Night Out

When I finally came to, lying on my stomach on a paper-thin mattress, I groggily reached for whatever object underneath me had been stabbing me all night long. I rolled over onto my back and looked at the colorful, round object in my hand: a gashapon capsule with a tiny smiling mascot inside. I remembered a sea of the little plastic orbs rolling in unison across the floor and a blinking gashapon machine lying on its side to my right. I sat up and felt some sort of jostling in the pocket of my sweatshirt, which was considerably less surprising than the fact I had found myself in a single concrete cell. I carried lots of junk with me on a day that I wasn't mysteriously awakened in a jail cell, so I delved back into the pocket and pulled out a rolled-up, slightly sticky napkin with a phone number on it. A cute person sitting at the bar next to me in the restaurant - the same one soon to be overtaken by plastic balls - had given me the number after I made a really, really bad joke. Someone had started yelling then. I produced from my pocket a neatly folded receipt, one from the restaurant. I'd ordered two drinks and a plate of fried pickles, I realized as I unfolded the little rectangle of paper. Someone had been yelling when I got the receipt, the same someone who had been yelling at the tail end of the last memory, and I stood and listened to them silently as I folded up the receipt into smaller and smaller little rectangles. Then I'd started to walk away and they kept yelling about how I had no right to talk to them, how I'd made a big mistake. A tube of lemon mint chapstick was next on the list. I'd applied it all night thanks to my notoriously chapped lips, but I'd specifically applied it as I was leaving to seem purposefully unbothered by all the screaming and name-calling. The yeller sounded a little garbled, maybe a little drunk. A single quarter was the last thing I pulled out. I'd used another 75 cents on a gashapon machine by the entrance, the one with the odd little mascots. I'd hoped for the one that looked vaguely like a cat but ended up with one shaped like a banana, now lying on the cot beside me and smiling blankly toward the ceiling. I'd tried to use my last quarter on a cheaper machine full of plastic cats, but before I could place the coin in the slot a dark object went whizzing past my face and shattered on the floor. A small planter had been sitting on an empty table, and the angry patron hurled it right toward my head. Stunned, I turned toward him and tried to back up slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see an obviously panicked manager began to scurry over from across the restaurant but it was too late. The patron lunged. I panicked and grabbed the nearest gashapon machine, toppling it in front of me to block his path. Capsules bounced and rolled across the floor, apparently momentarily stunning my drunken adversary with their vivid colors. I too was apparently mesmerized by them because I realized after a moment of silence there was now a hand on my wrist. The patron tried to step over the machine but it was too wide and had to rethink his approach, giving me time to pull my arm back. His grip immediately loosened, sending me back into a stack of machines - the top one was out of order, and had apparently been moved up there to make room for the functional ones dispensing plastic cats. Metal creaked above me. I looked up in horror as the damaged appliance teetered forward, just enough to send it tumbling down. Having finally reconstructed the night, I rubbed the top of my head and noticed a row of stitches along a sore gash in my scalp. That wasn't good. I tried to calculate the cost of replacing imported Japanese machinery and the time it must have taken to search the entire building for the stray tiny mascots.I grabbed the capsule beside me and squeezed to pop it open, freeing the banana man from his plastic prison. He smiled at me.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

6th Blog Prompt

A poor young couple lived in a dilapidated house on a run down farm with hardly any food to eat or wood to warm their fire. The two young lovers worked tirelessly but struggled so much that they feared if something didn't change that they would soon die. The young woman walked into the woods and begged a witch for help. The witch agreed to provide them wealth and security in exchange for the woman's first born child. The desperate woman agreed and ran home. Meanwhile, the young man walked up into the mountains and found another witch to ask for help. He begged for food and money to provide for his loved one and keep the both of them safe. The witch agreed to provide for the same price - the man's first born child. Without realizing the promise his love had made, the man accepted the offer. Suddenly, the ground became incredibly fertile and the couple had more food, money and wealth than they knew what to do with. They spread it around their village and provided aid to...
Read more

Fourth Blog Prompt

I think the statement that border walls divide is more true. I think that borders and the division between people that they create tend to foster an unhealthy "us vs them" mentality and further push people away from other groups and communities. Closing yourself off with borders can also create an echo chamber and remove outside influences, perspectives, critique and analysis that may be beneficial to the society or group. However, I do think that borders and dividing walls have their uses.  I think they are most beneficial for certain groups of people. Border walls can be used to protect vulnerable groups, like marginalized races and identities, closed religions and groups heavily harmed by colonization. Creating a safe, divided space where harmful influences are kept out can allow damaged communities and people to grow and recover.
Read more

9th Blog Post

There is a large portion of conflict between adults and children in The Ocean at the End of the Lane due to the fact that adults and children, especially the unnamed boy narrator, seem to exist in different worlds. While the narrator is very aware of magic and the sinister forces at work, the adults seem oblivious to the bad things happening around them. There is also apparently no way to get through to them when they are under the spell of Ursula Monkton, leaving our narrator alone without any adult support except from the Hempstocks. The adults are also used as a barrier in the story to keep the narrator from reaching his goals, like Ursula intercepting him when he tries to escape or his father actually trying to drown  him as punishment for disrespecting Ursula. Adults are of no help to the boy and he instead has to navigate around them during his adventure. The conflict is never truly resolved since the narrator's story ends while he is still young and his adult self reflecting...
Read more