Theory: The Runaway Five
Trouble brewed on the streets-- was it corruption? Greed? Or even something more... heinous? People call me 'Nice...' but was I really that nice? I hear finger snapping in the background, a stereotypical effect put into play during expositional backstories during crime and detective films... My eyes see only corrupted streets, paved with golden oppurtunity... Was it really worth the risk?
... ... ... ...
(gunshot)
It's a tough world we live in, but you have to do what needs to be done. Sometimes, it's not always about being Nice, or Lucky, or Gorgeous... For weeks, I had been on the streets, with its gang wars, crime outbreaks, robberies... But, would I really stoop to their level? Even a 'nice' guy like me can be turned bad, if fate allows...
So, I find myself in the streets, walking in no particular direction-- I have no destination. In one way, I'm glad at the horrible crime I had done. The nice guy reputation I had built up had been shattered in mere moments. How did it come to this? I ask myself these questions all the time. Fame, riches... They are just material possessions in a world where you own nothing. The world just takes and takes until you cannot take anymore. And so, I walk.
My legs are beginning to grow heavy. I don't know where I'm going. The sun in the horizon only sinking deeper and deeper. I can't go into the hotel to sleep, and I can't go home... I'm trapped. My face is probably on every news station for miles after what I've done... So, hiding under a makeshift umbrella to forget the stereotypical rain in the background, I will sleep what may be my last night alive. I didn't know anymore who I was... Was I still lucky? Was I still nice? Was I still gorgeous? It feels like the longest night of my life.
Waking up, I begin my journey again. I walk... and I walk... and I walk. Suddenly, a voice in the background.
"Wanna be in a band!?"
"Sure!"
the end
Trouble brewed on the streets-- was it corruption? Greed? Or even something more... heinous? People call me 'Nice...' but was I really that nice? I hear finger snapping in the background, a stereotypical effect put into play during expositional backstories during crime and detective films... My eyes see only corrupted streets, paved with golden oppurtunity... Was it really worth the risk?
... ... ... ...
(gunshot)
It's a tough world we live in, but you have to do what needs to be done. Sometimes, it's not always about being Nice, or Lucky, or Gorgeous... For weeks, I had been on the streets, with its gang wars, crime outbreaks, robberies... But, would I really stoop to their level? Even a 'nice' guy like me can be turned bad, if fate allows...
So, I find myself in the streets, walking in no particular direction-- I have no destination. In one way, I'm glad at the horrible crime I had done. The nice guy reputation I had built up had been shattered in mere moments. How did it come to this? I ask myself these questions all the time. Fame, riches... They are just material possessions in a world where you own nothing. The world just takes and takes until you cannot take anymore. And so, I walk.
My legs are beginning to grow heavy. I don't know where I'm going. The sun in the horizon only sinking deeper and deeper. I can't go into the hotel to sleep, and I can't go home... I'm trapped. My face is probably on every news station for miles after what I've done... So, hiding under a makeshift umbrella to forget the stereotypical rain in the background, I will sleep what may be my last night alive. I didn't know anymore who I was... Was I still lucky? Was I still nice? Was I still gorgeous? It feels like the longest night of my life.
Waking up, I begin my journey again. I walk... and I walk... and I walk. Suddenly, a voice in the background.
"Wanna be in a band!?"
"Sure!"
the end
