Sylvia: Has he?
Mirror: No. He’s kind of lazy at times.
Sylvia: You’re not wrong.
Mirror: So, we’re Riffing the story, called “Tanks For the Exhilaration” (which, by the way, is kind of a pun), for him. Aren’t we so nice?
Sylvia: Yeah, very.
Mirror: Anyway, let’s inhale some gas and Riff this bitch!
Having gotten the breath knocked out of him as a result of the last tackle, Frederickson walked to the sideline.
Mirror: So, is Fredrickson his first or last name? If it’s his first, his parents are assholes.
He was the team’s current starting quarterback, a role he excelled at. As a result he was the team’s new star, the latest golden boy to have his butt kissed perpetually. It seemed that no amount of praise was too extravagant, and even the most minor of criticisms brought howls of outrage, as if his life and family had been threatened.
Sylvia: Wow, it’s like telling a FNAF fan that maybe FNAF isn’t that great.
Some fans and commentators had resorted to trashing his predecessors, who had given the best they had to the franchise, in order to prop him up. They neither understood nor cared that bringing someone down to elevate another only demeaned everyone, including the one they were trying to elevate.
Mirror: So, is this a commentary on psychotic fanboys and fangirls?
Frederickson had not handled this treatment well. He was becoming more arrogant and full of himself, and he had begun losing his temper over the most meaningless and harmless of uncomplimentary remarks.
Sylvia: Hey, look, it’s Kanye West.
Some sports critics, and even many of his own teammates, viewed him as a diva. Others feared how he’d react if his supporters turned on him like they had the ones before him.
Mirror: Probably bitch and whine.
Frederickson took a seat on a bench and removed his helmet so oxygen could be administered. The trainer looked for the pump he usually used, but to his puzzlement it wasn’t there.
Sylvia: (Narrator): There was a tank that said, “WARNING: HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE IF INHALED.” The trainer decided to use that one.
There was instead a green tank labeled “OXYGEN”. He shrugged it off, grabbed the tank, placed it on the bench next to Frederickson, placed the mask over the quarterback’s nose and mouth, and turned the knob to start the flow of gas. Frederickson took a couple breaths and then started coughing.
Mirror: Yeah, it wasn’t oxygen, it was sarin gas. Oops.
The trainer was somewhat startled by this, but he told him, “Easy. Just try to breathe normally.”
After a couple more breaths Frederickson’s eyes began to gleam with a new light. He somehow felt exhilarated and relaxed at the same time. The crowd noise began to grow distorted, but he didn’t care. His lips parted into a stupid grin and as he continued to inhale the gas he became more euphoric. The trainer’s confusion turned to anxiety as he watched the QB’s eyes glaze over. It seemed like the player was having trouble sitting upright. Suddenly he started laughing.
Sylvia: Great, you broke him. Good job, dude.
As the giggle grew into a guffaw, several of the players and coaches turned to stare. One of them, not sure how to react, jokingly asked, “Did you give him weed or something?!”
Mirror: I guess Snoop Dog filled that tank.
The trainer turned off the tank. He started to remove the mask, but Frederickson weakly grabbed his wrist and told him, “Just a little more.” The trainer ignored him and pulled free from his grip to remove the mask. Frederickson stared at him for a moment as if wanting to say something, but then he lay down on the bench and continued to chortle. The trainer looked at the tank and noticed a chip of green paint was missing, revealing blue underneath. Suddenly realizing what may be going on he used his thumbnail to scrape off more of the thin green paint, revealing more blue and confirming his suspicions.
Sylvia: (Narrator): It was Sadam’s mustard gas!
“What’s going on?!” asked a coach.
“This is a tank of nitrous oxide doctored to look like an oxygen tank!” Finding the “OXYGEN” label to be pasted on, he ripped off as much of it as he could in disgust. “He’s high on laughing gas right now!”
Mirror: 420 laugh it.
“WHAT!? How in blazes did that happen!?”
Sylvia: High? Blazes? Was…was that pun?
“I’ll be dipped if I know!” He looked at Frederickson, who was resting in a semi-conscious state, and wondered how this could have happened.
Mirror: The power of plot. And, hey, where’s the rest of the story?
Sylvia: I think this is it.
Mirror: Wait, seriously? You’re shitting me.
Sylvia: No…this seems to be it.
Mirror: But…it’s so abrupt.
Mirror: This story is…what?
Sylvia: I’m not sure exactly what to make of this story. Is it a full story? Is it a fragment? I’m very confused. There’s not even much to this. It’s just “self-centered football player is accidentally given laughing gas instead of oxygen, and no one knows why.” That’s all. No questions are answered, nothing is expanded upon. Honestly, it seems more like the beginning of a story than anything else.
Mirror: It’s not a bad story though. The description of Fredrickson at the beginning was promising (despite the fact that it led to nothing down the line), and the story itself is well written. The spelling and grammar are great, and the descriptions are very well done. Really, if the story were continued, and it turned out the oxygen wasn’t laughing gas but some sort of poison, then it could lead into some kind of murder mystery story or something. Maybe write a Creepypasta story where the police aren’t morons. You know, like “Pasta Noir” or something. Just a thought. Point is, the story isn’t bad, just odd and incomplete. It has potential, but at the moment, that’s all it is. Potential. But that’s what we think. What do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish we’d accidentally get high on laughing gas? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.