• Pondering the Great Unknown

    Jspot Rozalwhat

     

    You pause and look into the distance, as if pondering the great unknown, sifting through the possibilities.

     

    You realize that you're no longer standing in the same place you were before you were approached by this being. You're standing on a deserted beach, looking out at a quieting twilight horizon. It appears like this apparition has the ability to transport you, or your perception of reality. Right, like how the ink moved on the page of the contract. A sea salt breeze gives you goosebumps. You could use a sweatshirt. You imagine being asked if you're cold, and if you'd like a sweatshirt, only to be tricked by this ethereal being, this ephemeral moment, to be whisked away to where you were before you were approached, only to have it be too warm. A brief lecture on illusion. You don't remember where you were, if you were alone, or if you were with friends before now, and this. You furrow your brow, and for a second you wonder if someone puddled you with LSD. 


    And as soon as you sign away, this thing turns into Ursula, steals your voice, and you're stuck as some animated bimbo without fins in limbo. 


    Not a 'wish,' but 'anything you wanted,' (the fuck?) like, is this going to have the same rules as your conventional 'wishing,' and what is conventional—your understanding of 1001 Arabian Nights? Or are we talking a whole new game here? Are there amounts, limits, suggestions, tricks? If you wish for world peace, could you give up your GameBoy, or if you want to lose your virginity, will one of your parents have to die?


    The big loaded gun, anything you want, for somethin' somethin' in return, blah blah now you're cursed, bitch! You believe in the supernatural. You have a desire to know things, better things, save things. You also have what some might call 'trust issues.' But that's nonsense and you know it. Skepticism is smarter than drinking the Kool-Aid. That's what you think. 


    So you tell this guy, this chick, this freak, this demon, this god, this Stranger: "Now's not a good time, how about you come back whenever you have something more substantial to tell me. Maybe then, I'll give a shit." And you crumple the mystical contract, and swallow it, trying to make a point.

     

  • A. You begin to choke.

 

OR

 

B. The contract reappears, undigested, in your hands.

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