it well. It's the Steel Samurai theme. My ringtone isn't that, I can barely change my ringtone, let alone download one. So this isn't my phone. But it is. So I wander towards the noise, taking in the apartment around me. On the wall is a picture I recognise. A man I recognise. Phoenix Wright. Picking up my phone, I hear a familiar voice.
"Hey Nick, why'd you take a century to answer your phone"
All I can do is improvise.
"What do you want?" I say, aggressive, and grumpy.
"Get your butt down to the office, we've got a new case!" She says and I can hear her grin.
"Who is it this time?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Larry?" She makes a noncommittal noise in return.
So I leave the apartment, knowing the next however many days won't have that music I adore, or a save feature. But hey, I'm Phoenix fucking Wright, and I'm gonna love this.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
I closed my eyes. This couldn't be happening.
The phenomenon first started several months ago - people, usually gamers, started disappearing. They were sometimes honored with npcs modeled after them; The problem was that no dev remembered coding them in.
The NPCs were indistinguishable from their former selves, and many regarded it as a sort of afterlife. Most people began playing their favorite games obsessively - difficult ones, oftentimes, were ignored. Nobody wanted to face the Zerg, or deal with the Covenant.
As I examined my new surroundings, I determined that I'd seriously fucked up.
On 1/21/2015, at 1:24 PM, John wrote:
> Hey dude, Dark Souls 2 is on sale. You gonna pick it up?
On 1/21/2015, at 1:28 PM, John wrote:
> Hello?
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|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
"Y'all going from the west coast to the east coast!" Said a voice that sounded oddly familiar. While the voice spoke 'switching sides' appeared in large text in front of me.
Damn, I thought, I had a really good spot, too. Now I have to find a new one.
When I spawned in I looked to my left to see the other 5 guys holding a variety of military grade weapons. I had the biggest but it was alright because I didn't plan on using it on anyone, unless they run by me that is. The timer ticked down to zero and my teammates ran out into the battle field. I turned around, walked straight into the corner and put my back to it and waited. This worked for the last 60 hours, it should work for the rest of the time I'm here.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
My companion's eyes widened. He stood up and took a single step forward.
I thrust out an arm in his path. "No!" I said firmly.
He pushed past my arm. Drool started to drop from his mouth. He licked his chops with anticipation.
I stood directly in front of him, and flung both arms forward. "No!" I desperately repeated.
He pushed me to the ground and walked right over me, spattering my face with drool as he went.
I stood up and pursued him, but it was too late.
Already, he was atop the massive tower of candy. His face was smeared with chocolate, his belly bulging, and his mouth overflowing with caramel.
"Slow down," I insisted. "You'll give yourself a horrific tummy ache."
"It's alright, Brain," he said between bites. "If I eat three of the same candy in a row, it disappears. See?"
He grabbed another caramel and popped it in his mouth, and swallowed. Instantly, the bulge in his belly decreased, and several more candies rained down on his head.
"See Brain, I'm winning!" he cheered.
I shook my head. Why does Pinky always have to do this to me?
"Pinky!" I lectured. "Why did you have to activate the Digital Simulation Vortex? I told you to wake me up when it was done charging. And why in the world did you choose Candy Cruncher Legend?"
He sang a little tune about candy, and started unwrapping a chocolate coin.
"I mean, we could have gone into Space Civilizations and researched laser weaponry and faster than light travel!" I said. "Or we could have gone into Sum of All Wars and studied military strategy from the greatest minds in history!"
He licked chocolate off his fingers. His bulging belly reduced, and he was showered with chewy fruit drops.
"Or at least we could have gone into an old Lightning the Aardvark cartridge and been in a game that's actually fun to play, rather than a grab for cash cunningly disguised as a test of skill," I opined.
Four hard peppermint candies rained down on Pinky.
"Ouch! Narf! Poit! Troz!" he exclaimed.
He tumbled off the tower, sliding down an avalanche of candy. The mints flashed and disappeared of their own accord, and were quickly replaced by a line of strawberry drops. These, too vanished.
Pinky’s eyes glazed over as he watched the tower of candy flash brightly.
“Crunchereffic!” a booming voice announced.
“Crunchereffic?” I queried. “What does that even mean?”
“It means we won!” said Pinky gleefully. “Now we’re back to the map, to choose another level!”
Sure enough, the tower disappeared altogether, leaving us at an intersection of two graham cracker crumb roads lined with lollipops.
“Now that way is Chocolate Castle,” he said, pointing helpfully at the massive chocolate castle about fifty feet away from us. “Over there is the Gumdrop Forest, and thataway is Candy Mountain, guarded by the mean old Chester the Unicorn. What level you want to play now, Brain?”
“You can go away and gorge yourself on whatever level you want,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just wait here for you at the crossroads, and plan for 71 hours and 55 minutes from now.”
“Okay,” he said. “More candy for me, then. So what are you doing in 71 hours and 55 minutes?”
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I intoned. “Try to take over the world!”
|
“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”
*Wha? Who’s talking? Who’s Stanley? It’s 6AM.*
“Stanley tried to roll over and go back to sleep but found that he could not due to the arms on his chair.”
*There’s that voice again… what chair I’m—*
“Stanley woke up with a start from his short nap to find that it was all just a dream and he was in his office.”
*What the hell happened to my room! Where is this voice coming from?*
“Stanley attempted to speak but found that he could not because the developers couldn’t afford a voice actor for his character.”
