“It’s like I’m a perverted Sherlock Holmes, being watched in a chair by a horny Watson.”
During the last stream, a subscriber picked that we write a story based on this image:
Watch the full video here to see all the different possibilities we had for the story, or scroll down to read what we wrote.
Here’s what we came up with:
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed. Or, at least, I think it’s unfamiliar. My head feels like a boulder is grinding against it, and everything is blurry. Sitting up is like pulling myself on strings through thick syrup, without any of the sweetness. Acid burns inside of me; I can smell it leaking out my mouth. God, what did I do last night?
That’s when I see him, sitting across from me in the bedroom. He’s a man my age, probably just out of college too, sitting with his elbows on his knees, chin propped up on his laced fingers, grinning at me. His long blonde hair hangs down nearly to his shoulders and it’s stiff with grease, as if he hasn’t showered in a couple of days. Thankfully I can’t smell him over the gases from my own gurgling insides.
“What are you doing in my room?” I ask, my voice scratchy and hoarse. I guess that’s to be expected after whatever I did yesterday. I hope I didn’t do anything I’ll regret with this guy. He looks like a total creeper. Although there’s something familiar about him that I just can’t seem to clasp onto in my mind.
He doesn’t reply, just keeps sitting there staring. Although maybe it’s my imagination, but his eyes seem to grow wide with excitement just by me talking.
Now I’m starting to feel sick. I know I must’ve done something awful, it’s just a matter of narrowing it down at this point. I look around for any clues: empty bottles, bags of weed, condom wrappers. It’s like I’m a perverted Sherlock Holmes, being watched in a chair by a horny Watson.
But as I look around, things feel like they make less sense, not more. This is my room, it has to be, but it doesn’t feel like my room. No one else would have posters of both My Little Pony and Robocop on the wall. My blanket is the same Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one I’ve had since elementary school. Despite that though, it still feels like something is off.
“Do you know who I am?” the guy across from me asks. I snap to him. He’s sitting normally now, leaning back in the black office chair. Black stains cover his white shirt. I don’t remember having that chair in my room.
“I have no idea who the hell you are,” I tell him, my voice still crackly. I try to clear it, but it’s like my throat’s seized up to the size of a straw. I’m surprised I can even talk. I’m not feeling it so much now, but I’m guessing I’ll have a killer sore throat in an hour or so.
“Does the name Adam ring a bell to you?” he asks, shifting to lean on one hand.
Oh crap. It does.
“You’re that guy from the IT department,” I say. I don’t mention the fact that he’s the one who always comes to help when my computer freezes, even though there’s like ten people that work in the department. Or that he always finds time to slide by my cubicle and ask how things are going. Or that he accidentally brushes against me every time he needs to extend his hands to type on my keyboard.
“That’s all I am?” he asks, sounding disappointed. “What about all those gifts I gave you?”
How could I forget about those. The Star Wars Valentine’s card that he printed out for me and left on my chair with “You’re the droid I’m looking for” on it. The edible arrangement he had delivered that was nothing but honeydew and cantaloupe, my favorite fruits, and no grapes because they taste like sewage. And of course, the Charmander Build-A-Bear on my birthday that was sitting there waiting for me in its collector’s edition box.
I guess all of that would’ve been nice, if maybe he’d actually shown up for any of them. Instead he’d just have them silently arrive, waiting for me, and then not say a word about them later. Even when he came over to help with computer stuff, he wouldn’t mention them. He’d just give me these weird stares, breathing heavily, as the pungent smell of his sweaty armpits filled up my small working space. It immediately turned his kind-yet-slightly-weird gestures into straight creepy.
Now I’m really hoping I didn’t do anything I’ll regret with him.
“Adam,” I say with a groan. “Why are you here? What did we do last night?”
“Well,” he says, finally standing up. “Not much, actually.”
I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel any deeper than my normal breaths. Maybe because of my constricted throat?
“However,” Adam says, walking up to the edge of my bed. “What we’ve done together over the past week is truly magnificent.”
The acid inside of me churns hard as I stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
Adam shakes a finger in the air. “Let me tell you a story. A story about a boy in love with a girl.”
“Adam,” I interrupt. I feel like my heart should be beating wildly and I should be jumping out of bed at him, but none of it’s happening.
“This boy did everything he could to make the girl happy,” Adam continues. “But despite his efforts, all the girl did was scorn him. So the boy had to try one last desperate measure to get her attention. He decided to surprise her with a proposal, ring and all, right as she was leaving for the day. She’d be so happy to get a nice surprise after a long work day, he thought. Plus, she never bothered to lock the doors to her car, so the boy sat there in her driver’s seat, waiting for her, present on his lap.
“But wouldn’t you know it? When she finally arrived, late no less, and opened the door, he gave her the present, but all she gave him was a scream. She told him she was going to get him fired and ran away. But the boy couldn’t have that. He ran after her, and threw the box to get her attention. He didn’t mean to hit her in the head. He didn’t mean to knock her into a metal pillar. He didn’t mean for her to collapse to the ground, dead.”
“Adam,” I say, feeling like I should have a chill running through me but there was nothing but a low humming sound. “What did you do to me?”
“Another gift to you,” he says, gripping the edge of my blanket. “And one that you’ll have to accept this time.”
He yanks back the blanket, revealing what should be my legs. All that’s there is a tangle of cold wires.
The bottom half of me is gone, like it’s been sawed away. My stomach is nothing but a blue pulsating light, whirring and cranking with the spinning of internal gears and pumps. I reach down and my flesh hands pass right through the empty space where my legs should be. I want to scream but something is stopping me.
“You’re lucky,” Adam says. “There was enough of your brain left for me to hook it up to this body of yours I’ve been working on. It’s not done yet, but it’s good for now. Although maybe it’s better this way. I kind of like you not having legs to run away with. Although some other points may need a bit of adjustment.”
My vision crackles, snaps. Adam moves closer. Static everywhere. My everything shakes violently. Bursts of light and darkness. I fall. Shut off. Blackness.
Hours. Days. Lifetimes later, my eyes reopen. Adam is sitting in front of me as I lie in bed.
Of course I’m lying in bed. I can’t go anywhere else. I don’t want to go anywhere else.
“Do you know who I am?” Adam asks, resting his chin on his entwined fingers.
“Yes,” I reply. I do my best to struggle toward him. It’s hard without legs, but worth it. I crawl over the covers of the bed like a worm, dragging myself toward Adam. I lean over the edge and run my fingers through his beautiful golden hair. “You are my love. My life. My Adam.”
He smiles back at me. It’s everything I’ve always wanted.
“And you are my Eve,” he says.
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Hope to see you next time, friend!
