Friday, 5 October 2012

“Oh How I Hate People” by Ethan Cameron Tohiariki, Oliver Dearnley and Rory Herd


[“Oh how I hate people!” ― Mervyn Peake]

By Ethan, Rory 'Raditz's hair but Piccolo's special beam cannon' Herd, and Oliver.


One day Dave the fighter was exploring a dungeon when all of a sudden he realised the generic nature of his life and subsequently woke up. Tchaikovsky's Serenade In Blue played in the background, though no instruments were in sight. He’d awoken to a dark room. Was it all a dream? He appeared to be in a hut.

"Ayeee, I'm Eric the wizard," said Eric the wizard. The raven then gave a solemn glance, and floated towards the ground. As Dave walked towards the hut, he was already in the hut to begin with; it was all a drug metaphor. He then woke up.

As he moved himself from the bed to the door, he remembered his forgotten past. Outside in the cold and sunshine, he realised the world was no different from deep space. He looked towards the horizon, but he saw only himself, reflected in the pond. He then woke up.

※ ※ ※

My goodness, I did not expect to become the protagonist of this story, but am I you? You only exist in my dream. Though really Dave is still the protagonist. Eric vetoes this, and the raven dissolves the security council.

Suddenly a 3HP dire-wolf assailed Dave with a discussion about the nature of self. Drunk with power, Eric vetoed this. It was a drug metaphor. The raven dissolved another security council, caressing the clean-wrap. It was cute and left a metallic tang in his mouth, like that of a metallic object, as implied by the context. I woke up with a single bead of sweat sliding down my face.

The old man leaned close into my ear, and whispered: "we are all organic in the life stream". He then woke up. We're all sons of bitches now. My limbs are microwaves, singing in the dead of night. An old wolf prowls, and an old woman howls.

“There's a knife on the ground!” exclaimed Dave, quite vicariously. Really? No not really.

Ten years later, Dave faced his fears, and once again stood at the entrance of that dungeon. Ten years had passed, and still the images flashed through his mind. He never did ground himself after those events. His friends abandoned him, and society gave up. Hell, even Dave himself had given up. But here he was, confronting his fears, like no one else ever would. He looked at the door. It was made of gold. He then woke up.

※ ※ ※

"When will I rid myself of these garnish nightmares?" he said, waking up.

He flashed back to her golden hair in the moonlight.

※ ※ ※

He then woke up again. Momentums rained the straps upon its horses; Rabbits lining up to a restaurant to eat decomposing rabbits. The droll female voice continued on through the hot summer air… a critical mass was being reached.

“Arizona. Arizona's ma' answers to that.” The talk show host looked up above his black tinted glasses, into eyes as cavernous as his recollection of that day. He deliberately and slowly pulled his nails across the strings, letting out a faint squeal of a distant vibration.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee." heard the orphans, quietly suckling on their respirators and iron lungs. The gasping of the air drags on throughout the dry Arizona afternoon. The fat-man stares at me from across the hall, swimming within the respirators. Dave pushed the bottle away. He would not drink any more that day. No one noticed, but a high pitched siren began to sound across the halls. Everyone continued about their daily lives, unaffected, but Dave knew something was amiss.

"Eaaaaaaaaaaaaeaaaaeaeaaaaaaaaaaaaaeaaaaaaaeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaæeeeeeeee."

The lights dimmed and the eyes flared. Thirty-six blank, unending stares. Unending lives. Unending torments.

Dave found himself staring into the opening of a dungeon. It tasted purple.

“Ugh, it burns.” Eric looked agitated. “My retinas are undergoing a choreography of violence.”

※ ※ ※

They woke up. The colour purple across streamlined turrets of informative praise. Her golden hair.

“We are all organic in the life stream, like decomposing rabbits,” thought Dave, “Who will lie when I am gone?”

A knife on the ground.

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