Please Take Your Seats.A Story by RileyReddingTake your seats, silence all electronic-devices, and keep your damn voices down. (Oh imagine right along, do as I say.)
"Mom, you'd buy my writing, right? Like if I wrote a book? Me
"Well, buy it? Probably not, but your father would. Hell your father would steal it." Mom "What?! You wouldn't buy your only son's, novel?" I ask astounded. "You're a talented writer, dear, but you're also a pornographer, and the most talented pornographer, is a sorry excuse for an artist. I wouldn't buy it per say, but I certainly wouldn't throw it out, if you happened to mail me a copy." Etched on the glass reads: " Every author needs a therapist. And an editor." Close your eyes. You're standing on the highest mountain, looking upon the clearest sky, and the end is near. Your only good fortune, is you're standing with the only person in your life, who really, actually, matters. Is it me? No. Well it it was worth a try, I mean I am the one talking, this is my story, you're just a tourist here. Alright, alright. As I was saying, tall mountain, clear sky, doomsday, with your soulmate, whoever that is. Again though you really need to pick one, this part isn't optional. Looking down on the endless, unfathomable, wanton destruction of everything, that yesterday, you held dear. Your first thought is back to, blank. No not actually blank, like a blank page. Seriously is this thing broken? I meant blank as in, you decide. You're the one living out my story, Jesus. Now, as we were, your first thought is back to... "The night you two first met." Perfect, there's hope for this crowd yet. For a second, I swear that guy in the trucker hat was going to depress everyone and say: "The night my wife died." Which would be a fine explanation, as to why he's on his highest mountain, with a corpse, but seriously the rest of you would be like, so, lost. On the night you both first met, there was a crazy thunderstorm, biggest one Toronto had ever seen. Okay fine: Biggest one Orlando had ever seen. I just really wanted this couple to be Canadian. Seriously, don't ask. I never get my way. Anyway this terrible storm, and Susan's lights, all go out. Fade to black. Fin. Roll credits. Okay fine, that was the last joke, I swear. Just let me finish. Night they both met, terrible, not-Canadian storm, the girl, Susan, her lights go out. Her lights go out, and she can't find a flashlight to save her life, literally. Don't you just hate when people use that word wrong? I digress. Her lights go out, and what did she forget to do? "Buy a back-up generator!", yep, somebody in the crowd: is clearly a doomsday-prepper. Susan forgot to close her doggie door. Any guess who sneaks out, into this hellish beast, of a storm? Her chihuahua, Victor, who I earlier, completely, forgot to tell you about. Seriously my bad, but I'm really trying here now. Victor, the escape-artist, gets out the doggie door, and heads straight over to the new, attractive-bachelor, I might adds, house. David, a graphic-designer, from Philidelphia, hates dogs, but being the gentle-giant he is, lets this pooch right on in, to his house. David, the smart-guy, reads the address on the collar, realizes it's his neighbor, see's that all her lights have gone out, runs over, mid-storm, to get: Future Ms. David. That is no joke. I mean clearly Mr. David David, didn't marry Susan and give her a name, that is an exact reflection of his first, and last name. What I meant, clearly, was that all this really happened. Now sure they had their first, second, and third dates. That probably ended before six pm, because Susan, isn't a fluzzy, but their meet-cute, their forever-destiny, it all started here, in a rampant disaster. Just like the one I told you all, to pretend you are in. Now in the disaster I presented you with, this mystical, knees-weak-heartsick, perfect-soulmate, and truth is, some of you have already met them, married them, treated them to a life of endless joy, with surprises at every turn. But I also know that some of you are, single, alone, without-a-plus-one, and there is nothing, at all, wrong with that. But I also know that absolutely, NONE-OF-YOU, imagined yourself that way. You either thought about a long-lost-love, a girl at the coffee shop you've never spoken a word to, a guy who trains at your gym, hell some people got lucky, picked their unknowing, best friends. The real question is: What are you going to do about it? Ahah, told you I'm not a low-brow, pornographer. I told you I'm a pretty decent storyteller. Oh s**t, it was my mom who made that accusation. Well either way, are you really going to piss away, a golden-opportunity? Anyway, I'm Riley I. Redding. Thank you for joining me. Now seriously go-on, get, you've got some serious work to do, or I'll start gunning for your top picks. Sarah-The-Nail-Technician sounds nice, oh and Bob-Burner-The-Banker, I bet he's got a lot of cash... © 2015 RileyReddingFeatured Review
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Added on January 19, 2015Last Updated on January 19, 2015 AuthorRileyReddingPortland, ORAboutHello, My name is Riley Redding. I'm a twenty-three year old hailing from the Great Pacific Northwest. I'm the author of several works of transgressive fiction. I write in a minimalistic style of sati.. more..Writing
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