Bernds, I want to write a short story but I am having a little writers block. I have the beginning and the end but I'm struggling to make the in between with gravitas and comedy. Here is the beginning, tell me what Bernd should do next? What would you enjoy?
A cold dim night in late Spring, Bernd sits alone in the glare of his screen pondering life and its' many shades of boredom and dissapointment. Still sucking his tastless meal from between his teeth, his pale thin wrist and palm supporting his tired head under his weak chin. Scrolling past the image of an attractive woman he feels a sense of longing but no titilation, not anymore. The simple teenage joy of a coom, long since enjoyable due to the following moments of sobriety that remind him he is forever alone. And so our story begins with a simple innocuous post, a plea for attention perhaps or maybe misery in need of company.>what's the best way to commit suicide? painless if possible.>picture of sad clown related. It's me.
BANG, BANG, BANG! Three loud knocks come from his bedroom door. Panicked thoughts race through his mind, everything illegal he has ever done, that time he was bare IP whilst browing /b, the time he tried to buy drugs on Tor or perhaps simply using sites full of illegal opinions had put him on some sort of list. The moment passed and he removed his headphones. Perhaps it was all an electronic prank. Bernd turned to face the door. For what must have only been a second or two but felt longer, he waited, gripped with panic, thinking of everything he should be doing as he sat there idle as ever. The door opened in a confident calm manner and a well groomed man stepped in.
"I have what you seek, Bernd." He said.
His relaxed manner seemed to put Bernd more at ease than before, despite him being a stranger. Though Bernd remained silent.
"I wasn't expecting your head to be quite that size but we shall make do."
As he apprached, bag in hand, Bernd raised a weak hand almost defensively which was brushed aside the way a mother might shift the arm of a baby to dress it. The bag was placed on Bernds' lap unzipped. Bernd had hoped remaining silent, ignored the man might leave him alone. Without any forethought, Bernd muttered.
"Something not offered to just anyone."
A dark open faced helmet was produced and thrust immediately down over Bernds' head. Again, Bernd attempted to raise his arms and sink in his chair emitting a whisper to the sum of 'no.' The man in a powerful confidence, with calm smiling face in the screen glare had placed the helmet with complete ease and while Bernd was aware of no chin strap he began to feel a tight discomfort. Bernd immediately attempted to remove the helmet.
"Struggling will only increase discomfort. Just let it settle whilst is adheres to your' head."
Bernd now began to panic like a fly being closed in a venus fly trap and lashed out with his words in an attempt to defend himself, though not risking physical confrontation against his still unknown, potentially armed, assailant.
"Fuck off! The fuck is this!?"
The man now headed toward the door.
"It's what you asked for Bernd. In 1 hour, the claymore helmet will cause your head to instantly and painlessly implode."
With that, the door shut behind him and Bernd was once again alone with no idication anyone had been there other than the slight extra weight he now felt on his head and reduced sound to his ears.