LostSole
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Edgar Allen loved puns, from the casual kind that breezes through a conversation to the carefully crafted wordplay that lingers long after the laughter fades. He appreciated them all, viewing each as having its own unique 'Poe-tential.’ At twenty years old, he had adopted the moniker “Edgar Allen Poem,” a title he felt encapsulated his creative genius.
Armed with a paintbrush, a rainbow of acrylics, and smooth river stones scavenged from creek beds, Edgar transformed the ordinary into the unexpectedly delightful. His creations carried brightly colored witticisms like “You’re boulder than you think!” and “I lava good pun!” Each one was a tiny artful display, strategically left where they might surprise and amuse—sidewalks, park benches, gas station counters—anywhere an unsuspecting passerby might stumble upon them.
He took particular pride in his sense of timing and location, like the smooth gray stone he left on an empty toilet paper dispenser in a public restroom. Painted on it were the words: “You should have gone with paper instead of rock.” It was moments like these that made Edgar feel like a true pun artist, crafting wit that hit at just the right time and place.
Still, that was just the warm-up. Tonight, Edgar Allen Poem’s ambitions reached new heights. His target? The Rock Candy Casino.
The casino’s garish lights shimmered in the Nevada night, promising fortune—or at least distraction—to gamblers and thrill-seekers. Edgar slipped through the sliding doors in his favorite denim jacket, its paint-speckled cuffs a badge of his craft. His pockets bulged with his latest masterpieces, the smooth, painted rocks jingling faintly as he walked. Mischief buzzed through him like static electricity, and he scanned the sprawling casino floor, mentally tagging a few of his targets: the windowsill by the slot machines, the grand fountain at the entrance, and the base of a gaudy peppermint statue near the bar.
Edgar moved with purpose, blending in with the crowds of tourists and gamblers. He slipped a smooth, gray rock onto the ledge of a slot machine, its colorful surface proclaiming, “Jackpot or craps-pot?” The thrill of the act made his pulse race, and he grinned, already planning his next move. A row of blackjack tables caught his eye, and he sauntered over, casually dropping a stone reading, “Stuck between a rock and a hard ace” into a centerpiece display.
With each rock he placed, Edgar’s grin widened. “Candy is dandy, and liquor is quicker, but finding my stones will result in a snicker,” he muttered, setting a rock labeled “Are you as stoned as I am right now?” on the edge of an ashtray in the casino’s smoking lounge. The hazy room smelled of cigars and desperation, the air heavy with the clink of chips and low murmurs of gamblers trading stories of near-misses. The placement was too perfect to resist, and the absurdity of his mission fueled quiet chuckles he struggled to suppress.
He was about to turn away when something made him pause. A faint chill prickled the back of his neck. Edgar glanced over his shoulder, spotting a security camera perched high on the wall. Its lens seemed to fix on him, the tiny red light blinking steadily. His grin faltered. He shrugged it off—after all, what were they going to do? Arrest him for bad puns? Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense that he was being watched.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Edgar strolled toward the bar, where a gaudy peppermint statue stood like a sugar-coated sentinel. He fished out another rock and placed it at the statue’s base. This one read, “Liquor in the front, poker in the rear.” As he admired his handiwork, a flash of movement caught his eye. Two security guards, dressed in dark uniforms, were scanning the crowd. Their heads turned in unison, and Edgar’s stomach did a little flip.
“Time to rock and roll,” he muttered under his breath.
He slipped into the crowd, weaving between blackjack tables and clusters of chattering tourists. The guards were closing in, their sharp gazes sweeping the floor like hawks searching for prey. Edgar ducked behind a roulette wheel, crouching low enough to avoid their line of sight. His heart pounded as he waited, his breath shallow. When the guards passed without noticing him, he let out a soft sigh of relief.
But the reprieve was short-lived. As Edgar straightened up, he nearly collided with a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of drinks. She shot him a dirty look, and Edgar offered an apologetic grin before darting toward the nearest exit sign, the red glow promising freedom. His shoes squeaked on the polished floor as he bolted, his pulse racing.
He made it as far as the parking garage before the shout came: “Stop right there!”
Edgar froze, spinning around to see the two guards standing in front of the door he had just exited through. One was broad-shouldered and bald, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The other, taller but leaner, crossed his arms, his piercing stare unblinking.
“Hands where we can see them,” the bald guard barked, his tone flat and gruff.
Edgar raised his hands slowly, his mind scrambling for a way out. “Uh, look, I can explain—”
“What’s in your pockets?” the taller guard interrupted, his voice cold and demanding.
