I walk down an empty street. I'm cold. I start to shiver. Its night time. The street lanterns and occasional truck lights are the only sources of light. All of the local restaurants and pharmacies are in darkness. It's just me, all alone, without an iPod. I flip on the hood of my dark blue sweatshirt and walk at a comfortable pace.
These words keep invading my thoughts. I try to pretend not to care, but deep down it hurts. Every member of a single chat room enjoys hating my guts. I do not want to numb the pain, I embrace it. What happens if I let their comments get to me?
A person magically appears on a bench in front of an abandoned bowling alley. He has a rather thick beard, and is hiding under a pair of dark sunglasses. Grease stains cover his blue shirt and he is laughing hysterically. He is wearing a thick golden chain, and in his veiny hands is a boxy laptop. I stop and sit next to him. The man does not seem to acknowledge my presence.
I peak over his shoulder and glance at the computer screen. He is on a chat room, and everyone seems to be having a swell time. "LMAO" and "ROFL" cover the chat area. Suddenly, a chatter brings up the topic of a Club Penguin Neighborhood post. There was a passage within the post that criticized everyone in that chat room. For a moment, the man looks away from the computer screen. He drops the laptop and sighs.
The figure disappears. I step away from the bench and continue my walk. I swiftly place my hands in the pockets of my grey sweatpants. I feel for that poor man. Over the past few months, these bizarre situations scurry through my imagination on a daily basis. It's as if someone is trying to tell me something. Sometimes it is difficult for me to understand the difference between my reality and my fantasies.
There's a small Chinese restaurant open until two in the morning down my town's main street. Tonight it is empty. I push open the squeaky door and roam into it's small takeout room. I order a basket of chicken fingers for a quick snack. The service is crazy fast, and the food is entirely healthy. I grab my basket, throw a few bucks on the container and thank the nice foreign woman. I hop on a stool and pull out a wrinkled paper ball.
Using my handy dandy pocket pencil, I jot down words. Things like story ideas, challenges and rhyme patterns cover the sheet. This time it's a little different. I scribble the words "Awake-A-Thon" down. Man, these chicken fingers are fantastic... I wonder how much protein they contain?
These words keep invading my thoughts. I try to pretend not to care, but deep down it hurts. Every member of a single chat room enjoys hating my guts. I do not want to numb the pain, I embrace it. What happens if I let their comments get to me?
A person magically appears on a bench in front of an abandoned bowling alley. He has a rather thick beard, and is hiding under a pair of dark sunglasses. Grease stains cover his blue shirt and he is laughing hysterically. He is wearing a thick golden chain, and in his veiny hands is a boxy laptop. I stop and sit next to him. The man does not seem to acknowledge my presence.
I peak over his shoulder and glance at the computer screen. He is on a chat room, and everyone seems to be having a swell time. "LMAO" and "ROFL" cover the chat area. Suddenly, a chatter brings up the topic of a Club Penguin Neighborhood post. There was a passage within the post that criticized everyone in that chat room. For a moment, the man looks away from the computer screen. He drops the laptop and sighs.
The figure disappears. I step away from the bench and continue my walk. I swiftly place my hands in the pockets of my grey sweatpants. I feel for that poor man. Over the past few months, these bizarre situations scurry through my imagination on a daily basis. It's as if someone is trying to tell me something. Sometimes it is difficult for me to understand the difference between my reality and my fantasies.
There's a small Chinese restaurant open until two in the morning down my town's main street. Tonight it is empty. I push open the squeaky door and roam into it's small takeout room. I order a basket of chicken fingers for a quick snack. The service is crazy fast, and the food is entirely healthy. I grab my basket, throw a few bucks on the container and thank the nice foreign woman. I hop on a stool and pull out a wrinkled paper ball.
Using my handy dandy pocket pencil, I jot down words. Things like story ideas, challenges and rhyme patterns cover the sheet. This time it's a little different. I scribble the words "Awake-A-Thon" down. Man, these chicken fingers are fantastic... I wonder how much protein they contain?
Sleeping is for straight up swagger jackers.
If your body did not require sleep, wouldn't life be so much more epic? You could chill at the gym until sunrise, jog around the city at midnight and go on an endless road trip in Witty12's wheelless van... Sweetastic, right? Well, guess what dudes, the penguins of Story-Book Survival are pulling an extreme all nighter this Friday! Boom, boom, pow.
Winning this challenge is as easy as going blind! Starting exactly at 8:00 PM, all competitors must be in the Boiler Room ready to do absolutely nothing. If anyone logs off of Club Penguin for any reason, they are certainly out. Sir Frostylittle (That's me!) will not be logged onto Club Penguin the entire time, because all beasts need sleep. You are required to keep a conversation going on Club Penguin with your peers!
~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood
