Writing Prompt

Citizen:

“I mean, seriously, O’Hare? I have to pay for air, that’s not fair! It’s just not right! Breathing’s free, or it was last night!”

O’Hare:

“Oh, dear friend, you’ve got it wrong, the worlds been sold, it’s been so long! The air you breathe, it’s now a few, a tiny charge for liberty!”

Citizen:

“But that’s absurd! How can this be? I’ve always breathed, for free, you see! Now you’ve got me paying here, For something that I’ve held so dear!”

_O’Hare: _

“It’s the price of progress, don’t you know? For air that’s fresh, we’ve got to go! We’ve turned it into gold, my dear, So you can breathe, but with a cheer… For the bill!”

Citizen:

“Oh, I don’t buy that, O’Hare, You’ve made a mess, you don’t play fair! I’ll that my lungs and leave this place, Find some air that has more grace!”

O’Hare

“Well, good luck, friend, but should I say, The world’s been sold in every way. Air’s the least of what you’ll pay, Tomorrow’s prices, who can say?”

Citizen:

“This is a rip-off! I’ll take a stand! I’ll fight for breath across the land! I won’t be silent, I’ll protest! Because fresh air should be a basic quest!”

“Hun the tire light just came on.” Cindy announced as the newlywed couple drove their sedan down the road near their house.

“Oh?” Ralph questioned, peering over from the passenger seat at the strange orange illuminated symbol. “Thats okay, just pull into the gas station, they have an air pump in the back.”

The car rolled to a stop next to the air pump and Ralph got out. Attached to the pump was a laminated note taped to the top of the machine. ‘See cashier inside for service’.

Ralph stuck his head back through the passenger window. “Well, Ive got to have them turn it on from the inside. Ill be right back.”

Ralph wondered into the busy convenience store. He cut past a solid line of people and politely asked “Excuse me, can you please turn on the air outside? My tire is low.”

“Back of the line!” A larger woman behind the counter snapped at him rudely before ringing up the next person’s beer.

Ralph stood there behind an older scruffy gentleman who had mechanic’s clothes on. After about ten minutes the line finally reached the guy in front of him. The mechanic stood at the counter and stared pointlessly at the large selection of cigarettes and chewing tobacco in front of him.

“Hey there Carol.” The mechanic said and the woman behind the counter lit up with a big smile and a very positive attitude.

“Hey there Bob! Good to see you again… how’s the dog?”

“Oh he is on the mend. Wont be long now we can take the cone off his head. I know that thing drives him nuts. . .”

Ralph rolled his eyes, now seriously impatient, but the conversation did not end there.

“Well what can I get ya?” The cashier Carol asked.

“Well, Ill take a pack of Slims, and some Wolfhead chewing tobacco.” Then the mechanic turned to the lottery display. “Hhhmmm are any of these winners today?”

“Oh Ive got a good feeling about 9.” Carol replied. “Its been hitting small all day, I bet there’s a big win coming up soon.”

“Ridiculous.” Ralph muttered under his breath. Neither of them cared to acknowledge it.

“Okay then you’d better get me two of the 9s, a 3, and a 4.” The mechanic ordered, pausing between each one to really make sure its what he wanted.

The cashier finally handed him what he wanted and then rang him up. The mechanic then dug into his pockets for a solid three minutes, scrambling together dirty 1 dollar bills and loose change to pay for it all. When the transaction was finally complete, Ralph sighed with relief.

Then the man took a penny from the ‘take a penny leave a penny’ tray and began to scratch his tickets right on the countertop in front of the cashier.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Ralph said, more audible this time.

“Excuse me sir! You can wait your turn!” Carol snapped back, switching from ‘Dr. Jeckel’ to ‘Mr. Hyde’ in a split second and scowling at Ralph. Then she turned her attention on the mechanic, returning her warm demeanor with him. “Any winners there Bob?”

“Not a one!” The mechanic confessed and he walked away, leaving the scratch offs on the counter.

Now it was finally Ralph’s turn in line. As he approached the counter, Carol turned and walked away. Now there was no one to great him. He stood there completely baffled and extremely awkward for a minute. Then, feeling the situation called for it and unsure of what to do next, he yelled. “Hey can I get some service here!?”

Carol, came back out and stared Ralph down. “What do you want?” She said, in a tone that really said “get out of my store.”

