The banging on the door awoke me in my room at the inn. I blinked my eyes open as the hangover woke up with me and cursed my weakness again. How long this time, Kain? An hour? Two? A day? Two? A Week?
I checked the calendar and the clock.
...Three days four hours fifteen minutes and twenty two and a half seconds. All right, and I haven't choked to death on my own vomit.
Before I could reach the door, the lingering booze in my stomach gave a rumble and threatened to escape. But which way? Would it turn around or keep going down the road?
The door banged again, and every rap on the door caused my stomach to compress and expand like a ticking time bomb.
I tried to yell at whoever was at the door that I'd be there shortly, only for the stomach contents to want to go both ways. Remarkably, the bang on the door kept going as I cleaned up.
'Telegram for Drunken Useless Dragoon!' the courier at the door said.
'I'm Kain,' I replied, and moved to close the door.
I realised this man was right, and took his letter.
I sat down on the bed to read the letter, and it felt like the world was shifting, whirling, grinding.
"You are in an AMV."
That's all the disturbingly familiar letter before me said. The handwriting was all pretty curves looping and diving to form shapes, seemingly random pictures lovingly crafted from... No, wait, it's just a scribble.
But what did it mean?
Then the horrible truth. Scene after scene of my life spliced together confusingly and incoherently strung together as the wailing of tuneless demons ripped through my skull. To the left, a long list of windows that proclaimed a never ending line of different names followed by the same thing. Below me, the inane chatter of mindless hordes of fools, idiots, beggars and halfwits.
'this music sux'
'I <3 the mudic, go f*** urself and die'
'OMG This is scary and so true. Paste this into five comments and you're a mindless pillock who has fallen into some retarded loop with a chain letter, and frankly, the world would be a better place if you forgot to breathe some day.'
'Wat's a pillock?'
'lol he sed retarded.'
'ghaa I cant remember how 2 breath!'
I closed my eyes and stuck my fingers in my ears, praying for the apparitions to leave me. When I opened my eyes, I was in another place. The walls were painted red, draped in crimson curtains. The floor was a chessboard of red and black squares, and two chairs sat in the middle of the floor. A dwarf holding a blue box sat in one, and spoke.
'?he ,ykaerf tusj saw tihs tahT .moorb gniklat a ton m'I tsael tA'
Three things ran through my head. One, where was I, Three, What was the dwarf saying, Four, what the hell happened to two?
A man in a red suit with a duck for a head walked out from behind a curtain holding a glass jar attached to a small black object. A strange word was marked on the jar. Blend-tech? Blentec? Belinda?
He handed the jar to the dwarf, and turned ninety degrees to look at me.
'Welcome, to, the rooom.'
With that, he reached into his suit jacket, and produced what appeared to be a baby. He placed it into the jar unmoving
'Mos is Misceo? Ut est quaero,' asked the dwarf, and pressed a button on the black object attached to the jar. The jar turned red.
'Ut infantia pulvis. Operor non spiritus is,' the dwarf said.
What did this mean? I looked at the letter once again.
"You are in a dead baby joke, Max."
...Wait, who the hell is Max?
There was a sound behind me, and I turned to look. There was a light, coming from an open doorway. I followed, and found a dirty man sitting on the ground, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth!
'Guv'ment took mah baybeh!'
'...Did they stick in a blender?' I found myself ask.
The man stopped rocking, and slowly turned his head to look at me.
'Is the guvment a guy with a duck for a head in a red suit?'
The man looked the opposite direction from me, snapping his head that way, before spinning on the floor until his face looked at mine.
Suddenly, the world blinked. The man vanished, and I was surrounded by blackness. In the blackness, a Labrador dog sat, it's head spinning three hundred and sixty degrees, singing a strange song. It's head stopped spinning as I neared, and it looked right at me.
'No Mister Bond, I expect you to die!' it said, before exploding, hurling me through the air. I landed at the feet of a muscular, bearded man.
'Madness?' he asked me. I was at a lost for words.
'Too bloody right!' he said, kicking me firmly in the testicles. I squealed in pain, and fell to my knees as his head began spinning.
Then the blackness turned white, and I found myself standing before Baron Castle. There were no visible signs of life.
The sky was a wall of orange and yellow flame, and pulsing light came from the centre of the courtyard. The battlements wept blood, and the moat was full of corpses. How was this unusual? Was it Saturday night? How long was I drunk for?
...Three days four hours fifteen minutes and twenty two and a half seconds.
But I started drinking on a Sunday. It can't be Saturday, I reasoned. I walked forward to the gates, and they swung open. I walked into the courtyard, where shadows of men had been burned into the stone. I saw a mushroom shaped pillar of fire now, rising above the castle, and black rain fell from the skies. The doors closed slowly behind me, and when they did, the cloud vanished. The shadows vanished. The orange glow changed into bright sunlight, but the castle remained deserted. But still there came a glow. I walked forth, into the castle. For some bizarre reason, a black mage and a white mage stood petrified in the hall leading to the king's chamber. I entered the chamber, and sitting in the thrones, were two skeletons wearing crowns. Between the thrones, a white orb.
'Who are you?' I asked the glowing light. And a voice like thunder echoed back.
'Je suis un auteur. J'mapelle le David Lynch.'
'Se que c'est votre vouloir?'
What did that mean?
'I can't understand you.'
The light sighed, and cursed in it's strange language.
'What the hell do you want you silly English pig-dog? Speak now, dog, or I shall have a scene with a strange woman from the inside of a radiator!'
I found the words form and wheel out on their own accord as something in my mind said 'Hang on, isn't David Lynch that freaky-unorthodox film director?'
I had no idea what that meant, nor did I know the meaning of what I said in reply to the orb.
'I want the zone to disappear.'
What the hell was the zone?
'Wery vell, your zone will disappear.'
The orb glowed, and I was wracked with pain. I screamed, and heard myself screaming a thousand times over as the orb expanded, filling the world with white light. And then blackness.
I awoke again, in a bathtub full of ice. There was a letter pinned to the wall, disturbingly familiar handwriting, all pretty curves looping to form shapes.
I read the letter, and it felt like the world was shifting, whirling, grinding.
"You are in a bad pseudo-postmodern, fourth wall breaching, pop-culture reference riddled fanfic, Max."
I blinked, and the real message on the letter came into focus.
"Liver gone, get doctor."
'Hah, joke's on them, I ruined that bloody thing years ago,' I said as I passed out.
All That Glitters Is Cold 4 Fanfic Competition
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