Edgar hesitated, then flashed a sheepish grin. “...Funny stones?” The guards exchanged unamused glances, their disapproval palpable. The bald guard stepped forward, his hand clamping down on Edgar’s shoulder like a vice. “You’re coming with us.”
"Okay, but just so you know, I’m fragile; handle with care!" Edgar quipped, his voice trembling as the joke fell flat against their stony silence.
The guards flanked him, each gripping one of his arms as they marched him back inside. Edgar’s eyes flicked briefly to their badges. The taller guard's name tag read Brooks, while Dixon was emblazoned across the bald guard's. Edgar’s grin faded as they passed rows of oblivious gamblers, the cheerful buzz of slot machines and clinking chips now feeling a world away. The further they went, the tighter his nerves wound. As they turned into a narrow, dimly lit corridor, Edgar’s earlier bravado began to crumble. Maybe I gambled a little too hard on this prank, he thought, swallowing the sudden knot of anxiety in his throat.
They finally came to a small, cold room at the end of the hall. Edgar caught a glimpse of a metal chair bolted to the floor before Dixon shoved him into it. The sharp tug of zip ties bit into his wrists as they secured him tightly to the armrests. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the silence. Edgar forced a nervous laugh, his voice shaky. “Is this a VIP experience? Because the service here feels a bit…restrictive.”
Brooks snorted, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall. Dixon, meanwhile, reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of black fabric. Before Edgar could fully process what was happening, the blindfold was tied snugly over his eyes. “Hey, hey, whoa—what’s this? A surprise party?” he said nervously, twisting in the chair. “You guys sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
With his vision cut off, the oppressive silence of the room seemed to press down even harder. He could hear faint breathing, the subtle shuffling of feet, and the creak of Brooks shifting against the wall. His palms grew slick with sweat as he fought to keep his composure. All this over a few painted rocks? The thought was absurd, yet the weight of the zip ties and the blindfold had transformed his harmless prank into a situation spiraling far beyond his control.
The door creaked open again, and a new voice filled the room that was calm, measured, and unsettling in its authority. “Who are you, and what were you doing?” the man asked.
Edgar swallowed hard, forcing his dry throat to cooperate. He tried to keep his voice light despite the terror threatening to choke him. “Edgar Allen Poem, professional rock star,” he said, attempting a shaky grin. “I was just spreading some joy. You know, rock-solid entertainment?”
His hands trembled slightly, the zip ties biting into his skin as he struggled to maintain his composure. The blindfold over his eyes made everything worse; he couldn’t see the owner of the voice, couldn’t read his expression or gauge how much danger he might be in. Edgar forced himself to chuckle, a thin, brittle sound that only underscored his rising panic.
“Spreading joy?” the voice repeated, slow and deliberate, as though testing the words. “At a casino?”
“Yeah, you know, lightening the mood,” Edgar replied, his voice cracking slightly. “Life’s a gamble, right? Thought a few punny rocks might, uh… brighten someone’s day.”
There was a pause. Edgar couldn’t tell if the man was considering his words or just savoring the silence to unnerve him. The air felt heavy, suffocating, and Edgar’s chest tightened as his heart pounded loud enough to echo in his ears. He gripped the armrests tightly, his breath hitching as he struggled in vain to steady it.
“You think this is funny?” the voice asked, colder now. The scrape of shoes against the floor sent a shiver down Edgar’s spine. The man was closer. “You’re sneaking around my casino, acting suspicious, leaving strange objects all over the place, and you think it’s a joke?”
Edgar swallowed hard. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little, uh, unorthodox.” He forced another laugh, weak and nervous. “But it’s harmless. Just rocks with funny sayings. No one’s getting hurt.”
The silence that followed was even more chilling. Edgar could feel the weight of the man’s gaze, heavy and unyielding, as though it could pierce through the blindfold. He shifted in the chair, his nerves fraying like an unraveling thread. “Look, if it’s really a problem, I can, uh, collect the rocks and leave. No harm, no foul. Promise.”
The man exhaled sharply, a sound caught between disbelief and derision. “You think this is about some silly rocks?” His tone turned icy, each word deliberate, sending a chill through Edgar’s body. “It’s about behavior. Intent. People don’t come here to play games they didn’t sign up for.”
“But I thought casinos were all about games!” Edgar quipped, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You know, cards, dice, roulette… pun scavenger hunts?”
A loud thud made Edgar flinch as something heavy slammed against the table in front of him. The sharp sound cut through the room, silencing his nervous humor. He tensed instinctively, his hands clenching into fists as he pressed back against the chair, his breath hitching, every sound around him amplified in the suffocating stillness.
