torsdag 7. juli 2016

The Misadventures of the Bottleman: The Origin story

There was once a man. He had a poor childhood and was left alone from an early age, his father was a special agent and a gambler and his mother took care of him all his life.

This man was never content in life, he was never accepted. He tried to be apart of the gangs of social structure when he was young, but ended in the wrong crowds or ending up exiled. This guy was never popular, never interested in anything.

He was smart and good grades but still struggled to get friends. So when he was older he worked out in order to fit in but never fit in at all. It was all a struggle, when this young man looked back to the days of his youth when he was collecting fossiles by the beach. Cracking stones like a boss of his own head, all alone cracking stones like the neantherthal who he knew in his head by science was cannibals but he was totally cannibilizing the stones in order to his fossiles. He collected theem in his lair, until one day they where thrown away and apart of him was gone.

Then the years pasts, he lost more and more of himself. He became a ghost of his former self. He was walking his own shadow, a hollow man until he one day found a bottle. It was like a light woke up in him and he never gave up. He searched for more and more bottles to get rid of the emptyness inside hm and to be loved by something, but you cannot be loved by a bottle it will give you one kroner and it will not last for long. You can save it and become rich, but no money in the world can buy lost love.

It can ruin chances with someone you like. The bottleman didnt know this until one day he asked a girl out, they went out and he choose the bottle and then just like before he was alone again this time filled with regret and sadness he picked the bottle instead of love and it will haunt him everyday and every night.

This man was named Ewan and the girl he was out with was called Judith. He has lost his Judith forever and now he was sorrounded by his bottles once more, not drunk, not drugged only with lots of one kroner bottles he needed to take to the store where his regret would follow him and he would cling to the lost memories of his lost youth.

Written by Emil Ziaie

Ingen kommentarer:

Legg inn en kommentar