The Monopoly Board

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It was a regular evening in a small town on the coast of California, I've lived here pretty much my hole life. The year where a Korean guy's song was played on the radio and we hadn't given up on skinny jeans, ironic looking back. After spending all day hanging out with my friends outside, I couldn't help but notice that the hairs upon my very own neck hadn't settled since I closed my front door behind me earlier that very day. As my mind began to stray and hypothesize, my Omar friend was quick to invite us into his home. We obliged. We had grown tired of hanging out outside. I wish we hadn't. He walks us in through the backyard door, everything is normal so far. But why is my hairs standing straight? It feels like an iron ingot is weighing down on my neck. The sliding door squeaks as it shuts. Just me and my other friend wait outside for Omar to change his pants for reasons unknown to us. Before I'm able to turn to my friend, let's call him Jon, to confirm my suspicion, he makes his way the some shelves in the corner of the backyard. I'm am hesitating to follow. He reaches for the mint colored Monopoly box, hardly worn. I feel the ingot slid off my neck as I began to relax. "We should play this," suggest Jon in a seemingly lighthearted fashion. I agree with him, what else could we have done that day? Anything. God, I wish we did anything else. Play some stupid video games, eat some burgers from the shady burger shack down the street, or even catch snakes and various reptiles. Eager to play, he begins unboxing it to set up the board for Omer's arrival. The cardboard slides off the top and I feel the ingot on my neck again. What? Why now? As we peer inside there's something else staring back at me. The image is burned into my retinas to this day. I quake and quiver as I type this. One single hyper-realistic pube rests inside the box. John and I are stunned. No words. The rest of the Monopoly pieces appear to still be there, resting on top of the board. But there was no reason for them to still be there, we weren't going to play that. The sounds and liveliness of the neighborhood is drowned out by the sound of our sweat running down our heads and the sound of our heart beats. Jon is slow to close the box. I can't think of how he felt being that close he quickly returns it and when he turns around I see it on his face: pale, yellow, drained fear. His eyes dart to the ground as we both attempt to make an escape. A familiar sound breaks the ringing silence. The squeak of the sliding door. "I'm back..." says Omar...



Credited to babalharra 

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