“Enough,” the man said, his voice low and laced with irritation. “You’re testing my patience.” The words carried a weight that made Edgar’s stomach churn.
The air in the room seemed to crystallize around Edgar as the man’s words hung ominously between them. Despite his blindfold, Edgar could feel the man looming closer, his presence an oppressive weight. He swallowed hard, his nervous humor drying up like a creek in the desert. For the first time since this ordeal began, the gravity of his situation began to fully sink in. He wasn’t just dealing with annoyed security guards anymore; this felt like something far darker.
“Look,” Edgar began, his voice shaky but desperate to sound calm. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I swear. I’m just—just an artist, you know? I thought the rocks would be funny. Lighten things up. I didn’t mean for it to—”
“Quiet,” the man cut him off, his tone sharp as a blade. The single word hit Edgar like a slap, silencing him immediately. His pulse thudded in his ears as he tried to focus on the sounds around him. The boss’s light, precise footsteps circled him, contrasting with the heavier, deliberate movements of the guards. The uneven rhythm made it impossible for Edgar to predict what would happen next, each step tightening the knot of fear in his chest.
Suddenly, the footsteps shifted in unison, heading toward the door. The sharp click of the boss’s shoes was accompanied by the heavy thuds of the guards, the coordinated retreat making Edgar’s heart race. The thought of being left alone in the silence was unbearable. “Wait!” he called, his voice cracking with desperation. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! Please! I don’t know what’s going on!”
The door slammed shut, leaving Edgar alone in the suffocating silence. His breath came in shallow gasps as he strained against the zip ties, his mind racing with fear and confusion. What had he gotten himself into? And, more importantly, how was he going to get out of it?
The guards and their boss stood just outside the heavy metal door that separated them from Edgar. The muffled hum of fluorescent lights and the faint sound of Edgar’s desperate breathing filtered through the crack beneath it. Dixon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought. “The kid’s definitely scared out of his mind,” he muttered, glancing at his boss.
“Good,” the boss replied, a trace of satisfaction in his calm, measured tone. “Maybe it’ll help this lesson stick.”
Brooks smirked, scratching his chin. “Great idea about leaving the kid alone to sit with his thoughts, boss. He was practically hyperventilating as we walked out.”
The boss chuckled softly. “Fear of the unknown is a powerful tool. And this one? He’s got a wild enough mind to fill in the blanks all by himself. Makes our job easier.”
Brooks nodded. “So what’s the play now? Keep scaring him? Let him sit in there and stew for a bit?”
The boss stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I was thinking something a bit more creative,” he said. “Something that’ll really leave an impression. No need to rough him up physically, it’s not like he’s a real threat. But we do need him to take us seriously.”
Dixon straightened up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Got any ideas?”
“Not yet,” the boss admitted, his gaze drifting toward the door. “But it’s about sending a message, not causing pain. He’s already on edge. We just need to push him a little further to make sure this is a lesson he’ll never forget.”
There was a pause as the guards exchanged glances. Then Dixon’s expression shifted, and he let out a low chuckle. “This might sound silly,” he said hesitantly, “but… what if we tickled him?”
Brooks blinked, his face a mix of surprise and amusement. “Tickle him?” he echoed. “That’s your big idea?”
“Think about it,” Dixon insisted, a grin spreading across his face. “It’s kind of poetic justice, in a way. He came in here trying to make people laugh, right? So what if we give him a taste of his own medicine? Nobody likes being tickled, it’s pure torture. But at the same time, he’ll be laughing whether he wants to or not. It’s perfect.”
The boss tilted his head, considering the suggestion. “Tickling, huh?” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s unconventional. But I’ll admit, there’s a certain irony to it.”
Brooks started laughing. “I gotta hand it to you, Dixon,” he said, clapping his colleague on the back. “That’s one of the weirdest ideas I’ve ever heard, but it’s kind of brilliant. The kid’s already freaking out. This would push him right over the edge.”
The boss nodded slowly. “It’s a good balance,” he said. “Memorable, humiliating, and completely unexpected. And it reinforces the point: actions have consequences, even if they’re not the ones you expect.”
“Exactly!” Dixon said enthusiastically. “We’ll catch him off guard, make him squirm a little. Literally. He won’t forget this night anytime soon.”
The boss’s smile grew sharper. “All right,” he said. “We’ll give it a shot. But we keep it controlled. Just enough to make the point.”
“Got it, boss,” Brooks said, his grin widening. “This is going to be one for the books.”
