Post by A. Polyxena on May 25, 2007 14:57:58 GMT 7
OKAY. Before you read this, if ever you have plans, this is only part 1. I wrote this the same day I wrote the Daredevil story, so I really didn't finish it.
Comments, insults, suggestions and whatever you would like to say are always welcome.
ENJOY!
Note: The tone might be similar to the previous daredevil character. So, I know I've got to improve on that part- distinguishing a character from another by the tone and stuff. Yeah, but bear with it for the moment.
P.S. - the Stuck thing, I'll probably change that. I don't think that's a very good title. Haha.
Comments, insults, suggestions and whatever you would like to say are always welcome.
ENJOY!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
PART 1
STUCK
Great.
What a happy and joyous way to spend the day.
Trapped in this hot and humid elevator with five of the ugliest people in the world.
Well, at least, my mind tells me so.
You see, I'm blind. I'm blind and bitter and I always try to find all the negative things in the world, whatever the opposite of silver lining is, and ponder upon that. I resent everything that has happened to me, and everything that probably will happen to me. I live a life of misfortune, and I'm quite used to the normal levels of annoyance it brings me every day, but this is, by far, the most unfortunate day of my entire life.
Why, for Christ's sake, does the Almighty God allow blind people to be stuck in a f*cking elevator with 5 unpleasant people?
God, this sucks.
Well, the thing is, I never really like to go on elevators with noisy people. When an elevator door swishes open, I listen for any kind of conversation whatsoever, and if I hear any small talk, I don't get in, no matter how in a hurry I am to see someone, or whatever it is that might make me panic and therefore be in a hurry.
This time was no different. I was supposed to visit this psychiatrist my lonely sister forced me to go see, because apparently, she thinks I'm too depressed and resentful about everything and everyone. Of course, I hated her for thinking so, but I really didn't blame her. I truly am depressed and resentful about everything.
I refused, naturally. If I did agree to go, I was like admitting to her what I've known for so long- that I am a mental case. Only I had to agree because my sister was also getting to be depressed and resentful by just taking care of me. And I know myself- I'm stubborn and lousy and grouchy most of the time. So I agreed, eventually. And besides the fact that she already paid for it, I suspect that my sister and this "psychiatrist" bloke she's talking about does have a secret affair. The way she talks about how wonderful this psychiatrist is to convince me to go makes me feel that they've had more than a business encounter in the past. And when I do find out about the truth (which is why I am going), I shall beat him with my walking stick.
Serves him right.
My sister, going out with a chap who studies lonely people? Why, it's preposterous!
So anyway, this psychiatrist person's office is apparently on the top floor. And I start thinking about what kind of doctor would agree to have an office on the top floor. I mean, he's got depressed and sad patients seeking for his assistance, and being forced to embark on an awfully long journey to the top floor will just make them feel lonelier than ever. That person's just being so darn insensitive, I can't stand it. I am going to have a word with him when I 'see' him.
I meant that figuratively.
Yeah, so I waited for the elevator, the one that goes all the way to the top floor, and if you, being your insensitive self, are wondering how the hell do I know which button is for up and which one is for down, then here's your answer: There exist two buttons and my sense of touch, and I feel around to figure it out. And no, I don't need those bumpy dots to tell up and down apart, which, by the way, is called Braille, thank you very much.
I'm blind, not retarded.
So back to the story, I waited for an elevator until I hear one open and feel the air brush my face. It was warm air, and I wasn't pleased. I waited for about 5 seconds, until I was sure that there was nobody, or at least no noisy people, around, and entered the elevator slowly with my walking stick in front of me. I felt around the side of the elevator till I found the elevator buttons and started reading the familiar raised dots to find the right floor to the doctor's office. It was on the 46th.
God, what kind of psychiatrist chooses to have an office inside a 46 floored building? It might even be a terrorist target of some sort or whatever. Like the World Trade Center or the Pentagon or the Pearl Harbor. It might be. Well I hope it is, and I hope it blows up when I'm not inside it.
