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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Guest Rezure
Posted

"The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming!" the words reverberated in his head to the point that he wasn't even sure he had heard them. He tried to calm his nerves. "After all, you have had to face raiders before" he told himself. Maybe, but never ones like this, and he knew it. He had never wanted to fight. If only he could continue his studies peacefully, he thought. He wasn't one of them, one of the berserkers with their glazed eyes and... he stopped himself, as he noticed his right hand twitching. He held it firmly with the left. Not now, he said, you must not be scared now, when all is on the line. He wanted to run, but was inexorably drawn into battle. He must defend his honour, he thought, as he clutched the silver medallion he had always carried with him into a fight. He did not hear the cold clang of the coin falling into the coin-slot. "Get Ready for NFL BLITZ 2000!!!!" the overzealous video-game voice said. He was ready. The Vikings didn't stand a chance.

Posted

One of my jobs is at a video game store. A lady called the other day asking if we had any Playstation 2 memory cards. I replied no, no one does, really, but Sony will be shipping cards out in mid-April. Her response? "Well, how am I supposed to win my war??"

 

Never would've pegged you as a Blitzer, Rez. ;>) Good stuff, as always.

Guest Rezure
Posted

Yeah, it's strange, considering how much I hate watching football and how rarely I play football... I guess because it seems kinda silly to play video games of sports I would actually enjoy playing in reality...

 

Anyway, here's another very short story, based even more on personal experience...

 

I knocked on the door of the bus. The door opened, but the stern look of the driver told me I shouldn't enter. "I can't let you in here, you have to wait at a bus stop" said the driver. I looked to my right - there, no more than five metres away was the bus stop pole. Shrugging I walked these five metres and looked back at the bus and the driver. The bus didn't move. It was an old bus, the kind that nobody liked to ride. It wasn't old enough to have the cushy seats and the oldfashioned "next-stop" - lamp. It wasn't new enough to have cushy seats and a cassette-recording that announces the upcoming stop. All it had was a 'Transit System of the Year' sticker from 1996. It wasn't even old properly, it was just out of date. In the five minutes I spent thinking of that, the bus still didn't move. Would it ever move, I wondered (a thought probably shared by all those waiting for buses). My attention shifted to the bus driver. Like the bus, he showed few signs of having moved at all in five years. He was very thin, and had a bushy red beard. But even more telling was his serious demeanour. May be he was supposed to wait for a radio signal to start moving and it hadn't come in those five years. If anyone would stand five years waiting for a signal, it would probably be him, I thought. I was so engrossed in thinking up reasons for the bus to stand there for such a long period of time, that I didn't notice it move. The bus stopped where I was standing and the doors opened. "This isn't the stop where you're supposed to wait for this bus" he said. I was quite happy to wait for the next one.

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