Post by Luigi on Mar 13, 2004 20:32:01 GMT -5
It's long, so I included break points.
It was an April 5th, some year in the 21st century. No one expected it the world would be destroyed on such a nice Thursday. No one except a handful of maniacs, who always said “the end of the world is coming soon!”
What they were wrong about, very wrong, was how the world would end—they said men (or women) would come down, punish the bad people (a.k.a the people who believed differently than they did), locusts would do stuff and some things would happen involving fire and torture.
In reality, the world just exploded. No one even came to see it off. No one, in fact, cared about the Earth. Aliens had stopped by in its history—for one of two reasons
a) they either got lost or confused or read the maps wrong
b) or they were college students who just stopped by to laugh at the stupid little Earthlings and their funny little fingers and those ridiculous knobs grew out of the middle of that head-thingie. And then, of course, too stick metal rods up their They weren’t doing research, they just found it fun.
No one knew why Earth exploded, either —they didn’t even put in the effort to
research it. There was no need to research the destruction of Earth any more than there was to perform an autopsy on the mysterious death of a fruit fly. Earth, like an unfathomably large number of planets in an unfathomably small amount of time, had been destroyed. And there was just an empty spot in the universe.
BREAK
Michael John Griffin woke up on April 5th, some year in the 21st century. He actually woke up twelve times on twelve different April 5th-es. This April 5th was special—the Earth was going to explode. He put on his shirt. Then he took it off. Then he pulled it right side out. He put it on again. Then he took it off because it was on backwards and put it on again correctly. He put his pants on, both legs at a time. Then he went to the bathroom. Then he took his back-pack and his commonplace notebook which he wrote very important information down in it.
The book was blank.
Nothing important could possibly happen on Earth, especially to an average boy who did average things and lived in an average town in an average planet.
And he knew this. He wasn’t one of those cheery optimists who took everything and put it on the bright side and made it all seem special—because you’d be more accurate putting everything on a dark light on that Earth. Still, he took his notebook because it was always good to have one handy.
Kalista Fenella Brody was also getting ready to work. She had a temporary job at McBurger’s. She would be there until the end of Earth. She fried the fries, fried the burgers, fried the soda, fried the water, worked at the cash register and made sure that there were no rat tails or head that were easily spotted in the food.
She was set out for much better things, though. Soon as she…she..she found a job at…some place…finished college…what was the majoring in? She didn’t know—all her friends knew…urgh, what was she set out for?
Less interestingly was Harris John Elliot, who was getting ready for work.
It was one of those days where he asked himself “Why? You don’t matter at all…You should enjoy life. Your time is limited, why waste it in a boring job?” But Harris had grown to like boring jobs. In 1st grade, he was wild and fun, running around, disobeying rules and by 12th grade, he was calm, quiet, and fit to take orders, no question asked. He was no 30—calm, quiet and fit to take orders, no questions asked.
“Why not go skydiving? Bungee jump? Ride a motorcycle over a ditch? Wrestle crocodiles? Have a McBurger?”
“Because I’ve got work.”
And with that, Harris finished shaving and got into his car.
BREAK
Slow…slow…slow…
Everything was slow in the morning…Kalista put her head on the steering wheel. There was probably an accident…Someone probably died, lost a limb, became mentally impaired, or otherwise unconvinced. What a tragedy, how horrible, why, why, why? But who can control fate? Who can put a stop, even a hold, on death? You can’t.
Why didn’t her boss understand that? It’s not her ruddy fault she’s late for work. It was fate’s. And what’s the worst that can happen if she were late? A person would find a fried chicken beak in his or her fries? They should know not to eat at McBurger’s if they wanted good, sanitary food. And as long as there are hungry people in a rush—which there always will be, as long as there’s America—there will be McBurger’s. So what do they have to worry about?
And if everyone is in a hurry, then WHY AREN’T THEY MOVING?
They started moving. Kalista took her head off the steering wheel and started driving.
