"This report is ok"
-Smoked Pork, on YRM's WW3FFA reports.
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| A Tale of Epic Proportions, dammit. | | | Author: | | | IP: | bgp55925XXXX | | Date: | 04/18/02 07:04 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 5, Min: 5
Lifetime Rating for huker: 5.0000 |  | | Die you goddam Fanfic haters
The ten year-old boy, his name was Patrick Wong, was halfway into his room when he screamed. Everything was open. The drawers were pulled out, the beanbags were shredded, his pillow was lying on top of his life-size Barney doll, and the closet doors stood ajar. When everything registered, he U-turned in his tracks and ran down the hallway back toward the staircase, slipping and sliding in his pink bunny slippers as he almost tripped over the leg of chair. Once there, he began bounding down the steps in twos, forgetting altogether the wooden banister that ran alongside him.
Even before he began his descent, though, Patrick knew what had happened. They were ghosts of course; they had to be. They were the ghosts, and they had come into his room and just messed everything up.
”Mommy!” he called, just as he challenged the last three stairs with a single leap, “Mommy! There are ghosts in my room! Look, look!”
His mother, sitting in front of the family computer, stubbed her cigarette in an ashtray and looked up. “Are there really?”
“Yes! Come see for yourself!”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Go do your homework. Or have you finished it already? We’re having dinner soon.”
“No, really! They pulled everything out, and my closet is open and all my stuff is on the floor and…”
“What? Are you clothes on the floor? Let me have a look, you’ll have to clean that up, you know.”
“Yea! No, no, the ghosts did it! They have to clean up!”
The boy’s mother glanced again at the computer screen, looked back at Patrick’s wide eyes, and then logged off her online account with a sigh.
“C’mon. Hurry,” the boy said as they walked up the stairs, tugging his mother’s hand behind him.
The mother screamed, too, not at any ghost but at the obvious mess in Patrick’s room. The scream was only for a second, though, for she soon felt two little hands push her from behind. In her surprised state, she lost her balance and fell into the room, landing her elbow on a yellow toy truck. Patrick reached into the room for the doorknob, found it, and slammed the door shut. Borrowing a trick he had seen in the movies, he took the chair from the hallway and jammed the top under the groove of the doorknob.
“Hey! Patrick!” he heard his mother yell, followed by her pounding on the door. Patrick retreated down the steps, slower now, only one stair at a time. He walked over to the family computer and propped himself up onto the chair in front. Reaching into his underwear, he pulled out the hidden Brood War CD and began dialing up the Internet with a satisfied smirk on his face. Mission accomplished.
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