Let me just say that writing this story was a horrible idea, and so is reading it. At best, this is a writing exercise of sorts, at worse it is someone who cannot write a decent narrative if his life depended on it, trying to write a narrative. And I’m making it into a series, because I am insane like that.
Also, no pictures because I have no idea what I would put here, and I lack the knowledge to make images.
It is no secret that dozens of big names occupy every fourth quarter of every year, in the rush to release their title before the annual day of sales, dozens upon dozens of games are released. It is both cruel toward those with limited income, and those who must play all of them. One of the latter is Jim Sterling, who must do this on an annual basis. After Jim cleared through a title and wrote his thoughts on it in one mid October evening, he was both pleased and exhausted. After examining his work for any errors, he scheduled his review to hit sometime early tomorrow morning.
There was always a sense of dread he felt when he posted a review of a big title and his opinions were viewed as “wrong” by a small, yet vocal minority. He has been fighting this battle for several years now, surely these fools would learn how to act like adults by now. With 4 other titles to go through in 9 days, Jim promptly went to bed on this cool mid-October evening. A bit early for him, but Octobergeddon, as he likes to call it, always tired him out. He cannot think of a job he’d rather be doing, so it is worth the pain.
While in bed he debated a few ideas with himself. Maybe this review’s reaction will be a lot more accepting? It is Monday, so he has a lot of time before he needs to find a topic for the next week’s Jimquisition. He hopes there is not some form of political shitstorm that I’ll need to discuss, because it vaguely relates to video games. But within a minute, he was in deep slumber, with his wife, Alex, still finishing some tidbits that need to be done.
Jim then opened his eyes, still groggy and with a light shining down on him. His vision took focus after a few seconds of examining what looks like a hospital room. This confused Jim, he has been gradually getting more fit and healthy, so what could have brought him here? He was still lying on his back, except he was now on a cot. As he tried getting up, he felt a series of straps keeping him in place. And when he tried to call for assistance, he discovered that his mouth was covered as well. His entire body felt numb, and his mind was still hazy. He tried to stay awake, and roll his cot to the door, hoping that it will be open. But as he began to nudge his body weight to make momentum, he grew exhausted far faster than usual. He eventually fell back to sleep.
As he awoke a second time, Jim found himself in the same cot, still strapped, still gagged, but now surrounded. As he looked past the lab coats three figures of varying height and weight proportions, he discovered that all three of them had the same face, the face of Jonathan Holmes. His mix of several ethnicities, odd facial texture, and sleepy looking eyes were undeniable proof of that. Something was odd about them. None of them blinked as he looked at them, none talked, of even moved their face in any way, just a blank expression of his friend and coworker.
After trying to mumble to them, Jim saw one of them move their right hand, revealing a syringe containing a green liquid. Jim was not so much frightened of the needle, but of the fact that they could be injecting him with pretty much anything, and he struggled once more, as he did, the other two Jonathan Holmes restrained him, while the third Holmes took the unknown substance, and injected it into Jim’s neck. It was a sharp searing pain that brought him into a deeper state of tiredness. The last thing he saw was his skin growing a slightly darker color than his pale exterior, and the feeling of his insides jagging against themselves. The pain was not enough to keep him from falling into a deep slumber.
He woke up in another room, except it looked like a proper bedroom, and almost instinctively pulled the chain of a lamp near the bed. The room was fairly minimalistic, but what struck him the most was the woman next to him. She wasn’t Alex, who was she? He had a sudden need to poop, and went to the bathroom connected to this bedroom. He could worry about where he was later, now he was tired, confused, and needed to do an activity that he disliked. He wasn’t sure why he briefly recalled pooping as that, but he lacked the energy to question it.
After doing his business, he went to wash his face, but wait, something was wrong here. He didn’t know what exactly, yet something about his bald head and rough face, and tannish skin tone seemed a bit off. He never thought of himself as attractive, his face felt weird, but why should it, he’s had it for all his 36 years. Wait, where’d that number come from?
As he was examining his 200-some-odd pound physique, he realized that he forgot to flush his poop, and when he went to look down, he realized it wasn’t a poop at all, it was a foot tall fat man in a black suit. With wide eyes, he lifted up the man, who was currently shouting at him with his somewhat effeminate voice. He couldn’t make out much, although he did hear a, “Goddamnit Jonathan!” Jonathan? That’s right, how could he forget his own name, he must be more tired than he thought. As he was crying off the fat man with a towel, he looked into his bedroom, it was 3:12 AM, no wonder he was so sleepy.
After giving the little man, who he recalled was named Jim, went back to their bed together, yet it didn’t feel right, isn't there suppose to be someone else with him? Wouldn’t that mean that he, Jonathan, was cheating on Jim? He loved Jim, his little muffin as he called him. He wasn’t feeling quite right with moving, or being in this bed, but he chalked that up to just being sleepy.
Jonathan awoke at 7 in the morning, feeling fresh as a daisy. After furnishing himself up and dressing in his regular suit, he went to the kitchen to eat the usual breakfast Jim made for him. He was never sure what Jim saw in him, but he wasn't complaining, loyal spouse, comfortable job as a doctor, and not a care in the world other than their happiness. After consuming his food, Jonathan kissed Jim goodbye on his chubby little belly.
After entering his expensive vehicle, he looked in the rear view mirror to make sure he looked just handsome enough, after all he was renowned for being a dashing young prodigy. Never with his head in the clouds or bothering with any escapism. Those clods always confused him, why bother doing something that wasn’t actually living. But his time was far too valuable for those underachievers or the sad crafters of that “art”, he had patients to see.
Once he arrived at his clinic, Jonathan met his first patient, a “cute” young woman who was sent here to get fixed. It was a standard procedure of injecting her with testosterone, because what could a woman do that a man couldn’t do far better? She screamed a lot, a trait he had grown to view as the subject’s final demonstration of weakness. She even tried to confuse him by claiming that she was his “wife”, hah, the stupid under-lifeforms. He couldn’t wait until he got to the fun part, “changing their minds”. He always lavished over the amount of power he had, to fix society’s ills, to alter those who were undoubtedly inferior, and turn them into proper examples of men, the true version of humanity.
After several more of the reworking procedures, Jonathan knew that he was helping his planet, and did not even consider anyone thinking him as wrong, without being wrong and retarded for doing so. But most of the mentally diseased have been fixed. All those retards and straights, and dames, and escapists, and artists were on their last legs, men like the honest, manly man Jonathan were the founders of humanity’s true golden age.
But he returned to his little friend, his servant, and the one who was made to love him, Jim. He was presented with his warm and delicious dinner, an expected result, but he was feeling generous, so Jonathan would just convert Jim into his flush-phase and let him enjoy his favorite white drink. All in another glorious day of his life as a wonderful savior known as Jonathan Holmes.
It was a parody that I had fun writing, of course it is shit, that was kind of my goal! And if this is inappropriate for the site, somehow, I'll remove it from here.