The call for brains escaped Bob’s mouth. He remembered the good old days before the blight had swept the realm. Brains were everywhere, plentiful if a bit pickled in the alcohol and first and second hand cigarette smoke. Over time the smoke for the most part cleared, but then the new blight began to spread. More and more zombies were created, leaving him starved for the brains he craved. Still Bob soldiered on, looking for that most precious commodity. Those damn screens have destroyed so many brains, leaving Bob to lecture at those zombies instead of teaching. Brains. Brains! BRAINS!
I call for misery, but it does not come. It leaves me in a state of malaise, a state for which I do not have a passport to. You would think that depression, insignificance, or any of their ilk would be at ones beck and call. They are not invited to most places. They are the uncool kids who find out where the part was from a friend of a friend and crash it. I invited them. I even brought the alcohol and drugs, all they could use, and yet here I am all alone with apathy. I’m effed up!
Harry was half listening to his mandatory job training. His current one was on working in a drug and alcohol free workplace. Harry thought this was a total waste of time, then he realized he could use it as a writing prompt. Harry began brainstorming what he could write about. Should he try to write about an angel who was addicted to devil’s food cake? How about a demon who was addicted to Mexican soap operas? As the training droned on and on Harry knew one thing, he wasn’t going to even think about addiction. The training killed his buzz.