MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets

by George Saoulidis

  “Is the man alright? What happened?” the woman asks me.

  “This machine says that, no, he’s not alright,” I say and press the switch that dismisses the alarm.

  “Oh God, that’s a shame,” the woman says and covers her mouth.

  “Yes. Shame,” I say and look down. Silk slippers. I take off my shoes and put them on. I close my eyes and feel their wonderful texture, wiggling my toes.

  The woman stares at me confused. “Are you alright?” She clutches her bag before her, protectively.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I reply. “As if I were fifty years younger.”

  The woman’s face goes hard. Her tone of voice changes into a commanding one. “Excellent. When is my turn?”

  The End

  You Have Too Many Friends

  I want to play a game.

  Yes, you are tied down. Try all you want, you are immobilised. You can’t move your head. Yes, that’s a gun aimed at your face. Actually, you should be thankful that I’ve aimed it right, because if it fires, you want it to go straight between the eyes.

  Trust me, it’s better for you that way.

  We don’t want to botch the killing blow. You won’t feel a thing.

  Kill you?

  No, I’m not going to do that. We are going to play a game. Yes, there’s a chance for you to win this game and go free. I will set you free if you win it, yes. I know you haven’t seen my face, no need to close your eyes.

  I’m not the one on trial here.

  You see, humans have evolved to handle about one hundred and fifty acquaintances. The size of a small tribe. But somehow these days, we think we can handle thousands of friends online. That is simply impossible.

  You’re guilty of that? Yes, I know.

  Here’s a laptop with your social profile, already logged in.

  How did I get your password? Please, look around you. You think that a pet name could evade me?

  Let me explain the rules of the game first.

  This is a form of Russian roulette. I love that game, but the probabilities for fatalities are too high. One in six? Please, I like my games slow.

  Slow like torture, if you will.

  No, stop crying. Listen to the rules.

  The gun is aimed between your eyes. There’s a bullet in there, trust me. But instead of playing the odds of the empty barrel chambers, we’re going to play a game of possibilities.

  You see, you have 5000 friends on your social profile. I explained that that is simply impossible to maintain, thus, the majority of those are false friends.

  The rules are simple, this laptop has a program, that will choose one of your friends at random. You will then place a call to that so called friend. If he comes to your rescue, you live. Simple as that. However, if that friend does not, then the gun fires.

  I have to admit at this point that the one-in-six odds are quite high for me. So, I’ve tilted them in your favour. The odds of the gun firing are controlled by a program, and they are one in five thousand.

  But, every time it dry fires, the odds become twice that, as in one in two thousand and five hundred.

  You get the gist? Simply put, the odds are low, but every time it dry fires, the odds of you biting a bullet increase.

  I like to be fair that way.

  Shall we begin?

  There’s no point in crying, really. This will happen, all you have to do is wait and call your friend for help.

  There we go. We have the first one.

  What is he, an old schoolmate? Let’s call him, you can talk by the bluetooth on your head, he can hear you.

  Well, that was embarrassing. He didn’t even remember you and hung up? You should have tried to contain yourself, it was a bit too rambling.

  Now the gun fires. Don’t worry, the chances are low at first. Yes, there’s always the small chance of it firing instantly, and spoiling the game for me. It happens, but I need this to be fair. Yes, there have been others, since you’re asking. But nevermind them, let’s focus on you.

  Clang.

  Excellent. You live to try another time. Let’s move on to the next friend. Who’s that? You can’t even remember? You’re too upset to remember? Oh my, that does not bode well for you. Let’s try to call him, anyway.

  No reply. Don’t scream, I’ll let you call again. I’m completely fair in this game, I told you already. Let’s call again.

  That was even more disappointing. He thought you were making fun of him. Oh well, let’s play roulette. Remember, this time the chances of it firing are one in two thousand and five hundred. Doubled, yes.

  Clang.

  I’m so happy it didn’t fire. No really. Stop crying please, it doesn’t help at all. I’m trying to teach you a lesson here, and I follow through on those.

  Think about it. I stacked the odds in your favour, but you yourself diluted them by having thousands of people who don’t give a crap about you in your social circle. You call them friends. Think about that. It used to mean something.

  Next friend, let’s see what we got.

  Your dentist? Huh, this should be interesting. I’m sure he will remember you, at last. Speak up.

  You can beg all you want, but the police will not find you in time. Just get him to come here in person. He’s your friend, isn’t he?

  I don’t care that he’s working. Get him to drop what he’s doing and come here, and I’ll give you the address. When he shows, you will live. If you don’t manage to convince him, you die. Probably. Eventually, to be honest. Don’t yell at me! You should be focusing on convincing him. This is the performance of a lifetime.

  He hung up?

  Oh well, I didn’t expect much from him, to be honest. Let’s fire the roulette.

  Clang.

  Nice. I’m happy you’re getting one more chance, because these friends of yours are really terrible. Luck balances out, you know. Let’s see who the next friend is.

  An ex?

  Interesting.

  Oops, he rejected the call. Tsk, tsk. Maybe I should visit that person and play the next game with them. Would you like that? No? Huh, it seems you’re a good person, after all. I was certain you’d point me their way. Must have been a good lay.