*What’s going on! He’s right I can’t talk. Who is narrating everything I do?*
“Stanley looked around his office a little to get his bearings, but he quickly came to his senses and got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”
*Wait… I didn’t get out of my chair yet… is… is he telling me what to do? This is like that game I just got last night…*
“-ahem- I SAID Stanley got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”
*Shit shit shit! I only played for like 20 minutes, and every time I tried something I died! What’s going on?*
“Helloooooo Stanley? Are you there?”
*Oh god, I remember this. If I wait too long he’ll change something and I’ll die. That voice has some control of this world… but I can’t go out or I’ll die there as well! No… what if I just close the door.*
“But Stanley just couldn’t handle the pressure. He’d be facing the possibility of being fired by his boss for leaving his post during work hours. What if a crucial outcome fell upon his responsibility? What if he had to make a decision? He had never been trained on that! No, this couldn’t go in any way except badly.”
*Oh god what’s he going on about? I can’t move what’s happening.*
“The right thing to do right now, Stanley thought to himself, is to wait. Nothing will hurt me. Nothing will break me. In here, I can be happy, forever I will be happy.”
*Is it getting darker? Oh oh good maybe I can go back just close my eyes…*
“Stanley waited. Hours passed. Then days. Have years gone by? He no longer had the ability to tell. But the one thing that was sure beyond any doubt was that if he waited long enough, the answers would come. Soon. Very soon now, this will end…”
*YES! End this. Get me out of here. I don’t want to be in this game. Oh god why couldn’t I have played Call of Duty or something last night, I’m good at CoD…*
“He will be spoken to, he will be told what to do. Now it’s just a bit closer…”
*yes…*
“Now it’s even closer…”
*come on…*
“Here it comes.”
*I want to be in my room. I want to be in my room…*
“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”
*AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH*
> The Stanley Parable
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”
*Wha? Who’s talking? Who’s Stanley? It’s 6AM.*
“Stanley tried to roll over and go back to sleep but found that he could not due to the arms on his chair.”
*There’s that voice again… what chair I’m—*
“Stanley woke up with a start from his short nap to find that it was all just a dream and he was in his office.”
*What the hell happened to my room! Where is this voice coming from?*
“Stanley attempted to speak but found that he could not because the developers couldn’t afford a voice actor for his character.”
*What’s going on! He’s right I can’t talk. Who is narrating everything I do?*
“Stanley looked around his office a little to get his bearings, but he quickly came to his senses and got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”
*Wait… I didn’t get out of my chair yet… is… is he telling me what to do? This is like that game I just got last night…*
“-ahem- I SAID Stanley got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”
*Shit shit shit! I only played for like 20 minutes, and every time I tried something I died! What’s going on?*
“Helloooooo Stanley? Are you there?”
*Oh god, I remember this. If I wait too long he’ll change something and I’ll die. That voice has some control of this world… but I can’t go out or I’ll die there as well! No… what if I just close the door.*
“But Stanley just couldn’t handle the pressure. He’d be facing the possibility of being fired by his boss for leaving his post during work hours. What if a crucial outcome fell upon his responsibility? What if he had to make a decision? He had never been trained on that! No, this couldn’t go in any way except badly.”
*Oh god what’s he going on about? I can’t move what’s happening.*
“The right thing to do right now, Stanley thought to himself, is to wait. Nothing will hurt me. Nothing will break me. In here, I can be happy, forever I will be happy.”
*Is it getting darker? Oh oh good maybe I can go back just close my eyes…*
“Stanley waited. Hours passed. Then days. Have years gone by? He no longer had the ability to tell. But the one thing that was sure beyond any doubt was that if he waited long enough, the answers would come. Soon. Very soon now, this will end…”
*YES! End this. Get me out of here. I don’t want to be in this game. Oh god why couldn’t I have played Call of Duty or something last night, I’m good at CoD…*
“He will be spoken to, he will be told what to do. Now it’s just a bit closer…”
*yes…*
“Now it’s even closer…”
*come on…*
“Here it comes.”
*I want to be in my room. I want to be in my room…*
“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”
*AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH*
> The Stanley Parable
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
My companion's eyes widened. He stood up and took a single step forward.
I thrust out an arm in his path. "No!" I said firmly.
He pushed past my arm. Drool started to drop from his mouth. He licked his chops with anticipation.
I stood directly in front of him, and flung both arms forward. "No!" I desperately repeated.
He pushed me to the ground and walked right over me, spattering my face with drool as he went.
I stood up and pursued him, but it was too late.
Already, he was atop the massive tower of candy. His face was smeared with chocolate, his belly bulging, and his mouth overflowing with caramel.
"Slow down," I insisted. "You'll give yourself a horrific tummy ache."
"It's alright, Brain," he said between bites. "If I eat three of the same candy in a row, it disappears. See?"
He grabbed another caramel and popped it in his mouth, and swallowed. Instantly, the bulge in his belly decreased, and several more candies rained down on his head.
"See Brain, I'm winning!" he cheered.
I shook my head. Why does Pinky always have to do this to me?
"Pinky!" I lectured. "Why did you have to activate the Digital Simulation Vortex? I told you to wake me up when it was done charging. And why in the world did you choose Candy Cruncher Legend?"
He sang a little tune about candy, and started unwrapping a chocolate coin.
"I mean, we could have gone into Space Civilizations and researched laser weaponry and faster than light travel!" I said. "Or we could have gone into Sum of All Wars and studied military strategy from the greatest minds in history!"
