It's just a story, please don't be upset by it.
Nobody
Once upon a time there was a man who lived alone. When he wasn't working he'd spend his days reading, shitposting, and watching a show about colorful, cartoon ponies. Almost every day a customer would scream at him because an item was out of stock, or their coupon was out of date, or just because they knew that they could. One day he yelled back, and went home without a job.
There he sat, day by day, until his bank account was as empty as the bottles of whiskey strewn about the floor. But he still had the ponies. Cute, friendly ponies having adventures in a world where everyone had a place, and friendship was more than an empty word.
“I wish I could go there, too” he said.
Cute, friendly ponies, laughed, flew, and played on his screen. His food was gone, but so what? It's easier to fill his belly with liquor than food, anyway. Then the water stopped, too. “That's fine,” he said “I'll just take 2 swigs instead of 1.” Next went the power, but who needed the TV? The ponies were still there without it. Little things whispering through the walls, and up from the drains. Scurrying around the baseboards at night. Darting too and fro through the air, always hiding in some nook, or cranny, but he saw them anyway. Lovely little ponies, they made everything bearable.
“Come play with us” he at last heard them say, so he did. Following their friendly, lighthearted giggles into the forest. “Climb up the stairs!”
What are stairs doing in the middle of the woods?
“It's the way to Equestria!” They answer, even though he hadn't spoken a word. So he approached the spotless landing, and a buzz awoke inside his head.
“I don't remember these being here before.”
“Never mind that! Climb, climb!” and he did, through a headache which throbbed more fiercely with every step. “Almost to the top” They shouted, and he could barely hear them. Not because of wind, or bugs, or any other forest sound, for there were none; the very copse itself seemed to be holding it's breath. Only the buzz, the deafening, throbbing drone competed with their voices. It didn't matter; he'd made it! “Give us your hand!”
Months later, some hunters found a body in the woods. Enough of one, anyway to match it to the man who had gone missing.
“Bear.” some said, at the rended flesh, and broken bones.
“Javelina” said others at the torn thighs, and missing genitals.
“Pit Bull” said the soccer mom who no longer remembered it had been she who deliberately provoked him in to yelling, for no other reason than wanting to get someone fired. Nobody cared enough about the pony-loving social reject to note neither the leaves in his clothes, nor bits of thorny vine stuck in his flesh were of a type no botanist would recognize.
They buried him in an unmarked grave, in the potter's field atop a reclaimed landfill. There were no mourners.
Nobody
Once upon a time there was a man who lived alone. When he wasn't working he'd spend his days reading, shitposting, and watching a show about colorful, cartoon ponies. Almost every day a customer would scream at him because an item was out of stock, or their coupon was out of date, or just because they knew that they could. One day he yelled back, and went home without a job.
There he sat, day by day, until his bank account was as empty as the bottles of whiskey strewn about the floor. But he still had the ponies. Cute, friendly ponies having adventures in a world where everyone had a place, and friendship was more than an empty word.
“I wish I could go there, too” he said.
Cute, friendly ponies, laughed, flew, and played on his screen. His food was gone, but so what? It's easier to fill his belly with liquor than food, anyway. Then the water stopped, too. “That's fine,” he said “I'll just take 2 swigs instead of 1.” Next went the power, but who needed the TV? The ponies were still there without it. Little things whispering through the walls, and up from the drains. Scurrying around the baseboards at night. Darting too and fro through the air, always hiding in some nook, or cranny, but he saw them anyway. Lovely little ponies, they made everything bearable.
“Come play with us” he at last heard them say, so he did. Following their friendly, lighthearted giggles into the forest. “Climb up the stairs!”
What are stairs doing in the middle of the woods?
“It's the way to Equestria!” They answer, even though he hadn't spoken a word. So he approached the spotless landing, and a buzz awoke inside his head.
“I don't remember these being here before.”
“Never mind that! Climb, climb!” and he did, through a headache which throbbed more fiercely with every step. “Almost to the top” They shouted, and he could barely hear them. Not because of wind, or bugs, or any other forest sound, for there were none; the very copse itself seemed to be holding it's breath. Only the buzz, the deafening, throbbing drone competed with their voices. It didn't matter; he'd made it! “Give us your hand!”
Months later, some hunters found a body in the woods. Enough of one, anyway to match it to the man who had gone missing.
“Bear.” some said, at the rended flesh, and broken bones.
“Javelina” said others at the torn thighs, and missing genitals.
“Pit Bull” said the soccer mom who no longer remembered it had been she who deliberately provoked him in to yelling, for no other reason than wanting to get someone fired. Nobody cared enough about the pony-loving social reject to note neither the leaves in his clothes, nor bits of thorny vine stuck in his flesh were of a type no botanist would recognize.
They buried him in an unmarked grave, in the potter's field atop a reclaimed landfill. There were no mourners.
Don't hesitate to AM(A)A
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.