act ten: metaphorical history
"... what the fuck?!"
Christopher Champion stands before a dusted old room, chaos littered about the floor where his three precious consoles lay among the wreckage of the fallen devices of entertainment's past. Golden light filters down through the room's covered windows, illuminating the scene of destruction. His jaw sits ajar, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror as he looks upon what once was a well-kept storage room now somehow filled with about twenty pounds of dust that wasn't there the day before.
"PERCOLATOR, YOU DOUCHE, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!"
Sitting in the livingroom, a huge grin on his face, Dominic Pericolo finishes up the last line to the story he is writing in his lap. A story that comes across as quite strange, a story meant more as an extended metaphor representative of the days ahead of him... but a story that is, nevertheless, shockingly non-fictional.
"Worth it," Pericolo mutters to himself, setting aside the story for now and basking in the glow of his temporary victory against his longtime rival and friend.
"Completely worth it."