He licked chocolate off his fingers. His bulging belly reduced, and he was showered with chewy fruit drops.
"Or at least we could have gone into an old Lightning the Aardvark cartridge and been in a game that's actually fun to play, rather than a grab for cash cunningly disguised as a test of skill," I opined.
Four hard peppermint candies rained down on Pinky.
"Ouch! Narf! Poit! Troz!" he exclaimed.
He tumbled off the tower, sliding down an avalanche of candy. The mints flashed and disappeared of their own accord, and were quickly replaced by a line of strawberry drops. These, too vanished.
Pinky’s eyes glazed over as he watched the tower of candy flash brightly.
“Crunchereffic!” a booming voice announced.
“Crunchereffic?” I queried. “What does that even mean?”
“It means we won!” said Pinky gleefully. “Now we’re back to the map, to choose another level!”
Sure enough, the tower disappeared altogether, leaving us at an intersection of two graham cracker crumb roads lined with lollipops.
“Now that way is Chocolate Castle,” he said, pointing helpfully at the massive chocolate castle about fifty feet away from us. “Over there is the Gumdrop Forest, and thataway is Candy Mountain, guarded by the mean old Chester the Unicorn. What level you want to play now, Brain?”
“You can go away and gorge yourself on whatever level you want,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just wait here for you at the crossroads, and plan for 71 hours and 55 minutes from now.”
“Okay,” he said. “More candy for me, then. So what are you doing in 71 hours and 55 minutes?”
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I intoned. “Try to take over the world!”
|
I could have been playing anything, I thought wiping the sweat off again. It's non stop and relentless work, work, work.
The only break comes when I go outside, and then it is a mad scramble for food. I was out after dark yesterday and i started to hear the moans.
I guess there could have been worse games to be playing and get teleported into, but damn living in Minecraft can be boring.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I slowly lean up from my lain position, a stiff feeling echoing through my back and shoulders. It's dark. Cold. .. Really damn cold. My hands skim across my body, coming to the conclusion that I am in fact naked save for my underwear. I push myself up off of the cold stone floor, noticing a gentle singing sound in the distance. It's actually quite beautiful.
I feel.. drawn, to it, in fact. I take a step forward to pursue the singing only to smash my toe into an unseen object.
"BLOODY F..." I bite my lip to stifle the curse; I promised my girlfriend that i'd lower my naughty word usage. I look down, swinging my hand around to see what I hit.
A light erupts from where I was, and scramble backwards from the sudden burst of fire. It appears to be.. a sword? In a small bone pile?..
.. Oh.
This is totally Dark Souls 2.
My eyes flash to an item next to the fire; a rucksack. I know as a fact that i'll need a weapon, so this better have one. I open the rucksack and empty the contents near the fire to get a better look.
7 Estus flasks, a trident, and a clown mask.
Why me?
|
I could have been playing anything, I thought wiping the sweat off again. It's non stop and relentless work, work, work.
The only break comes when I go outside, and then it is a mad scramble for food. I was out after dark yesterday and i started to hear the moans.
I guess there could have been worse games to be playing and get teleported into, but damn living in Minecraft can be boring.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
On the 20th night of January, I fell asleep in my bed in my small, 2 bedroom house on a dull street in an average city in rainy England. On the 21st day, the first thing that hit me as I woke up was the strong scent of salt water. I'm sat on the beach, still in my underwear, looking out at the ocean, wondering just where in the fuck I am. I hadn't been drinking, I'm religiously against drugs, and I distinctly remember the last sips of the decaf tea going down my throat, as I put down my copy of *1984* and turned out the lights for the night. I was definitely falling asleep in my house, and I was definitely waking up on a beach that, for some reason, was directly adjacent to a barren, snow-covered wasteland.
The sea was an amazing sight, but you could use my nipples to cut through diamonds. I had to get moving, I had to escape the sea chill and the winter air. I needed answers. Turning around, I noticed a lone, snow covered tree, standing tall and proud. From what I could see, it represented the only other form of life in this tundra.
Pushing myself up from the golden beach, I headed towards the tree. My head was pounding, as though it had taken most of the impact when I seemingly landed on the beach. If anything, maybe this tree would provide some sort of shelter from the wind. As my vision started to focus, I could make out unevenness in the land. Ever so slight hills, the odd valley or two. I needed to watch my footing, because I had also spied an opening to a ravine. I was walking on hollow land.
I arrived at the tree, teeth louder than the thoughts inside my head.
"Alright, dickbrain, now what?"
I needed to calm down. Everything was fine, I was fine, the world around me was fine, it's going to be okay. I just needed to sit down against the trunk of this tree. At least I had some minor protection from the elements. I sat down, and let my head roll against the bark. As I did, I could feel the wood of the bark splitting. Did I do that? I knocked my head backwards once more, and this time I heard the split. Damn it! Of course, the only form of relative shelter was a rotting tree that could fall down and crush me to death at any moment. Then again, I suppose that'll be a faster way to go than freezing to death. Still, it would've been nice to know where I am. I've never been to Iceland, or any of the Nordic countries, maybe I've been kidnapped and sent here. The terrain is relatively flat. I can see the inhabited areas of this land being filled with cyclists. There's something not quite right about it all though, ignoring the fact that I'm sat under a rotting tree in my underpants, freezing my bollocks off. Everything is too uniform, too outlined, and too, too...
