There I was, standing in the middle of what felt like my old school playground, trying desperately to call out to my friends — K, Zaid, and the rest of the gang. But no matter how much I moved my mouth, no words came out.
It was like being trapped inside a silent movie where the soundtrack forgot to load.
Frustrated, I decided to head home. Simple, right? Just turn around, walk a bit, and boom, you're home.
Except… I couldn't find the way.
Every road, every corner twisted into another. My feet wandered without really knowing where to go, and somehow, I found myself standing at the entrance of a huge, beautiful garden.
It wasn't your average garden either.
The trees stretched impossibly tall, the flowers looked like they were designed by someone on too much Red Bull, and the whole place buzzed like it was alive.
And in the middle of it all — a bunch of ripped dudes doing pushups and lifting giant tires like it was a normal Tuesday afternoon.
I blinked.
Was this… an outdoor gym? Or had I just walked into the set of a Rocky reboot?
Either way, it felt wrong to just stand there staring, so I gathered what little confidence I had left, walked over to the nearest muscled guy, and awkwardly asked,
"Hey, uh… can I join?"
He looked up at me, grinned wide enough to crack the sky, and said, "Only if you can survive The Trial."
Now, did I know what The Trial was? No.
Did I immediately say yes like an idiot? Absolutely.
Before I could even blink, I was being thrown into random exercises — push-ups, jumping jacks, weird yoga stretches that probably aren't even legal in some countries.
And through this madness, I made some new friends — people who, thankfully, were also as lost and confused as I was.
Hours later, the "gym" started shutting down.
The sun was dipping low, and everyone was packing up their giant tires and biceps like it was closing time at Walmart.
I decided to leave too — no way was I getting stuck in Muscletown after dark.
As I was heading out, I noticed a girl walking beside me.
She was… different.
Short, wearing black glasses that glinted under the streetlights, long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and a vibe that screamed "Trouble, but in a good way."
You know that feeling when you meet someone and immediately realize they're the reason warning signs exist?
Yeah, that.
We walked together without really talking at first, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But deep inside, I felt something spark — the kind of spark you get when you realize, Oh boy, I'm definitely getting into some nonsense tonight.
A bus pulled up near the garden entrance.
Painted in bright blue, with the big letters "TERNA" slapped across the side.
My old school! My old friends!
I squinted through the window, heart racing.
Maybe Pearl was inside! Maybe this was my chance to reconnect after losing them earlier!
Without thinking twice, I broke into a sprint toward the bus.
And — surprise — the girl ran with me like she was being chased by a dozen angry geese.
We chased that bus like our lives depended on it — and honestly, they almost did.
Because in the excitement and confusion, we didn't notice the bridge ahead.
A bridge with a massive gap where construction had clearly said, "Please don't be stupid."
We were stupid.
We jumped.
Not gracefully, not heroically.
We tumbled like two screaming ragdolls launched from a malfunctioning amusement ride.
Time slowed.
I saw the girl's glasses flying off.
I heard myself scream something that sounded suspiciously like, "MOMMMYYYY!!"
And then — BAM — we landed.
Somehow alive.
Bruised, a little broken inside, but alive.
Breathing hard, looking at each other, we laughed.
Like, full-on chaotic "we should be dead but aren't so let's just laugh at the universe" kind of laughter.
After catching our breath, we realized something important.
Pearl wasn't even on that bus.
Someone mentioned she had gotten off to find me.
Meaning… we risked our lives for nothing.
Typical.
Still, what could we do now? We were already deep into this crazy night.
So we did what any semi-rational people would do: we decided to hit up a nearby mall.
Because if you almost die chasing a bus, you deserve to reward yourself with shopping and bad decisions.
First stop?
A salon.
Yep, we strolled in like we owned the place — her with her black glasses back on, me pretending I had any idea what "hair spa treatment" even meant.
And that's where things got even weirder…
So there we were: two absolutely unqualified people, stepping into the fanciest salon the mall had to offer — like we were royalty who had just fallen off a bridge and decided to get a makeover.
The lady at the reception looked at us — covered in dust, leaves sticking out of my hair, her glasses cracked at one side — and still, without blinking, asked politely,
"Haircut or spa?"
The girl confidently said,
"Hair spa. For him."
And pointed at me.
Me — the same guy who couldn't even brush his hair properly most days.
I wanted to argue, to protest, to say something intelligent like, "Maybe just a shampoo?"
Instead, I nodded like I totally belonged there.
They wrapped me up like a mummy in about five towels, sat me down on a chair, and started rubbing weird-smelling oils into my scalp while the girl just sipped coffee, watching like she was at a movie theatre.
Somewhere between getting my head massaged and smelling like a coconut plantation, it hit me:
This was actually kind of nice.
Relaxing even.
Until the next crazy thing happened.
Just as I was starting to enjoy the spa life, the girl — let's call her Glasses for now — leaned over and whispered,
"We're not paying."
I choked on my own breath.
"WHAT?" I whisper-screamed.
She winked.
"Trust me."
Trust her??
This was the same girl who convinced me to jump off a bridge less than an hour ago!
Before I could even formulate a plan to save my dignity (and wallet), she was already sneaking toward the door.
I panicked.
I stumbled out of the chair, still wrapped like a burrito, and shuffled after her like a possessed sofa.
The receptionist looked up.
I waved awkwardly.