The three of them shared a conspiratorial chuckle before turning their attention back to the door. Inside, Edgar sat in the chair trembling, completely unaware of the bizarre plan taking shape just a few feet away. The blindfold over his eyes only heightened his fear, every sound sharper and more menacing in the darkness. He sniffled, bound and helpless, trying to hold back his tears, but the lump in his throat was impossible to swallow.
When the door opened and he heard the men re-enter, his voice cracked with emotion as he pleaded, “Please…”
“Quiet,” came the curt reply from the boss, silencing Edgar instantly. The sharpness of the word cut through him like a blade, and he bit his lip, trying to suppress a sob.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Edgar stiffen, his heart pounding. One of the guards dragged it closer, the noise grating in the otherwise silent room. When the chair’s legs stopped moving, Edgar let out a quiet, involuntary whimper.
“Relax, kid,” Dixon said, his voice low and steady. “We’re not going to hurt you.” But the reassurance did little to soothe Edgar, who flinched hard when he felt a sudden jab to his ribs. The sharp, unexpected sensation made him jump, a startled squeak escaping his lips. For a moment, he thought it might have been accidental—until another poke landed, this time on a different spot.
“Hey! Haha—what are you doing?” Edgar blurted, squirming in the chair.
“Just testing an idea,” Dixon replied casually, his tone almost amused. “You ticklish at all, kid?”
Edgar froze, his breath catching in his throat as his mind scrambled to process the unexpected question. “N-No, I’m not,” he stammered, his voice unsteady and far from convincing.
Dixon chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mix of anticipation and mischief. “We’ll see about that.” Before Edgar could react, all ten of the guard’s fingers pressed firmly against his ribs, vibrating with a calculated, ticklish intent.
Edgar’s reaction was immediate and explosive. “NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!” he cried, his voice pitching higher as he twisted helplessly against the restraints. The sensation was maddening, and his mind struggled to reconcile the sharp turn from fear to hysterical laughter. His head jerked side to side, and he tugged fruitlessly at the zip ties digging into his wrists, but there was no escape. “HAHAHA! PLEAHEHESE!”
Brooks snorted from nearby, clearly entertained. “What was that about not being ticklish?” he teased, his tone thick with mockery as he dragged a chair closer to Edgar’s other side. Settling in with ease, Brooks leaned forward, his fingers darting to Edgar’s sides.
“Let’s see how much this joker can really take,” Brooks said, his smirk audible in every word.
Edgar thrashed, his laughter spilling out in uncontrollable waves. “HAHAHA! NOHOHO! THIHIHIS ISN’T FAHAHAIR!” he gasped, his head lolling back as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. The blindfold heightened every sensation, leaving him completely disoriented and defenseless.
The boss’s voice broke through the chaos, calm but tinged with dark amusement. “You wanted to entertain people, didn’t you, Mr. Poem? Well, here’s your chance.”
“NAHAHAT LIKE THIHIHIS!” Edgar howled, his protests drowned out by his uncontrollable laughter as the guards continued their merciless tickling. The absurdity of the situation made it impossible to decide whether he was more horrified or humiliated. All he knew was that if they didn’t stop, he would crumble into a breathless, giggling mess.
His body shook so violently from laughter that the chair beneath him creaked under the strain. With his hands bound and his eyes covered, resistance was a hopeless dream. The only reality was the maddening sensation of fingers digging into his ribs and sides, each touch forcing sharp bursts of laughter from him.
“HAHAHA! NOHOHO! STAHAHAHAP!” he screamed, his voice breaking with desperation. Dixon leaned in, his fingers methodically working their way down Edgar’s ribs. His thumbs worked together, circling and prodding in ways that sent sharp shocks of ticklish sensation shooting through Edgar’s body.
“Looks like someone’s got a real sensitive side,” Dixon teased, his voice brimming with smug amusement. “I wonder just how many spots we can find.”
“PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE!” Edgar pleaded, his voice high-pitched and desperate. He flailed wildly, but the guard’s grip on his ribs didn’t falter.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Brooks teased, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “I thought you liked making people laugh. You’re doing a great job of it now.”
Edgar could only shake his head frantically, his messy hair clinging to his damp forehead as fresh waves of laughter erupted from his chest. “I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT! PLEHEHEASE!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation.
Dixon chuckled, his tone lighter, almost playful. “You think this is bad? Let’s see what happens when we change tactics.” Edgar barely had time to register the words before he felt the guard shift positions. His pulse quickened with fresh panic as the new assault began. Fingers slid into the hollows of his armpits, pressing into the sensitive flesh. The effect was immediate and devastating.
