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Then again, the thing about the-day-before-school-starts is that I always end up waking up as late as possible - preferably 12pm or so, which is hardly conducive to sleeping early enough that I can get up on time tomorrow.
Thus there is a relatively high chance that I will end up late for school tomorrow.
Oh, and one of the epic-est things I've read in a long time:
(aka, the not-quite-epitome of breaking the fourth wall. i love this story. and its author.)
“See, this here’s like a room. Roof, floor, and four walls. One-two-three-four, got it? Only this one here, this fourth wall? It’s not really here. You all pretend like it’s really here, but it’s not. I really don’t see why you people can’t understand that. It’s all fake, don’t you see? None of this—this here—none of it really exists. We’re all just figments of some fool’s imagination, forced to dance for the amusement of total strangers he barely knows and we shouldn’t even know exist. It’s a bloody travesty is what it is. Now you all think I’m crazy...maybe I am, but that’s not important!”
...
“Once upon a time...is a stupid way to start a story.”
If anyone besides the man who uttered the sentence would have been present upon the mountain’s side, perhaps they would have asked him why he chose to speak those exact words in such a place in the world. Perhaps he would have told them about story clichés and predictable adventure plots for over an hour, three minutes of which the listener would have actually cared about before attempting to tell him to just shut up, and failing to do so. However, as he was in fact the only sentient person present on that mountain’s side, his sentence went without rebuttal, forcing him to expound upon it by himself.
“I mean, seriously, can you get any more pathetic? I start a story like that, and right then I’m thinking, ‘Laaaaame.’ There’s no power behind it anymore.” He bent over to look at some old stone steps which had once built a solid staircase up the mountain, now little more than grown-over depressions and broken rocks in a barely-distinguishable path upwards. Picking up a small piece of debris from off the ground, he tossed it back and forth in his hands as he walked upwards, sometimes waving it around like a piece of chalk in front of a classroom.
...
In response, he dipped his hands into the water and pulled out a small chunk of newly-fashioned ice. Setting it on the ground, he pointed to it. “This…is a block of ice.” The block then rose a foot into the air. “This is me, levitating a block of ice.” Without hesitation he jumped onto the block, which remained as solid as if it was held by steel beams. He pointed to it once more. “This is me, levitating myself, via a block of ice.” Satisfied with his explanation, he pulled another few streams of icy water out of the lake and around his legs, creating a very solid pair of frozen boots which he then used to walk upon thin air with.
“And this is me, levitating me, wearing cool boots, flying away, like a block of ice. If you don’t believe me, too bad, because I’m not planning on explaining it again.”
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