From the ground floor, I grit my teeth and tried to feel around for a "No stopping" button in the elevator. You know, the one that you can press so you could go through all the floors without stopping until you reach your own floor? I searched for that but there was none. I clucked my tongue in annoyance. I mean, 46 floors? There's bound to be someone this elevator would pick up at some random floor number. Probably someone annoying who would ask me about my life story and how I got all blind and stuff and feel sorry for me and my sad predicament and tell me how much he understands and stuff. But the problem with those people who tell me they understand is that they're lying. They can never understand. But I can make them, if they want to. I'd just poke their eyes with my walking stick, THEN they'd understand. And we could cry about all the sad things that blind people have to deal with, but of course, we won't. Because I don't cry.
Anyway, I apologize for my constant digressing. I'm just overcome with all the emotional drama that fills my life which I feel that I have to describe to you. So back to the story-again- I was right. The elevator did stop- 5 times, on the 6th floor, the 17th, the 21st, 36th and the 42nd. And if your insensitivity urges you to ask how I knew the floor numbers, then here's what I can tell you: I f*cking counted. The last time I checked, blind people CAN count.
Yes, so when the first person from the 6th floor entered the elevator, I was ecstatic, and elated, and I felt like jumping for joy!
Of course I wasn't.
In fact, I've planned on moving a bit closer to the man (I could tell because of the scent he gave off. Musky and vomit-inducing) so I can strangle him with my bare hand when he asks me anything about my unfortunate situation. So I kept quiet, waiting for him to speak up and do something before I actually get to kill the man or whatever. There was silence for about 20 seconds, but I knew one couldn't resist the opportunity to make fun of a blind man in an elevator, so I expected him to talk anytime soon. I tried to distract myself and kept on counting the floors by the beeping sound from the elevator as we ascended.
"Hello, gentleman." he began, so sure of his statement, it seemed like he had practiced saying this for quite a long time now. I was right, wasn't I? He did speak up.
"How are you today?"
I can't believe he asked me that. Seriously, I can't. What does he expect me to say, "Fine"? I'm blind for Christ's sake!
I was actually thinking about strangling him right away or letting him have his fun first, before I strangle him. But the image of my sister possibly canoodling with the psychiatrist was bothering me. I knew I had to get up there without killing someone. So I stayed put and answered the question with the least annoyed voice I can muster.
"I'm quite well.", I replied.
God, I wanted to kick myself for coming up with that. What was I thinking? "I'm quite well" is almost the same as "fine". Worse even! At least Fine can be said passively or something. But I had to say "I'm quite well." And we all now what phrase should follow "I'm quite well".
"How about you?", I asked.
Well, I might as well get on with it. After all, I was the one who seemed like I wanted to get the conversation going by saying "I'm quite well".
I really am incredibly stupid sometimes.
"Oh I'm at my best today. Never been better." he replied cheerily.
You can tell by the tone of his voice that he wanted to say more, just to annoy me, so I rode with it.
"And may I ask why?", I blurted out through my gritted teeth. The question came out like I didn't want him to be happy, or anybody else for that matter.
"Why I am feeling brilliant today, you mean?"
No, that's not what I meant really, you got me all wrong- OF COURSE IT'S WHAT I MEANT!
God.
I clenched my fists out of annoyance.
"Well,", he began. He didn't even wait for my answer. He seems like a guy who doesn't give a damn about what anybody else thinks, as long as he's happy and telling you about all the million reasons why he is. Happy, I mean.
"To start it off, the new Robo Dog GT500 my company just released is an instant hit! Kids all over the world are lining up outside toy stores just to get their filthy hands on the magnificent little thing. I suppose you're pretty familiar with it, too, are you?"
So he was responsible for those damned things. The Robo Dogs that's been excessively advertised in every channel I choose to watch.
Well, technically not watch, but kind of just hear the things going on and try to imagine the people saying the pathetic lines and comebacks.
