25 Hours To Make Something Happen

*Elevator Music*

Take an amazing yacht trip around the world!

Can you escape this room?

A person that no one has ever heard about or cares about decides to enter a contest.  This seems like it will either end up with a terrible graphic sex CYS, half-finished, grammatical mistake ridden piece of garbage CYS, or a broken promise and trip to the shame pit.  Oh well, I'll give it a go.

Your story with the unreliable narrator (mental asylum patient) ‘Captain Courage’ was my favorite.

Well, compared to the short, confusing, and inconsequential stories that have recently flooded this site - I'm not that bad.  But maybe I'm a complete moron, too narrow to see his own stupidity.  Also, luckily I believe I have found a semi-intelligent group of people on this site (maybe - this was partially a test for that too), so I believe in your choices.

One thing that has always bothered me about chooseyourownadventure stories is I am limited to my own ideas for choices.  There is no way to know that my reader wanted to jump out the window instead of slaying a dragon or have a psychotic break instead of having a nice chat with his neighbor.  As you can tell, I have never published a (good) CYOA for this reason.  That is why I am here today: to appeal to you, my readers and maybe even not my readers, for the first choices of a journey; albeit it is a short one.

Here is the set up:  You are a 98-year-old man who has been working at a J-mart for the past six decades before being thrown into a nursing home by his two ungrateful children.  Divorced by 36 and never remarried John (you) is abrasive and gruff.  As he ambles on with only one hour left in his (meaningless?) life what will he do next?

Opening:  "Hi John," Martha says to you once again.  

You stopped responding after the third time she perked up and greeted you. You look around the hallway filled with other disgruntled old folks and Swathmore Health Care staff, most of whom are feigning smiles, but some of which have forgotten how happy they were supposed to be.  The entire room smells like death, it figures because most of the people in the center have died long ago.  You walk up to the front desk and are greeted by another cheesy smile.

"Dorothy, what a coincidence to see you here," you say with a fake smile of your own.

"I could say the same for you," the woman behind the counter says, not even making eye contact.

For the first time in your long life, the neurons in your brain fire an interesting command.  So interesting, in fact, you cannot help but act on it. 

----------------

No response is a stupid response (or maybe it is). I don't care; I will make all responses into options for the one hour of life this poor man has left to live. Will he die a nobody, a nationally recognized hero, a nationally recognized villain, or a mediocre J-Mart clerk?

I don't want to argue against what you said because it will not benefit either of us.  I will say that I feel like there has to be a purpose though, but it is difficult to find with all the distractions of the world.

If all humans lack purpose, then there is no reason for any of us to exist at all.

Not to get all philosophical here, but what really is the meaning of life.  I think that saying "happiness" as Plato says misses the point of life as a whole.  When writing or reading any story and even our own life stories, I find the cliché saying "the journey is more important than the destination" to ring true.  We are born to grow and to learn not to die.  Sometimes suffering is part of our personal growths.  A little bit of suffering can move a person to be broken down or to grow into their greatest self, but why not give them the chance to learn.  

This is why I am against abortion.  Whether you are a person who sees people as nothing more than a body, a coincidentally grown group of cells that somehow works together on a spinning rock, you too are nothing more than a group of cells that was lucky enough to be here somehow.  Any fetus has just as much right to be alive than you do.  Or maybe you believe in spirit.  This coincides even more with my theory because our spirits should be given the chance to grow in our suffering, especially those who are born into much suffering, because that is the only point of even existing at all.

Now I see your argument forming right now.  Then we should just let people suffer because that will make them grow the most? Well, that is cruel and lacks all compassion.  This is true, we should not turn a blind eye as people suffer, but it is part of our own growth that we realize that others are not so different from ourselves and we develop these traits of compassion and love.

Edit lock. Feedback is appreciated.

A large but weary vagabond

Sat drinking in the bar

Watching with wary eye

His face spoiled by a scar

‘Only I remain!’ he shouted.

The seat over startled

‘Misfortune came upon me thus,

Per night, much like this.’

‘Quiet man, I enjoy my drink,’

said the other, slightly irked

‘We numbered around four hundred,’

he continued undeterred.

‘A journey perilous, but reward great

We wandered for many days

Our stupid, fateful quest

To never meet death’s gaze

Further into desert each day we travelled

Morning and evening, dark and light,

Then we reached it.’

His face turned ashy white

‘Well out with it man,’

said the encaptured fellow.

A tense silence filled the room,

Then he let out a bellow.

‘At the fountain Satan did wait

Smiling with a deal

The souls of all four hundred

One would have to kill

But in return the ultimate reward

But the most evil curse

A life that goes on forever

A life not ending in a hearse

A young and foolish man was I

I accepted the deal of Satan

It was done, the men were dead

And I was left alone waiting

The eyes of the lifeless wanderers

Stared deep into my soul

Empty but full of accusation

The weight of their lives that I must fulfill

Never could I return home

And face the families of those lost

All I can do is tell my tale

And not let anyone follow in my footsteps at any cost.'

Edit lock. (Also I realize it's not a love poem or a hate poem).