Argh.
Aaargh I didn't watch Doctor Who last night >< My mum was being an idiot and wouldn't let me watch it because she had to watch her bloody Monk and she had to video that Monty Python documentary on PBS DX Yesterday was not a good day. AT ALL. Grrrr.
AMANDA, OVER HERE!!!!! You finally get to find out what the crap that e-mail meant! Yay!
Base by Sanity Challenged
Random pressie ^^ It took forevaaar o.o And you're not wearing converses (that base hates shoes) but you're not wearing your school shoes either! Yaaay!!
And now, for something completely different...
Mad World
Rob Jennings could hear his boss shouting from eleven, cramped, dull cubicles away.
"Poor Eugene, eh?" said a voice from the entrance to his cubicle. Rob spun around in his swivel chair to face a tall, portly man of about 40.
"Oh, hello John," said Rob, as the aforementioned subject of the boss's persecution gave a single, pathetic whimper. "Uh, look, I think I'm going to pop out for a bit. Get some fresh air. Maybe a doughnut. Will you cover for me?"
"Nice time to want to breathe, with the boss in one of his moods."
"But you will, right?"
"Of course."
Rob let out a sigh of relief. He didn't think he could last much longer in his office with only his computer, a rubber band ball, and a two-month-dead cockroach in the corner for company. "Thanks John, I owe you one," he said, getting up and putting on his jacket.
"No problem," said John. "No problem."
~~~~~
7 minutes later, Rob was walking toward the doughnut shop on 3rd and Main. The particular route he was taking didn't have a sidewalk, so he walked along the edge of the road. As he walked, he noticed a dead twig lying on a patch of grass beside the road. Oh look, he thought, a twig! As he knelt down in the street to get a closer look, he noticed a rare specimen of the species Trechus discus crawling on it.
He didn't see the truck coming.
He never saw it in its 40 ton, eighteen-wheeled resplendent aura of death and destruction.
Rob Jennings was dead before his twisted, mangled carcass hit the concrete shoulder on the edge of the street, crushing the twig and indeed the beetle that had betrayed him his life.
The truck driver switched tracks on his stereo.
~~~~~
"Hunh?" Rob's eyes snapped open. The first thing that struck him was that for the first time he could remember, he didn't hear the sound of traffic. His subconscious tried to alert his slightly-less-than-sub-conscious, but it was still trying to work out where the hell he was and how he had got there. He looked up and saw a blur hovering over him.
"Who are you?" Rob demanded. He didn't like the looks of the blur at all. Meanwhile, his ears were sending rather a lot of complicated synapses to his brain, trying to tell him that something is very wrong here, but his brain already knew this; he just didn't know it yet.
The blur shrugged, at least, Rob assumed that was what it did. "Who do you want me to be?"
Rob blinked. That wasn't the sort of answer he had been expecting. "You know," he said after a while, "you sound a lot like John."
"John it is then." The blur was slowly beginning to resolve itself into the form of a tall, portly man of about 40. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck."
"Reasonable."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing."
Rob glanced at his watch. "My God, how long have I been gone?" he exclaimed, jumping up. "I've got to get back to work!"
"Relax," said John. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, and I don't think you want to go back to work. This is a dream."
"B-but..." Rob spluttered. "But I left work to get a doughnut, didn't I? I never went home."
"You've been hit by a truck."
"What, so I'm unconscious?" asked Rob.
"No," said John. "Well, yes, sort of. Not in the sense you mean, though."
"And just how many ways are there to be unconscious?"
"You're dead."
Rob thought about this for a moment. "Don't I have any say in the matter? I mean, is this some sort of limbo or something?"
"No. Not in your case, at least. And not really." John was used to telling people of their deaths, but there was always a part of him that was slightly uncomfortable with the whole thing. It was his job to appear to the deceased in the form of their closest relation. Explain to them what had happen; show them around. Of course, the around bit was the area where they had died, with their own parallel Universe stretching out in all directions. Still, it gave him a sense of purpose; a meaning. Not that any of it really mattered in the long run, of course. What's a few lost and confused dead people matter?
"There isn't some sort of--quest I can go on to prove that I'm worthy of Heaven, or Its closest equivalent?"
"No." This...Rob person was taking this pretty well. Reasonably well, at least. So far.
