Sometimes When I Agree to Meet Someone Somewhere, Ill Arrive Just a Little Early and Set All the Clocks Ahead Exactly Seventeen Minutes. Then, When They Finally Get There, I Act All Indignant About How They Dont Value My Time.
The last Bethany remembered, she was at the state fair with her closest friends. Now there was only darkness.
The ground felt cold and hard as she struggled to her feet and slowly turned in circles. So complete was the blackness around her that she could not tell the difference between having her eyes open or shut. Unable to perceive whatever threats could potentially lurk out of sight, she opted to remain in one place as her mind raced in her attempt to remember how she had come to be in this empty place.
Somewhere in the darkness emanated the heavy thud of a lever being thrown, and a single bulb dangling from above flickered to life. Below it was a table made of stainless steel, its surface covered in an array of precisely ordered instruments of unknown function or purpose, their wicked metal edges and points gleaming in the glaring light.
Bethany staggered over to the table, her mind struggling to comprehend what was happening, to understand why anyone would have brought her to this terrible place to face what was certainly to be a horrible fate. At length, she was finally able to articulate her confusion and despair for the darkness all around her to hear.
Mooooooooooooooooooooo.
Oh good, came a voice from the gloom. I see youve found my little collection. Behind the table and into the light stepped a man with a luscious head of hair that absolutely did not start thinning when he hit his thirties, his improbably perfect BMI score evident from his chiseled features and rippling muscles. Well technically its not really my collection, he continued. My own collection of torture implements is totally vintage and far too valuable to use on a silly little diversion such as this. No, these are just rentals.
Moooooooooooooooooooooo, mooed Bethany.
A grin of perfectly white, straight teeth spread across the mans face. The sort of smile that would make you swear that he had to have had some work done and make you want to end your own life when you realized that no, he was really just that perfect. Oh, I wouldnt worry, he assured his guest. I wont let you suffer long. I only have this venue until five, then I need to clear out for a Bat Mitzvah. Its just a rental.
Allow me to introduce myself, he continued. I am Nicholas N. You may have heard of me.
Bethany hadnt. Moooooooooooooooooooooo, she said.
Why have I brought you here, you ask? the man said. Bethany hadnt, but it did not seem wise to interrupt. Besides, he spoke with such a compelling cadance that you couldnt help but be mesmerized by his soothing tone. Bethany had no doubt that women regularly swooned into those sculpted biceps. Tell me, Bethany, are you aware of what a circadian rhythm is?
Bethany stared at him, chewing her cud in mute incomprehension.
The circadian rhythm! Nicholas boomed, his voice echoing off distant, unseen walls and rebounding back upon the pair. The pattern by which we conduct our daily lives! Any biological process that displays an endogenous entrainable oscillation of about twenty-four hours! Surely we can find agreement that this is something of great import, yes?
Moo.
Now how would you feel if someone came along and disrupted it for you, hm? Threw you off your equilibrium, knocked you off balance?
Bethany had already lost interest in the conversation and lowered her gaze to the bright and shiny tools on the table. Stepping closer to get a better look, she accidentally bumped the table with her sizeable muzzle and sent the pieces on the outermost edges clattering to the floor.
Hey! Hey! Shouted Nicholas N. I told you, these are rentals! Youre going to make me lose my deposit!
Suitably cowed, Bethany retreated a step back and hung her head.
Nicholas swept his fingers through his fabulous hair as he regained his composure. Now where was I? Ah, yes. You see, Bethany, I have a system. Topics are made Tuesday morning, yes? By the end of the day, when most people are still brainstorming what they shall write about, I already have a first draft. By the time anyone else has completed their first draft, I have completed a minimum of thirty-six. By the time other contestants have finished their work and submitted it for judgement and votes, I have already completed a complex statistical analysis and psychological model to predict the winner and next topic and am busy brainstorming no less than seventy-two possible ideas for stories. Do you get what Im saying, Bethany? A system. A complex system, one that can only produce quality outputs if it receives quality input. Garbage in, garbage out, as the saying goes.
With lightning fast reflexes, Nicholas grabbed a particularly nasty looking instrument--all points and serrated edges--and waved it under Bethanys nose. Your sin, Bethany, he hissed, is that youve thrown off my system. The topic was generated late! The customary deadlines have been altered! Everything is in disarray, and I will not have it!
Coming around the table to Bethanys side, Nicholas stood menacingly above her, silhouetted against the blazing bulb overhead. With each syllable he spoke, he drew closer, weapon in hand. What. Do. You. Have. To. Say. For. Yourself?
Mooooooooooooooooooooooo.
