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This isn't my original concept, it's a redesign I did for a friend.

How should I get myself banned from this site? I ask this with the utmost seriousness. I'm bored, I can't stand being bored. I must do something to ameliorate my boredom. I waste too much time here, as such I should waste my time in a less boring place. To do that I must no longer have to option to come here. So logically I need to be banned somehow.

Story of the month is going slow so I'll add some competition weak as it may be.

Day 1

Mother, Father, I don’t miss you. I guess that’s all that you two deserve. You ran off, got yourselves drunk and left me lying here on the road. Nothing but pine trees all around me, nothing but birds to playing their tune. I can’t say that I really hate you, but that’s not the best thing you could have heard. So here I am, alone and dying, the blood it’s not stopping, my vision just started fading, the world around me is falling down. I should go, walk away. I should run, far away. But I can’t, I’ve got no legs to move with, no wings to fly with, no heart to live with. This is so uncool. I wanted to be someone. I wanted to grow up and be like those guys in the cartoons, with power to do stuff, and get what they want. It would have been great to get tall enough to look my cousins in the eye. It would have been great to hear my voice stop being so squeaky. It would have been great to see Anna again, maybe after this I could have thought about talking to her. But now here I am out one arm and out all luck. I heard about a guy who had no arm, wait it was about a guy who cut off his arm. He got back didn’t he? It’s called a tourniquet when you tie it off isn’t it? That way you don’t lose your blood, how much of that do you usually have anyways? Nine, no way, five liters tops. So if I can stop the bleeding does that mean I live, neh? Yeah, it means I live without mom or dad, without anyone around me. But it’s worth a try. The book said to do it like this. Agh. That hurts, maybe it got infected already, if that’s the case I’m done anyways. Maybe I should have stayed at home reading like always. Then maybe-- it’s stupid, so, so, so, so stupid. It stopped, no more warmness on my side, it’s all staying in, good job. So dizzy, must have lost at least a liter of blood back there… eat something, no one else is gonna eat the food for the camping trip, neh? Tastes like oil, burnt and oil. Doesn’t matter, gotta use what I’ve got, neh? So what now? I can’t walk home, I can’t drive home, I can’t see anyone driving this way. So what now? What now? What now? What now? What now?! Ugh! My arm! Why’d they have to go to that party? Why’d they have to bring me along? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! I’ve read about everything from survival to edible plants, and none of it’s useful out here, there’s nothing but me and the trees. God! You see this?! You see me here?! The kid who went to church every Sunday like clockwork, who actually believed his dumb parent’s lies ‘til he was ten?! Is this your way of telling me I’m just so wrong!? Huh?! Tell me! Tell me you son of a *****! Tell me that I’m wrong and I’m going to burn in hell!! For what?! For thinking for myself?! For thinking that no matter how hard you try to cover things up the world is full of death, and crime, and evil!? It’s just so ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly!! Dammit! Argh! Dammit. My head. Hurts so bad. I shouldn’t be shouting to no one, it’s just a waste, a goddamn waste, like me apparently. Sleep…need sleep, but it’s so cold. Maybe I’ll die here, maybe I’ll live, maybe I’ll be on the news, maybe I’ll just be a side note in the obits. I don’t care anymore. So what if I get home. I’m a cripple now, I have no more family, I have no more life to go back to. Sleep… It’ll all be better after I sleep.

Day 2

Morning, it’s morning isn’t it? I can’t feel it, I can’t feel my arm! Ah! My arm it’s not here! It’s not here! What happened to my arm?! Aaahh-- No! Stop it! I was in a crash, my parents are dead, I’ve got one arm left, I’m going to run out of food today, and I have to do something to save myself, neh? That’s right. That’s right. That’s right. So if I eat now I’ll be able to walk again probably, my head’s not spinning anymore. Where to walk to… the highway. There’s always someone on the highway, if I can get away from these backwater roads I can definitely get help, I may be going back to a life of nothing, however… for some reason it seems better than dying, neh? Ew. Still tastes awful. Gotta move anyways. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts like hell. Am I even going the right way? How long is it back to the interstate from here? How long can I hold out? Why am I asking you old bird? What would an owl know about this? Ha ha ha. That’s right, an owl knows how to fly and how to eat, I know how to read and how to walk, we’re not going to be able to help each other, not that I could help anyone like this. My feet hurt. My arms hurt. My head hurts. Keep going. Don’t stop, what’ll you do if you stop? Nothing. You’ll rot and die then rot some more, just like the people in graves. Yeah coffins are useless, the weight of the soil is enough to crush most of them. Why make them if they’re that weak? A home for the dead? Don’t be stupid, your brain goes, you go, end of story. Just like it’s not my brain, or my arm, it’s me, all me, everything physical is really what we see as the mind, or the soul. Maybe if we wanted to know for sure we’d have no religion, but we don’t. No way, no how. We just keep on schleppin’ it along with this fragile existence, read, write, speak, do, build, alter, destroy, built, create, reshape, reorder, break, war, peace, revolution, domination, order, conflict, nothingness. I’m a depressing child aren’t I? Maybe if I didn’t read so much…

Day 3

I’m gonna die. No food, no water, no highway. I guess I was dumber than I thought. The wound’s infected for sure, the cold is making my joints ache, the blood, I think I hear it pumping into my ears. Argh! I’m so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! But I still don’t wanna die. No matter what I don’t wanna die! Save me! Somebody help! Help me! I don’t care who save me! Help me! Bring me back! I don’t care what I have to do save me! Save me! Please! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! I beg, I plead, I throw myself on your mercy! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Please, I’m begging you! Save me! Save me! Save me! Somebody! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Anybody! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Please do something! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Save me! Mother! Save me! Father! Save me! Oh please God save me!

