That Depressed Old Lady: Difference between revisions

You can stare at the ceiling for 4 hours and move on with your life, watch porn or switch to cocaine. I always choose the latter. It's good while it lasts. Or maybe the last two at the same time.

 

 

 

I was an intern at a local county fair, learning the psychological principles of the human mind, trying to figure out our own squishy sponge between our ears, and also taking the time to take the ferris wheel for some spins, when I stumbled upon this old lady.

I went home, entered Google Maps, and searched the sequence of numbers and letters, only to find a street a few blocks away from the county fair.

 

 

I'd soon find out.

When I arrived at my destination, night had fallen upon me, and it was fucking scary, because darkness.

 

 

Empty.

There was only one door in the end of the hallway. When I got close, blood started to come out beneath it. I thought it was a glitch, so I ignored it. But when I got even closer, the blood started to consume the door, so I screamed. I wasn't going to touch that. No, no old lady would tell me what to do. I curled into a ball and a demon invaded my thoughts. For some reason.

 

 

"How do you know my name?"

After that, she made tea, and we talked about our pets. She was really nice and anticlimactic, and even offered to call a cab. All she wanted was some help cutting the lawn, and seeing I was full of packs, I was the perfect candidate. My family might've thought I was dead for a while so I called them, and it was all very emotional and shit, and I went home.

 

 

My phone never ran out of battery.