... to the hospital. It was a beautiful, normal, and peaceful day. The birds were high in their treetops, singing the day's song and chattering like children. The trees themselves extended their branches out into the sunlight and swayed back and forth from the gentle, cool wind that soared quietly through the blue painted sky. The shadows of the tall buildings and waving trees gave the ground below a shady and comfortable feel. I crossed the street, making rude hand gestures to the cars that honked so angrily at my right of way and stepped onto the soft, jade grass cooled by the trees shade.
I stepped onto the sidewalk that lied in front of the hospital and looked at it with a determined smile. I made an appointment concerning my recent noxious headaches that was scheduled that day. So, eager to rid myself of this annoying pain, I entered the hospital and was greeted by a nurse.
"Good morning, you ugly cretin," I had said bitterly. For some reason, this was a wrong thing to say to a woman, because the nurse's response was a foul grimace that only made her face all the more painful to look at. It didn't help that she wore such revealing clothing that exposed her ugly folds of fat.
"Excuse me?" she sneered in a high-pitched, witch-like voice that I'm sure would make children cry.
I thought perhaps she was mocking me, so I proceeded to give her the finger and walked to the reception counter. "I have an appointment," I said to the forty-year-old receptionist who tried desperately to look like she was still in her youthful twenties.
At this, she flipped her blonde-dyed hair, looked at me with eyes surrounded by heavy eye shadow, blinked morosely with fat eyelashes, and gazed at me with a wrinkly face that was poorly covered-up in layers upon layers of make-up. "Yeah, sure, whatever, go to the room, he'll be waiting, get out of my face."
This was the usual routine every time I went in for a check-up or had a problem concerning my health, which is usually fan-friggin-tastic. I'd insult the ugly nurses, and have a showdown with the in-denial receptionist.
But today, something was different, wrong, off, whatever you want to call it. So I grabbed the stack of folders full of documents on the counter and tossed them on the floor, kicking them across the room or against the walls, watching the papers fly out and the priceless face of the ugly receptionist. I proceeded to give her the finger and walked down the hallway to the elevator that led to the fourth floor, which was the floor where my doctor dwells.
I barged in before knocking like I always do and sat on the bed. "Hey, doc, I'm here for the appointment. Check out my friggin head before it explodes from the insane amount of pressure I am feeling for no apparent reason and you will have to clean up the mess. Fix it, please," I said with high respect.
There was no response. I figured he was probably somewhere else or something. But, that same feeling of something being wrong crept over me like an annoying, curious pedestrian breathing down my neck to read the newspaper I was reading at the bench at the bus stop because he was too lazy to buy his own so he has the tendency to just make me feel uncomfortable as he gets his fill of the daily news while standing behind a bench.
This feeling soon escalated when the doc walked in. But he wasn't my doc. He was this extremely tall man wearing a well-ironed, black business suit with a neat tie and black, sleek slacks. His face was completely blank, devoid of any facial features or expressions. It was just... a blank slate. A template, if you will. He wore a stethoscope around his pale neck and held a clipboard in his hands. He looked at it and flipped through the pages.
"James is it?" He said in a cold, dark voice.
I shuddered at his voice, but managed to say proudly, "Yes, sir."
He nodded slowly, creepily, and just plain wrongly. "You are the one with the splitting headaches. Ah! I see your problem."
"What is it?"
"Well, James, that brain has got to come out." He tilted his head to his right, studying the paper curiously. Suddenly, the clipboard caught on fire, and he dropped it in surprise. "Oh, crap, sorry!" He said as he stamped his feet on the board until the flames were extinguished. "I guess we'll have to call another order in for new clipboards."
"Hey wait a minute!" I said, jumping up from the table. "You're the Slendy!"
At this point in time, he looked at me curiously. "No I'm not."
"Yes you are, I can tell."
"No I'm not."
"Don't lie, you know it to be true."
"Listen, buddy, I have a hard time working here and it is just rude to be calling me names. I am very sensitive when it comes to words, James. Now please, that brain has to come out."
"No!" I shouted furiously. "I'm not going to let you take me!" I then proceeded to give him the finger.
"Please, I'm not Slender Man!"
"Yes you are!"
At that accusation, tentacles shot out from his back and lunged straight at me. However, I grabbed out the Sword of Gryffindor and sliced them! He shouted in pain, and I did a double flip into the air and stabbed where he was, but he disappeared! So I stabbed the roof.
"I just need to take out your brain and put it back in! Please!" The Slendy plead.
"Never!" I imitated in Luke Skywalker's voice, which then I proceeded to give him the finger. I swung my sword like a madman until I managed to cut a wound into his torso. He screamed shrilly, and my ears certainly blew from the sheer volume of the screech. Black oil-like liquid oozed from the gash and fell to the floor.
Suddenly, Slendy used Hyper Beam! However, I managed to dodge it. He needed a turn to recharge, so he disappeared.
In that time I managed to lay down a trap card.
So right when Slendy appeared, I flipped the trap card up. It was Bottomless Trap Hole! Slendy suddenly died, and I rejoiced.
But it doesn't end yet. Suddenly, Masky busted out from the closet and pushed me.
"Yo dude come on," I said, and swung the sword.
Masky deflected it with his mask and killed me.
But I didn't die. I proceeded to give him the finger and ran, and apparently Slendy didn't die either.
I had to make a blog post detailing these events, as no one would believe me. I post it on the internet because then people will believe me and help me fight this fight.
I am counting on you, my loyal readers who I talk as though they are numerous but are probably only 1-6, to somehow help me.
