Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 3: Endymion]
06-07-2011, 05:32 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
It figures the one time he actually wanted to go to sleep would be the time his narcolepsy refused to show its slimy, metaphorical face.
It seemed the harder he tried to clear his mind, the harder it was to actually sleep. So instead, he tried to think about everything at once. He thought about watermelons. He thought about his devilish boss, who would certainly be fussing up a storm with him being horribly late with submitting pictures. He thought about that book that hadn’t finished telling him its story and probably never will, now that he thought about it. He thought about an old man poking him in the side.
“Ow,” the Photographer said indignantly once he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It didn’t actually hurt, but it sometimes made people stop. He opened his eye a little and saw two men staring at him.
“See? I told you. It’s alive.”
“For fu—for cryin’ out loud, Snake, I hate the rain. And you make me walk over here to look at some blobby mess?”
“I’m a photographer,” the Photographer said, though not loud enough for anybody to hear. Although he was still indignant, he didn’t want to catch the attention of somebody called ‘Snake.’
“Look at this consistency. I have no idea what this thing is made of…”
“I don’t really care. Snake, you gotta stop dragging in these rejects off the streets.”
“But it has my shoe.” The Photographer imagined Snake (whoever he was) pouting. “And it won’t give it back.”
Well, if he wasn’t needed in this conversation, maybe he could go to sleep now.
“I’m not fishing it out. Not gonna get sucked in or anything.”
Now?
“I doubt that would happen. In any case, I’ll be sure to hold on to you tightly.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Nnnnnnow.
“If it starts sucking me in, though, I’m letting go.”
“Oh, thanks.”
The Photographer was wondering if the second man had just been sarcastic twice in a row when a meaty hand pushed into his side. With a yelp, the blob jumped up and then fell over the side, dragging the owner of the hand along with him. Snake immediately let go of the second man, who was pulled into the side of the metal table rather painfully before his hand was freed. The Photographer sat up nervously.
“I, uh, that’s not, I mean, that seems a little,” he stuttered before falling into meek silence. After a moment, another appendage popped out and dumped a shoe on the floor in front of him. “Um. Sorry.”
“Oh good, my shoe,” said Snake, who didn’t look half as tough as his name implied. He picked it up, ignoring his friend, who was slumped on his floor. He examined his shoe with a criticizing eye. “…You’ll wash off of it, right?”
“…Um…I guess…”
“Good, good…So, how are you?”
It took a moment for the Photographer to realize that Snake was talking to him. “Um. I’m okay?”
“For fu—Snake,” the second man said in an odd tone that struggled to be even. He carefully sat up, still rubbing his side. “There’re bigger things to worry ‘bout. The fucking sun’s gone!”
Snake reached over towards the second man’s wrist and pulled on a giggling rubber band that the Photographer didn’t notice before. It snapped. The second man winced, took a few deep breaths, and said, in a much calmer tone, “The sun’s gone.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” Snake replied in a tone that did not at all imply that ridiculosity was afoot.
“I heard it! Just after you called me, you know! People are talkin’ ‘bout it everywhere!”
“…So it’s a rumor.”
The second man shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I guess. But think about it! How could anybody fu—mistake the sun disappearing for something else? Huh? It’s so ridiculous, it has to be true.”
“Or perhaps it’s so ridiculous, it’s hard not to talk about, which is why the story spread so quickly. The sun can’t simply vanish, you know.”
“…she’s lonely.”
The two men turned to where the Photographer sat. He had been muttering to seemingly himself, ignored and unnoticed.
“What?” the second man asked. The Photographer seemed to withdraw into himself somehow without really moving.
“Um, uh, the moon, um, Endymion. Um, she…well, it’s sort of like…she doesn’t see her friends…? So…um…she’s alone. And lonely.”
The two men continued staring at the Photographer, who actually could probably sink to the floor, but felt that would make him feel even more self-conscious.
“…You can talk to moons?” The second man finally said.
“...’Alone?’ Oh dear…”
And immediately, the second man turned on Snake again. “That’s what you focus on?”
“If Endymion’s ‘alone,’ then that means that there’s no sun. And…the planet is gone too.”
“You’re shitting me. You don’t believe me and then some—OW.” Snake had snapped the rubber band again. “SHIT,” the second man shouted emphatically. He quickly drew his wrist away from Snake.
“You know I don’t like you—“
“Yeah, yeah, they leave a bad taste in your mouth or whatever. Very important. It’s not like we’re gonna die soon.”
“This is indeed a very grave matter. We must inform him. You,” he said suddenly, gesturing to the Photographer, who was only just getting up. “Come with us. We need you to explain.”
“Um, I don’t think I—“
“Oh, stuff it, ya lil’ mistake,” the second man snapped harshly before grabbing his arm, apparently not noticing his grasp slowly sinking in. “The more we waste time, the less time we’ll have fixing this damn problem.”
The Photographer said nothing, though he did agree with what Endymion said. This wasn’t exactly a fixable ‘problem.’
