All Roads

Good morning! How do you feel today? [[Shitty]]. [[Sort of ok]]. [[Great]]!

Screw it. You're never getting out of bed. Everything is rubbish and you hate your life. What's the [[point]] of it all anyway?

You guess you sort of feel alright. There's a lot of stuff to do today. You could get up, you suppose. Maybe you could just [[snooze]] a bit more and see how you feel in a bit. Or maybe you could [[get up]].

Hey tiger! You're a champion, you know that? Good for you for getting up and getting at 'em! Let's have some [[food|food great]] and get cracking on this glorious, fabulous day! Or would you like to have a [[shower]] first, to get all those awesome senses a'tingling?

The point is to toil in the drudgery of daily existence until you die. This attitude of yours won't help. Why don't you just [[go back to sleep|snooze]] and continue this futile dance tomorrow? I mean, you're kind of [[hungry|food shitty]], though...right?

"Shit. What time is it?" The clock by the bed reads 7:49. PM. You have missed the entire day. You really suck. [[Go back to sleep and try again tomorrow|Existence END]]? Or, [[lie here and feel sorry for yourself|snooze death]], you miserable wretch? Or, maybe, JUST MAYBE, you could attempt some human behaviour and [[get up]].

Ok. You're up. You figure you should head to the [[shower|Shower ok]]. It's been a few days since you've been in there. Sniff. Sniff. Hmm. You don't smell too bad...You could probably get away with a few days more. You should just get some [[food|Food ok]].

Wow! Look at this fridge of yours! Full of fresh fruits and veggies and tupperware containers full of healthy, hearty food that you fastidiously made for yourself over the weekend while listening to podcasts and recharging your mental batteries! You're the best! What'll it be today? [[Porridge with nuts and berries]]? [[Toast with a boiled egg]]? The world is your oyster!

This bathroom is spotless. You could eat in here! And everything is matching, from the towels to the shower curtain! What bliss. You turn on the faucet and the water bursts forth in a gush of jubilant, bountiful water, our most precious earthly commodity! Hopping in to catch the already-steaming stream of clean, clear water, you submerge your head and revel in the hot droplets. Where's the soap? Your Mum bought you that soap and you love it! Ah! There it is, under your foot! [[Grab it|Soap]]! Let's get squeaky-clean! Or you could use that new scented [[body-wash]] that your Mum also gave you. So many choices, thanks to Mum!

Let's look in the cupboards. Ugh. Nothing but an old can of beans and some stale crackers. This is awful. You can't even remember the last time you did the shopping. Oh well. I guess it's [[back to bed]] for you. Or you could try those [[beans]], maybe.

The bed is cold. The sheets are dirty. But the comfort of knowing that the sweet oblivion of sleep awaits is enough for you. You burrow into your greasy blankets and wait for the grey lull of [[dreamless sleep]] to overwhelm you. Tomorrow is...well, [[tomorrow|Existence END]], right?

The can of beans has rust around the rim, but you manage to get it open. The grey cylinder spooges out in a solid, slimy mass, directly into your old saucepan. "Splork!" Delicious. Stirring the "food" as it warms to a congealed puddle gives you a small sense of accomplishment, which surprises you. You eat it directly from the pot, with the one spoon you've got. It's actually given you some energy. Huh. You could put on some [[clothes]], maybe.

You grab a packet of your favourite organic oatmeal and set the kettle to boil. Let's have some of our delicious imported tea while we're at it, hey? As the water boils and the oats sit happily in their little ceramic bowl, you grab the mixed nuts and some premium maple syrup from the cupboard. You couldn't be happier with the prospect of this fine morning feast! The kettle whistles, and in goes the water, steam swirling as the oats puff and soak up the liquid. You stir in the nuts and the syrup, humming a cheerful little tune to yourself. As the tea steeps, you turn on the [[radio|Radio Great]] and prepare for the terrible events of the day. You refuse to let it get you down, though, no matter what. You know there's hope in the world, and that hope will prevail. Ah! [[Porridge|Porridge Death]] is ready!

