Simon sits on a bench in a quiet neighborhood, his laptop on his lap in front of him. The street’s monotony is only interrupted by the occasional street traffic. A line of tall houses are in front of and behind him.
Right in front of Simon is one such house, distinguishable from the rest only thanks to the two flags hanging side-by-side out the window: one for the U.S.A., and the other for Poland. Nothing seems to be going on in the house, but something should happen soon. In fact, that’s what Simon is waiting for.
Until then, he opens a video, named “ToVeronicaAndMaribelle.mp4”. As the title suggests, the recording is addressed to Veronica and Maribelle, though he hasn’t sent it yet. He had to go somewhere with a stable internet connection first.
Simon presses the Play button.
Simon smiles and waves as the video begins. He says, “Hey guys-” Suddenly cutting himself off he mumbles, “Err... just girls, I guess… Hold on, what was I talking abou-”
The video unexpectedly cuts back to the beginning, but this time, Simon says, “Hey, Simon here! I hope the two of you are doing well. I just thought I’d record this to tell you how I’ve been doing recently.”
Simon looks thoughtfully around the plain room he’s recording in, and continues, “So… Let’s see… Obviously, the whole ‘Sike3425’ thing isn’t gonna happen anymore, at least not for awhile…”
Simon stares solemnly at his old YouTube channel. It’s almost entirely devoid of subscribers, which is obviously to be expected thanks to the huge dearth of updates and memory loss among his viewers. At this point, it seems like a bad idea to start using it again, especially since he doesn’t really have a stable income. He’d need something that would go viral in order to stand a chance.
Clicking on the ‘Videos’ tab, he scrolls through some of his past video game reviews and stream highlights, with a few random prank videos thrown in. The memories come flooding back. It was a simpler time back then, but that was the only reason he truly missed it. Nowadays, things weren’t so simple… But things being complex meant there were more things to live for.
Simon scrolls past a video titled, “EPIC FIRE TRUCK PRANK!!! [TOTALLY RAD] [POLICE CAME] [LIVE FROM HOSPITAL]”
Simon immediately deletes it.
In the recording, Simon continues, “But… it’s not all bad. I actually managed to get another job! I mean, it’s not particularly high-paying, but it’s something!” Simon tries to smile happily, but his eyes are filled with disappointment.
Simon stands behind a counter in a crowded building. His ears are constantly assaulted by the screams of children, whose parents seem to be too busy eating to worry about keeping them quiet. The noise is occasionally interrupted by the “cha-ching” of the cash registers in front of him, relics in a world of electronics and computers, which had been due to be replaced for approximately five years now. The only other noises Simon can hear are those of the people talking in the kitchen, frying some cholesterol-filled delectables to hell and back for the horde of hungry customers already arriving for the lunch rush.
Simon sighs in annoyance, silently cursing the man who had put him into this position.
Seeing a woman approach the counter, Simon musters up all the cheerfulness he used to be famous for and says, “Hello! Welcome to McDonald’s! What can we get you today?”
It soon becomes apparent that the woman hadn’t yet considered her order, and, judging by her reaction, Simon’s question was one that required deep, metaphysical ramifications. While waiting, Simon casts his eyes upon the crowd of patrons. He notices some random kid slam another kid’s face into his Big Mac and can’t help chuckling at it.
“ExCUSE ME?!” The woman suddenly shouts, in a scratchy voice with a tone that seems to fluctuate madly. “What are YOU LAUGHing at?!”
Simon, caught off guard by the remark, mumbles, “...What?”
“It’s my DRESS isn’t it?” The woman replies, gesturing towards her utterly unremarkable dress. “I bet YOU THINK it makes ME LOOK FAT! Well, Y’KNOW WHAT? I’m not paying you to be a FASHION CRITIC, I’m paying you to get me MY GOT-DANG FOOD!”
In the next few seconds, Simon comes up with about five or six comebacks that would deep-fry the woman to an extent far beyond anything listed on the menu. However, Simon couldn’t afford to get fired. So he just takes a deep breath and replies, “Thanks for the input. …Now about your order?”
