So, morning, I think? Just talked to Marvo on the radio. The guy seemed furious. Looks like he almost got bit doing something stupid, something about generator parts, I think? He sounded fine, though, if not a little shaken, but it’s hard to tell. After all, he’s always twitchy as hell. At least he didn’t get eaten, I guess. Oh, talking about getting eaten, I saw a new face today! Rude fella though. Who run after seeing someone saying hello? At least he got what’s coming to him. Saw that guy running straight into Fortune. Man, talk about stupid. It’s a surprise he lasted this long! Or maybe he was just suicidal… Who knows?
Oh yeah, on the subject of being suicidal, the dumb-dumbs down stairs are acting up again. And I think they got new friends, too, judging by how loud they’re getting. Gotta get rid of them soon if I want any quality sleep tonight.
So I guess I should head out soon when the sun is still high, huh? Lots of work to do today, and sitting around with a thumb up my ass isn’t going to help…
Welp, let’s review the laundry list before heading out.
1. Look for the idiot that ran into Fortune to see if his noggins are intact.
2. Somehow get rid of the crowd in Trolley Town downstairs.
3. If I got time, look for more trolleys to add to the pile. Could always use more layers.
4. A meat hook would also be nice.
5. Also make sure she’s still nailed to where I got her. (Not worth trouble though…)
6. Call Marvo to boast even more about the generator upstairs and ask if they got any discs of Microsoft Word. I don’t want to use notepad. Or look for an electronic store and pray. Either way works.
“THUNK” came the sound of the laptop closing, it’s fans on hyperdrive trying its damnest to survive the laptop asthma he had incurred upon its soul. Rummaging through a locker, a shadow of a man not even remotely close to 6 foot tall hangs loosely against the midday sun, murmuring obscure song lyrics from an age long past, his rhythms petrifying.
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“Ouch- Fucking hell, nicked my damn thumb.” – cried the figure.
“Hope I still got some duct tape bits left… Last I checked it’s down…. Here? Or maybe it’s on the shelves again?”
Running his eyes up and down the various duct-tape-less shelves inside the locker, he turns around to an ungodly mess of a room, and curses:
“I swear to fucking god I just put it back into the locker this morning. Where the fuck could it be?”
With that self-doubt constantly hanging over him, the man wanders from corner to corner, running his eyes and hands from every top shelf to every bottom drawers, from tabletops to the ground below. But the enemy is always a step ahead, always too smart for him to handle, as the footsteps become more and more hoarse, hurried, almost vengeful.
“The whole damn place is haunted, I tell you. Has to be. Those damn jerks wouldn’t leave me in their half-life, why would they do me a favor and leave me alone in the after-life. And of course of all the fucking places to nick myself with, it’s on the damn thumbs. Fucking bullshit. Whoever designed the duct tape to look exactly like the thing you would miss is a fucking moron-and-a-half of a dimwit. Fucking loser.”
On and on his incoherent ramblings goes, cursing the inventor for being stupid, the color of grey for being dumb and the unorganized mess of stuffs on every surfaces for being ‘a bitch to sort through.’ Eventually, however, the rant subsides, and harmony is once again brought back as he finally unearthed, from a mismatch of various tools and tidbits on top of his workshop, a beautifully grey lump of tape, the prettiest grey of them all, steel grey of the metallic surface it so nicely sat on.
“Of fucking course it’s here. Of fucking course it’s on the single fucking place where it would blend in.”-he mumbles tiredly to himself, ready to throw the so coveted roll of tape right out the window. And with a big sigh, he asked himself:
“Well at least that’s over with. Now where did I leave Big Boy again?”