You grab your homemade gluten-free-whole-grain toast and your hand-churned organic Buffalo-butter, popping the slices into the toaster and getting your cutlery ready at the perfectly-appointed table, pre-set with napkins and placemats and fresh flowers you bought on your way home yesterday. Gently cradling a farm-fresh egg and dropping it into a pot of happily-boiling water, you look up and out your picture-window, with the lovely hand-made curtains you got at the artisanal fair last year. The sky has turned a terrible shade of blackish grey, and the sounds of air-sirens suddenly permeates the room. You turn on the [[radio|Radio Great]].

The shower is a bit grimy, lots of rust around the drain. You should get around to cleaning it, but you'll think about it tomorrow. You turn on the taps. The water trickles out in a dribble. Right. You bang on the pipe a bit to get it going. Great. There it goes. It's warm. Not hot. But warm enough. Still trickling though. Now you're getting mad. You bang again on that damned pipe. And again. And [[again|Bug Shower]]. Never mind. You're clean enough. You grab a scratchy towel and head to the [[kitchen|Food ok]] for some breakfast.

You haven't done groceries in a good long while, but you know there's a box of boxed mac 'n cheese somewhere in the cupboards. You try to flick on the light, but the bulb bursts. Dammit. You definitely don't have any spares. Grabbing a really old newspaper off the table, you sweep the shards into a pile out of your barefoot way.You glance down at the headline: "'NUCLEAR WEAPONS AT THE HEART OF ENEMY INVASION,' SAY MINISTERS OF WAR'" Ugh. You hate the news. You turn on the one burner that works on your stove and fish the dusty box of noodles out and start to 'cook' for yourself. While your culinary masterpiece bubbles in its fluorescent orange sludge-sauce, you look out the window toward your little industrial town. You notice a beautiful multi-coloured butterfly flutter by... You notice because of the contrast it makes with the terrible, black sky [[outside|Window Death]]. How odd. You turn away and tend to your meal, dumping the contents of the pot into the only bowl you have, and settling into the darkness at the [[table|Kitchen Table]].

The banging gets the water going, and you look up to see how much is coming out now. Unfortunately, the banging has also dislodged a huge, black and brown bug the size of a generous walnut, with pincers and a carapace that looks ready for World War III. You scream as it tumbles down into your face, pinching your nose and buzzing loudly! You flail and pull at it, to no avail. It's on you, IN you, quite frankly, and there's no getting rid of it. The disgusting feeling of it burrowing up your nose is simply too much. You pass out, crumpling to the [[bottom|Bug Death]] of the tub.

"Gotcha!" You grab the little nubbin of your favourite goat's-milk soap, stuffing it into your big purple loofah-mitt and going to town on your skin. Ah, Mum knows you so well! Scrubbing and sloughing away all the cares of yesterday (not that you had any, you positive-thinking bi-ped, you!), you hum a jaunty tune. This is living! Maybe you'll give Mum a call in a bit, see how she's doing. She'd been mentioning a bunch of negative stuff lately, and though you had tried to coach her on some creative visualization techniques, it hadn't seemed to have been working. Just as you rinse off the last fluffy suds, the water suddenly splutters out. That's weird. Well, good thing you finished in time! Grabbing a fresh towel covered in flowers, you bounce out of the tub. Time for [[breakfast|food great]]? Or should we do some yoga by the [[picture-window|Window Death]]?

This tea-tree oil-eucalyptus-mint wash is a bit bracing, but your Mum did say it was the best option for that weird foot-fungus of yours, so you give it a good go, scrubbing and lathering yourself into a frenzy of cleanliness. Rinsing off, you reach for one of your favourite fluffy towels, and throw it over your shoulders like a cape. You are a star! A clean, damp, star! Let's go get dressed! Pulling aside the flowery shower curtain, you notice a puddle on the ground, but right before you can avoid it, your foot lands directly in the slippery, soapy water and you careen forward, out of the tub and directly into... Your perfectly matching, stainless-steel toilet-paper stand. You impale yourself resoundingly and start bleeding deep red out onto your spotless white tiles. So much for all that matchy-match, eh? Resolute and not about to let a little blood get you down, you slowly [[drag|bodywash death]] yourself into the hallway, leaving a smear of dark burgundy behind you. The smell of iron and copper begins to fill your nose... Is this what [[giving up|dreamless sleep]] feels like?