It figures the one time he actually wanted to go to sleep would be the time his narcolepsy refused to show its slimy, metaphorical face.
It seemed the harder he tried to clear his mind, the harder it was to actually sleep. So instead, he tried to think about everything at once. He thought about watermelons. He thought about his devilish boss, who would certainly be fussing up a storm with him being horribly late with submitting pictures. He thought about that book that hadn’t finished telling him its story and probably never will, now that he thought about it. He thought about an old man poking him in the side.
“Ow,” the Photographer said indignantly once he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It didn’t actually hurt, but it sometimes made people stop. He opened his eye a little and saw two men staring at him.
“See? I told you. It’s alive.”
“For fu—for cryin’ out loud, Snake, I hate the rain. And you make me walk over here to look at some blobby mess?”
“I’m a photographer,” the Photographer said, though not loud enough for anybody to hear. Although he was still indignant, he didn’t want to catch the attention of somebody called ‘Snake.’
“Look at this consistency. I have no idea what this thing is made of…”
“I don’t really care. Snake, you gotta stop dragging in these rejects off the streets.”
“But it has my shoe.” The Photographer imagined Snake (whoever he was) pouting. “And it won’t give it back.”
Well, if he wasn’t needed in this conversation, maybe he could go to sleep now.
“I’m not fishing it out. Not gonna get sucked in or anything.”
Now?
“I doubt that would happen. In any case, I’ll be sure to hold on to you tightly.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Nnnnnnow.
“If it starts sucking me in, though, I’m letting go.”
“Oh, thanks.”
The Photographer was wondering if the second man had just been sarcastic twice in a row when a meaty hand pushed into his side. With a yelp, the blob jumped up and then fell over the side, dragging the owner of the hand along with him. Snake immediately let go of the second man, who was pulled into the side of the metal table rather painfully before his hand was freed. The Photographer sat up nervously.
“I, uh, that’s not, I mean, that seems a little,” he stuttered before falling into meek silence. After a moment, another appendage popped out and dumped a shoe on the floor in front of him. “Um. Sorry.”
“Oh good, my shoe,” said Snake, who didn’t look half as tough as his name implied. He picked it up, ignoring his friend, who was slumped on his floor. He examined his shoe with a criticizing eye. “…You’ll wash off of it, right?”
“…Um…I guess…”
“Good, good…So, how are you?”
It took a moment for the Photographer to realize that Snake was talking to him. “Um. I’m okay?”
“For fu—Snake,” the second man said in an odd tone that struggled to be even. He carefully sat up, still rubbing his side. “There’re bigger things to worry ‘bout. The fucking sun’s gone!”
Snake reached over towards the second man’s wrist and pulled on a giggling rubber band that the Photographer didn’t notice before. It snapped. The second man winced, took a few deep breaths, and said, in a much calmer tone, “The sun’s gone.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” Snake replied in a tone that did not at all imply that ridiculosity was afoot.
“I heard it! Just after you called me, you know! People are talkin’ ‘bout it everywhere!”
“…So it’s a rumor.”
The second man shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I guess. But think about it! How could anybody fu—mistake the sun disappearing for something else? Huh? It’s so ridiculous, it has to be true.”
“Or perhaps it’s so ridiculous, it’s hard not to talk about, which is why the story spread so quickly. The sun can’t simply vanish, you know.”
“…she’s lonely.”
The two men turned to where the Photographer sat. He had been muttering to seemingly himself, ignored and unnoticed.
“What?” the second man asked. The Photographer seemed to withdraw into himself somehow without really moving.
“Um, uh, the moon, um, Endymion. Um, she…well, it’s sort of like…she doesn’t see her friends…? So…um…she’s alone. And lonely.”
The two men continued staring at the Photographer, who actually could probably sink to the floor, but felt that would make him feel even more self-conscious.
“…You can talk to moons?” The second man finally said.
“...’Alone?’ Oh dear…”
And immediately, the second man turned on Snake again. “That’s what you focus on?”
“If Endymion’s ‘alone,’ then that means that there’s no sun. And…the planet is gone too.”
“You’re shitting me. You don’t believe me and then some—OW.” Snake had snapped the rubber band again. “SHIT,” the second man shouted emphatically. He quickly drew his wrist away from Snake.
“You know I don’t like you—“
“Yeah, yeah, they leave a bad taste in your mouth or whatever. Very important. It’s not like we’re gonna die soon.”
“This is indeed a very grave matter. We must inform him. You,” he said suddenly, gesturing to the Photographer, who was only just getting up. “Come with us. We need you to explain.”
“Um, I don’t think I—“
“Oh, stuff it, ya lil’ mistake,” the second man snapped harshly before grabbing his arm, apparently not noticing his grasp slowly sinking in. “The more we waste time, the less time we’ll have fixing this damn problem.”
The Photographer said nothing, though he did agree with what Endymion said. This wasn’t exactly a fixable ‘problem.’