James's walk with his imaginary friend was no more eventful than watching a plant grow. Except for the occasional comment made by James to no one, which he thought was someone. Their, or his rather, conversation was quite boring. It consisted of questions such as "So, what's you name?" followed by silence, where only James heard a reply. The reply was "Maria." He continued his walk, stopping occasionally to let his imaginary Maria catch up. He found what he thought to be the Historical Society and approached the door.
"You have a key to this place?" asked James.
"Nope."
"Well then, how did you expect to get inside?"
"I didn't. I only think what you want me to think," said Maria, who didn't really say anything.
"Listen, would you stop with the 'I'm only a figment of your imagination' crap. It's creeping me out. You're making me think I'm insane or something."
"You're making me talk. So you can make me shutup at anytime."
"Would you stop that! That's what I'm talking about! Now help me with this door."
He tried forcing the door open by ramming into it. When the only result this produced was a swollen shoulder, he tried shooting the doorknob. When this only resulted in a waste of bullets, he looked under the doormat for a key. When this only made him look stupid, he gave up.
"Know of anywhere else we can go?" asked a tired, sweaty, and out of breathe James.
"Sure thing honey. It's back the way we came. Behind the bowling alley."
"This place has a bowling alley? Wicked! Can we stop and bowl a few frames?" inquired James with a look of joy.
"Not a chance. I hate bowling. Besides, our time together is short and I'd just like to get this over with. It's quite pathetic actually," stated Maria, who didn't really state anything.
"And may I ask what's so pathetic about two adults engaging in the act of love?"
"Well, the fact that I'm not real. And the fact that you're only going to end up humping a mattress."
"Alright, if you mention this 'not real' nonsense one more time, there'll be no love making."
"Fine. I don't care either way. Let's go."
There are many obsessions in this world. Some are more common than others. Others are more accepted than some. Yet of these many, many obsessions, there is one that only a few know of. And those few that know of it, choose not to acknowledge it. With the exception of one person. Well, not a person per-say, but humanoid in figure. This fellow who chooses to acknowledge this obsession, does not realize it's an obsession. He sees it as a hobby.
"I'll get him good. No good, good fer nothing punk! I'll learn him!" Pyramid Head paced about his room, eyeing his various trophies. One was a chemistry teacher who flunked him in high school. Another was a neighbor who's dog defecated on his lawn one too many times. Next to him was his dog. In the corner was a delivery driver from some pizza place who rubbed him the wrong way. All were strung up in cubes. Their stiff, cold, dead bodies suspended effortlessly in metal frames. Pyramid Head cleared a spot in the corner for what he hoped to be a new addition to his collection. "Yes, he'll fit nicely here. Now to sober up a little, and chase the punk down." He left loose a cackle from an unknown source.
"You have a key to this place?" asked James.
"Nope."
"Well then, how did you expect to get inside?"
"I didn't. I only think what you want me to think," said Maria, who didn't really say anything.
"Listen, would you stop with the 'I'm only a figment of your imagination' crap. It's creeping me out. You're making me think I'm insane or something."
"You're making me talk. So you can make me shutup at anytime."
"Would you stop that! That's what I'm talking about! Now help me with this door."
He tried forcing the door open by ramming into it. When the only result this produced was a swollen shoulder, he tried shooting the doorknob. When this only resulted in a waste of bullets, he looked under the doormat for a key. When this only made him look stupid, he gave up.
"Know of anywhere else we can go?" asked a tired, sweaty, and out of breathe James.
"Sure thing honey. It's back the way we came. Behind the bowling alley."
"This place has a bowling alley? Wicked! Can we stop and bowl a few frames?" inquired James with a look of joy.
"Not a chance. I hate bowling. Besides, our time together is short and I'd just like to get this over with. It's quite pathetic actually," stated Maria, who didn't really state anything.
"And may I ask what's so pathetic about two adults engaging in the act of love?"
"Well, the fact that I'm not real. And the fact that you're only going to end up humping a mattress."
"Alright, if you mention this 'not real' nonsense one more time, there'll be no love making."
"Fine. I don't care either way. Let's go."
There are many obsessions in this world. Some are more common than others. Others are more accepted than some. Yet of these many, many obsessions, there is one that only a few know of. And those few that know of it, choose not to acknowledge it. With the exception of one person. Well, not a person per-say, but humanoid in figure. This fellow who chooses to acknowledge this obsession, does not realize it's an obsession. He sees it as a hobby.
"I'll get him good. No good, good fer nothing punk! I'll learn him!" Pyramid Head paced about his room, eyeing his various trophies. One was a chemistry teacher who flunked him in high school. Another was a neighbor who's dog defecated on his lawn one too many times. Next to him was his dog. In the corner was a delivery driver from some pizza place who rubbed him the wrong way. All were strung up in cubes. Their stiff, cold, dead bodies suspended effortlessly in metal frames. Pyramid Head cleared a spot in the corner for what he hoped to be a new addition to his collection. "Yes, he'll fit nicely here. Now to sober up a little, and chase the punk down." He left loose a cackle from an unknown source.