(cont.) (darn-anti spam filter!!!) Chapter Two Michael Vallson was a “good person” and “would one day find a girl who appreciated that”. At least, that’s what his mom told him. She told it to him, about 5 times a month- basically, whenever one of his girlfriends finally gave up. In reality, it wasn’t their faults. Wait. It was all their faults. THEY were the ones who “went steady” with them in the first place. THEY were the ones who couldn’t take his “hours of operation”. And THEY were the ones who were furious with themselves the next morning for feeling sorry for Michael. But Michael didn’t care. Another one would come into his life shortly, drawn in solely by his boyish good looks and his way with subtleties of Java. Soon after Beth left him, or “walked home” as far as he was concerned, Michael’s thoughts drifted to more pressing matters. As he traveled back up the walk to his home, thoughts shifted through his head like a broken candy machine set too high to begin with. “I wonder who’ll be in my next story?” was the first thought Michael truly became aware of. Soon after: “What’ll it be about?” and “Maybe I should make a thread about this -blam!-”. Suddenly, a two lone thoughts entered his head, murdered all the others, and made themselves known. “The Septagon” was one. And the other, the leader, happened to be “Star Wars”. Now the thoughts were coming so fast, Michael failed to notice the noise of his mom’s vacuuming in the den as he raced up the steps. Again he pushed open his door, flipped, rather, pushed, the monitor on, and about fell into his chair. Michael turned on some trance music and all other manner of things in existence ceased to do so. It was almost as though he was in a tunnel and the monitor was the beautiful light at the end of it. Again, words flared into his head, and, again, Michael transferred them to Times New Roman. One paragraph, then two, then three. The keyboard was like and extension of his mind. It was all coming together in black and white before his eyes. This is what would make him popular on those forums. This was his ticket to moddom. Finally, with a sigh, Michael let his arms flop to his sides. He sank down in his chair, and with such an assurance that it startled even him, Michael said, “This is the sh1t” --------------------------------------------------------- “21 posts? 21 posts?! What the -blam!-? What the -blam!- do those asswholes know anyway?!” Michael was swearing viciously and violently kicking vacant piles of clothes around. His “ticket to moddom” had only gotten 21 replies on the forum, and most were taken up by a conversation between two other members. “Probably a lot” Michael said despairingly, continuing his furious remark form moments ago. Having no real friends, other than Hank, Michael idolized most of the forum goers. And, to have them not acknowledge his stories broke his heart. He sadly and slowly turned off his computer and sat down his bed, head in hands. All the thoughts had been driven from his head and it was just a dark, squishy, lonely place. Soon, Michael turned from a sitting to a laying position. He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep. He got no more than five minutes before his mom’s voice penetrated the air. “MICHAEL! YOU GOT ANOTHER VISITOR! SAYS HIS NAME IS CRYPT AND YOU GOT SUMTHIN” OF HIS!” Chapter Three Crypt was the epitome of “the most pimped out mo-fo evah”, as Michael so eloquently put it once, toward the beginning of his relationship with Crypt. This was, mind you, before he realized that Crypt was an adolescent jerk with a wicked taste for hustling the local kids out of their lunch money at Tetris.