Chapter Two: Memories of a Distant Past
Yo! Chapter two here! I'd also like to remind you all that I have other stories up for all ya'll that like gory stuff. Remember to REVIEW!!!
Chapter 2:
Where was I, oh yeah, at the start. So, It was a sunny, happy day in good ol' Bikini Bottom. Children were laughing, women gossiping, men hittin' on the gals. I woke up and did my little routine. You know, the "I'm Ready" crapola. I bent over and thanked the lord above whom I'd believed in back then. That is different now. Very different.
Anyways, I walk out and I see cop cars going by. I thought it wasn't anything special. Bikini Bottom was riddled with crime at the time. I mean, you'd turn a street corner and see a dead guy just laying there. That is the perfect example, seeing as how that happened to me.
So, I turned a corner and on the ground, I see this burnt up fish-guy laying there like fish-sticks laying on a fat guy's plate. I looked around looking for the damn cops, but there were none in sight. There was nobody in sight. It was silent.
My eyes were instantly bloodshot. I looked in my peanut sized, fry cook brain for what to do. I had about two options, or at least two that came to mind. They were to either walk away and hide it for the rest o' my life, or I could give it a proper buried. I don't know what the hell got into my mind, but it told me option two.
An hour later, I'm late for work, but that was the least of my problems. I was covered in sand and dirt from burying the damn guy. I even gave the lucky bastard a tombstone stating: Here Lies a Poor Fish Whom I Never Knew and Never Will.
That experience would've made my day if it were opposite day.
I decided I should just go to work and pretend like the whole thing never happened. That was exactly what I did. I walked into the Krusty Krab an hour and a half late. That would have been the icing on the cake in opposite land. Mr. Krabs came out of his office looking pissed.
He is yelling at me for what you'd expect, being late, not doing good work, slacking off, being traced to a murder that I hadn't committed due to finger prints. Now don't go getting your reading glasses thinking you read that last sentence wrong because you read right.
The cops came and slapped hand-cuffs on me. Those things sting like a bitch. Anyways, next time I bury a dead murder victim, maybe I should wear gloves.
Best day of my life in opposite land.
Damn, I wish I lived in opposite land.
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