“Look, I just need the air pumps turned on. One of our tires is low.”

“Three dollars.”

“What!?” Ralph gasped and took a step back in complete detest. For him, it was the final straw with this cashier. “Three dollars!? For air!?”

“Sir!” She raised her voice at him. “Its three dollars! Pay up or go somewhere else!”

Ralph began to mutter obscenities to himself as he scrambled for money in his own pockets. “Three dollars. . . Highway robbery. . . Gettin ripped off. . .”

“Do you have a problem sir? Need me to call the police?” Carol asked, not backing down from her stance.

Ralph slammed three dollars down on the countertop. “Here! I never thought I would have to PAY for this! How has it gotten to the point where people have to pay for this now!?”

The cashier took the money and put it in the register. Then she pressed a button next to it. Sarcastically she asked, “Would you like a receipt?”

“No I don’t need a receipt on AIR! I cant believe you are charging me for this!”

“The longer you sit here the less time you have.” Carol smirked. “You’ve got about a minute left.”

“Curse you!” Ralph yelled and bolted out the door.

Fall made Laren yearn for summer. Winter made him yearn for fall. Spring made him yearn for snowfall and Christmas. The leaves turned earlier than normal this year, he thought as he cruised his jet black sports car down the busy downtown 14th Street. The brilliant red and orange had already faded to a dead brown. He missed them again, he thought. He was always missing everything because of this damn job. He missed the damn beach again, too. By now it would be too cold. It didn’t matter. At the red light, he saw something in the corner of his eye. About a foot above his head now hovered a 13-inch square, in which footage of a serene beach scene rolled at sunset.

“At an average temperature of 81°, Santa del Luna is the perfect tropical island getaway, even in October,” a smooth, female voice said.

The vision then changed couples sipping cocktails at a restaurant. Then a man smiled as he enjoyed massages near a swaying palm tree.

“Eat, drink, and be merry at over 200 restaurants, bars, lounges and spas.

Laren rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for the enjoyment of life. His life was to sell for Vetiver now. It has been for years. It was the prime of the prime for markets. He lived for leads and closed deals, and there was nothing to be done about it. Watching the leaves and the crashing waves and the snow, the pristine silence of snow, would have to wait until he retired.

He rolled up his suit jacket. On his wrist was a thin, mint green fabric bracelet. He gave it three quick taps.

“Increase AdWall by 20%,” he said.

“With an additional 20%, your AdWall will be at 78% capacity, 18% higher than the recommended limit. Nausea, headaches, and vertigo may occur. Please visit TSCA.gov for additional side effects of high AdWall usage. If you wish to continue, please confirm,” a different female voice said.

“Confirm,” Laren said with a sigh. “I’m almost at my appointment anyway.”

The green band then got significantly tighter around his wrist. He winced at the discomfort. Then, it loosened. The headache already began, but the advertisement for Santa del Luna faded away like a puff of smoke.

Ahead, a minivan was going the speed limit. In Laren’s mind, too slow. He revved the engine, sending a high-pitched roar through the street as he went around the van, then two more sedans. He rolled his eyes at them. Roadblocks. Annoyances.

He pulled up to the front of a large building with SD & Sons on the front in the green, cursive lettering. A chauffeur shuffled toward the sports car as Laren got out. He brushed off his suit and tossed him the keys.

“This is a beautiful car, sir,” the young man said.

Laren looked at him from behind his designer sunglasses without emotion.

“You take a joyride and I’ll sue you personally, got it, Champ?” Laren said, grinned, and turned toward the door.

He sat in an empty boardroom that faced a park with sweeping bare trees. From where he sat, he watched a family walk in the winding path chasing a golden retriever.

A waste of time, he thought.

His left temple was going from annoying to hurting to nearly throbbing now.

“For AdWall-induced headaches, try Ollentol. Consult your physician before taking,” he heard a voice whisper in his head.

“That damn 22% still getting through,” he said.

As he said this, the glass doors opened. An older, heavy-set, bearded man owned the room with his presence as soon as he came in. His cheeks were red and his eyes were beaming. A man and woman followed, eyes glued to their tablets.

“Eddy,” the old man said as he gripped Laren’s hand.

“Mr. Denner,” Laren said.

“Eddy, you’ve been pitching your crap here for years. You can call me Sam at this point. Or SD. Or ‘the guy who won’t help me reach my sales quota’!” Denner said, booming with laughter.

