playernumber37:

He always made fun of him in his head, laughed at his dumbass shit, watched him get dumber and dumber but more and more muscular as the months and years went on. it’s funny because they used to be friends, real close friends, listening to music and playing video games together. one day he stopped coming around. he started skateboarding, and even playing basketball. he basically dropped you as a friend, and he hated him for it. they say you shouldn’t hate, that if you put negative energy out, you get negative energy back, but whatever. Sean was a dumbass loser who he couldn’t care less about.

then one day the doorbell rang and it was none other than Sean. “what, did you get tired of your new friends?” he sneered at him.

“… yeah, i feel real bad about that,” Sean said, scratching at the nape of his neck, removing his backwards ballcap. He squinted at him. “i wanted to say i was sorry. and – and, i brought a peace offering.” he extended a video game cartridge, and he whistled in spite of myself.

“that’s the new one! holy shit, i’ve heard about this…”

HOURS LATER: after the blue glow and spin and hum and hop of the game

“Bro, that was epic.”

“Yeah… wow, fun shit… man, I really miss you.”

“I miss you too, bro. You should come hang out with all of us sometime. Be mad chill.”

“Naw, I dunno…”

“Sleep on it, OK? [maybe] You’ll change your mind tomorrow.”

“Did you say maybe?”

“Huh?”

“Nothin, I… man, I’m just wiped out, that game kinda drained me.”

“Yeah, it does that, haha. Anyway. Tomorrow? At the game?”

“The game, yeah, right on.”

He shut the door and suddenly sat down hard. Fizz was erupting in his brain, he felt like he was blinking really fast. He slammed his eyes shut and felt a desperate whirling sensation in his stomach, and an emptiness that you only feel after vomiting – a raw, queasy emptiness, and it was … moving. It was moving up, like a chill in the room, like a night draft against bare skin. It passed over his heart, and he gasped, involuntarily.

Then, it settled, after perusing his face, right behind his forehead, clamping down like a manacle, a solid plate of ice-cold steel, like the world’s worst ice-cream headache. He heard himself cry out, a shrill sound, pointed and nervy, abruptly pitch-shift to a low, bellowing sort of scream. He felt his eyes open, his holler dim, fade away. He heard from outside the rolling scrullll of the ball-bearings in the skateboards. Skating is for losers, a triumphant and rebellious part of his brain shouted, and immediately, the freeze returned, immobilizing his thoughts where they stood. All he could do was sit there, jaw slung slightly open, eyes stunned into half-shut. His brain physically shrank away from the sensation, traumatized.

And then, of course, the knock on the door. Sean’s voice. Robbie’s voice. Clear as day, like songs heard through an open window in springtime.

“… yeah, he played for hours! I never seen anyone play that long. Fuck bro, this is gonna be EPIC. I still don’t know how much it did to me, but I know I fuckin love what it did!”

None of that makes sense, he thought deliriously to himself, and something inside him bent, torqued, and snapped. His eyes refocused, his mouth turned into a dopey grin, and his muscles slackened, toned, sang.

“Fuckers stole my deck,” he muttered to himself, and laughed his new laugh. “Did you fuckers kife my deck?” His voice rose, and birds scattered from the eaves.

“Relax bro. It’s right here, yo.”

His eyes dulled again, and he nodded. “Word bro. Let’s ride.”