Categories > Original > Humor > Crack Series: Room 205
Unimportant Fictional Death
0 reviewsIn this actiony chapter, people's lives are on the line.
0Unrated
“Son, I never took you to see a marching band, The Black Parade in particular, because I did not want you to become emo.” Mr. H Senior said.
"What? An Emotionally Molested Ostrich?”
“No, but that's not the point.” Mr. H Senior said.
“Then what is?”
Mr. H Senior gave his son The EYE. “Go get me some ice cream,” he commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
The sixth period class for Room 205 on the third floor filed in.
“Whoa! A time-warped Mr. H!”
A punky-goth-guy-person three stories below with a crazy neon pink mohawk walked silently to “non-class” to smoke some form of a new drug. (Use your imagination) Something in Mr. H Senior snapped. He charged through the newly repaired window and onto the waiting (not so much) punky-goth-guy-person.
FATALITY
Mr. H Jr. walked into the classroom. “They didn't have ice cream so I got pot brownies.” He noticed his father was not there. He looked around curiously. “Dad?”
Mr. H Senior stepped in, cut, bruised, and covered in not entirely his own blood. He grabbed the (pot) brownies from his son. “Goodbye.” With that he jumped through the only remaining unshattered window.
"What? An Emotionally Molested Ostrich?”
“No, but that's not the point.” Mr. H Senior said.
“Then what is?”
Mr. H Senior gave his son The EYE. “Go get me some ice cream,” he commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
The sixth period class for Room 205 on the third floor filed in.
“Whoa! A time-warped Mr. H!”
A punky-goth-guy-person three stories below with a crazy neon pink mohawk walked silently to “non-class” to smoke some form of a new drug. (Use your imagination) Something in Mr. H Senior snapped. He charged through the newly repaired window and onto the waiting (not so much) punky-goth-guy-person.
FATALITY
Mr. H Jr. walked into the classroom. “They didn't have ice cream so I got pot brownies.” He noticed his father was not there. He looked around curiously. “Dad?”
Mr. H Senior stepped in, cut, bruised, and covered in not entirely his own blood. He grabbed the (pot) brownies from his son. “Goodbye.” With that he jumped through the only remaining unshattered window.
Sign up to rate and review this story