Friday, September 10
What's in your sandwich?
posted by Bon
YAAAAAAAAAY FINISHED THE CRAPPY STORY :D Lol wanna read the shit that took 6 hours to pull from my ass? Nahhh I'm too self conscious. Though I'm pretty damn proud of the end. It totally throws you lolol. Sucks that you have to wade through 1k worth of dump to get to it though. But yeah. :D I swear it was written by a 10 year old.
Why am I blogging about absolutely everything? Sorry for spamming. I'ma so tire. I'm gonna suck in basketball tomorrow. OH WAIT IT'S A BYE DAMN. Or yay, since I was gonna suck. LOLOL :D
Goodnight
Haha the title of this blog is the title of the shitstory :L:L
Lol fine whatever here:
What’s in Your Sandwich?
“Are you alright?”
Phillip looked up in bewilderment from his fall. Standing above him with an arm extended was none other than Charlie Fields, otherwise known as the school bully. Ever since he started taking a liking to the new government approved beef lasagne in the canteen, Charlie seemed... reformed. There were no more wedgies, swirlies, or wise-cracks, instead he just kept to himself and sat in the middle at the front of every class. But it was not only Charlie. Phillip could feel everything beginning to change – teachers were becoming more involved, his classmates were becoming more attentive, and even his mother was beginning to monitor his school work.
Accepting Charlie’s hand, Phillip stood back up and looked around the cafeteria, almost expecting to see robots. But everything was as it should be. He shrugged his feeling off as a figment of his overactive imagination and returned to eating his home brought sandwich.
***
Phillip opened his front door to an unusual sight. His parents never got along, he could not believe that they were watching television together and not screaming at each other.
“Oh you’re home. How was your day, dear?” Even her voice sounded off to Phillip’s ears.
“Fine,” he muttered, as he hurried up the stairs.
“That’s good.” His mother rose from the couch. “Would you like something to drink? Oh there was a new coffee machine at work today, and it was absolutely -.” Phillip shut the door of his room before he heard what she had to say. This was not right. Something was not right.
***
Sitting down at his spot in the canteen, Phillip reached into his bag for his lunch, anticipating a form of home-made goodness to meet his hand. Did his mother make him a chicken salad sandwich, a peanut butter and ham sandwich, or maybe a... ten dollar note? Phillip retrieved the blue bill from his bag, with a note attached, saying:
“Phillip, I didn’t make you lunch today because I thought it was a good idea to get to work earlier so I could get more done. The money is for you to spend in the canteen. –Mum”
He stared at the note in his hand, disbelief on his face. His mother always thought the canteen food was somehow poisonous, and had Phillip half entertaining the thought. But as his stomach let out a growl, he gave in and made his way to the canteen counter. However, his unfamiliarity caused him to become disorientated and Phillip somehow found himself at the entrance to the back kitchen area.
With uncertainty, he pushed open the door. The sight that beheld him left him speechless. There were piles upon piles of sacks, one was cut open to reveal tablets of some sort. The label on the sack front read:
“iPill – take four (4) with every meal to moderate emotions and increase productivity. Side effects may include loss of free will. Government approved.”
Phillip took a step back, overwhelmed. It was this that was making everything abnormal. No wonder Charlie was nice, and the government most likely would have slipped the pills into the coffee at his mother’s work too. Their minds were being controlled! A rush of light-headedness took a hold of Phillip and caused him to stumble into a stack of sacks, pushing them over with a loud thump.
“Who’s there?” A voice shouted from further inside the kitchen. Phillip’s eyes darted around the storage room wondering what to do, as a man dressed immaculately in a suit rounded the corner. He stopped abruptly in surprise when he saw that it was a young boy standing in the middle of the room.
Striding towards Phillip, the grabbed his hand and shook it. Phillip snatched his hand back. “Who are you? What are these pills?” Phillip’s voice shook slightly.
“It is unfortunate that you have encountered the existence of iPills. I am the Minister of Mental Stability and it is my duty to make sure all citizens’ sanities are taken care of. I am afraid we will have to-“
“No you can’t do this!”
“Of course we can,” the man spread his hands in an attempt to convince Phillip of his innocence. “This is a government approved practice. By regulating emotions, disputes are highly unlikely to occur and therefore wars will not happen. The people are all happy this way.”
“The people seem happy because they do not know they are being brainwashed by the government! How can you remove the population’s freedom? This is terrible!” Phillip glared into the man’s still smiling face.
“Obviously you have yet to take an iPill.” He held out his hand with four round white tablets. “Eat these and I guarantee you will feel better.”
Phillip swiped at the hand, slapping the pills onto the floor. “What will the people do when they find out why they are feeling so... moderated?”
For once the enduring smile faltered. “You cannot do that now. The effects are not yet permanent. Breaking the people’s core belief system while it is still in transition will cause serious detrimental effects on their overall sense of emotion and will result in extremities.”
“Maybe the people should have extremities,” Phillip said, turning and walking towards the door.
“No, you do not understand, -“ Phillip did not hear the man as he had already exited the room.
***
Phillip had gathered everyone – friends, family, and even strangers off the street – and the crowd was gathered outside the door of the back kitchen area. All breaths were held in expectation, waiting for the boy to open the door and show them what it was that he had made such a major concern of. Pushing open the doors, everyone stared in silence, before letting out their bated breaths. Phillip blink once, twice, but still saw the empty storage room. He felt pats on the back and mutters of “it’s okay,” and a man even handed him his back-pack that he had dropped. But Phillip was still staring into the storage room feeling confused. One more person patted him on the back and this single action of kindness made him angry. He was angry that the people whose lives he had disrupted to show an empty storage shed, was not angry at him. He was angry that they could not get angry at him. And he was angry that emotions no longer meant anything. This thought provoked a wave a sorrow to wash over Phillip as he sat down at his spot in the canteen and reached into his bag, producing the sandwich he had brought from home. He took a sorrowful bite out of it, but his eyes widened suddenly in surprise when instead of the savoury taste of tuna and cheese, the sweetness of jam met his tongue. This was not his sandwich. The man who handed him his backpack wore a suit. Phillip started to feel infuriated at the government for destroying society, and the fury soon turned into annoyance. Annoyance at himself, after making a big deal he managed to let one get to him. Next the feeling of misery overcame him, thinking about how that would be the last time he felt fury and annoyance.
Then he felt nothing.
Labels: basketball, blogging, English
1:52 AM