  Anyway, let’s fire the roulette again. This time it’s one in six hundred twenty five. Yes, see how duplication works? It’s a bitch, really.

  Clang.

  So lucky! If you keep this up, I may have to believe in karma. This is good, I came here to teach you but you may end up teaching me a lesson too. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, the game isn’t over yet.

  You don’t have to scream, there’s no one there. No really, we’re in the bad part of town. That’s a secondary hurdle your friends need to face. First, you have to convince them to come and save your life. Then, I’ll give you the address, which is in a neighbourhood that, let’s face it, could use a few more patrol cars. And if they indeed show up, I’ll get you go, I promise.

  Stop yelling, you have a phone. You have friends, isn’t that what you call them? Just talk to one and get him to come here, and you live. Fail and you die. Painlessly, I might add. I harbour no hard feelings for you.

  Let’s see who’s the next friend. Rolling, rolling. Yes, this laptop is slow but will do the trick. Who’s that? A cousin. Excellent, we may have some hope after all.

  Call him.

  Oh, that went well. This is my ironic face, but you can’t see me under the mask. He told you he’s busy and doesn’t have time for your kind of crazy. Ouch.

  Have you been crazy? Have you cried wolf too many times? Cause that’s a whole different life lesson there, I might need to introduce that someday. Oh you have? Sorry about that. It seems that the one solid chance you had of saving yourself went up in flames, because you kept going back to the same kleptomaniac boyfriend.

  Let’s fire the roulette. It’s now at one in three hundred and twelve. Still good odds, don’t worry.

  Clang.

  See? There was a bigger chance of g
etting in a car accident today than the gun firing. As I said, I’m fair. I actually want you to win. What have you ever done to me? Nothing, I don’t know you. But I saw that you needed my help.

  Let’s see who the next friend is.

  A work colleague? Lucky, lucky, lucky. I’m betting on you, now. This should be easy. You see her every day, you’ve gone on drinks after work, you email cat videos to each other. This is a true friend, right?

  Call her.

  Yes, get her to come here. Yes, the bad part of town, on her own. Or you die. Repeat that to her please, or-you-die. Maybe she can’t hear you under all that snot. Get her to say yes, and I’ll give you the address.

  She said yes? How exciting.

  Here’s the address to where you are held captive. Read it to her. Tell her you can’t text it, your hands are tied and numb from the zip locks. Jeez, fine, I’ll text it to her. See how nice I am?

  So, she’s coming over. This has never happened before, I’m so excited, aren’t you?

  No, I won’t fire the roulette. We wait for her to show. See, look at the laptop, that’s a live camera feed from the front door. You don’t believe that I sent her the address? Here, look at the phone. See? SMS received. Wow, you’re really tight on trusting people, aren’t you? It seems contradictive that you have so many friends. After all, you have to trust your friends, right?

  No, we’ll wait. Here, have some water, your voice is hoarse. Sip through the straw. Nice.

  Yes, the gun could have fired all those times. It’s good, you got to the final stretch. Don’t worry. We’ll wait.

  What’s this? A text from your friend? Says she can’t make it, something came up.

  Don’t yell at me, this is your friend! Here, look at the text. Okay, I’ll untie your right hand, so you can text her back.

  Here.

  Sure, stretch it around, move the wrist. It’s numb, I know, but this game takes a lot of time to prep. Send her a text back, I’ll wait. Here, I’m holding the phone for you, in case you get any ideas about calling the police directly.

  Yes, I said they can call the police, but you can’t. It has to be your friend who does it. It’s okay, I’ll tap back. Here. Did you send it?

  Oh, you called her a bitch and a fucking whore? That’s a bit excessive. Aren’t you trying to get her to save your life?

  Honestly, I’ll wait, but it doesn’t seem she’s coming over. I feel bad for you too, I was really hoping this was the one.

  Look, I’ll set a timer for one hour. It seems fair, she could come across the city if she wanted to in one hour.

  Let’s wait.

  Time’s up. She didn’t show. Bathroom? No, go right where you are, I’m not letting you out yet. It’s going to be a mess either way, what’s a little pee on top?

  Let’s focus here. Fire the roulette. It’s now at one in one-hundred and fifty five chance. Still good odds.

  Clang.

  Oh, that dry thud is exciting, isn’t it? I keep bracing myself for the gunshot, but the anticipation… Wow.

  Let’s see who the next friend is. Who’s that? Oh, he’s liking all your selfies? Nice, he must have a crush on you. You can lie and get him to come over for a booty call, if you want. I don’t mind. The end justifies the means, that’s my motto. It is your survival on the line after all.

  Call him.

  Said he’s out of town? Hmm, let’s adjust. Let me see his profile. Interesting. He checked in at a bar ten minutes ago. Guess he’s lying to you. Some friend, right? Oh, he just sent a text. Let’s see.

  A dick pic. I did not expect that.

  This game is teaching me so much, I hope it’s as good for you as it is for me. Here, look at it. I don’t know what the subtext is, really. You tell him to come over and he says he’s out of town but you can pleasure yourself with a picture of his manhood?

