The Son of Man Warned You About the Stairs, Bro
The day started normally for that peculiar man, with him rising at the first light of the sun. He dressed in his usual suit and bowler hat, always ignoring the green apple perpetually levitating mere centimetres from his face. No one knows why that fruit spectre exists, or why it afflicted that particular man, but, after the initial shock on this day seven years ago of its first appearance, he grew to accept it as just another queer circumstance of life. He tried to remove it, of course, but no matter how he flayed that delicious orb, it always gravitated back to its perch, ever-so-slightly touching his nose. Spectators of his visage would invariably double-take at the sight of him, but he would pay them no mind; he has learned how to live with this phantom appendage, and so will everyone else, too, eventually.
He travelled his usual route in to his office, as he has since long before his strange happenstance occurred. It has never interfered with his productivity; he has remained one of the top workers at his life insurance agency, deftly selling life insurance to everyone he encounters throughout his days. He did not have life insurance, himself, though, for he was the last of his line, as far as he knew, but he would prefer to have his possessions donated to those less fortunate than him.
So everyone was, naturally, both shocked – for he had been admirable in avoiding such a dire happening – and immensely unsurprised when this strange instance of human life tripped at the top of a flight of stairs and started his unacrobatic descent down the layered concrete rectangles. Everyone was shocked further when his bowler hat flew loose from atop his head, for no one had ever seen him without a hat. At first he experienced no slight pain from his collision with the solid protrusions, but he found that he grew numb to his discomfort rather quickly, and his green shield helped in that regard by absorbing the would-be impact on his face.
“I warned you about the stairs, bro” a similarly-clad co-worker – though lacking a fleshy orb hovering in front of his face – chimed behind him, though too late for that suited tumbler to hear him. The living embodiment of the paranormal soon found, to his horror, that the staircase he was so gracelessly descending was, too, a cosmic travesty, for it did not seem to have an end in sight.
“It keeps happening!” he exclaimed while still he travelled down this seemingly-endless flight of hell-stairs. His concept of the passage of time slowly began to fade while a mocking voice simultaneously crowed in his head “I told you about the stairs” ceaselessly. His speed picked up as the minutes wore by, for there was no tangible friction on this surreal staircase, but he did not grow worried or in any way scared by his illogical acceleration. He closed his eyes in defeat, for he realised that there was little hope for escape from this situation. While still he fell he could almost detect the presence of a non-corporeal spectator, he could feel some wild eyes watching him as he tumbled, surely deriving some sort of sick pleasure from this mad spectacle. After countless hours, though, the unthinkable happened: He reached the bottom of that enigmatic stairwell, whereupon he picked himself up to find that he now stood on an empty street. He turned around, and the stairs were gone.
He travelled his usual route in to his office, as he has since long before his strange happenstance occurred. It has never interfered with his productivity; he has remained one of the top workers at his life insurance agency, deftly selling life insurance to everyone he encounters throughout his days. He did not have life insurance, himself, though, for he was the last of his line, as far as he knew, but he would prefer to have his possessions donated to those less fortunate than him.
So everyone was, naturally, both shocked – for he had been admirable in avoiding such a dire happening – and immensely unsurprised when this strange instance of human life tripped at the top of a flight of stairs and started his unacrobatic descent down the layered concrete rectangles. Everyone was shocked further when his bowler hat flew loose from atop his head, for no one had ever seen him without a hat. At first he experienced no slight pain from his collision with the solid protrusions, but he found that he grew numb to his discomfort rather quickly, and his green shield helped in that regard by absorbing the would-be impact on his face.
“I warned you about the stairs, bro” a similarly-clad co-worker – though lacking a fleshy orb hovering in front of his face – chimed behind him, though too late for that suited tumbler to hear him. The living embodiment of the paranormal soon found, to his horror, that the staircase he was so gracelessly descending was, too, a cosmic travesty, for it did not seem to have an end in sight.
“It keeps happening!” he exclaimed while still he travelled down this seemingly-endless flight of hell-stairs. His concept of the passage of time slowly began to fade while a mocking voice simultaneously crowed in his head “I told you about the stairs” ceaselessly. His speed picked up as the minutes wore by, for there was no tangible friction on this surreal staircase, but he did not grow worried or in any way scared by his illogical acceleration. He closed his eyes in defeat, for he realised that there was little hope for escape from this situation. While still he fell he could almost detect the presence of a non-corporeal spectator, he could feel some wild eyes watching him as he tumbled, surely deriving some sort of sick pleasure from this mad spectacle. After countless hours, though, the unthinkable happened: He reached the bottom of that enigmatic stairwell, whereupon he picked himself up to find that he now stood on an empty street. He turned around, and the stairs were gone.
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