You take a spoonful of the scrumptious, hot porridge, noticing all of the delicious lumps of nutty-berry goodness as you airplane it into your own, happy mouth. Chomping and chewing and feeling the nutrients fill you with sparkling energy, you can't help but chortle with sheer delight! Unfortunately, your laughter sends a tiny, sharp morsel of Brazil-nut right into your healthy esophagus, blocking the airway and cutting off your normally-abundant breath. Choking, flailing your arms, and starting to feel faint, you look around for someone to administer the Heimlich Maneuver. Of course, no one is around, because you're a painfully optimistic git that no one can stand to be with for more than five minutes at a time. Even your Mum has been a bit distant lately. You manage to throw yourself over the back of one of your matching antique wooden chairs and attempt to administer the correct rhythm of thrusting with the last bit of strength you've got. "Hnnughhh! Hnnnurrghhh! Hwwnnuurrghhhh!!! PWOIKHGHH!!!" That's done it. You collapse over the table, triumphant, grinning, drooling with relief. You [[look out|Window Death]] to appreciate the vista from your kitchen window...

There is nothing here. No sound. No colour. And no thought. And it is enough, for now. You are lulled into numbness by a strange hum, a pinkish grey hue behind your closed eyelids. Then, with a "Pop!," you are submerged into total, absolute Nothingness. Attempt [[Existence|Existence]] again?

You open your front door and step out onto your broken concrete walk. The sky is an ominous shade of blackish grey. You hear the sound of sirens and a repetitive, churning sound, like metallic marching, grinding and pounding towards you. You've been a little out of the loop lately. This seems serious. You turn to head back into your house to get some more info, maybe from the radio, and see a beautiful butterfly on your door, right at your eye-level. On the ground below it, lies the empty shell of what must have once been a disgustingly awful-looking bug. You marvel at them both, smiling a bit at the incongruity. You turn [[back|Radio Death]] once more.

"Enemy troops have advanced past the sanctioned borders and the government has issued a state of Absolute Nuclear Emergency. I repeat, the country is now in a state of Absolute Nuclear Emergency and it is imperative that you find shelter immediately. Do not leave your homes, do not engage with any soldiers you may see. Find shelter underground if you can, and we will update you with information as soon as it becomes available." There is a long beep after the message. You listen intently, waiting for the next missive. The beep is over. You hear the voice: "Enemy troops have advanced past the sanctioned borders and the government has issued a state of Absolute Nuclear Emergency. I repeat, the country is now in a state of Absolute Nuclear Emergency and it is imperative that you..." Shit. A recording. What now? [[Turn it off|Radio Death]]. It'll go away and we can forget about it. [[Keep it on|Kitchen Death]]. It's nice to hear a voice.

You rummage around in the pile on the floor. It smells a bit rank with sweat and the funk of body fluids expelled in moments of extreme desperation. You manage to find some jeans and a rumply blue shirt. You actually kind of like this shirt. Shimmying into your clothes without looking at yourself in the mirror, you put on mismatched socks and your scuffed combat boots. Okay. You're dressed. Should you attempt [[leaving|Out of the House]] your house? Or should you sit at the [[kitchen table|Kitchen Table]]?

You look up. The sky is a neon red. You, and the entire world, are obliterated in a shimmering nuclear fireball. Try [[Existence|Existence]] again?

You've never minded the kitchen, actually. It's simple, moderately clean though you hardly ever try to do anything. You're not that hungry yet, so you decide to sit down and look out the big picture window. It's one of the only good windows in your place. Before you sit, you think about turning on the [[radio|radio]]. It might be nice to hear a voice, any voice. Or it could also be nice to just sit in silence, looking out the [[window|Window Death]]. You're not very good at making decisions. Your Mum has always said so. It's been a long time since you've heard from Mum. You hope she's alright.