  I’m a student of human nature and some things really baffle me.

  Oh well, let’s fire the roulette. One in seventy-seven, now.

  Clang.

  You really are lucky. This is the farthest that anyone has come. Of course, if you really were too lucky, you wouldn’t be in this position. But let’s not philosophise on that, we’ve got more pressing social issues.

  Okay, since you’re such a good sport, I’ll change up the rules, one time only.

  I will let you choose, between the following. First choice, you post a public message with your location and a call for help, and see who shows up. If nobody shows, the game ends. The second choice is to carry on as normal, pick a friend at random and call him etcetera. But I have to remind you, the roulette chances are at one in thirty-eight now. Those are some bullet-biting chances indeed.

  Sure, take the time to think. I know you hate math. Let’s make it clearer, the chances of the gun firing are the same as stumbling on your neighbour at the door to your house.

  Sure, think about it. Want some more water? No? Okay.

  Let me hear your decision. You want to post the public message. Quite interesting. What do you want it to say? I’ll type it for you, don’t you trust me? ‘Matter of life and death, show up to this address right now or I die. Please come, I beg you.’ Want me to add a crying face emoji? No?

  Okay.

  There, sent. I even added the map to the location, so they can see it on their phones.

  I have to admit I’m anxious to see what will happen!

  Let’s wait.

  Oh, people are commenting. They think it’s a theme party. What should they wear? Want me to answer them? No?

  Someone might still show up. If they do, I’ll let you go. I keep my word.

  Let’s wait.

  Oh, someone called you an attention whore. How rude. He’s one of your friends. Oh, he hit on you and you rejected him? Figures. Then why do you have him on your friend list? You know, him and so many others have reduced the chances of you surviving this day. If you hadn’t kept that toxic person on your social circle, you might have made it.

  No, stop crying. I won’t pull the trigger, I told you. We’ll wait. Someone might show.

  They think it’s still a joke. ‘Pics or it didn’t happen,’ one friend says. Want to send a selfie? Yes, I know you look terrible, sorry about that. But it might save your life, so why hesitate?

  Stand still, I’ll snap a picture of you. Want a filter on it? No? Okay, stop yelling. Here, posted.

  They think you’re doing improv.

  Sigh. Look, I don’t think anyone will show, it’s been two hours. Let’s just fire the roulette. Chances are one in thirty-eight, they’re still good for you. I’ll let you try another friend after that, okay?

  Let’s get this over with. Fire the roulette.

  Bang.

  The End

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  Bird’s-Eye View of the Back of Your Head

  Tony saw his dead wife. She wasn’t a ghost, and he wasn’t crazy. But he saw her, and she couldn’t see him.

  He went on with his day, same as every day before she decided she hated everyone and rammed their car into a bus.

  “Die, stupid children,” the on-board nav device recorded as her last words.

  So they didn’t get life insurance.

  And people hated them.

  More specifically, him, cause his wife was dead. Vilified, for killing all those kids.

  And to top it all off, she had recorded herself with the holoselfie gadget he’d bought her for Christmas.

  It was a device for every narcissist. Not only could you see yourself doing whatever it was that you did all day, but you could see yourself from any angle, holoprojected in your own space.

  Oh, sure, it was marketed as, “Posture Straightening Gadget,” or as, “Personal Development Gadget.” Tony’s favourite excuse was the, “External Personal Evaluator.”

  That was the version his wife wanted, so she could see herself and what she did all day
, and make sure she became more interesting. Or work out more. Or dress up nicer while doing chores.

  It made sense at the time, or at least it made sense how she phrased it.

  How was he to know it would push her over the edge?

  Because she wasn’t a perfect narcissist, you see. No, a perfect narcissist would watch himself all day and feel great. He’d think he was hot shit, the best ever. A lesser narcissist saw imperfections, flaws, things he should improve upon to look better.

  A smidge lower than that and you had Alex, his wife. She was narcissistic enough to want to watch herself all day, but not so much as to feel complete.

  The days started getting darker since he got her that damned gadget. But darkness creeps in, luminosity fades slowly and your eyes adjust and you don’t realise you’re in the shadows until it’s too late.

  He saw the signs. He spoke out, but not enough. She was obsessed with herself. Always fixing her posture. Always slapping herself for biting her nails. Always angry at Tony for not noticing her biting her nails and helping her stop the bad habit.

  The imperfections kept going on and on, in a long list.

  But the problem was, that Tony had never seen imperfections in her. He loved her, and to him, she was perfect.

  “You stupid man. Can’t you see my nail polish is chipped? Why didn’t you tell me that? How could you let me go outside like this? Aghh!” The hologhost of Alex grabbed her hair and stormed into the bathroom.

  She wasn’t really there. Recorded from one of the dark days, it was replayed so that the user could see himself and improve. But the gadget was smart enough to stop recording, since she had set it to record only her, and dumb enough to keep replaying the projections, never noticing that the user was dead and gone.

  “Good morning, love,” Tony said, loud enough to be heard inside the bathroom. He put on his tie. It felt weird around his neck after not wearing it for so long. Like a noose. He got dressed.