Hang on. I've seen that hill before. I've seen that cave opening before. This isn't happening. This isn't real. I'm still dreaming. I'm not here. I stood up slowly, turning around to face the tree. It's cracks disappeared as soon as I brought my head away from the bark. The dark, brown, *square* bark.
I hit the spot where my head rested. The crack reappeared, and disappeared in the same breath.
*No*
I hit it again, twice this time.
*This is crazy*
I hit 5 times. The crack got bigger with each blow, yet as soon as I stopped, it healed itself.
*I'm crazy*
I hit it 8 times in repeat succession, following the final punch with a fall to my knees and covering my head with my arms, waiting to be crushed by the tree that absolutely, undeniably, should have fallen.
Should have fallen.
I knew what I was about to see, yet I was still slow to draw my head from under my arms. Directly in front of me was a small wooden block, slowly and continuously turning, never quite coming into contact with the snow. I picked it up, and studied it intensely. This wasn't real. I was dreaming. This doesn't happen.
The tree stood solid. I could see the beach and the ocean through the gaping hole that my blows had left.
*MineCraft.*
|
I could have been playing anything, I thought wiping the sweat off again. It's non stop and relentless work, work, work.
The only break comes when I go outside, and then it is a mad scramble for food. I was out after dark yesterday and i started to hear the moans.
I guess there could have been worse games to be playing and get teleported into, but damn living in Minecraft can be boring.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
I could have been playing anything, I thought wiping the sweat off again. It's non stop and relentless work, work, work.
The only break comes when I go outside, and then it is a mad scramble for food. I was out after dark yesterday and i started to hear the moans.
I guess there could have been worse games to be playing and get teleported into, but damn living in Minecraft can be boring.
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
My companion's eyes widened. He stood up and took a single step forward.
I thrust out an arm in his path. "No!" I said firmly.
He pushed past my arm. Drool started to drop from his mouth. He licked his chops with anticipation.
I stood directly in front of him, and flung both arms forward. "No!" I desperately repeated.
He pushed me to the ground and walked right over me, spattering my face with drool as he went.
I stood up and pursued him, but it was too late.
Already, he was atop the massive tower of candy. His face was smeared with chocolate, his belly bulging, and his mouth overflowing with caramel.
"Slow down," I insisted. "You'll give yourself a horrific tummy ache."
"It's alright, Brain," he said between bites. "If I eat three of the same candy in a row, it disappears. See?"
He grabbed another caramel and popped it in his mouth, and swallowed. Instantly, the bulge in his belly decreased, and several more candies rained down on his head.
"See Brain, I'm winning!" he cheered.
I shook my head. Why does Pinky always have to do this to me?
"Pinky!" I lectured. "Why did you have to activate the Digital Simulation Vortex? I told you to wake me up when it was done charging. And why in the world did you choose Candy Cruncher Legend?"
He sang a little tune about candy, and started unwrapping a chocolate coin.
"I mean, we could have gone into Space Civilizations and researched laser weaponry and faster than light travel!" I said. "Or we could have gone into Sum of All Wars and studied military strategy from the greatest minds in history!"
He licked chocolate off his fingers. His bulging belly reduced, and he was showered with chewy fruit drops.
"Or at least we could have gone into an old Lightning the Aardvark cartridge and been in a game that's actually fun to play, rather than a grab for cash cunningly disguised as a test of skill," I opined.
Four hard peppermint candies rained down on Pinky.
"Ouch! Narf! Poit! Troz!" he exclaimed.
He tumbled off the tower, sliding down an avalanche of candy. The mints flashed and disappeared of their own accord, and were quickly replaced by a line of strawberry drops. These, too vanished.
Pinky’s eyes glazed over as he watched the tower of candy flash brightly.
“Crunchereffic!” a booming voice announced.
“Crunchereffic?” I queried. “What does that even mean?”
“It means we won!” said Pinky gleefully. “Now we’re back to the map, to choose another level!”
Sure enough, the tower disappeared altogether, leaving us at an intersection of two graham cracker crumb roads lined with lollipops.
“Now that way is Chocolate Castle,” he said, pointing helpfully at the massive chocolate castle about fifty feet away from us. “Over there is the Gumdrop Forest, and thataway is Candy Mountain, guarded by the mean old Chester the Unicorn. What level you want to play now, Brain?”
“You can go away and gorge yourself on whatever level you want,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just wait here for you at the crossroads, and plan for 71 hours and 55 minutes from now.”
“Okay,” he said. “More candy for me, then. So what are you doing in 71 hours and 55 minutes?”
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I intoned. “Try to take over the world!”
|
|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
I slowly lean up from my lain position, a stiff feeling echoing through my back and shoulders. It's dark. Cold. .. Really damn cold. My hands skim across my body, coming to the conclusion that I am in fact naked save for my underwear. I push myself up off of the cold stone floor, noticing a gentle singing sound in the distance. It's actually quite beautiful.
I feel.. drawn, to it, in fact. I take a step forward to pursue the singing only to smash my toe into an unseen object.
"BLOODY F..." I bite my lip to stifle the curse; I promised my girlfriend that i'd lower my naughty word usage. I look down, swinging my hand around to see what I hit.
A light erupts from where I was, and scramble backwards from the sudden burst of fire. It appears to be.. a sword? In a small bone pile?..
.. Oh.
This is totally Dark Souls 2.
My eyes flash to an item next to the fire; a rucksack. I know as a fact that i'll need a weapon, so this better have one. I open the rucksack and empty the contents near the fire to get a better look.