Laren grinded his teeth and forced a smile.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

Denner plopped into one of the chairs across from Laren and rubbed his hands.

“So, let’s see what you have for me today, Eddie,” he said.

Laren popped open his black suitcase and pulled out three sleek bands identical to the one on his wrist.

“Spoilers,” Denner said. “Vetiver’s latest innovation, the Sembras 8! The latest in AdWall technology! Your employees and their families will have less ads than ever as they work with even less headaches! It’s the benefit of the new age!”

The man’s voice mimicked a game show host. He burst out laughing when he finished.

A burst of anger spilled over inside of Laren. He felt his body stiffen and his jaw tighten.

“You sure know how to steal a sales guy’s thunder, Sam,” Laren said, trying not to punch him in the face. Now, Laren’s head felt as if someone had hot coals pressed against his temple.

“Sorry, Eddie,” Sam said, composing himself. “But, really, you think I don’t watch the news? The Sembras 8 is all anybody’s talking about.”

“That’s because the Sembras 8 is the only AdWall device approved by the TSCA that can reach up to 80% AdWall coverage against Britevoice cognitive adver--”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s bullhunky. My employees crank those things to 80% and they’d pass out from the pain.”

Dennar then shook his head and swatted the air as if a fly was in his face. He received an ad, and Laren knew it. He wondered if it was for Ollentol.

“Sam, there’s more than just AdWall features to the Sembras 8. It’s been designed to help stimulate focus and clarity. There are also advertisement refinement solutions integrated into its AI that enables the ads that do make it through the filter to be actually pertinent to the user’s life and needs.”

Sam was quiet, staring at the green bands, rocking in his chair back and forth.

“Eddie, did I ever tell you where I was when Britevoice went haywire?”

“Yes, you did, Sam,” Laren said, already chalking up this sales visit as a loss.

“Well, it’s my board room, so I’m going to tell you again,” Denner said, bursting out laughing.

His assistants both sighed at the same time.

“I knew that dang thing was going to be trouble as soon as they launched it. An AI-driven machine built to send ads into people’s minds? The new kind of telemarketing. - telePATHmarketing. What a load of bullhonkey. And then, sure enough, the thing goes nuts and projects enough ads to cause everyone on the planet to go insane.”

“I was there, too, Sam,” Laren said.

“Well I was up there in my office watching this go down. The riots. The Britevoice CEO jumping off the skyscraper roof. All that stuff. And you know what I’m thinking?”

“The old school was right,” Laren said in unison with Denner.

“Well, Eddie. Turns out you can't go back to the old school. Turns out we need these damn bracelets to stop us from going insane from mental stimulation like all the poor souls in the psych wards that didn’t make it until these solutions came out. Turns out, that these bracelets work.”

“Studies show that Britevoice--” Eddie says.

“Is adapting to AdWall defense. That soon, bracelets like my old reliable here,” he said as he revealed a clunky plastic bracelet that had three flashing lights on it. “Built by your competitor, Siuts, won’t have the firepower to handle it’s adjusted approach. Right?”

“Exactly,” Laren said. “That’s why it’s a public health concern to consider. Our technology is--”

“Staged to be the best?” Denner said.

His two assistants looked up, wide-eyed.

“What?” Laren said. “What are you talking about?”

“Again, you think I don’t see the news? Turns out, a bunch of people think your company, somehow, is running Britevoice behind the scenes. It’s a simple con. You make the threat. You sell the solution. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t about two dozen human rights violations.”

Laren looked at Denner, heart-pounding.

“Sam, listen. All sales-talk aside. We’ve known each other for a while. Do you think I would still be working for Vetiver if I believed those accusations were true? Britevoice went into the cloud. No one can stop it. On my word, that isn’t true.”

“No offense, Mr. Laren,” Denner said as serious as he had ever been. “You’re just a salesman. They wouldn’t tell you. Vetiver is involved in Britevoice. I guarantee it. And unless you switch industries and start selling paper, you don’t need to come here anymore.”

Denner then left the boardroom alongside his assistants. Laren saw an ad for an anti-anxiety app in his vision.

He cruised around the city to shed off the stress from the meeting. He pulled up one of his cold leads on his phone and figured it was worth a shot.

“Hello, is this Mr. DeNato from Westar Inc.?” he said.