"Ah," said Rob. At that moment, his subconscious finally got through to his conscious, and he said, "Hang on, why isn't there any traffic?"
"Because that's how you died," said John. "In this Universe, you can have virtually whatever you want. Your subconscious says you don't like traffic, because you were killed by it, so there isn't any. Same reason you don't have to go back to work ever again. Rather neat, actually."
"So if I can have anything I want, why can't I--"
"Except make yourself alive again. You're alive here, you can't just go Universe-hopping, you know. Goes against basic laws of reality."
"And this doesn't?" Rob wasn't sure he liked being dead all that much. There was a tangible silence; a silence as tangible as Rob's throbbing headache. That is, it was extremely tangible to him, and no one else, because John was trying to think of something he could say without sounding overly rude.
He settled on a simple "No," then added, "Look, I'd advise you to go do something, you know? Enjoy yourself. Once you're comfortable with the whole 'oh-my-God-I'm-dead thing', what would you like to do?"
"Drink. A lot."
"Go ahead. The bar's over there--" John gestured to the familiar pub Rob usually went to after a long day at work, "--go ahead. Oh, but you can't get drunk."
"What? Why not?" Rob demanded.
John sighed. He tried to explain. "All right, look, your subconscious says you don't like hangovers, right?" Rob gave an uncommitted nod of agreement. "In your Universe, you can't get hangovers. So, you can't get drunk. Either way around."
"So why do I have a headache?" Rob said testily. "I don't like headaches, do I? Or does my subconscious say I do?"
"No, that's just usual post-mortem pain. It goes away after a while." John pulled out a pocket watch. "I'd better be going."
"What? Where?”
John blinked. “To someone else’s dream, of course. You realize that there are...well, I’m not sure of the exact statistic, but an awful lot of people dying every millisecond? Hate to keep them waiting.” He waved at Rob. “So, I’m off, goodbye. I won’t be seeing you again. This world is the same as you died on, give or take a few things.”
“Like being physically able to get drunk.”
“Exactly.” John turned away. He turned back. “Another thing; try not to go insane, okay? Just relax and enjoy what I’m sure you’ll find is a really great death.” And with that he disappeared.
Rob looked longingly toward the pub, then at the doughnut shop down the street. What the hell, he thought, might as well get the doughnut.
finis
~Amy :)
AMANDA, OVER HERE!!!!! You finally get to find out what the crap that e-mail meant! Yay!
Base by Sanity Challenged
Random pressie ^^ It took forevaaar o.o And you're not wearing converses (that base hates shoes) but you're not wearing your school shoes either! Yaaay!!
And now, for something completely different...
Mad World
Rob Jennings could hear his boss shouting from eleven, cramped, dull cubicles away.
"Poor Eugene, eh?" said a voice from the entrance to his cubicle. Rob spun around in his swivel chair to face a tall, portly man of about 40.
"Oh, hello John," said Rob, as the aforementioned subject of the boss's persecution gave a single, pathetic whimper. "Uh, look, I think I'm going to pop out for a bit. Get some fresh air. Maybe a doughnut. Will you cover for me?"
"Nice time to want to breathe, with the boss in one of his moods."
"But you will, right?"
"Of course."
Rob let out a sigh of relief. He didn't think he could last much longer in his office with only his computer, a rubber band ball, and a two-month-dead cockroach in the corner for company. "Thanks John, I owe you one," he said, getting up and putting on his jacket.
"No problem," said John. "No problem."
~~~~~
7 minutes later, Rob was walking toward the doughnut shop on 3rd and Main. The particular route he was taking didn't have a sidewalk, so he walked along the edge of the road. As he walked, he noticed a dead twig lying on a patch of grass beside the road. Oh look, he thought, a twig! As he knelt down in the street to get a closer look, he noticed a rare specimen of the species Trechus discus crawling on it.
He didn't see the truck coming.
He never saw it in its 40 ton, eighteen-wheeled resplendent aura of death and destruction.
Rob Jennings was dead before his twisted, mangled carcass hit the concrete shoulder on the edge of the street, crushing the twig and indeed the beetle that had betrayed him his life.
The truck driver switched tracks on his stereo.
~~~~~
"Hunh?" Rob's eyes snapped open. The first thing that struck him was that for the first time he could remember, he didn't hear the sound of traffic. His subconscious tried to alert his slightly-less-than-sub-conscious, but it was still trying to work out where the hell he was and how he had got there. He looked up and saw a blur hovering over him.