She frowned.
I bolted.
We ran down the mall corridors, laughing like complete maniacs.
My towel turban fell off mid-run. Someone screamed. Someone clapped. Someone even took a video, I'm pretty sure.
Finally, we stopped at a clothing store to catch our breath.
Naturally, we decided to "shop" — mostly because hiding in a clothing rack seemed like a good survival tactic at that point.
I tried on a ridiculous neon green jacket.
Glasses wore a giant floppy hat that made her look like a detective from a children's cartoon.
"You look like you solve crimes that involve missing cookies," I said.
She laughed, adjusted the hat dramatically, and declared,
"Detective Glasses, at your service!"
Right when I thought it couldn't get any weirder, it did.
We heard honking outside the mall.
A bus had pulled up.
Not just any bus — THE bus.
The Terna school bus again.
My heart leapt.
Maybe K was finally here! Maybe this was destiny calling! Maybe —
"Come on, partner," Detective Glasses said.
And dragged me outside.
We rushed toward the bus.
But they lost the bus and no way to return home then suddenly a truck screeched.
DeathPole hung halfway out the window, waving wildly.
DeathPole:
"GET IN, YOU BEAUTIFUL BLEEPS!"
Nick, me (the Author), and the girl jumped into the truck.
Immediately, DeathPole started swearing so much the whole scene sounded like a microwave stuck on "BLEEP."
DeathPole turned dramatically to the audience:
DeathPole:
"Okay seriously? You censor me NOW? I'm basically Cartoon Network property at this point!"
Nick leaned forward.
Nick:
"Dude, this is a family-friendly story. Calm your BLEEP down."
DeathPole gasped so hard his mask inflated like a balloon.
DeathPole:
"Family-friendly?! I literally turn bad guys into spaghetti for breakfast!"
Author (me):
"And now you're gonna turn into a responsible citizen. Welcome to censorship, pal."
DeathPole threw his hands up, muttering censored words like he was casting dark magic spells.
Then he paused… squinting suspiciously at the corner of the screen.
DeathPole:
"Wait… WAIT a second—hold up—why does it say 'DeathPole' and not 'Dead****'?!"
He turned fully to the audience.
DeathPole:
"Who the actual BLEEP is DeathPole?! Are you guys scared of copyright lawyers or something?! What am I now — some cursed gym equipment?!"
Nick, hiding his laugh, whispered:
Nick:
"You sound like a Cheap ripoff , bro."
DeathPole:
"Cheap ripoff ?!"
(he pointed furiously at the sky)
"I demand to speak to whoever's writing this cheap fanfiction!"
Author (me):
(deadpan)
"You're speaking to me right now. Shut up and drive."
DeathPole sighed deeply, muttering something very R-rated under his breath (BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP).
DeathPole:
"Fine. I'll be a good little BLEEP… like a BLEEPing Care Bear hopped up on espresso shots."
Nick grinned.
Nick:
"You swore again."
DeathPole glared at the invisible censors above.
DeathPole:
"Kids, if you ever feel censored… just remember: reality is rated R, but your story can still slap harder than Webman at a knockoff comic con."
Nick and I both stared at him.
DeathPole shrugged:
DeathPole:
"Now sit back, buckle up, and let's go commit some… perfectly legal, non-violent, family-approved chaos."
As DeathPole kept monologuing to the audience about censorship, he completely forgot to look at the road.
DeathPole:
"Anyway, like I was saying, the thing about unicorns is—"
CRASH!!
The truck slammed into a giant inflatable Webman balloon crossing the highway.
We all went flying like budget Avengers at a garage sale.
Nick tumbled through the air in slow motion, thinking:
Nick (slow motion inner monologue):
"Yep. This feels about right."
SMASH—
Everything went black.
⸻
Suddenly—
Nick's eyes shot open.
He was back in his bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding.
Nick (panting):
"What the actual fire truck just happened…?"
He looked around:
No DeathPole.
No crazy girl.
No Webman balloon.
Just his boring ceiling fan spinning uselessly.
Nick flopped back onto his pillow.
Nick:
"Man, I seriously need to stop eating ice cream before bed."
END OF DREAM
⸻
[Post-Credits Scene]
The screen is pitch black.
Silence.
Then—
DeathPole's masked face slowly pops into frame, upside down.
DeathPole (whispering):
"Psst… you thought it was over, huh?"
He winks dramatically, pointing two fingers at his masked eyes and then at you.
DeathPole (normal voice):
"By the way, don't blame me for all the BLEEPS! It's not MY fault this novel's written for PG-13 wimps!"
(CENSOR BEEP)
DeathPole (mock innocent):
"Oops, I said f—(BEEP)—again. How unprofessional of me."
He squints again suspiciously at the corner of the screen.
DeathPole:
"And seriously — DeathPole?? You made me sound like rejected gym equipment. Shame on you."
He grins wickedly:
DeathPole:
"See you in your next fever dream, buttercup. Bring ice cream next time."
He blows an exaggerated, loud kiss:
SMACK!
DeathPole (being dragged away, yelling):
"WAIT, I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEEEEE—(BEEEEEEP) YET—(BEEEP)!!"
Screen cuts to black.
THE REAL END.
⸻
Want me to also write a super quick "after-credits after-credits" gag where DeathPole pops his head one last time and screams "WEBMAN SUCKS!" before being tackled offscreen?