Finding the Golden EggMature

Challenge I did over the Summer.

I could hear the echoes of (my mentor) Beth’s whip cracking in the air. Metaphorically, of course. But I wouldn’t have put it past her to grab a real one if I had left this challenge a day longer. So it was on a rather gloomy Friday, after having finished watching Buffy (gotta get my Spike fix from somewhere), I switched on my mother’s old Mac and waited as it loaded at a speed slower than a dead snail. The computer hummed and groaned and the monitor flickered. It unsettled me for a moment, even stopped me spinning around in the office chair for a few seconds – which, if my mother caught me doing, I probably wouldn’t live to see what the next challenge was. I convinced myself it was just the Mac wanting some attention. I mean, this thing was ancient enough to be the iPod Classic’s great-great Auntie. Suddenly I found myself being propelled off my seat and hurled straight towards my computer screen. But instead of getting my face smushed up on the glass – something that I like to do to freak out the perverts that look into my bedroom window from the street – I passed right through. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.” I yelled. No I didn’t scream. I YELLED OKAY?! And if it was a scream, it was dignified and manly. Like Thor’s. If he ever screamed. I found myself standing in a pixelated field of wheat. It took me roughly 3.5 seconds to glance at the rest of my surroundings and work out that there was only one online game, excluding minecraft, that could get away with having such appaulingly bad graphics: Runescape. “Wtf does this hav 2 do wif Hogwarts?” My dialogue appeared above my head in that familiar yellow text. Perhaps, I thought, I could contact a few of my old runescape buddies and we can all head down to Lumbridge and claim the castle there. Then we can insist to all the other players that it is Hogwarts and not let any non-member noob scum in because they are all muggles. How’s that for making it HP related? I was just about to reach into my pocket and pull out my nokia (in keeping with the medieval theme) when a message from Professor Oak pops up in front of me – now is not the time for that! “Then wtf am I ‘sposed 2 do. There’s a reason y I stopped playin rs. There’s nothing 2 do on this ****.” Bloody censors! Suddenly another player walked into the pixelated field. “Hi!” I waved at him. He didn’t respond, which was kinda rude even if I did sound like one of those annoying players that would randomly strike up a conversation with you and then ask to be your runescape girl/boyfriend. Ugh please! They had to give me at least 2mil or expensive armour before I agreed and never spoke to them ever again. Then it occurred to me that he might actually be an NPC and that I only need to click on him for a string of repetitve, pointless dialogue. However, as I was in the computer I had no mouse. That probably meant I had to travel to the nearest city and find a rat to wave about in his face. But that also meant effort, so I did the next best thing. I punched him. “Ouch!” He said, his face a comical expression of pixelated anger. “You didn’t have to click so hard!” “If you don’t hand over that golden egg, I will click you harder,” I threatened. “I might even click you right in your pixelated balls.” “You’re forgetting that I am simply a result of ill-thought-out computer programing software. I don’t actually feel any pain.” “I’ll set Beth on you and then we shall see, won’t we?” “Oh no, please don’t! Look, if I could just hand the golden object which you desire to you I would. But its simply not in my programming!” “’Kay, what do I have to do?” I asked, impatiently tapping my foot. I had no time for a whining NPCs. I already had people in real life who were all too happy to moan at me. “My task is short: you must find my wizard’s hat!” “You mean that blue isosceles triangle beside your feet?” I bent down to pick up. “No, no, no!” He practically shrieked. “You can’t do that. First you must go to Falador and learn the skills required for such a complex movement.” “Well Mister Lost Hat Guy. Why don’t you use your vast wizarding powers and magic it up yourself?” “It is not in my programing.” “You know what? Screw you!” Before he could stop me, I snatched it up off the ground and shoved it onto his head. In the corner, a notification read: your cheat [COMMON SENSE] was successful. “Here is your reward,” he handed me a golden ticket. I stared at him. “What the hell is this? I asked for the golden EGG you fool!” He smirked and disappeared. I grumbled under my breath and walked out of the wheat field. I didn’t know where on Earth (was I even still on Earth?) I was headed, but I supposed as I got given this ticket I might as well start looking for a factory of some kind. Preferably a chocolate one. Hardy har har. A WILD MOM APPEARS! What the-? But the song of my childhood cut me off. It’s what I like to call the Random Pokemon Attack Theme Tune. But it didn’t make any sense…(A bit like this story.) I guess it was probably because I had been walking through long grass for a while now. But really! A mother as a pokemon? Have the makers gotten that desperate?! YOU SEND OUT STROPPY TEENAGER. {Oh, here we go…} WILD MOM USES NAG! STROPPY TEENAGER’S DEFENCE DECREASES BY 15%. STROPPY TEENAGER USES SARCASTIC REMARK! WILD MOM BECOMES FULL OF RAGE. WILD MOM USES GROUNDING. A CRITICAL HIT! {Oh crap! I’m going to lose! Quick – let’s see if I can catch it.} TRAINER THROWS POKEBALL, BUT WILD MOM FLEES. {Bloody typical. -_-} Finally, I discovered a factory. Sure, it was not called Willy Wonka, but Billy Plonker is close enough, right? I stumbled towards the huge iron gates, my legs aching more than they did when I braved the Duke of Edinburgh practice hike, and called up to the gatekeeper gazing down at me from his post. “Oi! Tosser,” I called up at him, in too bad a mood to consider ettiquette. “Let me in.” “Sorry, miss,” he cried back. I noticed he was wearing nose plugs. “You need a ticket to be permitted entry, and besides, you wouldn’t wanna go in there anyway.” “I couldn’t give a flying f*ck about whether I would want to or not. Unless, of course, I could grab hold of that f*ck and fly over those bloody gates.” I crammed my hand into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled golden ticket. “How’s this for a ticket?” He squinted down at my hand and then made a gesture towards something behind him. The gates started to creak open. I stood in the middle of a concrete hall, my hands over my mouth and nose, my eyes red and watering. Similar to Willy Wonka’s factory, its main produce was brown. Only it was definitely not chocolate! Seems I had walked into a sewage factory. Heavy, echoing footsteps clattered against the hard floor several yards away. I turned in the direction I had heard them from (duh!) and saw a man, mid-forties, a bit on the plumb side and greying hair. “Welcome to my factory, young miss.” He went to shake my hand, but I stepped away, knowing better than to touch someone who, by the permanent smile that stretched across his face, enjoyed working with poo. “Your final task,” he announced, seemingly unoffended by my refusal of physical contact. “Is that you must give up on your Spike addiction.” He was about to say more but my woah woah woahs interrupted him. “You’re asking me to give up on THE LOVE OF MY LIFE?!” “He’s a fictional character!” “So?! Look. There must be something – anything – that I could do besides giving up my beloved Spike.” “Well,” he said, drawing the word out. Literally – like actually pulling out a notepad and putting it in bubble writing. “I suppose that you could fight the dragon under the factory…?” “What? Like where all the sewage is?” He nodded. “Fine. If it means I can keep my Spikey I will do anything.” I spotted the stairs and started to climb down them. “Wait! Don’t you need a weapon of some kind? Like a sword.” “No thanks. I got my Nokia.” Two minutes later, after defeating the dragon (cba to write about the details), I found myself standing in my kitchen. And there, right in front of me, was the golden egg sitting in the empty slot of an open egg box. “F*cking figures!”
The End

0 comments about this story Feed