“This is,” a skeptical man said through his car’s stereo.

Laren rattled off his speech. How he would be doing a service by offering the Sembras 8 to his employees and their families as a benefit. How it was the best way to increase productivity, improve office culture, and retain top-tier talent. Really, it was obvious. If they cared about their people in the “Post-Britevoice World,” he needed to do this. But was it a Post-Britevoice World? Was it true that Vetiver, the company that made him rich as hell, and, yes, perhaps a bit arrogant, was enhancing the power of this horrific software, this virtualized monster?

“My God. I can’t believe I have to pay for this. How has it gotten to the point where people have to pay for this now?! And you’re probably making an insane amount of money. Just so people can think straight,” DeNato said.

“Sir, if I could just—“ Laren tried to say.

“I’ll think about it,” DeNato said, and then hung up.

Laren slammed the steering wheel in frustration. He turned left and found himself at a red light. And he used this moment to sigh and curse out the failed lead. Then, a homeless man came up to his window. He was shaking and swatting at the air as if a thousand gnats were after him.

“Please, help me,” the man yelled.

Laren looked away. He scrolled through his phone looking for the next lead.

“Please, they stole my AdWall bracelet, I’m going to die!”

That caught Laren’s attention. He looked at the man’s wrists and sure enough, they were bare. His right hand was bloody. He must’ve put up a fight.

“Go down to the shelter,” Laren said. “They’ll give you a free Sembras 3.”

“I don’t have that long. I won’t make it. Please, don’t you have a spare?” the man said.

His eyes were wide, and he began to sob and scream.

“For God’s sake,” Laren said.

He popped open his glove box and pulled out one of 13 extra bands, and threw it out to the ground like he was giving a treat to a dog.

“It’s probably low on power,” Laren said and sped off.

Laren sat at his desk, reading a data sheet with “Rassano Electric” at the very top. He read that there was 3,302 employees, the owner of the company liked golf, was most likely about to acquire EWR Electric, and had optimistic stock.

The botched SD & Sons meeting left a nasty taste in his mouth. The call with DeNato left an even worse one. He wasn’t in the mood to eat dinner, or stop working. He didn’t like losing, and that was one wallop of a loss. He’ll never be able to watch the snow fall at this pace.

He had to land this one. He had to.

He sat back in his office chair and let out a sigh of frustration. Behind him, the darkness of night overwhelmed the view. There were no stars, no light or other buildings, nothing. As if a curtain hung over the window, blotting out the light of day.

“Nothing helps late nights at the office like Electron Energy. 350mg of caffeine with an electric lime flavor,” a hyped up spokesperson said in his head.

He opened up his emails. One from corporate waited in his inbox.

Subject: In response to the media’s accusations.

Sales team, The media stirred up a story that Vetiver Inc. has illegally gained control of the rogue telepathic advertising AI known as Britevoice. They accuse our enterprise as altering Britevoice’s already-radicalized algorithm to gain traction on sales of Sembras 8 AdWall Hypervisor units. This, of course, is a wild accusation, one that puts Vetiver’s reputation on the line. Your response, if this news is mentioned during an interaction with clients or leads, is to be a firm denial and no other comments.

Thank you

Laren read the email again and again. They didn’t deny it. He knew every trick in the corporate book, all the ways to fold the truth into itself to make it look beautiful, no matter how ugly. They didn’t deny it.

“Join us on Urhired, America’s top job site,” an excited voice said.

Just then, the darkness behind him was broken by the light. Laren turned to see what was going on and he saw the light. A lot of light. In fact, a whole stream of lights. A line of cars sped into the Vetiver parking lot. They were slamming on their horns.

Suddenly, the fire alarm went off.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a Code X. Stay in your office while security protocols are in—“ the voice on the intercom system said before it was cut off.

Laren started to hyperventilate. His mouth grew dry.

“With Anvil-X security, you and your family can rest at ease at home, knowing we have your back.”

Already, he heard them enter the lobby. Screaming, crashing, smashing.

“Don’t do that, you’ll kill us!” someone screamed down the hall.

“My God,” Laren said.

“Find fellowship and faith at Holy Gospel Baptist,” said an ad.

As he tried to barricade his door with his desk, it flew open. He threw up his hands and yelped. Three men wearing plague doctor masks came in.

