Tag Archives: 195-196 WORDS

The next night was even more awkward.

“Monster?” she said plainly and simply to him, not messing around with any *human* names, pheh. “I-I’ve got to leave. I’ve got to go home.”

“Hooome?” he uttered.

“Yes. Home. Like *this* is your home. I have a home too.”

He looked out at the sea surrounding the sim, Pogo here. At Patty’s Last Chance Saloon still but around back instead of up front where the dance machine is; she’d had enough of front. She’d been preparing for this moment all day.

He starts blubbering, blubbering like a little baby. Double awkward. Wheeler wasn’t expecting this — atall — so she had no hanky to offer, no tissue paper to pull out from, say, a pocketbook. If she carried around one. All she can do is rub and pat him on the shoulder.

After he gets it out of his system, the loneliness, the long road ahead into the meat of his artificial life — without Wheeler it seems — she shows him where they can still communicate with each other. “Follow me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him away from the saloon into the next sim west. Yore.

(to be continued)

Tonight she was trying to teach him to dance but it was rough going because of the big clogs, big body overall. And she couldn’t hold his facial prettiness in place, she found out, soon reverted back to the dead white eyes, the painfully jagged black haircut she discovered him with. She, in essence, couldn’t really make him her own, as in a mirror. He remained independent. And clumsy!

Night strolling Billy Squirrel looks on amused at the awkward action. His chirping laughter was the last straw for Wheeler. “*Okay*”, she said, stopping the “dance” and stepping away from him while Billy blended back into the woods. “Let’s try something else, er, Douglas.” She kept wanting to call him Albert, like the sim she discovered him in, nay, *made* him in — back in time. But also tonight, after the last awkward dance, she found herself simply wanting to refer to him as Monster. My Monster.

“Mu-sic?” Even his voice was gruffer. And she was so close to perfection! At least with the head.

“Music,” complied Wheeler. And he whipped out his guitar, one of them, maybe both of them, and started playing then and there.

(to be continued)