Simon sighs, looking away from the camera. He mumbles, “So… uh, if you guys know of any better jobs that’d be willing to hire random teens, feel free to hit me up.”
Seeming to cheer up a little, Simon adds, “Still, working there hasn’t been all bad. My co-workers are really cool, and they even share some of my interests!”
“You guys better watch out!” Simon shouts, “You’re about to find out the hard way that I’m extremely skilled at this game!”
“Oh, like how you were ‘extremely skilled’ at Melee?” a girl about Simon’s age with long, brown hair replies from next to Simon on the couch - which is torn in several places, fitting the shabby conditions of the storage closet it’s in.
“Sh- Shut up, Emily!” Simon says, “I was just having an off-day. If I had fought you two at my full potential, your minds would have literally exploded.”
A similarly aged guy with blonde hair that looks like it’s been combed with a rake finishes plugging a game console into a small, box-like television. He turns to the couch where Simon and Emily are sitting and says, “Well, I hope you’re at your full potential today. Because this may be the most important game you’ve played in your entire life!”
“What the heck?” Simon says. “Dave, could ya’ just cut it with all the weird ruddy stuff? It’s really not as cool as you think it is.”
Ignoring him, Dave continues, “This is going to a be a very special competition… You see, whoever loses has to stay after tonight and clean up the entire restaurant!”
Emily gasps and shouts, “God, Dave, I just came here to play Mario Kart, not to gamble with my life.”
“This is no gamble!” Dave shouts, aiming his Wii remote at Emily like a sword. “This is a duel! A showdown of skill and luck, fought bitterly to the bitter end! Only skill will decide who gains the spoils of victory and who must suffer the consequences of defeat.”
Emily rolls her eyes and says, “So, what are the ‘spoils of victory,’ then? The kid-size french fries that one family left on their table?”
Before Dave can reply, Simon shouts, “And what kinda horrible consequence is having to clean the restaurant after hours?”
Dave laughs, shakes his head, and replies, “Oh, Simon… If only I could be so naive again!”
“Trust me, Simon,” Emily adds. “You haven’t really suffered until you’ve had to scrape boogers out from inside the tubes in the Kid Zone.”
Dave turns on the television, and the main menu of Mario Kart Wii appears on-screen. Dave tosses some Wii remotes at the other two and sits down next to Simon.
Sweating nervously, Simon asks, “Hey, uhh… Maybe we should switch to another game for this…”
“No way! You can’t back out now!” Emily replies, “Besides, you said you were ‘extremely skilled’ at this, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about!”
“Aw, shit…” Simon mumbles.
Simon laughs, gazing fondly away from the camera.
After a few seconds, Simon looks back to the screen and says, “Oh, sorry, I got distracted for a bit... Anyway... What else…”
“Oh, right,” Simon continues. “I know people have forgotten about me, but I’ve been trying to make up for some stuff I did before… everything happened. Like, I know it’s totally pointless, but it helps me sleep a little easier.”
A man lies in the intensive care ward of a hospital, an IV connected to him. While most of his body is horribly injured, his head and arms are unscathed. A huge pile of fan mail sits next to his bed, but he’s focused on the notepad in front of him. On it, he’s writing lyrics to some kind of rap titled “Flatline Bling.”
Suddenly, a doctor opens the door and says, “Hey, Mickey, you got another letter from a fan.” He holds out a plain, white envelope.
Mickey puts down his notepad and take the envelope. Quickly tearing it open, he finds a homemade card. It seems to contain Get Well message along with a terse apology for something Mickey can’t recall, signed, “Little Limehead.”
“What the hell is this?” Mickey asks.
“I don’t know,” the doctor replies. “I didn’t read it.”
The doctor begins to walk to the entrance, but stops at the door. He adds, “I wouldn’t worry yourself about the mail. Just focus on getting better. We’ve gone far too long without another album from you, Lil Mickey.”
