Our school paper EIC (Editor-in chief) asked me to write a story that’s supposed to make the reader’s laugh but is written in seriously. And this is what I got out of my head. I don’t know if this will make you laugh. Tell me, if it does.
Don’t ever think this story will teach you an important lesson. If you don’t, keep reading. If you do, still keep reading. . . . . . if you dare. Remember, don’t ever think that this story will teach you an important lesson. This won’t.
It was past 9 in the evening. I just got out of school after working on a science project. I waited at the bus station which was in front of a television shop. I stared at the shop. All ten televisions displayed were playing the same show at once. It was a popular classic TV show. There’s this cat that’s always chasing this mouse in an attempt to eat the latter. And for some impossible reason, this mouse is always able to come up with an awesome plan of tricking the cat. I smile to myself. Classic. I whispered. I never liked this show. I hated it.
The light of the lamp-post beside me started flickering. Odd. I thought. I turned around and saw the bus has already arrived.
The door opened for me and I climbed and took a seat halfway into the bus. There were a few people around. There was an old man, a hippie guy with headphones on, a mother and son, the bus driver, and the ticketman. The door didn’t close for about two minutes.
“Hello?” I said to the ticketman, “who are we waiting for?”
The ticketman scowled. “Don’t be rude, kid. Can’t you see they’re still loading their stuff?”
I swallowed. They’re? I thought. I shook my head. Whatever. I thought. Lunatic. Lots of them these days.
I opened my bag and took my iPod out, plugged in the earphones and put them on my ear. I started scrolling down to look for a good song. Then all of a sudden, I hear Budots playing. I scowled and looked for that insufferable human playing that disdainful song. I looked but all of them have vacant stares. Well, except for the hippie guy who seems to be very happy with whatever he was doing. I remove my earphones and exclaimed, “Um….hello…whoever is playing Budots please turn it down.”
They stared at me as if I was crazy so I turned back to my iPod and put my earphones on again. My eyes widened with what I found. I was the one playing Budots. But I don’t remember having that song. I turned my iPod off and put it back inside my bag. The bus had stopped. I paid the ticketman and got off the bus. It left and I crossed the street. Just as I reached the other side of the road, someone shoved me to a wall from behind. The person pinned me to the wall with his arms pressed on my neck and my back.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Nothing.” It was a man.
“What?!” I exclaimed. He turned me over so I could face him, and he looked at me with disdain. I couldn’t make out his face.
“This is Gangnam, bro!” he said. “This is how we do it here in Gangnam! This is Gangnam style!”
I pushed him and waled away. Crazy man. I thought. I crossed the street to the next block. I continued walking until I noticed something was up. I looked to my left and found myself sta1ring at Mt. Fuji. My jaw dropped and I broke into a run. I got to the next block, panting. I put my hand over my chest. My hear beat faster.
“Oi!” someone shouted. The man was crossing the street. He pointed a finger at me. I squinted my eyes, trying to see who it was. He was a soldier. He was speaking to me in some other language. I examined his clothes. There was patch with a Nazi sign. He kept talking, shouting at me. Then I hear gun shots. Suddenly all these Jews started appearing. The man chased me as I turned my head to see him. I kept running, not looking back. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore. I can’t outrun this man. I only opened my eyes when I hear noise. Noise? What? I stopped and opened my eyes. I looked back to see the Nazi man was no longer following me. The place was very bright. There were a lot of people. Americans. I think. I looked around. Towering buildings and entertainment all over the place. Oh God. I thought to myself. Not Time Square.
I quickly made my way out of Time Square. I was back at the bus stop. The bus stop in front of the television shop. I looked at the television. It was a different show now. There was a man looking straight at the audience. He was looking at me. I walked away. That man was scaring the hell out of me.
“Don’t be rude, kid.” someone said. I looked around. The ticketman. He said that to me. What did he. . . . oh no. Words aren’t coming out, now. What the. . . . . . oh no.
This is a true story. Riding a bus could never get this scary. This is a warning. You’re reading this now, sitting somewhere holding the school paper. This will happen to you, too. Be warned. This is not a chain message. I haven’t died. No. But you’ll. . . . . . . . . . . asdfghjkl.