Board Thread:RolePlay/@comment-38601454-20200109145622/@comment-44044902-20200113001251

(“I will grant ya one wish, but it’ll only last ya two hours."

Those words circle in my head as I gawk at the creature in front of me. Green or yellow (my colorblindness doesn’t help) lumpy slime coats Its face and body. Two horns stick out of Its head like small nubs, Its face all wrinkly and warped—almost. Its eyes are on backwards, and Its nose is on its chin. I think.

To tell the stone-cold truth, I have no idea what’s going on. One second I was standing in my parent’s small, all-white pristine marble bedroom, staring at a cracked, full-length vanity that’s been in this house for God-knows how long, and the next second I collapse, just like that, plunging into Darkness’s haven. And then the next second, I’m in the same bleak room with this creature crouched over me, which can only be described as a ‘thing’. Or quite possibly a mutant.

I’m not quite sure what the most appropriate way to react is. Should I run? Hide? Demand answers? I want to scream, but that seems a bit too risky. I don’t want my parents to see this hideous thing in their room, after all.

“Who are you?” I finally grumble. Simple, but firm. Just how I need it to sound.

“Is that ya wish, boy? You wanna know who I be? ‘Cuz if so, ya’re in for a long two-hour lecture, sonny.” Its crooked language surprises and amuses me. Its forked tongue flicks at me, and my nose catches a whiff of an acrid odor that vaguely reminds me of rotten tuna. I gag and wheeze, doing everything to try to gulp fresh air. Or maybe I’m just stretching time to think of a wish.

Its offer is intriguing. I might wish for a tub of ice cream. A donkey, perhaps? The possibilities are endless—or they would be, if I wasn’t so narrow-minded. I don’t have a lot of wishes; those lead to secrets, and I don’t have any secrets. Do I? If I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Besides, who’d I ask for ideas? My best friend, maybe. Too bad she’s dead.

That leads me to an idea. A random flashback plays in my head, one that even humanity couldn’t explain why it happened: a little boy and a girl, age six, run around in the cold winter. A slightly older boy and girl sit hand-in-hand, enthralled by the magical sunset in front of them. A boy sobs into his pillow at the news that devastated him so much that he had to go to therapy. But now I’m fine, content even, I think to myself as I fidget with the cap of my antidepressants—and Risperdal, so I don’t hallucinate, which I haven’t taken in a while—that I’m always forced to carry. Oh, how I wish to relive all those memories. My mind races with all the things that Sarah and I would be able to do. We could—

“Ya sure are taking ya’re sweet time, aren’t ya?" It frowns. “Ya think this is a joke, eh?”

“I—”

“I don’t like that,” It decides. “Offer expires in five seconds.” My jaw drops as Its fingers slowly start to count down. As if summoned by a force outside of my will, the voices in my head grow louder, stronger, demanding their own crazy things. By ‘two’, I had no choice but to give in to the one thing that keeps ruining my life—my schizophrenia. I blurt out the thing that I desire most, according to the rambling voices in my head.

“I wish for a tub of ice cream.”

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW xd)