CHOOSE YOUR OWN MINDFUCK: A Night in Eighth Block Tower (A72)
Bedlam Bible fans! Explore the Eighth Block Tower! Choose your fate! New posts every Tuesday and Friday. September '23 through December '23. Don't succumb to the huummmmmmmmm...
You’ve decided against helping her…
“Hey, ah… Bee… I really have to go,” you say. She shoots you a look that can kill a deer.
“I should’ve assumed as much,” she says, taking a fistful of trash bag into each of her fists. “Too busy, right? Just like when you were too busy to help that poor girl with the cat…”
“No, the cat lady was a whole other thing. She was crazy. She was trying to provoke me.”
“Provoke you? Why? Did she even know you?”
You shake your head. “Bee, I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. I won’t ever forget you.”
Hearing this causes her to burst into a fit of laughter. “D’you watch a lot of Hallmark movies or something? What’s with all the sappiness?”
Your face immediately glows red with embarrassment. This has her laughing even harder.
“I’m sorry! It’s just… absurd!” she says, gasping for air. “I’m literally lugging a hundred pounds of poisoned roach cadavers down a flight of steps… and you’re over here… getting romantic!”
“Romantic?!” you shout. “I’m not getting romantic! I’m saying goodbye!”
“Never forget me?! You won’t even help me!” She’s cackling now. “I’ll tell you what I won't ever forget…”
“Bee. Stop,” you plead. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“You, sir, are the definition of an asshole!” she shouts. “It’s no wonder that chick was calling you a… what was it again? Oh, right… super shit face!”
She takes a step towards you and examines your face.
“What the hell are you doing?” you ask.
“I can see it now,” she says, pointing at your forehead. “Yup. Right there. Super. Shit. Face.”
“Whatever. Go ahead, act like a child. I don’t care,” you say, then march straight past her, down the steps.
“Super shit face!” she yells. Her words bounce off the walls and echo throughout the empty stairwell. The blatant disrespect has you seething with anger.
“Super shit face!” another voice yells. Good grief, you think. It’s Lynda, the girl with the cat. As soon as you hear her voice, your brain throbs in pain.
“Super shit face!”
“Super shit face!”
They’re both yelling at the top of their lungs—out of sync and uber annoying. For a moment, you consider responding, but you put the thought right out of your head. It’ll only make things worse, and you can’t handle worse… your head can’t take it.
“I don’t have to put up with this shit,” you mutter, then make your way out the front entrance of the tower.
But something stops you dead in your tracks…
The scent of bacon simmering in an iron skillet somewhere wafts into your nostrils. You can’t even remember the last time you ate, it was so long ago. Your stomach grumbles audibly.
As much as you’d like to leave the tower right now, the thought of stuffing a hearty breakfast down your gullet is almost too good to pass on.
— To get a bite to eat, click here.
— To leave this fucking place already, click here.