Author Topic: An old story.  (Read 1198 times)

Offline thatollie

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An old story.
« on: May 08, 2009, 06:42:07 PM »
Blame Gyppo, I got the idea from him.

Frank forced the door open, “what a crap day.” At least his house was as he left it, stuff put wherever it was convenient, curtains drawn, no one there, “no one to bother me.”

He tiptoed around used takeaway cartons and beer bottles. He kicked the remote across the floor, “shit, I’ll get it later.”

The kitchen cupboards were practically empty but he found a snack and took it into the dining room. He turned on his computer

It whirred into life. Frank sat, waiting; his online friends were always more interesting than their real life counterparts. Slowly, icon after icon filled the screen’s gaps.

He smiled as he dragged the mouse over Internet Explorer and clicked. The modem whined but worked. He opened his favourites column, a bundle of opportunities for free debate. This time he chose My Writer’s Circle.

Set to stay logged in forever, his avatar greeted him from the top left hand corner. He’d chosen it because the guy looked like he was escaping the picture, just like he was there to escape real life.

He grabbed the phone, “the joys of broadband, I can order a pizza while I’m surfing.”

“Hmm, I have a PM.” He said, leaning back in his faux leather wheelie chair.

Welshy08 says, “hey, you avatar is cool.”

Frank laughed, “It is, isn’t it.” He said to himself. Reply, “I know.  8)

He took his time to really look at the avatar, it was cool. Then something unexpected happened, it nearly flung him out of his seat. His avatar winked at him, “what?”

It began to climb out of its frame and walked towards him. Frantically, he stabbed at the keyboard and clicked anything he could. The avatar kept coming, with a sadistic grin on its face.

Soon it took up the entire screen, “you’re right, I am cool. Too cool to be stuck frozen in a cramped, little box.”

The screen rippled like a disturbed pond as its hand clasped around Frank’s collar, pulling him inside.

“Let me go,” he screamed. Waving his arms and making more belated stabs at the keyboard did nothing.

“What? I thought you hated the real world, you wanted to get away from it. Well I want to touch it, taste it, I want the real world.” It’s eye flared, “So I’ll take yours.” Its high pitched voice grated at his nerves.

Frank threw his arms about again, breaking the chokehold. He stood facing the avatar, “where are we?”

It ran at him, “your final resting place,” it shouted.

Crunch, his nose. He stumbled, his vision red, “no, please, there has to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” it screamed.

It lunged from the dark, he backtracked. Its solid fist hit his sternum. He thudded onto the floor. The spotlight of their arena filtered through his bloody eyes was obscured. Its hands closed around his throat.

The red light grew fainter. All he could hear was his laboured breath and its cackling.

“Soon it’ll all be mine. I’ll relish all those things you took for granted; reality, people, life.”

It laughed again, the last thing Frank ever heard.

The avatar of Frank’s account changed, into a bloodied corpse in a spotlight. Then the account was terminated.

The curtains in Frank’s house were thrown back, It looked into the day, “the light, it’s so real, too real, it burns.”

Avatar lay on Frank’s floor, clawing at its newly gained eyes, it felt pain and screamed, “What is this, it hurts.”

He remembered during his waiting, reading about suicide and pills. He knew the layout to Frank’s house. Scrambling into the bathroom, looking through its one remaining eye. It grabbed a bottle of Paracetamol and made a flimsy attempt at opening it. It didn’t know how to get around a child lock.

It bashed the bottle on the side of the bathtub, “open, damn you.” The bottle broke, pills flying all over the place. It grasped at them frantically; put whatever he could pick up into the mouth.

The body convulsed, foam rose in the throat. Its life was gone.

When Frank didn’t appear at work the next morning, or call in sick, his boss called the only family he’d had, his sister. She went over to the apartment and let herself in with the key he’d given her. When the police arrived, they dismissed it as another poor soul driven crazy by too much computing.
« Last Edit: May 08, 2009, 06:52:38 PM by thatollie »
Never make a decision standing up.

Offline Don

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Re: An old story.
« Reply #1 on: May 09, 2009, 08:38:33 AM »
Quote
When the police arrived, they dismissed it as another poor soul driven crazy by too much computing.

Hmm...and you now have 4,947 posts in addition to the 6,000 plus posts you had from an earlier "thatollie" version, to say nothing of the uncounted posts under a variety of aliases. They do say all writing is autobiographical. Perhaps we'll send your sister over, just to be safe.  :)

Nicely done, by the way.

I have a motto: when in doubt, go for the cheap laugh.

Offline thatollie

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Re: An old story.
« Reply #2 on: May 09, 2009, 10:44:02 PM »
Hmm...and you now have 4,947 posts in addition to the 6,000 plus posts you had from an earlier "thatollie" version, to say nothing of the uncounted posts under a variety of aliases. They do say all writing is autobiographical. Perhaps we'll send your sister over, just to be safe.  :)

Nicely done, by the way.


Actually it was closer to 12,000 from thatollie the first.
Never make a decision standing up.