I made this story up in the bathroom at work

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I made this story up in the bathroom at work

Post by DidMyChores » Sun Jul 02, 2017 6:52 pm

Robert Henry found himself in a canoe being thrown about by tumultuous waters. In that moment only two things mattered: he was surrounded by famished crocodiles desperately waiting to rip the skin off of him and slurp up his organs, and that the only way to stop this from happening was that he had to make a pair of boots.

The why didn't matter. Robert focused on the how.

"I need boots," he muttered to himself.

"Hey!" he heard an unknown voice exclaim. Robert spun around amidst the turmoil and found another man standing in another canoe, equally as manic as he. Robert did not recognize this man.

"You need these boots!" The man screamed. "Please!" There was almost a sense of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging Robert to accept his boots amongst the turmoil.

Robert was stricken with silence. He began to panic. He knew that the boots would only save him if they were fashioned by himself. The crocodiles were ferociously snapping at his canoe.

The presence of this man troubled Robert greatly. He couldn't think. He did not know this man yet there was something about him something that suggested that he was not a man Robert could trust.

A piece of wood floated by, barely nearing Robert's boat before a crocodile snapped it in half, effortlessly. Robert knew if he didn't make those boots, that log would be him.

"Hey!" The man called over again. "Put on these boots or you'll kill both of us!"

"Fuck off!" Robert screamed. The mysterious man was preventing his focus, a hindersnce to survival. Without thinking Robert hurled a stone that happened to be in the canoe at the man as hard as he could. The man fell into the roaring waters, and before long among the violent splashes the dark green river became tinted with red.

The burden was gone. The crocodiles were distracted. Next to where the rock laid in the canoe was a long sharp stick. In one automated motion Robert sweeped up the stick in his arms and pointed it down, swiftly bringing it into the body of one of the crocs and instantly killing it. He held the corpse up in the air, intimidating the rest of the crocs and causing them to flee.

But Robert knew he was still not out of danger. He still had to make the pair of boots otherwise Death would come in another guise.

He brought down the stick and plucked the carcass off the tip. He then used the sharp edge of the stick as a knife, slicing open its thick outer shell.

For hours he worked, manipulating the tough material which had composed the crocodile and forming it into boots, boots that perfectly molded his feet and his feet alone. He knew these boots would be for no other man and therefore for no other man should be able to fit his feet inside them.

After hours of toiling and perfecting, Robert had finally achieved the ultimate design of his boots. They were specifically molded to his feet. As they rested on his feet, he knew he was finally safe.

Robert finally allowed his mind to calm down. He was no longer in danger, he had no need to be in survival mode. He had done the one thing needed to survive, his magnum opus, and now he was truly happy.

He had not noticed that since the attack was over with, the water had calmed down and become peaceful. The canoe smoothly sailed down the river, creating a gentle ripple. Robert laid down in it, admiring the deep blue cloudless sky. The buzz of the insects gave him a feeling of genuine serenity, the first time he'd ever felt it.

Robert slipped off his crocodile boots. In his frenzied craft job there was little room to take comfort into account, and as a result were quite an unpleasant feeling on his feet. He decided he would only wear the boots in case of emergency. Right now was a time of rest.


Robert opened his eyes, unsure whether or not he'd passed out.

Immediately he sat up and turned around. The source of this roaring noise was none other than a mighty waterfall, dead ahead. He was unable to peer over the edge of it but it was clear that a trip down the waterfall would result in none other than certain death.

After a fraction of a second of panic Robert took a deep breath. He was prepared for this.

He coolly collected both of his boots in his hands. Quickly he reached down and inserted his right foot. It didn't fall in. After wiggling a little, he jammed it in harder. His foot was caught at an awkward angle which took an uncomfortable amount of fenagling to make work. After several seconds of struggle, his foot finally clicked in.

It occurred to Robert that perhaps in his hastiness in making the boots he hadn't made them fit quite was well as he'd thought.

He glanced up at the waterfall. It was closer than he'd thought and was approaching rapidly. He quickly grabbed his other boot. In went his foot, but not all the way. He felt the angle of his foot straining as he tried to bend it in the correct shape for it to fit in.

He gritted his teeth. The current picked up speed, causing him to lose his balance and grip. The boot fell out of his hands. He quickly grabbed it again and jammed it on his foot. He could feel the sharp pain as his feet didn't fit into the boot.

He could feel the canoe moving even more rapidly. Time was running out. Robert glanced up to try and see the waterfall. He didn't. He-


Everything was white. Robert felt as though he was drifting through time and space for several moments before finally realizing he and his canoe were floating in the water once again.

Confused, Robert turned around and noticed the rocks situated directly at the foot of the waterfall. He should have died there. He looked down at the boot he never was able to get into his foot.

Why had fate spared him? The salvation provided by these boots was the only thing Robert ever truly knew. Now he wasn't sure.

Robert then noticed a familiar uproar in the waters. The crocodiles were back.

Instinctively, Robert stood up. The one boot he'd managed to get on slipped off his foot, joining its brother in the bottom of the canoe.

Robert sat back down, grabbing the boot. He jammed his foot into it, but the strain on his ankle told him it was not going on any more.

Something was wrong. Despite the rushed production Robert knew there was no way the boots fit him that badly. They must've shrunk...or he must've grown...or...something...

As his canoe reached the edge of the fog Robert started to notice a silhouette. It was another man, standing in another canoe.

He looked down, registering the water around his canoe. It was completely still. The crocodiles seemed to be harassing the other man...

Robert's canoe exited the haze of the waterfall. He finally registered the other man's face. It was...the same man as before. The one that was ripped to shreds by the violent waters. The same one who offered him his pair of boots.

No. It couldn't be.

Robert's gut was stricken with dark pain. A deep pit formed within him. This was beyond fear. This was understanding.

Robert's canoe smoothly glided alongside the other man's. He already knew what would happen next.

"I need boots," the mysterious other man muttered.

Maybe things could change. Maybe he could break the cycle.

"Hey!" Robert called out. He just had to give the man the boots. That's all he had to do. It was easy.

The man spun around, equally as manic as Robert.

"You need the boots! Please!" Robert pleaded. He begged with his eyes. Just take the boots. Just take the fucking boots.

Silence from the other man. The crocodiles snapped ferociously at his canoe.

It didn't have to be this way. It didn't. Robert could change it all, he was sure of it.

A piece of driftwood floated by. A crocodile effortlessly bit it in half, demonstrating its power.

Robert closed his eyes. He didn't have to follow the cycle. He could break out of it.

He opened his eyes.

"My name is Robert Henry," he called out to the man. "When I made these boots they were for me to survive. But it's now clear to me that these boots aren't for me. They're for you!"

The other man stared at Robert, eyes going wide in confusion.

"You have to trust me, please!" Robert called.

Stricken with fear, the other man did not move. "Stay the fuck away from me," he growled, before reaching for a rock laying in his canoe.


It was too late. There was no stopping the rock from impacting on Robert's head. There was no stopping Robert from losing balance and falling out of the canoe. There was no stopping him from being torn apart by all of the alligators.

In his final moments, Robert understood his futility. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing the other man could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

This was the existence of Robert Henry.

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Post by monstersstuck » Mon Jul 03, 2017 2:41 am

So he has to put on those boots otherwise he would of died?

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Post by DidMyChores » Tue Jul 04, 2017 12:30 am

Pretty much

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