7 Estus flasks, a trident, and a clown mask.
Why me?
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|
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
I've pretty much figured out my best route. Stay here for a while, move to wherever the action is least happening, and keep an eye out for passerbys. All I need to do is keep it together. It shouldn't be much longer...should it? Suddenly, I hear a child's voice...
"Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" she asks. I nearly jump out of my skin. Her innocent eyes stare at me waiting for an answer. I sit there, mouth open, unable to move. I'm frozen in fear.
*Fuck, I've been discovered*...
"Mister" she repeats "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?" I didn't know what to say.
"Erm..is...is that it in your hand?" I manage to stumble out. I could see she was becoming impatient with me. Her face turned to one of anger. For such a small girl, she certainly knew how to scare the absolute crap out of me.
"MISTER...HAVE YOU" her voice was cut short.
"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
A large man full bodied in armour came tearing into the shrub where the little girl and I were. His massive sword was held high above his head like a weapon of the gods and he brought it down on top of the girl. I shrieked like a child. She fell down hard onto the ground knocking me down with her. Blood pouring from her arm, she looked sideways at me and winked. I was stunned. She jumped out and raised her arms in the air at the large armoured man, and suddenly out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, a gigantic bear dropped from the sky crushing the man on the spot. His armour was completely destroyed, and his limbs were mangled under the giant bear's weight.
"Tibbers!" she scremed excitedly. The bear started pounding away at the armoured man as he struggled to his feet to fight off the beast. He was losing the fight and decided to surrender. Bloodied and weak, he stumbled away spinning his sword around him in a circular motion, to which the bear retreated back to its apparent little girl owner. I pulled myself back to my feet and the girl eyed me sideways.
"You like my bear?" she giggled.
"Uhh yeah, he's...great" was all I could say. With that, she skipped away into the forest of this mysterious place followed by her gigantic companion, dropping splats of blood from her encounter on the ground as she bounced away.
"Jesus christ...what a freaky place" I whispered to myself.
As the girl disappeared I noticed something peculiar. The brush right next to me... RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHERE I WAS.... started moving as if something were there standing here with me.
*What the fuck...?*
Slowly but surely, a stout little creature materialized right before me. He was tiny, maybe only a few feet tall, with a large mushroom like hat on carrying a blowdart. He looked up at me and in his squeaky little voice said "Watch your step, there are mushrooms around".
*Mushrooms? What?*
He turned to the direction the little girl headed and started sprinting after her. Moments later all I could hear were the girl's screams and a sound which I assume was here bear falling onto the ground. The little creature came scurrying back past me running like the wind. He paused mid-run and I heard him distinctly laughing "Nyahahaha!" and continue running. I turned to see what was chasing him to see a flurry of arrows come screaming through the trees and almost take my head off. I dropped immediately and hid myself. Chasing the creature was a beautiful woman carrying a large bow with a crown on her head.
*My god..she's beautiful...*
She fired a beam of bright light past me that went over my head and lit up the brush I was sitting in. She suddenly skipped to a halt and aimed her bow at me. I backed off with a look of horror on my face. *Please don't kill me*. She lowered her bow and turned to chase the creature. I could still hear the cheeky little thing in the distance "Nyaahaaha^Nyaahaahaa^Nyaahaahaa^".
After a while, all was quiet again. I moved back to my safe spot near the colossal creature I had woken up next to.
*Baron* was his name, or so that's what I heard the fighters of this forest call it. I knew after the explosion every time I was safe from danger here for a short while, but I would need to move to a safer spot later for this place will become very dangerous soon. My rest time...it's all I have...
|
On the 20th night of January, I fell asleep in my bed in my small, 2 bedroom house on a dull street in an average city in rainy England. On the 21st day, the first thing that hit me as I woke up was the strong scent of salt water. I'm sat on the beach, still in my underwear, looking out at the ocean, wondering just where in the fuck I am. I hadn't been drinking, I'm religiously against drugs, and I distinctly remember the last sips of the decaf tea going down my throat, as I put down my copy of *1984* and turned out the lights for the night. I was definitely falling asleep in my house, and I was definitely waking up on a beach that, for some reason, was directly adjacent to a barren, snow-covered wasteland.
The sea was an amazing sight, but you could use my nipples to cut through diamonds. I had to get moving, I had to escape the sea chill and the winter air. I needed answers. Turning around, I noticed a lone, snow covered tree, standing tall and proud. From what I could see, it represented the only other form of life in this tundra.
Pushing myself up from the golden beach, I headed towards the tree. My head was pounding, as though it had taken most of the impact when I seemingly landed on the beach. If anything, maybe this tree would provide some sort of shelter from the wind. As my vision started to focus, I could make out unevenness in the land. Ever so slight hills, the odd valley or two. I needed to watch my footing, because I had also spied an opening to a ravine. I was walking on hollow land.
I arrived at the tree, teeth louder than the thoughts inside my head.
"Alright, dickbrain, now what?"
I needed to calm down. Everything was fine, I was fine, the world around me was fine, it's going to be okay. I just needed to sit down against the trunk of this tree. At least I had some minor protection from the elements. I sat down, and let my head roll against the bark. As I did, I could feel the wood of the bark splitting. Did I do that? I knocked my head backwards once more, and this time I heard the split. Damn it! Of course, the only form of relative shelter was a rotting tree that could fall down and crush me to death at any moment. Then again, I suppose that'll be a faster way to go than freezing to death. Still, it would've been nice to know where I am. I've never been to Iceland, or any of the Nordic countries, maybe I've been kidnapped and sent here. The terrain is relatively flat. I can see the inhabited areas of this land being filled with cyclists. There's something not quite right about it all though, ignoring the fact that I'm sat under a rotting tree in my underpants, freezing my bollocks off. Everything is too uniform, too outlined, and too, too...