“Extend your hands,” one said in a muffled voice.

“What?” Laren said, panicking quickly.

One grabbed his left arm with his gloved hand and pulled out a knife. Then, he cut off Laren’s Sembras.

“No! You’ll kill me!” Laren screamed.

A wave of dizziness immediately hit him.

“Not if you and your people do exactly as we say,” the first masked man said.

“Running shoe clearance sale at Shoe Station!”

“High Blood Pressure? Try Acenothalaprol Potassium from Maldrine.”

“Have peace of mind with Lighthouse Shores Life Insurance.”

They ushered him into the lobby, where around forty of his colleagues were now held, screaming in hysterics. Already, the amount of ads Laren was receiving was spiking higher than he had ever experienced. The ads weren’t relevant any longer either. Chocolate bars, towels, day care, face masks, web comics, dating apps, propane in Texas, fried chicken in Albuquerque, dentists in Sydney. His head was spinning, and he was unable to walk straight.

“You chose the wrong night to stay in the office,” one of the men said.

“Please,” a sobbing data analyst said. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to help us stop Britevoice,” once of the men said.

The ads were getting worse by the second. He couldn’t see straight. It was as if pop ups were free of their computer screen and wedged themselves in his eyes.

He thought about his car. His seven-figure income. His luxurious uptown home where he never spent time. He did it by saving people from this. He did nothing wrong. He couldn’t even justify that.

One of the men pulled out a laptop with the Vetiver logo on it.

“It’s on your servers somewhere,” he said.

“Tell us where to find it before you all go insane,” another said.

He thought about the man on the street this afternoon, screaming, wide-eyed as his mind fell into an eternal commercial. About all the men and women who were in the psych hospital without their lives or hearts or minds. Because at some point in time, someone looked at the idea of a mind, looked at free thought, and saw a blank billboard waiting for a tenant.

“You all know they somehow managed to get control of it,” he yelled to the room.

The screaming and panic went into a small murmer.

“They’re making it worse. We all know it. Their lame excuse of an email should’ve been enough to prove it if you had any doubts like I did. We can stop this. We have to stop this,” he said.

There was silence in the room.

“The data centers across the country are all tethered to here,” a man stood up to say. “If the servers here go down, they all go down. I told them it was a fatal flaw.”

The masked men guided them out of the building. By this point, the ads were getting so bad that many of the Vetiver employees were drooling and unable to walk. Laren needed assistance by one of the men as they brought him out. The constant mental barrage drained all energy out of him.

They all stood around in silence and darkness for what seemed like forever.

Finally, the darkness boomed to light as the Vetiver headquarters exploded. In an instant, all the ads, all the headaches, all the insanity, vanished.

Laren fell down to the ground, catching his breath, as the masked men cheered. Out in the distance, he could hear a growing swell of cheers and happy screams from the world, a celebration that would not stop for days.

He smiled at the thought that, while he may have to look for a new job, he’ll be able to enjoy the snow as it falls in the coming days of winter.

"I never thought I would have to pay for this!" Coral Dove tapped her foot impatiently, sighing and checking her nails. Waiting in line, her pet cat, Mia, rubbed her face up against her legs. "I guess it's okay. Got a cutie like you here." Coral Dove laughed and walked up in the line.

"Heya, Dreamer. What is it this time?" The bartender turned his attention to the blonde hair girl who made a move to sit in the bar. She rested her chin on her hand, twirling her hair on her finger. "I don't know, why is there a rule saying pirates gotta pay for their rum now?!" Coral Dove's orange eyes sparked with intensely, one the Bartender was very used to. "New rule. You all tear up my bar and never pay for any of it, how else do you expect me to get money?"

Coral Dove was about to say something more, until a intimidating looking man sat next to her, slaming his hand on the table. "What's a lass like you want with Rum, huh?" Coral Dove gave a sideways glance at the man. He tapped a knife on the table, "That rule about it being pirates getting free booze? Were you gonna take it to your daddy somewhere?" Coral Dove sighed.

"No, I wanted the alcohol for myself." She rolled her eyes, before holding out her hand. A mug was slid into it, and tossed a golden coin with a wink. The cold glass of Rum disappeared quickly down her throat, and while the man looked at her surprised, Coral Dove laughed. "Don't you worry about me, and don't speak of my father again." before standing up and knocking the glass mug against his head. The bartender looked extra shocked, before Coral Dove tossed another piece of gold his way. "Sorry for what's gonna happen next." Coral Dove laughed, before standing up and getting the attention of Mia, who pittered by her legs.