The Robo Dog is precisely the little devil that wakes me up from my sleep every night- the one owned by our ugly kid neighbor who kept on yelling 'Robo Dog, Robo Dog!' nonstop for ten minutes when he got it for Christmas last year, which is why I know of the Robo Dog. Apparently, my sister narrates, the Robo Dog barks when he wants something- whether it's food, attention, or a wretched hug.
I would like to throw that Robo Dog out in the streets to be run down by a truck when I get a hold of it. And now they're getting it updated! One old Robo Dog is bad enough.
I hated him more simply because of his being the man behind the Robo Dog, which he thinks is just darling.
"Yes, I am quite familiar.", I said sort or sourly, but of course, he was too worked up to tell me more to notice the tone of my voice.
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. I can feel his eyes sparkling as he said that word. God, I hated him.
"Also, I just learned that my wife is 3 months pregnant! Isn't that just brilliant?"
He waited for me to answer. Of course, I took my time. I was silent for 30 seconds, then I decided to stop the torture and answered him with "Yeah, just brilliant, sprinkled with a tone of sarcasm, which I knew he wouldn't detect anyway.
He was instantly brought back to life, I could feel it, and he clapped his hands and said "I think it's brilliant too!".
Well, wow. Biggest surprise of the century.
Anyway, after that, we've been quiet for a few minutes, thank God, and I took the time to imagine what sort of fellow he looked like.
I bet he's a bit obese with a square mustache that itched and irritated him occasionally. Also I can tell he sweats excessively, as I hear a rustling cloth, like he was getting a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, every now and then. I imagined him as a person who wore a suit all the time, and felt like if he was wearing a darn suit, then he should deserve something like respect or whatever. Yeah, he gets respected all right, I can tell. At least, he thinks he is. I bet you, the moment he turns his back away, his lowly employees would whisper bad things about him and call him names associated to his weight and sweating problems. Yes, well that certainly did seem probable.
Then I heard a disastrous 'ping' when we were on the 17th floor. It was the sound of the elevator ready to take in a new passenger. As I felt the door slide open, I prayed to God it would be better than Mr. Sweaty.
Apparently not.
TO BE CONTINUED someday.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
PART 1
STUCK
Great.
What a happy and joyous way to spend the day.
Trapped in this hot and humid elevator with five of the ugliest people in the world.
Well, at least, my mind tells me so.
You see, I'm blind. I'm blind and bitter and I always try to find all the negative things in the world, whatever the opposite of silver lining is, and ponder upon that. I resent everything that has happened to me, and everything that probably will happen to me. I live a life of misfortune, and I'm quite used to the normal levels of annoyance it brings me every day, but this is, by far, the most unfortunate day of my entire life.
Why, for Christ's sake, does the Almighty God allow blind people to be stuck in a f*cking elevator with 5 unpleasant people?
God, this sucks.
Well, the thing is, I never really like to go on elevators with noisy people. When an elevator door swishes open, I listen for any kind of conversation whatsoever, and if I hear any small talk, I don't get in, no matter how in a hurry I am to see someone, or whatever it is that might make me panic and therefore be in a hurry.
This time was no different. I was supposed to visit this psychiatrist my lonely sister forced me to go see, because apparently, she thinks I'm too depressed and resentful about everything and everyone. Of course, I hated her for thinking so, but I really didn't blame her. I truly am depressed and resentful about everything.
I refused, naturally. If I did agree to go, I was like admitting to her what I've known for so long- that I am a mental case. Only I had to agree because my sister was also getting to be depressed and resentful by just taking care of me. And I know myself- I'm stubborn and lousy and grouchy most of the time. So I agreed, eventually. And besides the fact that she already paid for it, I suspect that my sister and this "psychiatrist" bloke she's talking about does have a secret affair. The way she talks about how wonderful this psychiatrist is to convince me to go makes me feel that they've had more than a business encounter in the past. And when I do find out about the truth (which is why I am going), I shall beat him with my walking stick.
