Hikikomori: Day 1
My name is Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne. Most people expect a number after a name like that but my parents were as blue collar as they come. My father worked as a copy machine repairman and my mother spent her days behind a counter at the DMV. The only wisdom I ever took away from them was that toner is over priced and that owning a car is not worth the paperwork. If the Rosenthorne name is to amount to anything resembling a legacy the work lies with me.
The one advantage to having a name like Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne is that it gets people's attention. That helps in my line of work. When someone answers the phone and hears, “Hello, my name is Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne” they immediately assume they're talking to someone important. I am, of course, important but generally not for the reasons I call people on a day to day basis. Their disappointment is usually audible right around the time that I'm assuring them that my employers wool refining process produces cloth indistinguishable from silk.
No, alas, acquiring people's attention in no way guarantees that they will actually listen. However, eventually, they will listen. They have to because I have spent a lifetime refining my superior world view. That's why I give so much of myself to my website, AllTheAnswers.com. It's my gift to the world and one day, once my followers hit critical mass and begin propagating my wisdom at an exponential rate, I will be recognized for the misunderstood genius that I am. At times it's an exhausting effort.
Today, for example, I had just made my 27th post in under 45 minutes in response to some man from Nebaskra, when I realized that we had passed this line of reasoning for the third time. That, admittedly, gave me pause. I had literally posted the same set of irrefutable observations on why the thematic dynamics of Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho were indicative of a general cultural madness that permeated the 18th Century three different times and this man simply refused to accept their 21st Century ramifications. It occurred to me for the first time that, perhaps, I was wasting my words. I began to think that maybe there was some other, better, more productive use of my talents.
I was just in the middle of a thought about how maybe I might want to let this particular argument go when the coughing fits started again. My colds have a way of lingering in my chest well past their welcome but dammit this was going on four months now. This particular fit was rather severe and I found myself stumbling to the bathroom and gasping for breath as I heaved the phlegm into my sink.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw the blood. I'm now beginning to worry that this may be something more severe. I decided I needed to do something about it, however, the sun was still up and so I spent a few hours contemplating my ceiling fan until late into the evening. You'd be amazed how many revolutions those little motors keep up over the course of the afternoon. All I can say is, thank god for 24 hour CVS or a man like me might die from some horrible disease.
Even with the lateness of the hour there was still one too many people in the CVS for my tastes. I'm not sure how they expect you to effectively compare Vicks and Robitussin when some woman is prattling on about how if she doesn't get her insulin tonight she won't have enough for the weekend. If I can tough out four months of a cough surely someone could last the weekend. I finally settled on the Vicks.
When I returned home I found Viola sitting on my couch. Viola is a knock-out gorgeous woman with smoldering coal black eyes, a Veronica Lake style wave of brunette hair and a body to rival any 1940s femme fatale and the swagger to match. She's been coming by a lot lately. I don't remember giving her a key so I'm not entirely sure how she keeps getting into my apartment. However, she didn't react too well the last time she came by when I tried to kiss her so I figured I'd not press my chances this evening by asking. Instead I just smiled and said, “Viola, what a pleasant surprise!”
She just looked at me with the cold stare of a woman who's just been stood up on a date. Finally she asked, “Where have you been, Rosie?”
I swallowed hard. “You know, I don't like it when you call me that,” I said trying to sound cheerful.
“I could call you 'Bastian,” she mocked through a wicked smile.
“You know I hate that even more. Please... just... just call me Milo.”
She scowled at me and pointedly replied, “You still haven't answered my question. Where have you been?”
I tossed the Vicks bottle on the sofa next to her and practically shouted, “My cough was bothering me. I thought maybe I should do something about it.”
She looked condescendingly at the medicine and asked, “Vicks 44? Are you joking? You're coughing up blood and you think this is the solution?”
I'm sure my face registered the confusion. I began to inquire, “How did you know...” when she cut me off curtly, “If you're so hell bent on letting yourself die why not just make it simple and kill yourself!”
“Excuse me?”
She looked at me smugly. “You heard me. You sit around here all day knowing something is eating you up inside and you just choose to ignore it. It's suicide by denial. Quite frankly, I don't think you have the guts to off yourself for real!”
“If I really wanted to die, I can think of a thousand better ways than letting myself waste away in here!”
“Prove it!”
Viola had never spoken to me this way before. I felt anger welling up inside me. I snatched up the entire bottle of Vicks 44, and screwed off the top. I was about to just drink down the whole thing when something inside stopped me. What was I doing? This is insane. I replaced the lid, put the bottle back on the table gently and sat down on the couch next to Viola.
I turned to her, smiled, and said in as warm tones as I could muster, “Viola, darling, I don't know what I've done to upset you so. Is there something, anything, I can do to make it up to you?”
She pouted in that heart-melting way that only Viola can and mewed, “Tell me you love me.”
I put on my best Dudley-Do-Right smile and said, “You know I love you.”
She scowled and said, “Fuck you, Rosie, you're about as sincere as a politician on election day.”
I let out a deep sigh and told her to hold on. I got up off the couch and went to fetch the notebook I keep beside my bed. I had been composing a love poem for Viola the previous evening and while I was not entirely comfortable with the current draft I figured now would be the best time to share it with her. However, when I came out of the bedroom she was gone.
Funny, I don't remember hearing the front door.
***
Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne
The son of a copy machine repairman and a DMV bureaucrat. Works as a telemarketer selling knock-off designer underwear from his spartan studio apartment.