Fast…fast…maniacs!
It was the morning. Harris wasn’t ready for this. You needed to be quick to drive. He wasn’t quick, especially in the morning.
“ARGHH!” Harris swerved. He didn’t know what happened, but it was the other driver’s fault, definitely, stupid, shouldn’t be driving… and he almost died.
“I almost died.” Harris said.
“HEY! Watch we’re you’re going!”
“No, you watch it!”
“Baaah!” Said other driver, extending his middle finger. “It was your fault!”
“Your’s!”
“Your mum!”
“Does that make—“ Harris mouth, puzzled. It didn’t make sense. When one retorted with “your mum”, it was a sign that you should take pity on the speaker’s brain. Harris was getting honked at. He muttered and then got back to normal. In three minutes, the near-death experience would be out of his head. Especially when anyone above the age of 13 said it.
Fast…slow…fast…slow…
“Hurry up! Slow down! ACK! WATCH WE’RE YOU’RE GOING! MOVE!” Michael shouted at his peers. Not that it mattered. He was small and shrimpy. The 6th graders even towered over him, and even the 4’0ers towered over him when they puffed out their chest and grabbed their crotch.
Everyone was slow and fast in the hallways. There were wild maniacs, running and screaming, and then there were arrogant little prats who stood in the middle of the school, talking and chatting and painting their nails.
“Ex—“ Michael said to one of the prats as one of the maniacs rammed into him. “Can you move? Please?” The two girls turned to him and surveyed him with their eyes.
“’scuse me?”
“You’re blocking the hallway.” Michael said.
“Yo blockin’ my face.”
The whole school stopped to say “oooooooooooooooooooooooooh! Diss, son! Snap!”
“That didn’t make any sense.” Michael said.
“Yo face don’t make no sense.” Said the girl, doing some gesture with her hands and shaking her head in some weird way.
“You used a double negative,” Michael said. He enjoyed being the weird kid—he couldn’t be anything else, so why not be the weird smart kid with wide, vacant eyes that didn’t seem to blink? Some kids thought he was an alien, and he would explain to them that everyone was an alien, it just depended on where they were, which would boost his reputation. “And it still doesn’t make any sense. I know you’re trying to say that I’m ugly—“
“Yo face is ugly.”
“Yeah, that made sense but it wasn’t clever.” Michael said.
“Listen, yo—“ Then the girl stared. “Why I wastin’ time with you?”
“It was your choice,” said Michael. “To stay in the middle of the hallway wasting your time spewing unfunny so-called insults, even though you’re a stupid git and the world would be a lot better if you would just keep your mouth shut and not say anything.”
“You ain’t clever, neither.” Siad the girl.
“I wasn’t aiming for clever. I just want it known that I think you’re an idiot.” Michael went off on his way.
Little did he know that, in .0004 seconds, a rumor had been made that he had engaged in sexual intercourse with the girl. In .0008 seconds, the rumor had changed that he had impregnated her. In another 0.01 seconds, the rumor now was that he impregnated her and abused her. In another second, the rumor now stood that he had impregnated her, abused her, took her onto an alien spaceship and gave her an anal probe.
BREAK!
Kalista ran into work and looked at all the food.
“This fry still has a visible termite in it.” She said, tossing it into a garbage can. She put on a glove and grabbed a handful of fries, shoving them into her mouth. She skipped breakfast, only to have some at work. She lived off McBurger’s food, so it was amazing that she kept her figure. It was also amazing that she kept her health. She looked at the burgers. There was one with a huge lump in it. She took it out and poked it with a pin. The lump collapsed and pus oozed out of it. She threw it out. She took a burger for herself, sat on a counter and ate it.
This was life. Boring. She daydreamed about being rich, traveling to places. France. Only a France where the people bathed. At this point, though, her future looked bleak and boring. Another how many years of this? She thought as she yawned. She was drifting in and out of sleep. What if I were found, sleeping on the job? She thought. AN hour later, she responded, What a shame that would be, eh?
