Another month and still no reply. I texted her a year ago. I’m tired of the silence, tired of the emptiness inside, tired of waiting, tired of the nothingness of it all.
“Ba-bing!” My phone made a sound, bringing me out of my stupor.
“I DIED” it read.
“You’re messaging me, someone you don’t even really know, who sent you a text a year ago saying ‘hey’, that you died?” I wrote back.
*Ping* “I DIED” came through again. “Seriously?” I thought, exasperated.
“Fine, we’ll play it your way.” “I DIED” I wrote back.
“Great! Where are you?”
“Excusem moi?”
“I don’t speak Greek.”
“That’s French (I think) and you obviously don’t speak that either. Where were we supposed to meet again?”
“Don’t you remember? The place we met the first time, in your mind.”
“Please shed some light as to where that was. My mind seems to have forgotten. That’s the funny thing about minds, they have a mind of their own.”
“In your mind. Duh.”
“Yes, yes. But where in my mind?”
“Left side, slightly to the left center, and up three blocks.”
“Blocks of what? Is this supposed to be a mind game?”
“Cement genius.”
“I am, thank you.”
“Sarcasm. Blonde.”
“But I don’t have blonde hair, I have black hair, and that’s the complete opposite of blonde. By the way, what house number is yours? I seem to be a bit lost in here. So crowded with heaps of thoughts, long-forgotten ideas, great comebacks made in the shower, and so one, and so forth.”
“First of all, blonde is not a hair color but rather a state of mind. Plus your black mane was dyed. I have no number. And yes, you have problems, I can tell you are a hoarder and the fact that all your come backs were made in the shower confirms that you live in the state of blonde because you couldn’t come up with the perfect words till hours later.”
“Fine then. Go ahead and act like that. I don’t mind. After all, if you only exist in my mind, then I have no need to listen to you. I’ll just block you out. My hair being dyed is no concern of yours. It was done professionally. Will you go out with me. I mean, somewhere besides my mind?”
“I DIED”
“Laughing over this conversation?”
“No. This is NOT FUNNY.”
“I DIED” I wrote. “And so, the tables are turned.” I thought.
“HEY NOW DON’T START THAT AGAIN.”
“I DIED”
“GREAT!”
“I DEID”
“GOT IT. GET TO THE POINT”
“I DIED”
“I DIED.”
“Just remember, you started this.”
“NOPE! I just checked, you are on the news, you just died.”
“Really!?!”
No answer.
“Hello??”
NO answer.
“You died. It’s over. Your mind is gone.”
“True. What else is new?”
“I DIED.”
“No… I died”
“WE BOTH DID, GENIUS.”
“I am, thank you. Do you have anything else you would like to add before I go?”
“Too late. You’re gone. Forever. If you reply, the world will end, or at least my world and I don’t think you want that because you asked me out and the only way to get me out is though your nose. Wouldn’t want to ruin the back of your head. Nor the front, for that matter.”
“Are you implying that you are my brain?”
“That’s it. You did it. Game over.”
A huge explosion shook the apartment building. Ash and rubble filled the air. The wall collapsed, with Steve underneath it. The mind game was officially….OVER.
It was a blast. The whole thing. Literally.
The End (for real).
Almost.
Okay, now it is.
Will you please cut that out, I’m trying to end this jig...deal...thing.
THE END.
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