Coral Dove pulled out a pistol, shot it at a dart board and yelled, "BAR FIGHT!" Quickly the room was thrown into disarray, and the bartender was cursing her name while she walked out laughing.

After an hour walk to school, a panting Jimin stops at his schools water fountain for a sip of water but halts as he noticed a coin slot on the left side of the silver machine, “I never thought I would have to PAY for this. How has it gotten to the point that people have to pay for this now?!”

He backs away from the water fountain as he sighs, “Is this school that poor?” He continues his journey down the empty halls noting that classes started 15 mins ago but he was too thirsty.

The boys restrooms was the next location to go, he didn’t wanna have to do the lowest of low. But if he doesn’t drink any water he might pass out, he cuts on the faucet and leans over and takes a sip.

The sound of the bathroom door squeaked open could be heard as Jimin finds himself frozen, still leaning over drinking water.

The unknown person coughs, “continue what your doing, imma just pee and go.”

Jimin blushed as he hurries and cuts of the water, not being able to look at the unknown guy.

Old Margaret walked humbly by and into her local park. The birds were chirping happily as the year had brought them closer together. She smiled at the tune that they sung. No one could see her smile though as her protective mask covered her face. She saw the usual runners shuffling along the park paths. The dog walkers where the dogs were oblivious to the human world problems. Groups of youths huddled around a fallen trunk of a tree. Perhaps too many for her liking. Her eyebrows furrowed at their ignorance to the guidelines. Their ignorance was like an insult to her. She was vulnerable and she felt that it was like them saying that they didn’t care about her. She shook her head and continued on. She didn’t have the power or the energy for it.

Old Margaret walked to her favourite spot in the park. A square garden that had a central fountain of green stone statues. Young figures frozen in stone representing a time when their worries were far more primitive than now yet they had the freedom. She approached her usual bench and she was somewhat surprised at the lack of people taking time to sit and look at the beautiful fountain masterpiece like she did. She sat down and relished the weight off her old feet as she wiggled her toes playfully but more to get the blood flowing to her paled feet.

“Excuse me ma’am.”

Old Margaret turned her head to the direction of the voice. A park steward. Great she thought, she could report those youths by the trunk to the authorities.

“You will need to book the bench you’re sitting on.”

“I beg your pardon.” Old Margaret said flabbergasted.

“The park management require those who wish to use its benches to book and pay for an allocated time slot to sit on the bench.”

“I never thought I would have to PAY for this. How has it gotten to the point where people have to pay for this now?!” She exclaimed.

“Due to limited seating as we abide to social distancing rules this has created high demand…”

“High demand!?” She retorted as if her tongue was aflame. “There’s hardly anyone sitting on the benches right now!”

Old Margaret pointed her frail finger at the empty benches.

“Ma’am, it’s the park rules.”

“Park rules!? How about those kids by the entrance? Don’t get me started!”

Old Margaret defended her bench successfully from the steward. Until they got reinforcements and extracted her from the park. The birds continued to chirp happily and blissfully unaware of the human world problems.

After the Walmart incident, Fender and Epi had exchanged numbers and began planning a family gathering with all the siblings, except for Rickenbacker, who was still loyal to Markov. Then came the dilemma of were to do the meeting. Epi’s house in the arctic was out of the question as it, ironically, burned down. Fender as a full time maid didn’t really have a house, he stayed wherever he was working at the time, so that wouldn’t work. Ibanez still relayed escapees from Markov and lived on Markov property, there was no chance they would go back there. This left Gibson, one of the richest people south of the Tree. Gibson resided in a lovely community titled ‘T1C2’ (pronounced tik-two, but also referred to as Pixelated Ancapistan) The only issue was, they couldn’t afford to even look like they could afford living there. A strange call to Gibson ensued. “Fender! Haven’t heard from you in a while man, whats up?” “Hello Gibson, how do you feel about a having family gathering at your place?” “Uh, Without Ricky and dear old dad right? And without pip, unfortunately.” Disappointment and sadness showed through his usual over confident tone in the last sentence. “Well, about that-” Gibson cut him off, assuming Fender and Rick had made amends. “Ricky has tried to kill my husband and I over seventeen times, he is not coming near the walls, let alone my home.” “No, Its about Pip-“ Gibson cut him off again, overjoyed at the concept that Epi may be alive. “Oh? Have you heard from him? How is he!” “She, is doing well” Fender put emphasis on the word ‘she’ hoping he wouldn’t have to explain things. “She?” “Yes, she” “Oh! My apologies.” Gibson replied, dragging out the ‘oh’ to audibly show his understanding. “You took that well” “Im in a gay marriage you dumb fuck” The wealthy one said, light heartedly. “No need for insults, brother.” Fender said in the same light tone as his sibling. “Anyway family gathering at my place you say? Can y’all afford that? I know Z can but I’m unsure you and Pip could make it past the toll gate.” “Yes about that” “You need money from me again, don’t ya.” Gibson sighed. “Yes.” “Fine.” And with that, the call ended.