Okay, started writing something else in light of my new workload. It takes the edge off the boredom but still helps me procrastinate and has no writer's block. I'm pretty unhappy with it so far but whatever.


File 1: You've_Got_Mail.zip

Kingsley walked down the road along where a walk would lie in a better part of town on his way home from a moderately stressful day at work. The folders full of reports that filled his satchel weighed down on his shoulder and his head drooped in the late afternoon sun. For several minutes his feet pounded on the pavement with a slow steady rhythm. Suddenly he heard a bus’s brakes squealing, as if about to protest but then losing the motivation to, as the dingy green and blue striped bus came to a stop alone at a light a ways behind him, it was his ride. His beanie capped head perked up just enough to see the formerly white pole with a thin metal sign marking the stop hanging like a dingy starched flag at the end of the block. He started running. It wasn’t far but by the time he reached to stop he was breathing somewhat heavily, a product of his childhood asthma and his current level of inactivity.

The bus pulled up seconds later, he leapt on paid his fare, tugged his sleeves down over his hands and took a seat in the vacant front of the bus. With a quick glance at the people behind him he began to doze. As he wavered between waking and sleeping his mind was filled with his day thus far: the meeting, the new project manager, the guy in the cube next to him getting fired. All in all not a bad day. Twenty minutes later he was standing in front of an eyesore of a bungalow among pleasant looking homes with neatly clipped hedges and green lawns and all manners of flowers. He yawned and pulled out his keys fumbling with them as he unlocked the door and entered the equally dismal interior of the house. His only friend and temporary roommate was out, he was always was out, never paid him any mind and he barely said a thing since he got a girl.

Kingsley yawned again and clumsily kicked his shoes off into some corner where he’d no doubt have to go looking for them again the next morning. Next he tossed folder filled satchel and cap over a chair covered in dirty laundry and assorted official papers. He walked to the kitchen and perfunctorily opened the refrigerator and, as he’d guessed, saw a sticky note asking that he buy more food and that the milk had gone funky. He tore the note from it’s spot where the funky milk was that morning, closed the door and sighed tossing the note into a recycling bin also labeled with a sticky note. An eyed zoomed over to the half opened cabinets followed by a searching hand that in an instant plucked a package of cookies from the shelf with the speed of an attacking viper before closing the cabinet returning to its resting position plus the cookies.

Kingsley looked down at the cookies and tossed them onto the table thinking better of it, he grimaced when they crunched on landing but moved onwards to his desktop. The ancient shell filled with expensive newer parts was topped with a monitor that was indistinguishable from a small LCD television and lay in the corner of an unused room; one that under most circumstances would have been used as a dining room. However, since neither he nor his friend had a mind to entertain anyone in any capacity, the room had fallen into the clutches of a small jungle of wires creeping along the floors and up the walls, all converging on one usually glowing box. A socked toe tapped a green button and with the noise of a fan that sounded like a jet taking off a few blacks down the computer hummed to life.

A password screen appeared moments later. A few keystrokes later and his personal settings were in the process of loading. He yawned again and turned around, scratching his left ankle with his opposite foot. Much to his surprise a midsized, rectangular, cardboard box lay before him. Upon closer inspection it was clear that it was a package addressed to none other than he with a sticky note on it telling him in excruciating detail how great it was that his roommate had gone to the trouble of signing for it and carrying it in. This one he simply crumpled up on the spot and didn‘t bother throwing it away properly.

“Never thought they’d actually make good on that deal.†He said to himself, thinking back to the interview he had with a supposedly up and coming computer research firm. Supposedly into some new kind of computer technology that no one else in the world was even close to. They promised one of their very own new state of the art computers for all hired to participate in the beta testing project, but he never expected anything more than a note telling him he wasn’t qualified enough or something to arrive via e-mail five to ten minutes after interview. He most certainly hadn’t expected to actually get the job or the shiny new computer to match.

He turned and cast an impatient eye back at the computer; now fully booted up and displaying a group shot of several overly dramatic looking cartoon characters with icons dotted about it. He turned away from the glowing box, frowned at the package, and went searching for a box cutter to remove the industrial tape that sealed it shut. Five minutes afterwards he came back with a pair of scissors and jammed them into the space where the flaps met and began tearing the tape apart. It was difficult with his tool of necessity but it wasn’t as bad as his experience with the pocket knife and so he decided to count it as a win in his book. With one final stroke he cut the last of the tape from the box and wedged his fingers in the flaps to pull it open.

Kingsley’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open when the cardboard flaps fell apart, revealing the contents of his package. There were no packing peanuts, there was no Styrofoam cage, there was no instruction manual wrapped in plastic, and there certainly was not a computer lying in wait for him.