Hang on. I've seen that hill before. I've seen that cave opening before. This isn't happening. This isn't real. I'm still dreaming. I'm not here. I stood up slowly, turning around to face the tree. It's cracks disappeared as soon as I brought my head away from the bark. The dark, brown, *square* bark.
I hit the spot where my head rested. The crack reappeared, and disappeared in the same breath.
*No*
I hit it again, twice this time.
*This is crazy*
I hit 5 times. The crack got bigger with each blow, yet as soon as I stopped, it healed itself.
*I'm crazy*
I hit it 8 times in repeat succession, following the final punch with a fall to my knees and covering my head with my arms, waiting to be crushed by the tree that absolutely, undeniably, should have fallen.
Should have fallen.
I knew what I was about to see, yet I was still slow to draw my head from under my arms. Directly in front of me was a small wooden block, slowly and continuously turning, never quite coming into contact with the snow. I picked it up, and studied it intensely. This wasn't real. I was dreaming. This doesn't happen.
The tree stood solid. I could see the beach and the ocean through the gaping hole that my blows had left.
*MineCraft.*
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What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
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[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She holds her head high as she boldly walks in the fading light of day. In her eyes a deep wisdom can be found past down from generation to generation. Regalness plays in here smile. Her embrace is warm and inviting to all. Yet in all this it is royalty who pursues her.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
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What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
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[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
I love her.
She was overly passionate about everything. The way she glided from room to room, swaying back and forth so elegantly, her dress accentuating her beautiful dance. The way she smiled, overflowing with warmth and happiness. The way she coyly, almost seductively, scans the room with a fox-like gaze for someone interesting. She commanded attention and the spotlight, effortlessly, everywhere she went. Captivating the hearts and minds of anyone who were to simply watch her be.
I'll always love her.
|
He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She walked in with confidence and her head held serene like some marvelous goddess. Confident, her shoulders pulled back and her chin level to the ground she looked me in the eye and I felt like she thought I was her equal. She seemed to emit an air of royalty and you knew she was better than you, with the way she looked into you it showed that she could genuinely respect you. In long flowing dresses and a small coat that covered her modesty with gem-stoned slippers -peaking beneath her every swaying step - she addresses the room in a clear and confident tone that left no room for another opinion, but hers and yet you felt that **your** opinion had never been different from hers at all.
|
He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
It's gotta be blue. Like real blue, not some plastic painted neon blue, but real. Almost the essence of; when the sky fades from bright at the horizon to deep, and dark, and vast at its apex. That blue. The kind that resides just under the sunlit shimmering surface of a lake. I feel weightless in its depths; just floating. Her hair is like the little swirls of current that brush over me with rays of light scattering off its curls.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
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[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Police keep arresting him.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
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People are unaware of their attraction to her. Her allure affects men and women the same. She is lively and fun and slightly mysterious.
Yet, she also has a darker side of gore and death. No matter, no one is scared, they have been drawn in by her overwhelming beauty.
She represents love and horror at the same time. And no one knows which is which.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
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What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
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[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Collab w/ my 9yo daughter:
One quiet spring morning, he went out to the field a couple of streets away from his house, to pick flowers for his mother. He wanted to give them to her on St. Patrick's day, along with the key lime pie that he'd made the day before.
Suddenly a tiger (someone else's color friend no doubt) ate him.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
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What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
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[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
He strolls along in the beautiful nightlife of the social event, he is the talk of the town. Many think that he is a sign of bad things to come but others find him sexy and intriguing. He comes dressed as sharply as a man can look, his eyes are both warm as the sun and as dark as a Russian winter.
He takes a seat at the bar and orders a drink, he can feel the eyes upon him. Women and men gazing at him hoping to get a feel for his intent, why should he tell them the answers when the mystery is so much better than the fact. He tips the bartender enough to cover his whole night before walking out just as causally as he walked in.
His journey took him down an alley way, he could feel his favorite friends moving about in his shadow. Several people gathered around him and smiled, they were the outcasts of society. No different to the high society of the bar he left but treated differently because they didn't look or act as beautifully outside of his shadow. He turned to them and raise a hand, "My friends, I'll always accept you even when I'm not here." The man chuckled as he left the alley way, the sun was rising and his influence was fading, he watched as a similarly dressed woman stood before his path.
"These summer nights..... Are so boring but I guess it's your turn soon. It's a shame they love you more." The sharply dressed man said before the woman gave him a simple peck on the cheek.
"They may love me more but they only seek rest and comfort when your around. See you at Dusk." She smirked as the man vanished the moment the bright yellow rays of the sun touched his body.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She was always a cute girl with the way her loosely pinned back blonde curls glistened in the summer sun. You could always find her longboarding through ocean mist and the shade of the palm trees. She comes off cool and collected, but has a strut that makes you realize she's hiding years of daddy-issues behind that smile.
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He's a lean guy with somewhat long hair. He always goes around wearing funeral drab suit and slacks, though the style reflects nothing about his personality. He is the most antagonistically positive person alive. Any kind of negativity is taken as a personal challenge, almost like he's proving how pointless pessimism is. He's electric, confident and happy with a purpose.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
I love her.