It was an April 5th, some year in the 21st century. No one expected it the world would be destroyed on such a nice Thursday. No one except a handful of maniacs, who always said “the end of the world is coming soon!”
What they were wrong about, very wrong, was how the world would end—they said men (or women) would come down, punish the bad people (a.k.a the people who believed differently than they did), locusts would do stuff and some things would happen involving fire and torture.
In reality, the world just exploded. No one even came to see it off. No one, in fact, cared about the Earth. Aliens had stopped by in its history—for one of two reasons
a) they either got lost or confused or read the maps wrong
b) or they were college students who just stopped by to laugh at the stupid little Earthlings and their funny little fingers and those ridiculous knobs grew out of the middle of that head-thingie. And then, of course, too stick metal rods up their They weren’t doing research, they just found it fun.
No one knew why Earth exploded, either —they didn’t even put in the effort to
research it. There was no need to research the destruction of Earth any more than there was to perform an autopsy on the mysterious death of a fruit fly. Earth, like an unfathomably large number of planets in an unfathomably small amount of time, had been destroyed. And there was just an empty spot in the universe.
BREAK
Michael John Griffin woke up on April 5th, some year in the 21st century. He actually woke up twelve times on twelve different April 5th-es. This April 5th was special—the Earth was going to explode. He put on his shirt. Then he took it off. Then he pulled it right side out. He put it on again. Then he took it off because it was on backwards and put it on again correctly. He put his pants on, both legs at a time. Then he went to the bathroom. Then he took his back-pack and his commonplace notebook which he wrote very important information down in it.
The book was blank.
Nothing important could possibly happen on Earth, especially to an average boy who did average things and lived in an average town in an average planet.
And he knew this. He wasn’t one of those cheery optimists who took everything and put it on the bright side and made it all seem special—because you’d be more accurate putting everything on a dark light on that Earth. Still, he took his notebook because it was always good to have one handy.
Kalista Fenella Brody was also getting ready to work. She had a temporary job at McBurger’s. She would be there until the end of Earth. She fried the fries, fried the burgers, fried the soda, fried the water, worked at the cash register and made sure that there were no rat tails or head that were easily spotted in the food.
She was set out for much better things, though. Soon as she…she..she found a job at…some place…finished college…what was the majoring in? She didn’t know—all her friends knew…urgh, what was she set out for?
Less interestingly was Harris John Elliot, who was getting ready for work.
It was one of those days where he asked himself “Why? You don’t matter at all…You should enjoy life. Your time is limited, why waste it in a boring job?” But Harris had grown to like boring jobs. In 1st grade, he was wild and fun, running around, disobeying rules and by 12th grade, he was calm, quiet, and fit to take orders, no question asked. He was no 30—calm, quiet and fit to take orders, no questions asked.
“Why not go skydiving? Bungee jump? Ride a motorcycle over a ditch? Wrestle crocodiles? Have a McBurger?”
“Because I’ve got work.”
And with that, Harris finished shaving and got into his car.
BREAK
Slow…slow…slow…
Everything was slow in the morning…Kalista put her head on the steering wheel. There was probably an accident…Someone probably died, lost a limb, became mentally impaired, or otherwise unconvinced. What a tragedy, how horrible, why, why, why? But who can control fate? Who can put a stop, even a hold, on death? You can’t.
Why didn’t her boss understand that? It’s not her ruddy fault she’s late for work. It was fate’s. And what’s the worst that can happen if she were late? A person would find a fried chicken beak in his or her fries? They should know not to eat at McBurger’s if they wanted good, sanitary food. And as long as there are hungry people in a rush—which there always will be, as long as there’s America—there will be McBurger’s. So what do they have to worry about?
And if everyone is in a hurry, then WHY AREN’T THEY MOVING?
They started moving. Kalista took her head off the steering wheel and started driving.
Fast…fast…maniacs!
