EmoBunny
Savant
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2012
- Messages
- 458
In the year 2025 something colossally immense happened. This cataclysmic event shook all the world to its very core. Nations fell, infernos raged, and all fell silent.
I refer, of course, to the fabled release of Grimoire. As soon as word got out that the project had reached its final perfection, the world descended into total anarchy. As Cleveland Blakemore raked in obscene amounts of cash, the economies of every country on earth tanked trying to stem the hemorrhaging from the unbelievable demand for the game. Unable to hold on, anyone who had a form of shelter fled leaving all else behind. Those bunkerless fools who had not listened to the warnings of Cleve suffered mightily in the onslaught of bloodshed that followed, and all was wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Then all was still.
For thirteen years there was a supreme stillness. There was no sign of human inhabitants, save the occasional ventilation shaft spotted sticking up from the ground. For thirteen years forests regrew, animals repopulated, and the earth began to forget there had ever been the race of man.
A great stirring then happened. It came about in fits and starts at first. Whispers spread among shelters. Little by little it became clear; Cleve was doing something. He had not sat idle those thirteen years. Most had assumed the wealth of the world and the weight of his fame had brought about a sticky end for Cleve, but this was not so. For thirteen years he had hooked himself to an intravenous nutrition system, and he sat in his chair in the center of his vast underground bunker. And he thought. He did nothing but think. Mere mortal minds cannot process the depth or breadth of his thought; now that Grimoire was done he had nothing to distract his mighty mental prowess.
One topic caught his attention more than most. One topic came to his mind before all others. Before pondering Aristotle, he pondered this. Before puzzling of Sartre, he puzzled over this. Before reliving Napoleon's invasion of Russia, he relived this. Before looking at a Da Vinci, he looked at this. Before all else, this was on his mind.
He thought of BASEBALL.
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More to Come
I refer, of course, to the fabled release of Grimoire. As soon as word got out that the project had reached its final perfection, the world descended into total anarchy. As Cleveland Blakemore raked in obscene amounts of cash, the economies of every country on earth tanked trying to stem the hemorrhaging from the unbelievable demand for the game. Unable to hold on, anyone who had a form of shelter fled leaving all else behind. Those bunkerless fools who had not listened to the warnings of Cleve suffered mightily in the onslaught of bloodshed that followed, and all was wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Then all was still.
For thirteen years there was a supreme stillness. There was no sign of human inhabitants, save the occasional ventilation shaft spotted sticking up from the ground. For thirteen years forests regrew, animals repopulated, and the earth began to forget there had ever been the race of man.
A great stirring then happened. It came about in fits and starts at first. Whispers spread among shelters. Little by little it became clear; Cleve was doing something. He had not sat idle those thirteen years. Most had assumed the wealth of the world and the weight of his fame had brought about a sticky end for Cleve, but this was not so. For thirteen years he had hooked himself to an intravenous nutrition system, and he sat in his chair in the center of his vast underground bunker. And he thought. He did nothing but think. Mere mortal minds cannot process the depth or breadth of his thought; now that Grimoire was done he had nothing to distract his mighty mental prowess.
One topic caught his attention more than most. One topic came to his mind before all others. Before pondering Aristotle, he pondered this. Before puzzling of Sartre, he puzzled over this. Before reliving Napoleon's invasion of Russia, he relived this. Before looking at a Da Vinci, he looked at this. Before all else, this was on his mind.
He thought of BASEBALL.
------
More to Come