Here it is! Sorry it’s a bit late… well, it’s not actually too late, is it?
Hmm, can you believe that it’s been a long time since I wrote something? Hope it’s not too long or anything. Here goes:
A bullet in the gun in the hand of the lonely man on a lonely land on a lonely Christmas (IT’S A SUICIDE!!)
A present for Goodnight Seadra
25th of December 20??
Waking up from his 12 hours sleep, Phil was thinking of one thing – and one thing only: food.
Boo, on the other hand, was curled in sleep, with Mr Ducky – a good ‘ol yellow rubber duck – sitting uncomfortably on the dog’s saliva-drenched mandible.
As Phil gobbled his bowl of cereal, Phil couldn’t help but feel a little creeped out of the utter silence: he knew that today was Christmas, but he never expected it to be this quiet. At the very least, the idiots that lived across his house should be making some kind of racquet by now – lighting up firecrackers, turning the stereo volume up to the max, and some other type of prank – but even they were very quiet today.
Well, well, well… looks like everyone decided to be good this year, eh?
That was cool: at least he could then enjoy his afternoon nap in peace.
And so he slept. After the two hour nap, he woke up and found that he was yet again greeted with that creepy silence.
He looked at the clock: it was 4 PM; why on earth was it this quiet?
Deciding that he can’t tolerate anymore of this, he decided to check out why in heaven the neighbourhood was extremely quiet.
“Come on, Boo, let’s go out for a walk.”
And so the three of them – Phil, Boo, and Mr Ducky – sets off for a walk, determined to get some answer to this puzzle.
But little do they know that this was going to be their longest walk ever.
25th of December 20?? + 0003
Three years has passed, and Phil has yet to find another human being. He had travelled to Puerto Rico, Malaysia, Australia…. he even went to China, but still… there was no one in sight. Not a single living being: just bare land, as far as the eyes can see.
Oh, and not to forget plenty of corpses, strewn here and there.
What happened that day? Why did all the people die without any warning? What was this… mass suicide? Aliens attack? Massive virus outbreak?
Who knows…
Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing else matters…
“Well… here we are…” Phil stared into the deep abyss ahead of him, and, after he felt that he was through scanning the deep trench, squeezed Mr Ducky: it gave him an almost inaudible ‘quack’.
“My family… my friends… all the people of this world… and then, Boo. How could, how could he…” his voice trailed off; he gave Mr Ducky another squeeze… and the then laughed.
“Heckkkkk… I know you’re only a stupid, lifeless yellow rubber duck and all, but still…” A single tear rolled down his cheek. “Goodbye, Mr Ducky.”
And so he threw the yellow rubber duck into the abyss that is the San Andreas Fault. The yellow rubber duck was then swallowed by Earth, never to be seen again.
It was only second later, that he remembered one thing. “Oh, and by the way… MERRY CHRISTMAS, MR DUCKY!” His voice boomed in an echo, where it then gradually fades away.
“Yea-heh… merry Christmas… Mr Ducky. Now...” Phil took out a brand new Desert Eagle (he had found it lying conveniently in a shop not far from here – it was as if the gun was actually placed there specifically for him to use), and – as you can probably guess – pointed the gun towards his temple.
“Merry Christmas to… me.”
So he pulled the trigger, and put the bullet in his head, like that (what a fool!).
Or so the story should go… Alas for him, nothing came out of the gun. No bullet, no nothing. He pulled the trigger again. Once. Twice. Thrice. The fourth try. Fifth go. Etc etc etc…
In the end, after the one thousand two hundred and eighty fourth attempts, he was, unfortunately (or fortunately?) still alive. And it was not that he had not checked the magazine: the gun was fully loaded with seven bullets. And yet when he pulled the trigger, nothing came out. Not even a puff of smoke.
Giving a grunt of dissatisfaction, Phil threw the gun towards the gun, and – surprise surprise – a bullet went flying out of the barrel of the gun, where it then – no surprise now – hit Phil right on the back of his head.
But Phil did not die instantly: his face scrunched up in an expression of pure agony, before he then went running around frantically, crying like a banshee, and, in the process, failed to see that he was going straight into the gaping San Andreas Fault.
So he walked right into his oblivion, and he then met Death, like that.
And Death says: *SELAMAT HARI NATAL KEPADA AWAK, PHIL.
And you say: WTH??!! (C’mon, I know you’re thinking of this. Hehehehe…)
[*Translation (Malay): MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, PHIL]
Well, that used to be his life: now he is a dead man, just like the rest of mankind. YAY!
~Fin~
Merry Christmas, Bay; hope you like this rather… weird story XP
Secret Santa for Goodnight Seadra
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I assume he died while with Phil?