“OH NOHOHOHO!” Edgar shrieked, his laughter taking on a new level of hysteria. His body bucked wildly against the chair, but the zip ties held him firmly in place. The fingers began wiggling mercilessly, teasing the hypersensitive skin. “NOT THEHEHEHEHERE! AHAHAHAHA!”
“Bingo,” Brooks said with a grin Edgar couldn’t see. “Looks like we found the jackpot.”
Brooks shifted to Edgar’s ribs, kneading with a steady rhythm, while Dixon explored every inch of Edgar’s underarms. His fingers alternated between soft, teasing strokes and firmer digs that sent Edgar into bouts of helpless, shrieking laughter.
“Ticklish little guy, aren’t you?” Dixon taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think we’d be getting such a show tonight.”
“PLEHEHEASE! I’M BEHEHEGGING YOHOHOU!” Edgar cried, his voice hoarse and broken. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the blindfold as his shoulders shook uncontrollably with every burst of laughter.
Brooks moved lower, kneading the sensitive spots just above Edgar’s hips, then sliding back up again with torturous slowness. “You know,” he said casually, “this guy’s got some of the most ticklish ribs I’ve ever seen. Or felt, I guess.”
Dixon let out a chuckle, his fingers slowing briefly to draw lazy circles in Edgar’s underarms before stopping. “What about here?” he asked, pressing into the spot where Edgar’s underarm met his chest.
“AHAHAHAHA! NOHOHO! I CAHAHAN’T BREHEHEATHE!” Edgar screamed, his head thrashing violently as his laughter became ragged and frantic.
The boss, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. “That’s enough for now,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. Both guards stopped immediately, stepping back as Edgar slumped in the chair. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and his entire body twitched from the lingering sensations of their torment.
The guards exchanged smirks. “You know,” Dixon said, still amused, “I think we’ve got him figured out. He’s all talk, but a couple of tickles, and he’s completely helpless.”
“Completely,” Brooks agreed with a chuckle. “It’s almost too easy.”
Edgar couldn’t muster a response at first. He was too exhausted, his body limp, and his throat raw from the relentless ordeal. Finally, after a few moments of ragged breathing, he managed a hoarse whimper. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
The boss stepped forward, his tone sharp and measured. “To make a point, Mr. Poem. Actions have consequences. You wanted to make people laugh. Looks like you got your wish.”
Edgar’s head drooped, his cheeks burning with humiliation. Though he couldn’t see their faces, every noise—the shuffle of feet, the creak of a chair, and the murmur of low voices—felt sharper than ever. For a moment, he thought it was over.
But just as hope began to bloom, the guards struck again. Brooks firmly gripped and kneaded just above Edgar's knees, while Dixon’s fingers resumed their relentless attack on his armpits, this time moving faster and more erratically.
“STAHAHAHAHAHAP! NOHOHOHO! MERCEHEHEY!” Edgar’s screams of laughter echoed through the room, his hoarse voice cracking from overuse as his body bucked and twisted against the restraints. He had never felt so helpless, so completely at someone else’s mercy. His muscles burned from the constant thrashing, but the relentless tickling sensations overwhelmed him, leaving no room for resistance.
The guards laughed at his plight. “Mercy? Man, this guy’s falling apart,” Dixon said with a chuckle. “I think he’s starting to learn something. What do you think?”
“Oh, I think so,” Brooks replied, his smirk audible even if Edgar couldn’t see it.
“PLEAHEHEHESE! I’LL DO ANYTHIHIHING!” Edgar cried, his voice cracking with desperation as he descended into silent laughter. His body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve in his body alight from the sheer exertion of laughing so hard.
Several more agonizing minutes crawled by, each second stretching unbearably, before the boss’s calm, authoritative voice finally cut through the chaos. “That’s enough. He’s had enough.” The guards slowed their movements immediately, stepping back as Edgar slumped in the chair. His chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths, his body trembling from head to toe.
Dixon let out a contented sigh. “Well, that was fun.”
Edgar sagged further into the chair, his body still twitching involuntarily, the ghost of their fingers lingering on his skin. He was drenched in sweat, his throat raw from the relentless laughter, but despite everything, his sense of humor wasn’t entirely extinguished.
After a few minutes, with a shaky breath, Edgar rasped, “Do you guys always treat your special guests this way, or am I just extra special?”
Brooks chuckled, clearly amused. “Extra special, no doubt. You’re a real VIP—Very Important Pipsqueak.”
