Well, here we are.
You, me, sitting alone in a small room, and with each movement, you crunch the sanitary paper spread across the seat.
Lying completely uncomfortable, you glace at my back as I attempt to reach in my lab coat's pocket slyly, and you hear the clip of light metal striking itself.
There's something bulging from my pocket, only slightly, and you can make out that it is something long and thin.
As uneasiness sets in, you start to lean forward, trying to rise with silence.
"I advice you to not make that move," I say through strained teeth, "as it will be your last."
Now realizing that your suspicions are coming true, you ask, "What could you want from me? I've not a clue what I've done..."
"But don't you," I turn to face you, pulling a .38 caliber from my pocket, aiming it at your chest, "You browsed and browsed, but never even liked a thing I've posted. You know I'm the doctor, and doctor knows best."
You glare at the pistol, who glares back at you. It seems to shine more as water than a cold mold of steel meant to kill.
Hesitant, but firmly, you stutter, "How did you even know? I even browsed in a private session, I mean... what... Who would be so enveloped with a stupid blog site to do this?"
Speaking coldly with a pain, I tell you "It's not just a site for blogs, it's were I've been trying to tell my story, but each time I think it's going to be seen, no one shows up. No likes, no reblogs, nothing. My wife doesn't even read it!"
You notice that my eyes have started to twinkle, and think you might be able to talk yourself out of this one.
You ask, honestly interested, "Well, what is you're story? I'm here to listen, and I could spread it, with all credit to you- and your site of course!"
I look away, and half-turned, I pause. Slowly, I remove you from the gun's sight.
With a sense of regret, I start, "This is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down and I liked to take a minute and sit right there. And tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air."
I continued my story of more than epic proportions, speaking with one breath, and as fast I could.
I finished, you said it was the best story ever, and I got a show aired on NBC. The police found your body the next day.
You, me, sitting alone in a small room, and with each movement, you crunch the sanitary paper spread across the seat.
Lying completely uncomfortable, you glace at my back as I attempt to reach in my lab coat's pocket slyly, and you hear the clip of light metal striking itself.
There's something bulging from my pocket, only slightly, and you can make out that it is something long and thin.
As uneasiness sets in, you start to lean forward, trying to rise with silence.
"I advice you to not make that move," I say through strained teeth, "as it will be your last."
Now realizing that your suspicions are coming true, you ask, "What could you want from me? I've not a clue what I've done..."
"But don't you," I turn to face you, pulling a .38 caliber from my pocket, aiming it at your chest, "You browsed and browsed, but never even liked a thing I've posted. You know I'm the doctor, and doctor knows best."
You glare at the pistol, who glares back at you. It seems to shine more as water than a cold mold of steel meant to kill.
Hesitant, but firmly, you stutter, "How did you even know? I even browsed in a private session, I mean... what... Who would be so enveloped with a stupid blog site to do this?"
Speaking coldly with a pain, I tell you "It's not just a site for blogs, it's were I've been trying to tell my story, but each time I think it's going to be seen, no one shows up. No likes, no reblogs, nothing. My wife doesn't even read it!"
You notice that my eyes have started to twinkle, and think you might be able to talk yourself out of this one.
You ask, honestly interested, "Well, what is you're story? I'm here to listen, and I could spread it, with all credit to you- and your site of course!"
I look away, and half-turned, I pause. Slowly, I remove you from the gun's sight.
With a sense of regret, I start, "This is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down and I liked to take a minute and sit right there. And tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air."
I continued my story of more than epic proportions, speaking with one breath, and as fast I could.
I finished, you said it was the best story ever, and I got a show aired on NBC. The police found your body the next day.
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