Crazy Cookie Quest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story that took me one night to finish, but it's a final ELA project. It has not been checked over, but it is due tomorrow. Tell me what you think about it!

Submitted: January 25, 2017

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Submitted: January 25, 2017

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People would do absolutely anything for the cookie. Not just a cookie, but the cookie. It was a perfect cookie, no, the perfect cookie. First seen in subway, this cookie had had a roundness which was flawless, an ideal amount of chocolate chips, white and milk, and was not too hard and not too soft. Legend has it that the ill-fated soul that originally stumbled upon this gift, yet curse, was literally torn between the decision of whether to succumb to the intense cravings, or to keep the cookie because of its perfection. He died of internal bleeding, and the legends continue that his heart, brain, and stomach had actually split in half because each half disagreed with the other. The cookie had shaped the world and its ideologies, and world leaders have dramatically destroyed their countries in a mad haze to own the cookie. And I had been paid a lot to destroy it.

I wasn’t in it for the money, no no. I was surely going to be killed during or after my atrocious deed. The money would go to my family. I was going to give my family what I had failed to give them before. It would be through remorse, a sorry gift to my family. Nah, I’m just kidding. I was just bored and had nothing better to do. You know, home, work. Home, work. Home, work. Even more work, stuck at work because of riots, still more work, even more riots, work again, and finally home… It’s just repetitive and boring. I had thought that the world was just devolving. Why would I want to live in a world controlled by technology and a stupid cookie?

It was time to get ready to embark on my ultimate journey. Well, it was actually time to embark on my journey, but I had about half an hour of “last-minute” preparations to get done. When those were done, I grabbed a peanut-butter and banana sandwich and made my way out the door. A bullet whizzed past my face as I took a bite out of my sandwich. I looked ahead past the fancy rich-people houses and clean sidewalk to the high-security government-owned bakery-museum building. Living that close to something like that, I had had to be rich. Filthy rich. And I was. The streets had their usual rioters, it was the only place they were legal. Nonetheless, they were shooting at the government people, who, naturally, shot back. A woman stumbled on the sidewalk in front of me, with her face and body covered with blood.”

“Why?” she asked, quite dramatically, “Why would you let the government do this? Take this.”

I took the gift, not knowing what it was, and carelessly stuffed it in my pocket. A vigilant male pulled the woman off of the nice, clean sidewalk.

“You’re not supposed to be there!” he screamed. “Let the man continue his life!” He released the woman from his firm grip. She respectfully nodded, and walked off and yelled something or another to someone else.

“Are you okay, sir?” he asked in a concerned tone. Without letting me answer, he continued. “Here. Take this. It will stun anyone in a five-meter radius who isn’t touching it. If this is some dramatic story, you’ll definitely need it.” I grabbed the object, realising that it was bigger than the card-like object that the woman gave me.

By the end of my walk, I had finished the sandwich, which was falling apart because of holding it with one hand to shove stuff in my pockets. I carelessly wiped the peanut butter off of my hands and walked towards the entrance of the museum.

“Identification, please.” It was a nosy voice, one that I had wanted to punch the owner of in the face. “Don’t ask why. Every week for a past month, people have been trying to steal the cookie. They were, let’s say, dealt with. Show me identification, or you’re under arrest.”

“Guilty until proven innocent, huh?” I said as I put my hand in the pocket with the stun thingy. “Well, this is what I have to say about that!” I pulled it out awesomely, yet dramatically. Then realised that it was the wrong pocket.

“Oh, darnly-barnlies,” he said. “It looks like you have ID. That’s lame.”

He scanned my ID with a thick gun that looked like a price checker. I walked in, jumping a step. That was a lucky break for me, I thought. It was a good thing that lady gave me that. I wondered how she knew...

The building was boring. Quite boring. Hopelessly boringly boring. I expressed that by proudly flipping off every security camera. I reached the end of the hallway, and there was a giant sign saying, “THE COOKIE IS THAT WAY!!!!!!!!!” There were about seven more of those on the boringly boring hallways to the cookie. When I had finally made it to the room, I was speechless.

The room was breathtaking. It was so vastly small, so painfully boring. Just looking at the room I was hopelessly bored. I just wanted to curl up into fetal and die because of how boring the room was. My eyes briefly jumped over the cookie. It was on a boring kitchen table on a boring plate, with a boring saign, this time saying, “Please don’t touch.” The only thing keeping me going was the cookie. It was preserved so perfectly by the scrumptious layer of grease over it, and just looking at it made my mouth implode, then spontaneously combust with flavour. I almost passed out due to the intensity of the flavour. Luckily, I was saved by the group of heavily armed guards. The cookie had disappeared, but that was the least of my problems right then. I was so surprised by the sudden action, that it could have awakened me from a coma. That’s what the contrast of boredom and action does to you.

“Put that cookie down!” one of the men screamed. I was confused. The cookie was gone.

I had to say something. “I..” I was rudely interrupted by a high-powered gunshot. “Oof!” I continued as I was launched towards the table. I had done a quarter turn in mid-air, and my thigh was going to hit the desk, bruising it badly. That too was the least of my problems, now. Because it had been shielded by something in my pocket. I heard an odd sound. It was a sound like an electric charge building up… Something revving up for the final… ZAP! The heavily armed men at the door fell down. I stood up, with an excruciating pain in my chest. Man, was I ever glad I took ten minutes to put on that heavy-duty bullet-proof vest. I took the stun thingy out of my pocket, and read it.

It read, “Made in China. Quality check passed. Best before 11/11/2111. Only to be used once. Caution: DO NOT USE WITHOUT READING THIS:” I could tell that there wasn’t any more useful information left, so I threw it under a table. It took a couple seconds to recover from the shock that I had just experienced, I knew what I had to do. Disregarding the cookie, I ran down the boring hallways.

I came to an immediate stop. “Oh, darnly-barnlies. You’ve been caught,” I heard. It was him. The stupid retard who asked for my ID, and a friend. “Let me see that ID of yours.” With a shaky hand, I did all that I could. I passed him the card. “Hmmm… Seems legit. But it doesn’t add up. You’re the guy that flipped off every camera on the way to steal the cookie. I see you survived our new ‘Death by Boredom” look. You must have been resilient.” He pulled out the card scanner again. I looked curiously at how his face was swelling up. He obviously didn’t notice it, but he scanned my card. “Oh, you have Martha’s card. Stephen, I told you to delete her card! I’m going to have you killed for this! That stupid son of a bi…” He couldn’t finish the word. His face was like a balloon. He barely managed to wheeze out a few last words. “How…? I’m… Allergic… To… Peanuts…” His friend, Stephen, and I watched in horror as he writhed in suffocating pain on the ground, until it came to a slow and silent stop. Hundreds of heavily armed guards somehow poured through the bland hallways.

“Do you know,” Stephen whispered in disbelief, “that you just killed the totalitarian force who has been ruining our beautiful world with a stupid cookie, right after eating the cookie itself?” Addressing the guards, he spoke louder. “Pardon my french, but ‘ding dong the b!+ch is dead’!”

I was deafened by the sudden cheers and was carried out by a hundred arms into the streets, and I heard people yelling, “It has ended! The cookie reign has ended!” And after a seemingly infinite amount of time high-fiving and hugging strangers, I walked home lightly on my feet escorted by a crowd of people heroically singing a fanfare dedicated to me. I walked into my home, hugged my wife, went to bed, and fell right asleep, foreshadowing the exciting day of praise, high-fives, and gifts for tomorrow in my dreams.

The silhouette in my window was clearly not impressed as it walked away mysteriously.

 


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