It was the morning. Harris wasn’t ready for this. You needed to be quick to drive. He wasn’t quick, especially in the morning.
“ARGHH!” Harris swerved. He didn’t know what happened, but it was the other driver’s fault, definitely, stupid, shouldn’t be driving… and he almost died.
“I almost died.” Harris said.
“HEY! Watch we’re you’re going!”
“No, you watch it!”
“Baaah!” Said other driver, extending his middle finger. “It was your fault!”
“Your’s!”
“Your mum!”
“Does that make—“ Harris mouth, puzzled. It didn’t make sense. When one retorted with “your mum”, it was a sign that you should take pity on the speaker’s brain. Harris was getting honked at. He muttered and then got back to normal. In three minutes, the near-death experience would be out of his head. Especially when anyone above the age of 13 said it.
Fast…slow…fast…slow…
“Hurry up! Slow down! ACK! WATCH WE’RE YOU’RE GOING! MOVE!” Michael shouted at his peers. Not that it mattered. He was small and shrimpy. The 6th graders even towered over him, and even the 4’0ers towered over him when they puffed out their chest and grabbed their crotch.
Everyone was slow and fast in the hallways. There were wild maniacs, running and screaming, and then there were arrogant little prats who stood in the middle of the school, talking and chatting and painting their nails.
“Ex—“ Michael said to one of the prats as one of the maniacs rammed into him. “Can you move? Please?” The two girls turned to him and surveyed him with their eyes.
“’scuse me?”
“You’re blocking the hallway.” Michael said.
“Yo blockin’ my face.”
The whole school stopped to say “oooooooooooooooooooooooooh! Diss, son! Snap!”
“That didn’t make any sense.” Michael said.
“Yo face don’t make no sense.” Said the girl, doing some gesture with her hands and shaking her head in some weird way.
“You used a double negative,” Michael said. He enjoyed being the weird kid—he couldn’t be anything else, so why not be the weird smart kid with wide, vacant eyes that didn’t seem to blink? Some kids thought he was an alien, and he would explain to them that everyone was an alien, it just depended on where they were, which would boost his reputation. “And it still doesn’t make any sense. I know you’re trying to say that I’m ugly—“
“Yo face is ugly.”
“Yeah, that made sense but it wasn’t clever.” Michael said.
“Listen, yo—“ Then the girl stared. “Why I wastin’ time with you?”
“It was your choice,” said Michael. “To stay in the middle of the hallway wasting your time spewing unfunny so-called insults, even though you’re a stupid git and the world would be a lot better if you would just keep your mouth shut and not say anything.”
“You ain’t clever, neither.” Siad the girl.
“I wasn’t aiming for clever. I just want it known that I think you’re an idiot.” Michael went off on his way.
Little did he know that, in .0004 seconds, a rumor had been made that he had engaged in sexual intercourse with the girl. In .0008 seconds, the rumor had changed that he had impregnated her. In another 0.01 seconds, the rumor now was that he impregnated her and abused her. In another second, the rumor now stood that he had impregnated her, abused her, took her onto an alien spaceship and gave her an anal probe.
BREAK!
Kalista ran into work and looked at all the food.
“This fry still has a visible termite in it.” She said, tossing it into a garbage can. She put on a glove and grabbed a handful of fries, shoving them into her mouth. She skipped breakfast, only to have some at work. She lived off McBurger’s food, so it was amazing that she kept her figure. It was also amazing that she kept her health. She looked at the burgers. There was one with a huge lump in it. She took it out and poked it with a pin. The lump collapsed and pus oozed out of it. She threw it out. She took a burger for herself, sat on a counter and ate it.
This was life. Boring. She daydreamed about being rich, traveling to places. France. Only a France where the people bathed. At this point, though, her future looked bleak and boring. Another how many years of this? She thought as she yawned. She was drifting in and out of sleep. What if I were found, sleeping on the job? She thought. AN hour later, she responded, What a shame that would be, eh?