Your name is Reno and you’re kind of a douchebag. There are plenty of good reasons for your douchebaggery. You lacked a strong father figure growing up, you made a lot of mistakes and went to a public school where you had a long line of unsupportive and angry teachers who had long since given up reinforce the sense that you were worthless for most of a decade. But the last six months have been absolutely fantastic for you. You joined the coolest gang around, a super classy gang led by a super classy dude who wears a mask and only commits crimes politely (so cool!). But you’ve had trouble suppressing your aforementioned douchebaggery, and it’ll finally catch up with you early, early this morning.
After some unfortunate events last night where you got a little bit rude while committing a crime the gang held an emergency meeting. They briefly discussed the issue of your continued membership and decided, after a brief conversation on your potential for growth and development as a criminal, that you weren’t really the kind of person they wanted in their gang.
“Terribly sorry,” the leader told you as your former gang mates wrapped you in plastic in the back of a van.
“Isn’t there some sort of appeals process?” you begged. The leader just shook his head, his fingers touching his mask.
“If you come back to us tomorrow we can discuss that.”
Then he gave a high sign to Jacob, the gang member who used to teach high school math, and the world soared by. When you hit the ground you’re pretty sure you bounced: one, two, three times before beginning your long roll to the ditch, to unconsciousness, to a darkness blacker than any night.
You’ll come to while it’s still dark out, arms bound at your sides by something outside the plastic. You’ll writhe and struggle to open up your bag, but to no avail. Air will be scarce, your muscles weak, your brain slowing. Time will start to rush in and out, the world pulsing violet, red, black, stars swimming before your vision. You’ll start praying to yourself silently, laying completely still.
It won’t be a prayer for salvation – it’ll be a cry for absolution, a feeble attempt at communion in your last seconds. Later on, when you reflect on this night, you’ll think it serendipitous that what came next came at all, but you won’t think it was in response to your prayer.
You’ll form this belief primarily based around the idea that, if God wanted to present you with some sort of divine portent he would probably opt to do something more grandiose than having a rat chew through the plastic bag wrapped around your head. Perhaps a polite motorist with a lot of bumper stickers finding you, something like that. But the rat will chew through your bag and the rush of air will strike your face and make you suck in breath in a gasp, frightening it off. As air trickles towards your face you’ll take deeper and deeper breaths, your strength returning with each one.
Dawn will nearly be upon you when you finally work yourself free of the tape and start tearing plastic off your body. You’ll unwrap yourself in a fury, ready to kill anything that looks at you, even your savior rat, but by the time you try to stand your fury will have abated, your legs still unsteady underneath you. You’ll settle on to a nearby rock for a few moments to regain your strength and sit and think about what to do next, about going back to the gang for revenge, for a second chance, or for information on where to get your GED. You have a feeling that they’d know where you could do that.
Congratulations on Escaping the Plastic Bag!
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