Serves him right.
My sister, going out with a chap who studies lonely people? Why, it's preposterous!
So anyway, this psychiatrist person's office is apparently on the top floor. And I start thinking about what kind of doctor would agree to have an office on the top floor. I mean, he's got depressed and sad patients seeking for his assistance, and being forced to embark on an awfully long journey to the top floor will just make them feel lonelier than ever. That person's just being so darn insensitive, I can't stand it. I am going to have a word with him when I 'see' him.
I meant that figuratively.
Yeah, so I waited for the elevator, the one that goes all the way to the top floor, and if you, being your insensitive self, are wondering how the hell do I know which button is for up and which one is for down, then here's your answer: There exist two buttons and my sense of touch, and I feel around to figure it out. And no, I don't need those bumpy dots to tell up and down apart, which, by the way, is called Braille, thank you very much.
I'm blind, not retarded.
So back to the story, I waited for an elevator until I hear one open and feel the air brush my face. It was warm air, and I wasn't pleased. I waited for about 5 seconds, until I was sure that there was nobody, or at least no noisy people, around, and entered the elevator slowly with my walking stick in front of me. I felt around the side of the elevator till I found the elevator buttons and started reading the familiar raised dots to find the right floor to the doctor's office. It was on the 46th.
God, what kind of psychiatrist chooses to have an office inside a 46 floored building? It might even be a terrorist target of some sort or whatever. Like the World Trade Center or the Pentagon or the Pearl Harbor. It might be. Well I hope it is, and I hope it blows up when I'm not inside it.
From the ground floor, I grit my teeth and tried to feel around for a "No stopping" button in the elevator. You know, the one that you can press so you could go through all the floors without stopping until you reach your own floor? I searched for that but there was none. I clucked my tongue in annoyance. I mean, 46 floors? There's bound to be someone this elevator would pick up at some random floor number. Probably someone annoying who would ask me about my life story and how I got all blind and stuff and feel sorry for me and my sad predicament and tell me how much he understands and stuff. But the problem with those people who tell me they understand is that they're lying. They can never understand. But I can make them, if they want to. I'd just poke their eyes with my walking stick, THEN they'd understand. And we could cry about all the sad things that blind people have to deal with, but of course, we won't. Because I don't cry.
Anyway, I apologize for my constant digressing. I'm just overcome with all the emotional drama that fills my life which I feel that I have to describe to you. So back to the story-again- I was right. The elevator did stop- 5 times, on the 6th floor, the 17th, the 21st, 36th and the 42nd. And if your insensitivity urges you to ask how I knew the floor numbers, then here's what I can tell you: I f*cking counted. The last time I checked, blind people CAN count.
Yes, so when the first person from the 6th floor entered the elevator, I was ecstatic, and elated, and I felt like jumping for joy!
Of course I wasn't.
In fact, I've planned on moving a bit closer to the man (I could tell because of the scent he gave off. Musky and vomit-inducing) so I can strangle him with my bare hand when he asks me anything about my unfortunate situation. So I kept quiet, waiting for him to speak up and do something before I actually get to kill the man or whatever. There was silence for about 20 seconds, but I knew one couldn't resist the opportunity to make fun of a blind man in an elevator, so I expected him to talk anytime soon. I tried to distract myself and kept on counting the floors by the beeping sound from the elevator as we ascended.
"Hello, gentleman." he began, so sure of his statement, it seemed like he had practiced saying this for quite a long time now. I was right, wasn't I? He did speak up.
"How are you today?"
I can't believe he asked me that. Seriously, I can't. What does he expect me to say, "Fine"? I'm blind for Christ's sake!
I was actually thinking about strangling him right away or letting him have his fun first, before I strangle him. But the image of my sister possibly canoodling with the psychiatrist was bothering me. I knew I had to get up there without killing someone. So I stayed put and answered the question with the least annoyed voice I can muster.
"I'm quite well.", I replied.
