The Strange Tale of Stanley Russ

Upon waking, memories of who I was flooded into my consciousness, as if being downloaded all at once.

My name was Stanley Russ, I was twenty years old, and I lived in a cheap apartment after my parents died, leaving me their savings.

I didn't have any friends—or rather, I used to, but after high school, our interactions dwindled to almost nothing.

However, I did have a girlfriend, much to my surprising dismay.

"I have a girlfriend?" I muttered to no one in particular, and then memories of her rushed back to me.

"Ah, that's right."

As I sat up on the bed, I looked around my room.

It was undeniably filthy, with clothes, socks, and underwear scattered across the floor.

The room also had a putrid smell to it.

I slowly got up and made my way to the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and washed my face.

As I went through these basic tasks, I couldn't shake the thoughts of the encounter in the elevator and with Karisa.

Was it a dream? The question kept nagging at me. Common sense told me to dismiss it as a dream, but everything about it felt too real.

After finishing in the bathroom, I put on a pair of jeans I found on the floor, grabbed some socks and a pair of raggedy shoes I'd been wearing for God knows how long, and threw on a sweater.

I put my headphones over my ears, grabbed my wallet, and stepped out of the apartment.

By the time I arrived at the arcade, I had forgotten all about the strange "dream" from the night before and focused entirely on the Pinball machine in front of me.

I played the game passively, barely paying attention as I racked up hundreds, thousands, millions of points.

My mind drifted, aimlessly wandering from one thought to the next, never really settling on any single idea.

One thought, for some reason, was whether or not I should shave. At the moment it crossed my mind, I absentmindedly rubbed my chin, which was covered in a patchy beard, then lost my train of thought—and my pinball.

It was my first loss. I still had two more chances, but I didn't feel like playing anymore.

"Wow!" I heard a voice beside me.

I quickly looked over and saw a young girl standing there, as though she had appeared out of nowhere.

Her skin was dark and beautiful, soft-looking, and she had dark, curly hair styled in twin dreadlocked tails.

She wore a white, short-cropped tank top that showed off her well-endowed chest, paired with a black jacket and jeans.

"You're really good at this," she said, tapping the machine.

"Thanks, I guess."

"Hey, hey, you should teach me!"

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Pfft, I may look young, but I've already graduated."

"Oh. Anyway, I'm not much of a teacher. I don't know how well I'll be at helping, but sure, come on."

She stepped in front of the pinball machine, pulled out the pinball, and looked at me expectantly.

"The key is to take it slow. Pinball may seem fast-paced, and it is in a sense, but you need to take things slow…"

After a few hours of teaching this girl, who turned out to be an eighteen-year-old named Wendy, I left and made my way home.

The cool autumn breeze lifted my spirits, and Wendy's upbeat, cheerful attitude was contagious, curing me of my melancholy, at least for a while.

However, stepping back into my apartment immediately brought me down again.

I checked the time on my wristwatch—it was just past noon.

The day already felt long, and I wanted it to be over. A wave of insufferable boredom washed over me, so I gave in and indulged in watching pornography. Before I knew it, it was almost time for my girlfriend to get home from work.