“Enough.” The boss’s voice sliced through the tension in the room as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. His tone was calm and measured. “You’ve made quite the impression tonight, Mr. Poem. I hope we’ve managed to leave an impression on you as well.”
He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing. “You seem to have a passion for your craft. So here’s a proposition for you, a gamble, if you will.”
The boss leaned in slightly, his words precise and deliberate. “I want you to humor me. You will have three chances to deliver a pun clever enough to amuse me, something sharp and worth hearing. If you can make me smile or laugh, I’ll let you go. You’ll retrieve your pun rocks under the supervision of my security team and be free to leave.”
His gaze sharpened, the faintest trace of a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “But if you fail... well, let’s just say, you don’t want to fail.”
Despite the lingering effects of the tickling and the anxiety coursing through him, Edgar's heart leapt at the challenge. This was his element, his art, and even with the stakes so terrifyingly high, it was a chance to reclaim control and perhaps even turn the tables. He gulped nervously, his throat dry and raw from laughing, and mustered his voice. “O-okay… but one thing. Can the blindfold be removed? It might sound weird, but I feel like I can’t think as well. Please…”
The room fell silent, and Edgar held his breath, hoping they’d grant his request. Finally, the boss spoke. “Very well.”
Edgar felt the blindfold being untied and blinked rapidly as the dim light of the room came into view. His vision swam for a moment before settling on the imposing figures of the boss and the two guards, their expressions expectant. His throat was dry, his chest still heaving from the ordeal, but at least now, without the blindfold, he could think a little clearer. Swallowing hard, he racked his brain, searching for puns sharp enough to earn his freedom.
“Alright,” the boss said, crossing his arms and fixing Edgar with an unwavering stare. “Three chances. Impress me.”
Edgar swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. The room felt heavier than ever, with every pair of eyes locked on him, waiting. He could feel the intensity of the moment like a weight pressing on his chest, his breath coming in shallow bursts. His fingers twitched involuntarily against the restraints as he forced a nervous smile.
“Okay,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Here goes…” The room was so quiet he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Edgar took a deep breath, his mind scrambling to find the right words.
“Why don’t rocks ever gamble at casinos?” he asked, pausing just long enough to feel the silence tighten around him. No one answered. Their faces offered no hint of reaction, and Edgar’s stomach knotted painfully.
He pushed forward, his voice trembling slightly. “Because they always get stoned and lose their marbles.”
For a moment, the silence stretched unbearably. Then Dixon glanced at Brooks, who raised an eyebrow. A low chuckle finally broke from Dixon, light but genuine, and Brooks’s lips twitched briefly, though he held back a laugh. Edgar thought he caught a faint shift in the boss’s expression, the corner of his mouth tightening ever so slightly, but it was impossible to tell for sure.
Encouraged but still on edge, Edgar pressed on, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. “Why did the rock go to therapy after a trip to the casino?” He paused, forcing himself to meet their gazes. “Because it hit rock bottom.”
This time, Dixon let out a bark of laughter, his amusement breaking through without hesitation. Brooks cracked a grin, muttering, “That’s not bad,” as he shook his head in reluctant amusement. Edgar’s chest loosened slightly, relief threatening to creep in, but he couldn’t ignore the boss. His face remained calm, though something flickered in his eyes; a faint glimmer that Edgar couldn’t quite place.
“One more,” the boss said, his voice steady and direct. “Make it count.”
Edgar’s heart raced, the finality of those words gripping him like a vice. The laughter from the guards had dissipated, leaving behind a suffocating quiet that seemed to magnify the stakes. This was it. He licked his dry lips, took another deep breath, and began.
“Why should you never expect perfection from geologists?” He straightened slightly, his demeanor deadpan as he delivered the punchline. “Because they all have their faults.”
For a moment, the silence returned, cold and heavy. Then Dixon burst out laughing, slapping his knee as his amusement spilled out uncontrollably. Brooks let out a loud chuckle, clapping Edgar on the shoulder with enough force to make him wince. Edgar barely had time to process their reactions before the boss let a small, deliberate smile curve his lips. His slight nod was the closest thing to approval Edgar could have hoped for.
“Alright,” the boss said, his tone lighter than before. “You’ve earned your freedom.”
Edgar’s body slumped forward as the tension drained from him, replaced by overwhelming relief. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, his voice thick with exhaustion and gratitude.
The boss gestured to the guards. “Get him untied and supervise him while he retrieves his rocks. Then escort him out.”
