A changing Encounter: Chapter 1:
#1 of A Changing Encounter
It was a dull day; dreary clouds sat ominously over the city, heaving and swaying like smoke or water trapped in a glass container full of wind. It was pretty ordinary really - the weather in England was never particularly welcoming, and the people were even less so.
Frigid and cold, the people of England, in all honesty - Not too welcoming, and generally not exactly talkative either. The most you'll get is a burp, or an ear-full of lewd remarks, and painstakingly cliche'd insults. It's tiresome. And believe me, I'm a patient person. If I think it's tiresome? You probably will too. The people to really look out for are the chav's. They're these stupid little idiots wearing hoodies, and tracksuit bottoms. They listen to stuff like fifty cent, and all that crap. I don't really know much about that genre. But we're getting off topic!
Back to the day.
I myself am a pretty plain person, if truth be told. I'm a 5'7 grey Rabbit, my fur is all floofy and soft, and somewhat diminishing to my rather serious attitude. People can't really take Rabbits seriously, given the long fur, the big, flopsy, droopy ears. I should have been born a Doberman. That'd have suited me better. Sleek, muscly, sleek... Yeah... I like them. I admit that. As for clothes, I'm pretty boring there, too, really. I wear a baggy-ass pair of Blue Bolt jeans, that are really quite comfortable, but not too flashy. I like my olive-drab T-shirt, and my olive-drab sweater. They're comfortable, and warm, and they remind me of the Army. And stuff like that. Which is pretty cool. Over that, I often wear my Parka coat. Atleast, I think it's called a Parka.
Anyways, so I was walking down this street, when I bumped into someone that I really, in all honesty, didn't know existed. In fact, I never expected to see this guy on a street in a million years, and I could let you guess all your life, and you'd never get it. No. I bumped into him. He himself. The hooded man with the scythe, and the shadowy face 'n such 'n such. Now on any ordinary situation, I'd have assumed that this was some idiot in a costume. But the way that this... Well I suppose it was a thing! The way that this thing stared at me, it made every single well-groomed hair on my body stand up on tipsy-toes, and it made my skin crawl with a million worms. That's how it felt. I couldn't help but FEEL that this was the end. But as it happened, it wasn't. It was more of an enlightenment. You see, what happened next, was as unexpected as a nuclear bomb up a cow's ass on mars, six thousand years ago. It's pretty unlikely. And I don't know whether I should consider myself lucky, or not. Because death pointed at me, and in only the most creepy of creepy tones, grumbled...
"You... You're going to buy me a drink..."
At this point, I was Inclined to agree. Afterall, who the hell am I to turn down a drink for death? I don't know much about the guy (Or girl), except that without so much as blinking, it can send me six feet under. Oddly enough, however, the next moment, I got the scariest surprise yet. I felt a warm, welcoming feeling toward death, and I even offered it my hand, to lead it across the street into the nearest pub. I don't know about you, but I don't really know what to buy a guy that kills people all day for a living... So I figured a steep drink would do. I ordered death a blue-label vodka (For you inexperienced people, that's like... I donno.. Twice as strong as normal vodka? It's kind of like drinking non-carconagenic petrol..) And it curtly accepted.
It didn't take long really... Me and death got talking. Ironically, I forgot to ask it about the meaning of life. I figured it would know though; someone that spends all day taking life, must surely know a thing or two about it, right? So we sat. And we talked, until the day was gone, and then we talked more. Now, death isn't such a bad person really - not much of a conversationalist, but once you spark up a chat over a couple of steep drinks, a conversation can lead on for quite some time. And things start to happen... After about a solid pint of almost half-pure alcohol, you start to act out of character... And what I found happening, was very, very, very much out of character for me, considering who I am, and who I have been my whole life. I started to find myself attracted to this... Well, technically to me it's an intangible concept... Only... Here I am, chatting with it. It's a sad thing, to welcome death...
Except...
I'm not suicidal. I never have been. I consider jumping up and killing yourself to be the easy way out, and by now, I assume that you realise I'm not the 'easy way out' kinda guy. But this was weird. I knew for a fact that what I was feeling must have been induced by the drink, because every time I felt it, I felt sick to the stomach... Just the drink, right? Only, it's not. I find myself looking affectionately at this weird, hooded, cloaked, and scythe-wielding thing which... No-one seems to notice... And that's the weirdest part! It took me the best part of nine hours to realise I was getting funny looks. Now, death wasn't invisible - people were leaning arround it to talk at me.... But they seemed not to notice it. This confused me. Deeply.
When death gave me its card, naturally, I was quite impressed. A tidy, functional, business-like piece of card with deaths landline, and Mobile numbers written down on it. Death bought a telephone... Who knew? As politely as I could, I stood up, and smiled at death, afraid of both it, and myself, as I took my leave, and staggered out of the bar. We'd met at about mid-day, and know it was 1AM. And I was already off my face on Vodka, so I figured it was time to stumble on home. And then more weird things started to happen. Stumbling across a road, a car damn near drove straight through me... I swear to got, the driver was doing about 40 MPH, and managed to stop over less than two feet in order not to hit me. I shrugged it off. Guy must have ceramic brakes, or something. But you can't dismiss it when a dumpster drops off a lorry, knocks you down, and jams itself inches over your face, against a wall, can you? I mean... Jesus! It doesn't exactly happen every day. So this is when I start to ask myself, as a drunk does, if I've somehow altered my fate in the universe, by talking with death... And I ponder it all the way home.
Staggering and stumbling, I managed to find the lock on my very own front door! A damn miracle when you're as drunk as I was, and a very fine one too. Once I'd finally managed to get it in the hole (Yeah yeah, very funny!) I twisted the key (The wrong way of course. I'm drunk.) And then tried the other way, before the door swung open. Having had just the second weirdest day in my life (Yah, that's right. Second weirdest. Don't ask.) I stumbled over to the bathroom, and proceeded to re-taste my breakfast... It wasn't so great the second time arround, so, disappointed, I went to bed...
(I think this is a good point to flick you on the nose and keep you waiting for the next installment, if I get a reasonable rating. So...)
*Flick*
See y'all when I have an idea how well this was recieved.