The sky is a horrible combination of black and red and grey. Smoke is billowing in strange cloud formations right at you. You back away from the window, to no avail. A wave of white-hot nuclear power smashes the glass. And you are obliterated. Try [[Existence|Existence]] again?

You contemplate the ceiling. It's cracked and filthy, with dusty cobwebs forming elaborate highways of filth all along the edges of the room. Suddenly, the naked bulb by your mattress explodes, leaving you covered in tiny shards. You notice that the hue coming from the dirty window is actually not completely dark, but sort of pinkish-grey... In fact, the room is growing brighter and a strange vibrating hum is coursing through your body through the floor. You pull yourself up, curious now, and look out the window to see an otherworldly vista of rolling neon red and black clouds covering everything. The hum is now a roar. "Cool!" This is your last thought as a wave of white-hot nuclear power surges into the room, smashing the glass. You are obliterated. Try [[Existence|Existence]] again?

You worm yourself into the hallway like a floundering trout, the steel rack dragging loudly as it follows you, because it's in you; you finally manage to hoist yourself up against the kitchen table. Where is your phone? You're beginning to weaken now. The blood is flowing freely now, and you're soaked. In a moment of clarity, you [[turn|Radio Death]] towards the picture-window in the kitchen...

You wake up with a start, a horrible pain in your sinuses. You are still in your bathtub, water dribbling onto your pathetic body from the rusty showerhead. You wobble out of the shower to get a look at yourself in the mirror. And it all comes rushing back to you. The banging. The Bug. The Horror. Your face is hideously mangled, and there is a long black claw-like bug-leg extending from your right nostril, bloody and immobile. It seems to have died up there. You look out the window and notice with some surprise that the sky has turned an ominous shade of blackish-red. Billowing, unnatural-looking clouds are gathering and tumbling towards you. You realize this is the end. And here you are. Naked, with a hideous bug up your [[nose|Radio Death]].

WRONG. There is no tomorrow. With a resounding hum the room turns hot and red, and your atoms are split apart as the entire world is consumed by a nuclear fireball. You should have paid attention to the news, you idiot. Try [[Existence]] again?

"Enemy troops have advanced past the sanctioned borders and the government has issued..." Oh boy! Those warmongers will never learn, will they? You turn the volume down and let the missive drone on in the background. How's that [[egg|Egg Death]] coming along? Boy, those air-sirens are getting really loud now. You turn your attention back to the radio briefly: "...and we will update you with information as soon as it becomes available." There you go. You're fine. [[Positivity|Existence END]] wins, and tomorrow will be a better day!

Your egg is ready, so you place it lovingly in its colourful little egg-cup (again, care of Mum!) and TapTapTap the little eggy cap off. Perfectly soft yolks! Your cup of tea has steeped to the kind of strong brew that you love. You add maple syrup and milk, taking a deep breath in to savour the aroma. Perfection! Your toast is fragrant and golden brown, and, carefully removing it so as not to let it burn your fingers, you slather it in lots of fresh butter. You set everything down at the table-setting, and put your happy butt in your cozy matching chair. You settle in in front of the big [[picture-window|Window Death]] to appreciate the vista while you eat this feast. You dip some toast into the yolk, and [[open your mouth wide|Window Death]]...

You settle in, listening and contemplating your life. You really should call Mum, she hasn't been sounding very well. You turn to grab the phone off the counter when you notice the strangest thing: A beautiful, multi-coloured butterfly just sitting on your floor! It's gorgeous. Where the hell did it come from? Suddenly, you hear a weird humming. The room is turning a bizarre shade of deep, neon red. The smell of ozone fills the air and your body feels strangely...undone. Your atoms split apart as hot-white waves of a nuclear fireball burst through your kitchen window. You, and the butterfly, are obliterated. Would you like to try [[Existence|Existence]] again?

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Good morning!

How do you feel today?

Shitty

Sort of ok

Great