As the zip ties were cut and Edgar rubbed his sore wrists, a surge of relief coursed through him. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the phantom sensations of his ordeal. Though his ribs still tingled, and his throat was raw, a small swell of pride flickered inside him; he had turned his wit into his salvation. Shaken but determined, Edgar vowed silently to stay away from gambling, especially in ways as reckless and rocky as tonight.
As Edgar stepped out of the Rock Candy Casino, the cool desert air hit his face like a balm, soothing the lingering heat of the night’s ordeal. His legs felt steady again, though his ribs ached faintly, the phantom sensation of merciless tickling refusing to fade entirely. Clutched in his arms was a bag filled with his painted pun rocks, each one now carrying a memory he wasn’t likely to forget.
For a moment, Edgar simply stared at the building he had exited. Its flashing lights and chiming slot machines spilled their chaotic energy into the night, as if mocking his misadventure. The absurdity of it all left him breathless. He’d wanted to bring laughter, not nearly die from it.
“Guess I should’ve stuck to gas stations and park benches,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a rueful smile.
Shifting the bag to one hand, Edgar dug out one of his rocks. Its bold orange surface bore the words: “Even rock bottom can be a stepping stone.” He turned it over in his palm, tracing the smooth surface with his thumb as a quiet chuckle escaped him. The night hadn’t gone as planned, but somehow, he still felt… whole. His art had left an impression, unintentional though it might have been.
Spotting a nearby bench, Edgar set the rock down gently, its painted face gleaming under the dim glow of a streetlamp. It felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to reclaim the joy he’d meant to spread. As he lingered, his gaze drifted back toward the casino. The absurdity of what had happened played through his mind again, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in his chest loosening.
As he walked toward the parking lot, the distant sounds of the casino faded, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets in the cool desert air. His body ached, his pride was bruised, and his nerves were frayed, but Edgar Allen Poem smiled faintly, his spirit unbroken. “Don’t take life for granite,” he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye, “and let the good times roll.”
With that, he climbed into his car, the weight of the night easing as he started the engine. The gaudy glow of the Rock Candy Casino faded into the distance, shrinking in his rearview mirror as the quiet desert stretched before him. The absurdity of the evening replayed in his mind once more, and he let out a soft chuckle. From the way he saw it, after a night this rocky, the only fitting way to end it was to go home and get stoned.
THE END
Armed with a paintbrush, a rainbow of acrylics, and smooth river stones scavenged from creek beds, Edgar transformed the ordinary into the unexpectedly delightful. His creations carried brightly colored witticisms like “You’re boulder than you think!” and “I lava good pun!” Each one was a tiny artful display, strategically left where they might surprise and amuse—sidewalks, park benches, gas station counters—anywhere an unsuspecting passerby might stumble upon them.
He took particular pride in his sense of timing and location, like the smooth gray stone he left on an empty toilet paper dispenser in a public restroom. Painted on it were the words: “You should have gone with paper instead of rock.” It was moments like these that made Edgar feel like a true pun artist, crafting wit that hit at just the right time and place.
Still, that was just the warm-up. Tonight, Edgar Allen Poem’s ambitions reached new heights. His target? The Rock Candy Casino.
The casino’s garish lights shimmered in the Nevada night, promising fortune—or at least distraction—to gamblers and thrill-seekers. Edgar slipped through the sliding doors in his favorite denim jacket, its paint-speckled cuffs a badge of his craft. His pockets bulged with his latest masterpieces, the smooth, painted rocks jingling faintly as he walked. Mischief buzzed through him like static electricity, and he scanned the sprawling casino floor, mentally tagging a few of his targets: the windowsill by the slot machines, the grand fountain at the entrance, and the base of a gaudy peppermint statue near the bar.
Edgar moved with purpose, blending in with the crowds of tourists and gamblers. He slipped a smooth, gray rock onto the ledge of a slot machine, its colorful surface proclaiming, “Jackpot or craps-pot?” The thrill of the act made his pulse race, and he grinned, already planning his next move. A row of blackjack tables caught his eye, and he sauntered over, casually dropping a stone reading, “Stuck between a rock and a hard ace” into a centerpiece display.
With each rock he placed, Edgar’s grin widened. “Candy is dandy, and liquor is quicker, but finding my stones will result in a snicker,” he muttered, setting a rock labeled “Are you as stoned as I am right now?” on the edge of an ashtray in the casino’s smoking lounge. The hazy room smelled of cigars and desperation, the air heavy with the clink of chips and low murmurs of gamblers trading stories of near-misses. The placement was too perfect to resist, and the absurdity of his mission fueled quiet chuckles he struggled to suppress.
