How to kill the pain

The world we live in is constructed around our lives. The adornments of the house are beautiful, artistically swirled vases with purple flowers, the aroma of oranges wafts through the vast arabesque hallways. Each room is vividly colored, different furniture decorating each. As we move through our lives, we forget the rooms that used to be so sweet, our past times and our refuges. Their chairs and cushions are left to gather cobwebs in darkness, to be reentered later on the search for lost keys. 

Some rooms you have never been in, mostly because you are afraid to enter them. Or you have stood at the threshold briefly but retreated when a light switch could not be found. There are no windows in this house; or rather you cannot see what is outside. Objects just seem to appear, possibly from the attic, yet many more are misplaced and lost over time. You stand in this house, wondering why you are currently alone. You remember that this house has entertained; people have entered and spent marvelous times with you, some staying for months on end. Reflecting, you realize that these people are not with you now, nor were they really with you then. Has anyone ever been with you? Possibly they are in another room, gathering cobwebs with the cushions. 

Yet this house is built on paper. You miss a step one day. Then the paper breaks and your universe begins to fall in around you. Collapsing into the void that your foot tore, or was torn for you, or was it already there? All the rooms that you counted on are being destroyed, the half remembered residents of rooms long forgotten collapse into this expanding abyss. Eventually you are sucked in too. As hell swallows you, you look up to see this house you lived in for so long. It is so small from underneath that it’s hard to decipher from the emptiness around it. It is constructed of rotting wood and rusty nails. It's missing a wall! How did anyone live in that house?

As you descend the sorrow swallows you, you are being squeezed everywhere and it is hard to breathe. The shattered reminisce of the house lose their beauty. The vase can be seen falling beside you. It is not so beautiful any more, it is gray and all the flowers have wilted. Perhaps that vase never had bright purple flowers... The only thing that you are positive about is that you’ll never know. You loose site of everything as your eyes eventually become enveloped in nothingness. 

The house is gone now and you are still falling... wait, no you’re not. You’re standing in another room, of the same house, or a similar one. In this room there is just a wooden bar stool. After a short time you sit on it, and ponder how you got there, or if you’re even still alive. There are voices in the room across the hall; they beckon you over to come join the party. You enter bring up the recent destruction of your life. You ask if this has happened to anyone else.

The whole room smells of oranges. But now, somehow, they seem bitter.

Emotional Roller Coaster

Previously just an improv game.

No more!

with one easy divorce and a shortage of money, you too can experience the excruciating pain of your parents suing each other. Now, your saying, surely these two adults won't jockey for you to pick a side, thereby destroying any stability within your psyche. Yet I can assure you that they will! 

As a bonus, you will get a complementary fear of physical and emotional intimacy with the opposite sex!

Talk about a bargain!