She was overly passionate about everything. The way she glided from room to room, swaying back and forth so elegantly, her dress accentuating her beautiful dance. The way she smiled, overflowing with warmth and happiness. The way she coyly, almost seductively, scans the room with a fox-like gaze for someone interesting. She commanded attention and the spotlight, effortlessly, everywhere she went. Captivating the hearts and minds of anyone who were to simply watch her be.
I'll always love her.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She walked in with confidence and her head held serene like some marvelous goddess. Confident, her shoulders pulled back and her chin level to the ground she looked me in the eye and I felt like she thought I was her equal. She seemed to emit an air of royalty and you knew she was better than you, with the way she looked into you it showed that she could genuinely respect you. In long flowing dresses and a small coat that covered her modesty with gem-stoned slippers -peaking beneath her every swaying step - she addresses the room in a clear and confident tone that left no room for another opinion, but hers and yet you felt that **your** opinion had never been different from hers at all.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
It's gotta be blue. Like real blue, not some plastic painted neon blue, but real. Almost the essence of; when the sky fades from bright at the horizon to deep, and dark, and vast at its apex. That blue. The kind that resides just under the sunlit shimmering surface of a lake. I feel weightless in its depths; just floating. Her hair is like the little swirls of current that brush over me with rays of light scattering off its curls.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Police keep arresting him.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
People are unaware of their attraction to her. Her allure affects men and women the same. She is lively and fun and slightly mysterious.
Yet, she also has a darker side of gore and death. No matter, no one is scared, they have been drawn in by her overwhelming beauty.
She represents love and horror at the same time. And no one knows which is which.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Collab w/ my 9yo daughter:
One quiet spring morning, he went out to the field a couple of streets away from his house, to pick flowers for his mother. He wanted to give them to her on St. Patrick's day, along with the key lime pie that he'd made the day before.
Suddenly a tiger (someone else's color friend no doubt) ate him.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
He strolls along in the beautiful nightlife of the social event, he is the talk of the town. Many think that he is a sign of bad things to come but others find him sexy and intriguing. He comes dressed as sharply as a man can look, his eyes are both warm as the sun and as dark as a Russian winter.
He takes a seat at the bar and orders a drink, he can feel the eyes upon him. Women and men gazing at him hoping to get a feel for his intent, why should he tell them the answers when the mystery is so much better than the fact. He tips the bartender enough to cover his whole night before walking out just as causally as he walked in.
His journey took him down an alley way, he could feel his favorite friends moving about in his shadow. Several people gathered around him and smiled, they were the outcasts of society. No different to the high society of the bar he left but treated differently because they didn't look or act as beautifully outside of his shadow. He turned to them and raise a hand, "My friends, I'll always accept you even when I'm not here." The man chuckled as he left the alley way, the sun was rising and his influence was fading, he watched as a similarly dressed woman stood before his path.
"These summer nights..... Are so boring but I guess it's your turn soon. It's a shame they love you more." The sharply dressed man said before the woman gave him a simple peck on the cheek.
"They may love me more but they only seek rest and comfort when your around. See you at Dusk." She smirked as the man vanished the moment the bright yellow rays of the sun touched his body.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She was always a cute girl with the way her loosely pinned back blonde curls glistened in the summer sun. You could always find her longboarding through ocean mist and the shade of the palm trees. She comes off cool and collected, but has a strut that makes you realize she's hiding years of daddy-issues behind that smile.
|
She was never meant for the background. Sure, she may not be as bright or flashy as some others, but she's a front runner through and through. A subtle thing, a beauty understated. You could pass her on the street a dozen times and never notice, but if you took the time to see her, to notice her, perhaps your perception would change.
In the dimness she is a curiosity, an alluring smile, a soft touch, she invites you in and all you can wish for is more, to know what lays beyond those soft features, those graceful curves, to know the woman inside. She dresses modestly of course, those flashy gowns that reveal so much are suited for the brighter shades, those reds and oranges, but a simple dress envelops her, wraps around her and only those who discern will notice it's excellent cut, exquisite fabric sewn masterfully to fit her form.
If you get to know her, if one could ever know her, they would find her not so dim as before. A brilliant beacon, a neon blaze illuminates the harsh edges of reality, dazzling in her luminescence and somehow soft against the harsh nature of that that she shines upon.
You have seen her before, I am sure of it. Perhaps you've seen her today, a hundred times but didn't even notice.
Can you tell me her name?
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
I love her.
She was overly passionate about everything. The way she glided from room to room, swaying back and forth so elegantly, her dress accentuating her beautiful dance. The way she smiled, overflowing with warmth and happiness. The way she coyly, almost seductively, scans the room with a fox-like gaze for someone interesting. She commanded attention and the spotlight, effortlessly, everywhere she went. Captivating the hearts and minds of anyone who were to simply watch her be.
I'll always love her.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She walked in with confidence and her head held serene like some marvelous goddess. Confident, her shoulders pulled back and her chin level to the ground she looked me in the eye and I felt like she thought I was her equal. She seemed to emit an air of royalty and you knew she was better than you, with the way she looked into you it showed that she could genuinely respect you. In long flowing dresses and a small coat that covered her modesty with gem-stoned slippers -peaking beneath her every swaying step - she addresses the room in a clear and confident tone that left no room for another opinion, but hers and yet you felt that **your** opinion had never been different from hers at all.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
It's gotta be blue. Like real blue, not some plastic painted neon blue, but real. Almost the essence of; when the sky fades from bright at the horizon to deep, and dark, and vast at its apex. That blue. The kind that resides just under the sunlit shimmering surface of a lake. I feel weightless in its depths; just floating. Her hair is like the little swirls of current that brush over me with rays of light scattering off its curls.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Police keep arresting him.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
People are unaware of their attraction to her. Her allure affects men and women the same. She is lively and fun and slightly mysterious.