After a few days of planning, convincing, and organizing, the group decided on a time and a date. Friday, the 26th of May.

Fender approached a set of large ornate gates, made of acacia, stone, warped, and gold. A villager stood in front of the gate, a sign with the words ‘Buy a toll mask, and an entry pass here’ was hung above the man. “Toll mask?” Pip asked “It counts how many breaths you take so it can charge you. I brought our own, I work here a lot, so I have some spares” Fender said, as though it was normal. “Oh. I don’t even breathe but I never thought I would have to PAY for air. How in the overworld has it gotten to where people need to pay for air now” Pip exclaimed, clearly distressed. “Its how it is, do keep your voice down, we must pretend we belong here”

“I never thought I would have to PAY for this. How has it gotten to the point where a mother has to pay for visiting her OWN son?!” she says angrily.

“I may be your son, but I'm doing just fine without you interrupting.” He replies rather calmly.

“Interrupting??” she cries in disbelief. “You call a mother worrying about her only son and missing him ‘interrupting’?” she spat.

“Well, yeah. All you will do is complain about how I do things. Nothing in this world is free as you know. and visiting me isn't either.”

“How can you be so cruel?” she asks, not being able to hide her tears anymore. “Nine months I-”

“Yes, yes, I know. You don't need to reiterate this familiar lecture. If you want me to pay for your carrying me for nine months then I will. But please give me a little time cuz-”

“ADRIAN!!”

“Geez, mum! Fine! I'll pay for it now! But I don't have all that money on me so I'll pay all I can-”

“Are you being serious right now?” she says, suddenly feeling dizzy.

“Yes, I swear! I'll pay as much as you want me-”

“Adrain please! Don't you understand? I don't want any money from you! All I want is for us to be a normal family again.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, his mouth slightly parted, before starting to laugh in disbelief. Meanwhile, she did the same while crying in disbelief.

“If you don't mind, ” he finally said, maybe five minutes later. “I'm busy right now and you don't seem to be in your right mind today... Then...” he said bowing a little while grabbing the door to his house.

He closed the door, but she could hear him bursting into laughter again.

She stood there, crying even harder and causing some curios heads to poke out of the neighbouring windows.

She just couldn't believe it.

“No Way!” Said Gramma. “I refuse to believe this!” “Yes Gramma! Cable is not free!” I said. “In my day,there was one channel! And it was free!” My grandma had just moved in. We had just gotten an alert on out TV that we needed to renew our cable bill. Apparently “In her day” you payed for the TV and watched one channel. “Gramma! Give me my wallet! I need to pay!” “No! We don’t need all these fancy channels!” “Ugh! Gramma if we don’t pay you can’t watch your stupid garden shows!” “Oh” she said. “In that case... PAY THE BILL LYDIA!!!”

The faithful sat down to pray one morning.

“Dear lord, I wish for world peace.”

“That will be £1000,000,000 plus tip.” A voice boomed in his ear.

“God?!” The faithful shouted in surprise.

“You have a outstanding bill with ‘world peace’ in the basket. Cash or card?”

“I-I have to PAY for miracles!?”

“Everyone does.”

“I never thought I would have to PAY for this. How has it gotten to the point that people have to pay for this!? You are GOD!”

“Even the big G has bills. Want to continue?”

The faithful thought about it. “No, I’m okay.” He muttered a quick amen.

“Ehem.”

“What is it?”

“Tip?”

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine.” The faithful reached for his wallet.