God, I wanted to kick myself for coming up with that. What was I thinking? "I'm quite well" is almost the same as "fine". Worse even! At least Fine can be said passively or something. But I had to say "I'm quite well." And we all now what phrase should follow "I'm quite well".
"How about you?", I asked.
Well, I might as well get on with it. After all, I was the one who seemed like I wanted to get the conversation going by saying "I'm quite well".
I really am incredibly stupid sometimes.
"Oh I'm at my best today. Never been better." he replied cheerily.
You can tell by the tone of his voice that he wanted to say more, just to annoy me, so I rode with it.
"And may I ask why?", I blurted out through my gritted teeth. The question came out like I didn't want him to be happy, or anybody else for that matter.
"Why I am feeling brilliant today, you mean?"
No, that's not what I meant really, you got me all wrong- OF COURSE IT'S WHAT I MEANT!
God.
I clenched my fists out of annoyance.
"Well,", he began. He didn't even wait for my answer. He seems like a guy who doesn't give a damn about what anybody else thinks, as long as he's happy and telling you about all the million reasons why he is. Happy, I mean.
"To start it off, the new Robo Dog GT500 my company just released is an instant hit! Kids all over the world are lining up outside toy stores just to get their filthy hands on the magnificent little thing. I suppose you're pretty familiar with it, too, are you?"
So he was responsible for those damned things. The Robo Dogs that's been excessively advertised in every channel I choose to watch.
Well, technically not watch, but kind of just hear the things going on and try to imagine the people saying the pathetic lines and comebacks.
The Robo Dog is precisely the little devil that wakes me up from my sleep every night- the one owned by our ugly kid neighbor who kept on yelling 'Robo Dog, Robo Dog!' nonstop for ten minutes when he got it for Christmas last year, which is why I know of the Robo Dog. Apparently, my sister narrates, the Robo Dog barks when he wants something- whether it's food, attention, or a wretched hug.
I would like to throw that Robo Dog out in the streets to be run down by a truck when I get a hold of it. And now they're getting it updated! One old Robo Dog is bad enough.
I hated him more simply because of his being the man behind the Robo Dog, which he thinks is just darling.
"Yes, I am quite familiar.", I said sort or sourly, but of course, he was too worked up to tell me more to notice the tone of my voice.
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. I can feel his eyes sparkling as he said that word. God, I hated him.
"Also, I just learned that my wife is 3 months pregnant! Isn't that just brilliant?"
He waited for me to answer. Of course, I took my time. I was silent for 30 seconds, then I decided to stop the torture and answered him with "Yeah, just brilliant, sprinkled with a tone of sarcasm, which I knew he wouldn't detect anyway.
He was instantly brought back to life, I could feel it, and he clapped his hands and said "I think it's brilliant too!".
Well, wow. Biggest surprise of the century.
Anyway, after that, we've been quiet for a few minutes, thank God, and I took the time to imagine what sort of fellow he looked like.
I bet he's a bit obese with a square mustache that itched and irritated him occasionally. Also I can tell he sweats excessively, as I hear a rustling cloth, like he was getting a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, every now and then. I imagined him as a person who wore a suit all the time, and felt like if he was wearing a darn suit, then he should deserve something like respect or whatever. Yeah, he gets respected all right, I can tell. At least, he thinks he is. I bet you, the moment he turns his back away, his lowly employees would whisper bad things about him and call him names associated to his weight and sweating problems. Yes, well that certainly did seem probable.
Then I heard a disastrous 'ping' when we were on the 17th floor. It was the sound of the elevator ready to take in a new passenger. As I felt the door slide open, I prayed to God it would be better than Mr. Sweaty.
Apparently not.
TO BE CONTINUED someday.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: The tone might be similar to the previous daredevil character. So, I know I've got to improve on that part- distinguishing a character from another by the tone and stuff. Yeah, but bear with it for the moment.
P.S. - the Stuck thing, I'll probably change that. I don't think that's a very good title. Haha.