Yet, she also has a darker side of gore and death. No matter, no one is scared, they have been drawn in by her overwhelming beauty.
She represents love and horror at the same time. And no one knows which is which.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
Collab w/ my 9yo daughter:
One quiet spring morning, he went out to the field a couple of streets away from his house, to pick flowers for his mother. He wanted to give them to her on St. Patrick's day, along with the key lime pie that he'd made the day before.
Suddenly a tiger (someone else's color friend no doubt) ate him.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
He strolls along in the beautiful nightlife of the social event, he is the talk of the town. Many think that he is a sign of bad things to come but others find him sexy and intriguing. He comes dressed as sharply as a man can look, his eyes are both warm as the sun and as dark as a Russian winter.
He takes a seat at the bar and orders a drink, he can feel the eyes upon him. Women and men gazing at him hoping to get a feel for his intent, why should he tell them the answers when the mystery is so much better than the fact. He tips the bartender enough to cover his whole night before walking out just as causally as he walked in.
His journey took him down an alley way, he could feel his favorite friends moving about in his shadow. Several people gathered around him and smiled, they were the outcasts of society. No different to the high society of the bar he left but treated differently because they didn't look or act as beautifully outside of his shadow. He turned to them and raise a hand, "My friends, I'll always accept you even when I'm not here." The man chuckled as he left the alley way, the sun was rising and his influence was fading, he watched as a similarly dressed woman stood before his path.
"These summer nights..... Are so boring but I guess it's your turn soon. It's a shame they love you more." The sharply dressed man said before the woman gave him a simple peck on the cheek.
"They may love me more but they only seek rest and comfort when your around. See you at Dusk." She smirked as the man vanished the moment the bright yellow rays of the sun touched his body.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She was always a cute girl with the way her loosely pinned back blonde curls glistened in the summer sun. You could always find her longboarding through ocean mist and the shade of the palm trees. She comes off cool and collected, but has a strut that makes you realize she's hiding years of daddy-issues behind that smile.
|
She’s a woman of two faces.
To some, she’s annoying and that’s probably an understatement. She’s obnoxious and a bit too boisterous, with a habit of letting her voice boom in such a fashion that the ears of the people around her ring with echoes. She’s the type of person to draw all of the audience to her and steal the spotlight away in an instant.
It’s not like she notices it, though, being oblivious and innocent at heart. To those who can see this, she is warm; the type of friend that a person could run to at three in the morning just to vent and she would embrace them with caring arms.
She’s the type of light that people need in their life; they just don’t know how to find it.
_____________________________
First time submitting to this subreddit. I really wanna get better at my writing, but I'm not used to short prompts. X_X Anyway, hope you enjoy. :D
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
I love her.
She was overly passionate about everything. The way she glided from room to room, swaying back and forth so elegantly, her dress accentuating her beautiful dance. The way she smiled, overflowing with warmth and happiness. The way she coyly, almost seductively, scans the room with a fox-like gaze for someone interesting. She commanded attention and the spotlight, effortlessly, everywhere she went. Captivating the hearts and minds of anyone who were to simply watch her be.
I'll always love her.
|
When he wakes up in the morning, he doesn't just open his eyes--they pop open with an audible *snap* as he leaps out of bed with a manic grin on his face and tap dances into the kitchen. What's for breakfast? Pancakes with big soft pats of butter and scrambled eggs slathered in mustard. He can't get enough of it. Forty-five seconds in the shower with a big honey scented bar of soap and he's bounding into a brilliant suit and tophat the same color as his personality. He takes a moment to water the sunflowers in his garden that somehow manage to grow year round before stepping out onto the sidewalk. The metal soles of his shoes throw big, fat sparks into the air with every jubilant step as he kicks his way down the street.
|
What are they like? How do they dress? Etc.
|
[WP] Without naming it, describe your favorite color as a person.
|
She walked in with confidence and her head held serene like some marvelous goddess. Confident, her shoulders pulled back and her chin level to the ground she looked me in the eye and I felt like she thought I was her equal. She seemed to emit an air of royalty and you knew she was better than you, with the way she looked into you it showed that she could genuinely respect you. In long flowing dresses and a small coat that covered her modesty with gem-stoned slippers -peaking beneath her every swaying step - she addresses the room in a clear and confident tone that left no room for another opinion, but hers and yet you felt that **your** opinion had never been different from hers at all.
|
When he wakes up in the morning, he doesn't just open his eyes--they pop open with an audible *snap* as he leaps out of bed with a manic grin on his face and tap dances into the kitchen. What's for breakfast? Pancakes with big soft pats of butter and scrambled eggs slathered in mustard. He can't get enough of it. Forty-five seconds in the shower with a big honey scented bar of soap and he's bounding into a brilliant suit and tophat the same color as his personality. He takes a moment to water the sunflowers in his garden that somehow manage to grow year round before stepping out onto the sidewalk. The metal soles of his shoes throw big, fat sparks into the air with every jubilant step as he kicks his way down the street.
|
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