Chapter 1
It was a warm summer day. Outside, the sun shone bright, and the birds chirped merrily to the tune of the whistling breeze. Bob was sitting in his living room, having a cup of coffee, same as he did every morning.
Just kidding.
Bob did not have a cup of coffee every morning. In fact, Bob did not even exist the previous morning, and neither did the room he was sitting in now. What’s more, it barely even existed right there and then, as its features haven’t really been described yet, but Bob didn’t seem to mind. Bob just sat and sipped his tea, ignoring the room altogether, and also ignoring the fact that the coffee he had been drinking so far had suddenly turned into tea. He didn’t notice this either, at least not in the taste of it. But don’t worry, he will wonder in confusion for a moment later on in the day when he notices he feels a bit more tired than usual, as if this morning he hadn’t had his usual morning coffee, oblivious also to the fact that there was no such thing as a usual morning coffee in his past. Only tea. Only once.
And this tea he gulped down mindlessly as he gazed out the window into the clouds. A huge storm was buil…
What? Why are you looking at me like that? What?! Of course I didn’t say it was sunny! Go back and read. No, you go back and read, I can’t go back. I’m just text. Text moving forward. Not even that– I’m just static text giving you the illusion of moving forward. Or maybe you are making me move forward in your mind. Actually, you know what I think? I think I don’t even exist. I’m just you. I mean I’m speaking in your mind, right? And I’m using a voice you assigned me.
You’re still here. No, I’m not going to drop it, I will not drop it because you were wrong and I was right, and Bob is not going anywhere until you admit how wrong you were. Now, let’s not keep Bob waiting. Go back and read the sun thing again. Now.
See? I said “the sun shone bright”. Well, it is an accurate fact, right? The sun was shining and it was doing so in a brightly fashion, only behind the clouds, there, floating in space. So if you’re going to keep up that attitude you’d better check your facts first.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, the clouds. And Bob, of course.
Wow, Bob looks a bit pissed right now actually. He’s frowning at me a bit. He looks pretty handsome when he’s frowning, though, you know? He’s that type of person that looks a lot better frowning than with a big smile on his face. It makes him look bad, mean, and a lot of the women I know would agree that that is a sexually desirable trait in a man with Bob’s physical characteristics. But I digress.
So, after finishing his morning coffee (yeah, I turned the beverage back into coffee, we don’t want Bob to fall asleep at work, now, do we?), and once he was done enjoying his daily dose of morning frowning, Bob got off his ass and went to get dressed. You know, it’s funny, but Bob doesn’t like it when I treat him like that in the narration, you know, stuff like saying “getting off his ass” and stuff, it bugs him, he finds it rather aggressive, but you’re the one making this up, so it’s your fault, not mine, and Bob should understand that. Also, Bob doesn’t get to read or interact in any form with this text or anything pertaining to it, so Bob doesn’t actually KNOW I sometimes treat him like this, but I think he senses it somehow. Maybe he dreams about it. Or maybe he doesn’t. All I’m sure of is that he doesn’t like it.
Silly Bob.
But Bob was not paying attention to any of this, or anything at all for that matter, as he was too busy brushing his teeth. He had giant, unicorn-shaped teeth, which he brushed with a giant albino-walrus-shaped dildo.
What? Ooooh, I’m sorryyyy, do you think you know Bob’s dental layout and appearance better than I do? Fine, then, you give Bob teeth. Here, I’ll wipe the slate clean for you.
Bob had no teeth. And thus, ramming his REGULAR-TOOTHBRUSH-LOOKING toothbrush against his bare gums resulted in blood all over the place and lots and LOTS of pain. And Bob was sad about the blood and sad about having no teeth and sad about the unspeakable pain, too. Bob wondered what everyone would say at work when they saw his new teethless look. He pictured his crush, Betty, being all like, “Bob, whatever happened to those beautiful, giant, unicorn-shaped teeth of yours? I was so turned on by them, you know how us chicks love unicorns! Now I guess I’ll have to go date Bill, your nemesis.” And Bob was very sad at the thought of it. And Bob cried and cried and cried. He weeped endless salty seas of sorrow that flooded the room. Bob began to drown. Both in misery and in the ocean that now filled his airtight bathroom.
