Entry Eighty-two: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twelve of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

“How weird,” thought Adam. The ambiguity was not resolved in any way, only compounded by the strangeness of the content. He quickly looked through several more pages and even pulled out random sections where sports or business usually resided but it all read the same and he was soon convinced the entire paper was consistently “boring.”

“Boring. I don’t get it.” He spoke aloud because it was nice to hear another voice besides the one in his head even if they sounded the same. He picked up the remote control for the television and ran through a few stations to verify that the world hadn’t changed back, never doubting the results. All that did was make the existence of the newspaper even more of a mystery. Or was it? It obviously didn’t arrive at his stoop by human hands because there weren’t any humans, he assumed, that existed past his front door. That left only one explanation for the newspaper. He was suddenly confident it was a message from the squatters. It couldn’t have been anyone, or anything, else. For the first time since he received the note, he meticulously walked through all the steps of what had transpired over the last several days. Nothing in the timeline seemed to correspond to the word “boring.” He got up and went to the kitchen where he found the note, still lying on the counter next to the coffee pot. He picked it up and read it again, checking to see if he had missed something the first time through. When he arrived at the “P.S.” and the information about the wager, two things suddenly made sense: the newspaper was from the squatters and the contents of the newspaper were referring to him. That quick realization made him mad.

“I’m boring? You’re saying I’m boring?” He was shouting, looking up toward the ceiling for some reason, assuming the squatters were hovering in space directly above the house because that seemed as logical as anything else that was happening. “What do you expect me to do, for crying out loud? I’ve got no job, no friends, no family, no… nothing! I’ve got nothing. It’s depressing, it really is, and I resent you hassling me with insults.” His anger was building and the fresh emotions were invigorating. “What’s wrong, did none of you bet I’d sleep for four days? Is that the problem?” At first he was proud of the argument he was bringing forward, especially the passion he was displaying as he spoke. Then he realized the squatters had just wiped out a few billion people overnight and just because they let him live this round didn’t mean they wouldn’t get tired of him and snuff him out as well. Perhaps, he reasoned, he should try and be a tad more polite. But the question still remained, what was he supposed to do? What could he do? What were they expecting?

The anger and frustration he had dredged up awoke some very critical, life essential areas within the chasm. His sense of hunger was immediately overwhelming but his sense of smell was even more acute. The initial whiffs of his personal aroma gagged him and he was forced to start breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t vomit. Even though his foul breath hampered the effects of closing his nose, it was preferable to inhaling the funk rising off his body. Getting a shower became a priority; food would have to wait.

All words and images ©2006/J. Colle

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