Hope 2d10
Traits
Imaginary Friend (Sensual young woman named Viola Graves, Furious[2]) 3d10
Delusion (Messianc) 3d10
Health Problem (Lung Cancer, thinks it's a bad cough) 3d10
The one advantage to having a name like Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne is that it gets people's attention. That helps in my line of work. When someone answers the phone and hears, “Hello, my name is Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne” they immediately assume they're talking to someone important. I am, of course, important but generally not for the reasons I call people on a day to day basis. Their disappointment is usually audible right around the time that I'm assuring them that my employers wool refining process produces cloth indistinguishable from silk.
No, alas, acquiring people's attention in no way guarantees that they will actually listen. However, eventually, they will listen. They have to because I have spent a lifetime refining my superior world view. That's why I give so much of myself to my website, AllTheAnswers.com. It's my gift to the world and one day, once my followers hit critical mass and begin propagating my wisdom at an exponential rate, I will be recognized for the misunderstood genius that I am. At times it's an exhausting effort.
Today, for example, I had just made my 27th post in under 45 minutes in response to some man from Nebaskra, when I realized that we had passed this line of reasoning for the third time. That, admittedly, gave me pause. I had literally posted the same set of irrefutable observations on why the thematic dynamics of Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho were indicative of a general cultural madness that permeated the 18th Century three different times and this man simply refused to accept their 21st Century ramifications. It occurred to me for the first time that, perhaps, I was wasting my words. I began to think that maybe there was some other, better, more productive use of my talents.
I was just in the middle of a thought about how maybe I might want to let this particular argument go when the coughing fits started again. My colds have a way of lingering in my chest well past their welcome but dammit this was going on four months now. This particular fit was rather severe and I found myself stumbling to the bathroom and gasping for breath as I heaved the phlegm into my sink.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw the blood. I'm now beginning to worry that this may be something more severe. I decided I needed to do something about it, however, the sun was still up and so I spent a few hours contemplating my ceiling fan until late into the evening. You'd be amazed how many revolutions those little motors keep up over the course of the afternoon. All I can say is, thank god for 24 hour CVS or a man like me might die from some horrible disease.
Even with the lateness of the hour there was still one too many people in the CVS for my tastes. I'm not sure how they expect you to effectively compare Vicks and Robitussin when some woman is prattling on about how if she doesn't get her insulin tonight she won't have enough for the weekend. If I can tough out four months of a cough surely someone could last the weekend. I finally settled on the Vicks.
When I returned home I found Viola sitting on my couch. Viola is a knock-out gorgeous woman with smoldering coal black eyes, a Veronica Lake style wave of brunette hair and a body to rival any 1940s femme fatale and the swagger to match. She's been coming by a lot lately. I don't remember giving her a key so I'm not entirely sure how she keeps getting into my apartment. However, she didn't react too well the last time she came by when I tried to kiss her so I figured I'd not press my chances this evening by asking. Instead I just smiled and said, “Viola, what a pleasant surprise!”
She just looked at me with the cold stare of a woman who's just been stood up on a date. Finally she asked, “Where have you been, Rosie?”
I swallowed hard. “You know, I don't like it when you call me that,” I said trying to sound cheerful.
“I could call you 'Bastian,” she mocked through a wicked smile.
“You know I hate that even more. Please... just... just call me Milo.”
She scowled at me and pointedly replied, “You still haven't answered my question. Where have you been?”
I tossed the Vicks bottle on the sofa next to her and practically shouted, “My cough was bothering me. I thought maybe I should do something about it.”
She looked condescendingly at the medicine and asked, “Vicks 44? Are you joking? You're coughing up blood and you think this is the solution?”
I'm sure my face registered the confusion. I began to inquire, “How did you know...” when she cut me off curtly, “If you're so hell bent on letting yourself die why not just make it simple and kill yourself!”
“Excuse me?”
She looked at me smugly. “You heard me. You sit around here all day knowing something is eating you up inside and you just choose to ignore it. It's suicide by denial. Quite frankly, I don't think you have the guts to off yourself for real!”
“If I really wanted to die, I can think of a thousand better ways than letting myself waste away in here!”
“Prove it!”
Viola had never spoken to me this way before. I felt anger welling up inside me. I snatched up the entire bottle of Vicks 44, and screwed off the top. I was about to just drink down the whole thing when something inside stopped me. What was I doing? This is insane. I replaced the lid, put the bottle back on the table gently and sat down on the couch next to Viola.
I turned to her, smiled, and said in as warm tones as I could muster, “Viola, darling, I don't know what I've done to upset you so. Is there something, anything, I can do to make it up to you?”
She pouted in that heart-melting way that only Viola can and mewed, “Tell me you love me.”
I put on my best Dudley-Do-Right smile and said, “You know I love you.”
She scowled and said, “Fuck you, Rosie, you're about as sincere as a politician on election day.”
I let out a deep sigh and told her to hold on. I got up off the couch and went to fetch the notebook I keep beside my bed. I had been composing a love poem for Viola the previous evening and while I was not entirely comfortable with the current draft I figured now would be the best time to share it with her. However, when I came out of the bedroom she was gone.
Funny, I don't remember hearing the front door.
***
Milo Sebastian Rosenthorne
The son of a copy machine repairman and a DMV bureaucrat. Works as a telemarketer selling knock-off designer underwear from his spartan studio apartment.
Hope 2d10
Traits
Imaginary Friend (Sensual young woman named Viola Graves, Furious[2]) 3d10
Delusion (Messianc) 3d10
Health Problem (Lung Cancer, thinks it's a bad cough) 3d10