The doctor closes the door behind him, leaving Lil Mickey alone with the strange letter. He shakes his head in confusion, and absentmindedly tosses the letter into the pile.
Suddenly, he’s hit with a bolt of inspiration. He quickly grabs his notebook, turns to a new page, and writes at the top: “Apology for Nothin’.”
A grave look passes over Simon’s face as he says, “I also made good on one of my promises from the school… You probably know what I’m talking about…”
*ding-dong*
The doorbell rings out, sudden and unexpected through an organized din of clocks and watches, their ticks perfectly in sync. The owner of the clock store, an old, stoic-looking woman, looks curiously to the entrance through her spectacles. She sees a postman leave a package beside the door, get into their car, and drive away.
Soon, the package, addressed to a “Vanessa Treynor,” sits on the old woman’s counter. Vanessa slides a box cutter through the tape, and unfolds the top of the box. She pulls out the contents, a surprisingly heavy black top hat, resting upside-down in the box. Recognizing it instantly, she quickly understands the implication of the hat lacking its owner and recoils in shock. The brim slips through her fingers, and the hat lands on the edge of the package, sending it sideways and spilling its contents across the counter.
Surprisingly, the bags of clock-making tools aren’t the only things in the hat. A thick, white envelope, unfamiliar to Vanessa, slides out of the hat as well. She quickly opens it with the box cutter, then spills everything inside onto the counter and spreads it all out.
The envelope was filled with a bunch of photos of her grandson, Damien. Most of them showed him working on timepieces, but a few pictured him standing with some other teenagers, seemingly smiling. A flash drive also lay among the photos, with “Videos” written on it in Sharpie.
Vanessa picks up the largest photograph, which depicts Damien beside a young man with green hair that she doesn’t recognize. Damien is smiling, but it’s clear from the look in his eyes that he’s rather annoyed.
Vanessa picks up the last object in the pile: a note hastily scribbled on notepad paper. It reads, “Unfortunately, Damien’s time ran out. But it seems to me that he lived it to the fullest, at least from his point-of-view.
-A Student from Hope’s Peak.”
Vanessa smiles, though a teardrop stains the paper. .
Eventually, Simon says, “Well… I guess that’s all I’ve got to say… I hope you guys are doin’ fine, and if you need anything from me, feel free to ask. I’ll probably try to compile some of the footage I got soon too, but I’m not really sure what I’m gonna do with it… but I might send some of it over, at least.”
“Anyway… I’m not really sure how to end this… so, uh…” Simon leans into the camera and shouts, “Bye, have fun, don’t hurt yourselves!” With that, the footage cuts out and the video ends.
Simon closes the laptop. He then focuses his attention back on the house across the street. As if right on cue, the door opens, and the man who lives inside walks out. The man wears a brown suit and carries a matching briefcase. His black hair is slicked back neatly, and he seems to glower at everything around him.
The man turns and opens his mailbox, not seeming to notice Simon nor care to notice him. He takes out the papers inside and shuffles through them irritably.
An accented voice calls from inside. “Anything important, Sirius?”
“No, just more crap from the AARP and a couple bills.” He stops at the end of the pile and continues, “...Looks like we’ve got another one of those weird letters too…”
A middle-aged woman with greying brown hair steps out of the door and takes the letter from Sirius, who immediately chucks the rest of the mail into a trash can conveniently located right under the mailbox.
The woman asks, “Who even is this guy? How does he know so much random stuff about us?” Putting the letter in her pocket, she adds, “Should we press charges or something?”
“There’s no return address, so we can’t…” Sirius mumbles, “Besides, they’re all just weird compliments and ‘thank you’ messages… I don’t think they’ve technically broken any laws.”
“Whatever…” The woman says, “Let’s just go watch some TV.”
The couple walks back inside, closing the door behind him. Smiling to himself, Simon puts the laptop into a backpack, stands up, and walks away. He slowly heads down the sidewalk, the old neighborhood disappearing behind him, and continues into the future.