Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about how the world should end.

30DBC PROMPT: "Write a story about a blogger who only gets cryptic comments from one mysterious person and no one else."

Hey folks, what's up? The prompts today are either one of two things: more challenging than they look, or easier than I think. The "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  prompt sounds like I should be going 21st century Edgar Allan Poe on my laptop or something. Like there's a monster hiding under my mouse, waiting to stab me with giant rose thorns.

Wow. Too much time on my hands and no ambition. THAT, my friends, is the scary part of the proposition. Let's see how this plays out.

So this guy decides to start writing a blog because, what the hell, no one's reading his poetry anyway (so little so that he doesn't even know what to poeticize anymore, leading to writer's block), and if no one's reading, nobody'll notice his blog out of the 48,662,718 other known-of blogs in the internetosphere.

Each day he gives a detailed description of the madness in his life. And each day, his views increase by two. Are two people reading it, or is one person reading it twice? This puzzles him. He tries frantically to find out where his views are coming from, but when the clicks away at his attempts to track the hits, he gets the infamous Windows' "white screen of death": This page cannot be displayed.

He's so used to not being noticed that he didn't even realize for the last week of entries he'd had the number "1" next to the word "comment". Dude was equal parts stunned and scared. What if they liked his work? What if they didn't? His curiosity was out of control, and his fingers trembled upon left-clicking his mouse to read what someone thought of his thoughts.

Sunday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "I am fascinated by your dangerous writing style." His reply was a simple thank you, with a smiley face written sideways from a keyboard just like all the kids do these days.

Monday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "I too share your pity and contempt of all things not like you. You are rabid and crumpling." He shook his head; he knew it was a compliment but was unable to formulate a response.

Tuesday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "Profound and cautious today. I hope it's not common. I feel like an extension of your cavernous soul." This made the guy smile. He didn't even know he had a soul, much less one with caverns.

Wednesday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "Oooohh, I'm squealing on the inside. I'm preparing my womb now for the eventual arrival of the first of hopefully many love childs." He was too impressed at this point with his own bland words to care that this woman was slowly going batshit over him.

Thursday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "Your posts have decorated an entire room of my basement. I've created a face made out of pictures of your face and put you on every mirror." He searched his Facebook page to find that there was only one known picture of himself on the entire webs of the wide world. A modest picture at that. Yet when he tried to email her at the address she listed in order to comment, his emails were getting returned.

Friday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "I beseech you to reveal more of yourself to me! Perhaps we can meet at the coffee shop across from your grandfather's brother's cousin's uncle's roommate's babymomma's doctor's office tonight at 6pm? I want to fondle you with my eyes." Dude was kinda stoked about this...until he got to the coffee shop at 5:55pm and it was closed. He waited for almost an hour with a rose in his hand. Every five minutes a petal would fall off and shrivel on the pavement, until there was nothing but a stem that he tossed in the street.

Saturday: From Itsagirlnoalady: "You must forgive me. I appear to have gotten you confused with an older gentleman, the Sixtyfiver. I don't know how I could've been so foolish in my transposition of worded numbers. I'm ashamed."

He stared at the words for a second, as if they were little curses poking pins into his eyeballs. In a slow motion he closed his computer screen, and instantly all the windows of the building he was in blew out. It was the beginning of the end of the world.

Man. I hate writing fiction.

BCF PROMPT: "Do you believe the end of the world will come to pass during your lifetime?"

Oh man. I don't even know. A tough "Blogging Circle of Friends "  prompt also. Well, we survived that Mayan scare thing last December, right? Surely someone's gotta 'nother date in mind. Hollywood's depicted a gajillion different ways the world's gonna end, with and without survivors. REM was singing "It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" for, like, 20 years or so 'til they broke up. And yet all I know is today I got up and put my feet on the ground and the building didn't collapse and I made it to a store and wasn't mauled by a zombie or kissed by a glittery vampire or had a car hurled at me by some hand of God or force of nature. So it looks like we're pretty safe.

Or are we? Who knows anymore. People are making bombs with pressure cookers? Damn! Maybe stores need to run background checks on kitchen appliance purchases. Watch out for everyone wearing backwards baseball caps! Screw that. The world's gonna end someday. The depression I get sometimes wants me to be around when it happens, and sooner rather than later. But the other side of me says the longer I sit around like I'm locked in a closet waiting for that to happen just means the terrorists win. And they shouldn't win. At least not when me and some of the rest of us are still around, kickin' it true school.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Ok, hands up if you guessed REM! Wrong. You may now leave the classroom.

VITAL STATS:

That awkward moment when you're done with having a lousy day and you make eye contact with a gorgeous woman wearing some kind of gothic sundress sitting on a stoop...and she's talking on her phone and crying because from the way it sounds, her lover was breaking up with her. You just keep walking.

Or that other awkward moment when you're sitting at a table in the library and a pretty girl walks in and smiles at you...until she comes around the side of the copy machine and she's about eight months pregnant.

Or that really awkward moment when you're in the magazine aisle at the store and a cute chick mouths the word "hi" at you...while she's reading Teen People. Yes, all of these things have happened to me in the last 24 hours. Anytime you're ready, global disaster! (Kidding. Sorta.)

Ok, now that I'm probably going to some kind of Hell today, I'll leave you all to ponder the merits of my wordology down below in the comments section. Fire away! Peace, put the toilet seat down, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!