"Who are you?" Rob demanded. He didn't like the looks of the blur at all. Meanwhile, his ears were sending rather a lot of complicated synapses to his brain, trying to tell him that something is very wrong here, but his brain already knew this; he just didn't know it yet.
The blur shrugged, at least, Rob assumed that was what it did. "Who do you want me to be?"
Rob blinked. That wasn't the sort of answer he had been expecting. "You know," he said after a while, "you sound a lot like John."
"John it is then." The blur was slowly beginning to resolve itself into the form of a tall, portly man of about 40. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck."
"Reasonable."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing."
Rob glanced at his watch. "My God, how long have I been gone?" he exclaimed, jumping up. "I've got to get back to work!"
"Relax," said John. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, and I don't think you want to go back to work. This is a dream."
"B-but..." Rob spluttered. "But I left work to get a doughnut, didn't I? I never went home."
"You've been hit by a truck."
"What, so I'm unconscious?" asked Rob.
"No," said John. "Well, yes, sort of. Not in the sense you mean, though."
"And just how many ways are there to be unconscious?"
"You're dead."
Rob thought about this for a moment. "Don't I have any say in the matter? I mean, is this some sort of limbo or something?"
"No. Not in your case, at least. And not really." John was used to telling people of their deaths, but there was always a part of him that was slightly uncomfortable with the whole thing. It was his job to appear to the deceased in the form of their closest relation. Explain to them what had happen; show them around. Of course, the around bit was the area where they had died, with their own parallel Universe stretching out in all directions. Still, it gave him a sense of purpose; a meaning. Not that any of it really mattered in the long run, of course. What's a few lost and confused dead people matter?
"There isn't some sort of--quest I can go on to prove that I'm worthy of Heaven, or Its closest equivalent?"
"No." This...Rob person was taking this pretty well. Reasonably well, at least. So far.
"Ah," said Rob. At that moment, his subconscious finally got through to his conscious, and he said, "Hang on, why isn't there any traffic?"
"Because that's how you died," said John. "In this Universe, you can have virtually whatever you want. Your subconscious says you don't like traffic, because you were killed by it, so there isn't any. Same reason you don't have to go back to work ever again. Rather neat, actually."
"So if I can have anything I want, why can't I--"
"Except make yourself alive again. You're alive here, you can't just go Universe-hopping, you know. Goes against basic laws of reality."
"And this doesn't?" Rob wasn't sure he liked being dead all that much. There was a tangible silence; a silence as tangible as Rob's throbbing headache. That is, it was extremely tangible to him, and no one else, because John was trying to think of something he could say without sounding overly rude.
He settled on a simple "No," then added, "Look, I'd advise you to go do something, you know? Enjoy yourself. Once you're comfortable with the whole 'oh-my-God-I'm-dead thing', what would you like to do?"
"Drink. A lot."
"Go ahead. The bar's over there--" John gestured to the familiar pub Rob usually went to after a long day at work, "--go ahead. Oh, but you can't get drunk."
"What? Why not?" Rob demanded.
John sighed. He tried to explain. "All right, look, your subconscious says you don't like hangovers, right?" Rob gave an uncommitted nod of agreement. "In your Universe, you can't get hangovers. So, you can't get drunk. Either way around."
"So why do I have a headache?" Rob said testily. "I don't like headaches, do I? Or does my subconscious say I do?"
"No, that's just usual post-mortem pain. It goes away after a while." John pulled out a pocket watch. "I'd better be going."
"What? Where?”
John blinked. “To someone else’s dream, of course. You realize that there are...well, I’m not sure of the exact statistic, but an awful lot of people dying every millisecond? Hate to keep them waiting.” He waved at Rob. “So, I’m off, goodbye. I won’t be seeing you again. This world is the same as you died on, give or take a few things.”
“Like being physically able to get drunk.”
“Exactly.” John turned away. He turned back. “Another thing; try not to go insane, okay? Just relax and enjoy what I’m sure you’ll find is a really great death.” And with that he disappeared.
Rob looked longingly toward the pub, then at the doughnut shop down the street. What the hell, he thought, might as well get the doughnut.
finis
~Amy :)