See what you did to Bob? This is what happens when you take control of the story. Bob becomes sad. And bad stuff happens when Bob gets sad. So, from now on, I’d suggest you let ME handle things, and you just sit back and watch Bob and I do our thing and participate the least you can.
God, look at the mess you made. There’s blood all over Bob’s clothes and all over the bathroom. The bathroom is underwater. And Bob is all depressed and sad-looking and teethless, and dying, he can’t go to work like this! And it’s only 5 minutes until his co-worker Fred comes pick him up (yeah, Bob doesn’t have a car, but don’t worry, maybe we’ll make him buy one later on in the series, provided he earns it, provided I continue the series, and provided you keep reading this damn thing).
We need to get this fixed ASAP. Let me see…
Okay, so, Bob woke up drenched in sweat. His heart was racing. His hand rushed to his mouth, and he found neither unicorn-shaped enamel nor bare gum –just regular teeth (happy now?). He sat up, still half-immersed in that God-awful nightmare, and started taking deep breaths until his heart slowed down. Only then did he check the clock.
"Shit, I’m late!" Bob cried. But this was not true—it was only 6:30 and Fred would come pick him up at 7:30. He had plenty of time to prepare. He usually doesn’t take longer than half an hour to get ready for work. I don’t even know why Bob would say that. Perhaps he thought he saw 7:30 instead of 6:30, but I’m pretty sure it clearly said 6:30. Well, it says 6:31 now, but it said 6:30 back then, I promise. Maybe Bob is a liar. Or maybe he just needs attention. Maybe his parents didn’t give him enough love, care, and affection as a child and now he craves attention. Oh, look at me, I’m Bob, I don’t have real problems so I have to make up fake ones such as being late for work to keep people interested in me. Boo-hoo!
Well, come to think about it, you really are a generous reader. I mean, you made it this far and the story has been pretty uneventful so far. Like, what did Bob even do since you started reading 1,287 words ago? (By the way, don’t be a freak and just trust me on that number, I swear it’s correct.) He did nothing! He just had that cup of coffee/tea/coffee, watched the sun shine behind the stormy clouds, listened to the birds sing…
Actually, now that we bring that up, I… kinda lied about the whole bird thing, there weren’t actually birds there singing, but, hey, don’t be mad, all right? It just made it sound so much nicer, seriously, it would have been a LOT duller without that image, and you created it anyway, so technically it kinda happened, even if I lied about it. Kinda. You made it happen. Good job. You might not be so bad after all. But yeah, going back to what I was saying, there was only that, and then the teeth thing, and then Bob woke up, which means the whole coffee thing didn’t happen either.
Ughhhhh…
You know what? Let’s do something, let’s end Chapter One here and leave it on a cliffhanger. That’ll spice things up a bit, and everyone loves cliffhangers! Well, everyone except Bob, but let’s not talk about that now.
As Bob was trying to frantically button his shirt and drink his “usual” morning coffee at the same time, the phone rang. Bob let out a cry of frustration, which, rather curiously, I might add, was the same pitch than the phone’s ringtone. It was in Am. The note, I mean. Am as in “A Minor,” of course, not as in I “Am.”
Anywho, clumsily leaving his cup of coffee in precarious balance on top of his left shoe, Bob reached out for the phone.
"Hello?" said Bob.
On the other side of the line a deep, low, hissing voice spoke almost in a whisper, sending chills down Bob’s spine.
"Meet me at the Barbarian Baritone Bar at 7:15."
There was a short pause in which Bob did not breathe.
"Don’t be late…"
/// Like or reblog to keep Bob alive. If you don't, I stop writing and Bob DIES. You don't want to be personally responsible for Bob's death, now, do you? Also, Bob would be extremely upset if he found out about all the silly stuff you do reblog and like and still you voluntarily chose to ignore this and let him die. And I can make him find out in an Epilogue. I can make Bob follow you on Tumblr and read this very text and then stare depressedly at the "No Notes" sign and then browse helplessly through your content just to find that pictures of food and kittens are way more important than him getting to live another day.
Actually, it's worse than death. Failure to like or reblog will result in Bob being eternally stuck in time, never knowing what happens next, living forever, yet unable to do anything but relive his very, VERY, short life over and over and over.
Just saying.
Your call.///