Evil_Gondi
08-14-2005, 09:21 PM
Emmond the Dark Mage sat in his lair, feverishly working on his latest device. Poking, prodding, removing and replacing, his fingers meticulously working his tweezers.
"Emmond! Pop tarts are done!"
The image in his mind shattered and he was brought back to the real world, sitting in his room, fixing his clock. Cursing his love for simple snacks, he went out to the kitchen.
Snatching up the pair of cheap pastries, he bit into them, his gaping maw chewing loudly and sloppily.
"Chew like a human being!" His mother stood, arms akimbo, glaring at him. She was a short, fat woman, more homely than the ugly forest.
"I am a human being. You want be to chew like a robot." Emmond snapped.
"Don't you sass me!" The female smacked him over the head with a pot that she had been washing. She finished drying it and started cleaning a meat cleaver.
'Going to walk away while I still only have a bumb on my head.' Emmond though, shoving the remainder of his pop tarts into his mouth and chewed with his mouth defiantly open.
He returned to his room and continued his work, his imagination beginning to take over again. The walls turned to rough cut stone, his lamp now a torch. His pet gerbil turned into something that looked just as similar, but more magical.
"Emmond!"
Reality crashed into his psyche once more, his work interrupted, and likewise, his imagination. He returned to the living area of his house.
"Emmond! Take out the trash!" His father yelled at him, the smell of alcohol on his breath.
"You smell like you've had enough, old man." Emmond sneered.
"Dag burnit! You and that bartender are incahoots, aren't they?! My own flesh and blood." The middle aged and balding man started to sob and curled into a fetal position, sucking on the bottle of liquor like a baby bottle.
"Definetly had enough." Emmond went outside and dragged the trash can a whole ten feet to the curb.
When he returned inside, his mother was yelling at his father, whom was still in the fetal position and crying. Not one to waste an opportunity, Emmond retrieved a nearby camera and took a picture.
"Nothing like a Kodak moment." Emmond said, tossing the camera in the general direction of where it once had been.
Returning to his lair, his imagination fixed the ambiance to his mood. The room turned more brighter, the walls now of marble and the lamp a statue of the most beautiful thing to a young teenage boy could think of, a woman.
"Emmond! Get your sassy butt out here!"
The room shattered back to its real form. Gritting his teeth over the lack of progress, Emmond half stomped into the living room.
"Apologize to your father."
"Sorry old man." Emmond said, his words oozing with enough sarcasm, that should it have a physical, edible form, it could end world hunger.
"Mean it!!" His mother glared at him.
"I'm sorry, I mean it." Emmond said while turning around. HIs mother clenched a fist and threw one of her shoes at him. It hit Emmond's head with a loud "Clonk!"
Grimacing in his doorway, his turned around, about to let his mind be known, and some of the things were not very pretty.
"Please stop the fighting! I can't take it! You drive me to drink!!" Emmond's father said, now on his knees, gripping the hem of his wife's apron. All eyes were on him for a few moments, then, all in silence, they each left to their respective rooms, the father staying in the living room and watching his daily soap opera.
"Emmond! Pop tarts are done!"
The image in his mind shattered and he was brought back to the real world, sitting in his room, fixing his clock. Cursing his love for simple snacks, he went out to the kitchen.
Snatching up the pair of cheap pastries, he bit into them, his gaping maw chewing loudly and sloppily.
"Chew like a human being!" His mother stood, arms akimbo, glaring at him. She was a short, fat woman, more homely than the ugly forest.
"I am a human being. You want be to chew like a robot." Emmond snapped.
"Don't you sass me!" The female smacked him over the head with a pot that she had been washing. She finished drying it and started cleaning a meat cleaver.
'Going to walk away while I still only have a bumb on my head.' Emmond though, shoving the remainder of his pop tarts into his mouth and chewed with his mouth defiantly open.
He returned to his room and continued his work, his imagination beginning to take over again. The walls turned to rough cut stone, his lamp now a torch. His pet gerbil turned into something that looked just as similar, but more magical.
"Emmond!"
Reality crashed into his psyche once more, his work interrupted, and likewise, his imagination. He returned to the living area of his house.
"Emmond! Take out the trash!" His father yelled at him, the smell of alcohol on his breath.
"You smell like you've had enough, old man." Emmond sneered.
"Dag burnit! You and that bartender are incahoots, aren't they?! My own flesh and blood." The middle aged and balding man started to sob and curled into a fetal position, sucking on the bottle of liquor like a baby bottle.
"Definetly had enough." Emmond went outside and dragged the trash can a whole ten feet to the curb.
When he returned inside, his mother was yelling at his father, whom was still in the fetal position and crying. Not one to waste an opportunity, Emmond retrieved a nearby camera and took a picture.
"Nothing like a Kodak moment." Emmond said, tossing the camera in the general direction of where it once had been.
Returning to his lair, his imagination fixed the ambiance to his mood. The room turned more brighter, the walls now of marble and the lamp a statue of the most beautiful thing to a young teenage boy could think of, a woman.
"Emmond! Get your sassy butt out here!"
The room shattered back to its real form. Gritting his teeth over the lack of progress, Emmond half stomped into the living room.
"Apologize to your father."
"Sorry old man." Emmond said, his words oozing with enough sarcasm, that should it have a physical, edible form, it could end world hunger.
"Mean it!!" His mother glared at him.
"I'm sorry, I mean it." Emmond said while turning around. HIs mother clenched a fist and threw one of her shoes at him. It hit Emmond's head with a loud "Clonk!"
Grimacing in his doorway, his turned around, about to let his mind be known, and some of the things were not very pretty.
"Please stop the fighting! I can't take it! You drive me to drink!!" Emmond's father said, now on his knees, gripping the hem of his wife's apron. All eyes were on him for a few moments, then, all in silence, they each left to their respective rooms, the father staying in the living room and watching his daily soap opera.