He was about to turn away when something made him pause. A faint chill prickled the back of his neck. Edgar glanced over his shoulder, spotting a security camera perched high on the wall. Its lens seemed to fix on him, the tiny red light blinking steadily. His grin faltered. He shrugged it off—after all, what were they going to do? Arrest him for bad puns? Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense that he was being watched.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Edgar strolled toward the bar, where a gaudy peppermint statue stood like a sugar-coated sentinel. He fished out another rock and placed it at the statue’s base. This one read, “Liquor in the front, poker in the rear.” As he admired his handiwork, a flash of movement caught his eye. Two security guards, dressed in dark uniforms, were scanning the crowd. Their heads turned in unison, and Edgar’s stomach did a little flip.
“Time to rock and roll,” he muttered under his breath.
He slipped into the crowd, weaving between blackjack tables and clusters of chattering tourists. The guards were closing in, their sharp gazes sweeping the floor like hawks searching for prey. Edgar ducked behind a roulette wheel, crouching low enough to avoid their line of sight. His heart pounded as he waited, his breath shallow. When the guards passed without noticing him, he let out a soft sigh of relief.
But the reprieve was short-lived. As Edgar straightened up, he nearly collided with a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of drinks. She shot him a dirty look, and Edgar offered an apologetic grin before darting toward the nearest exit sign, the red glow promising freedom. His shoes squeaked on the polished floor as he bolted, his pulse racing.
He made it as far as the parking garage before the shout came: “Stop right there!”
Edgar froze, spinning around to see the two guards standing in front of the door he had just exited through. One was broad-shouldered and bald, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The other, taller but leaner, crossed his arms, his piercing stare unblinking.
“Hands where we can see them,” the bald guard barked, his tone flat and gruff.
Edgar raised his hands slowly, his mind scrambling for a way out. “Uh, look, I can explain—”
“What’s in your pockets?” the taller guard interrupted, his voice cold and demanding.
Edgar hesitated, then flashed a sheepish grin. “...Funny stones?” The guards exchanged unamused glances, their disapproval palpable. The bald guard stepped forward, his hand clamping down on Edgar’s shoulder like a vice. “You’re coming with us.”
"Okay, but just so you know, I’m fragile; handle with care!" Edgar quipped, his voice trembling as the joke fell flat against their stony silence.
The guards flanked him, each gripping one of his arms as they marched him back inside. Edgar’s eyes flicked briefly to their badges. The taller guard's name tag read Brooks, while Dixon was emblazoned across the bald guard's. Edgar’s grin faded as they passed rows of oblivious gamblers, the cheerful buzz of slot machines and clinking chips now feeling a world away. The further they went, the tighter his nerves wound. As they turned into a narrow, dimly lit corridor, Edgar’s earlier bravado began to crumble. Maybe I gambled a little too hard on this prank, he thought, swallowing the sudden knot of anxiety in his throat.
They finally came to a small, cold room at the end of the hall. Edgar caught a glimpse of a metal chair bolted to the floor before Dixon shoved him into it. The sharp tug of zip ties bit into his wrists as they secured him tightly to the armrests. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the silence. Edgar forced a nervous laugh, his voice shaky. “Is this a VIP experience? Because the service here feels a bit…restrictive.”
Brooks snorted, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall. Dixon, meanwhile, reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of black fabric. Before Edgar could fully process what was happening, the blindfold was tied snugly over his eyes. “Hey, hey, whoa—what’s this? A surprise party?” he said nervously, twisting in the chair. “You guys sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
With his vision cut off, the oppressive silence of the room seemed to press down even harder. He could hear faint breathing, the subtle shuffling of feet, and the creak of Brooks shifting against the wall. His palms grew slick with sweat as he fought to keep his composure. All this over a few painted rocks? The thought was absurd, yet the weight of the zip ties and the blindfold had transformed his harmless prank into a situation spiraling far beyond his control.
The door creaked open again, and a new voice filled the room that was calm, measured, and unsettling in its authority. “Who are you, and what were you doing?” the man asked.
Edgar swallowed hard, forcing his dry throat to cooperate. He tried to keep his voice light despite the terror threatening to choke him. “Edgar Allen Poem, professional rock star,” he said, attempting a shaky grin. “I was just spreading some joy. You know, rock-solid entertainment?”
His hands trembled slightly, the zip ties biting into his skin as he struggled to maintain his composure. The blindfold over his eyes made everything worse; he couldn’t see the owner of the voice, couldn’t read his expression or gauge how much danger he might be in. Edgar forced himself to chuckle, a thin, brittle sound that only underscored his rising panic.
“Spreading joy?” the voice repeated, slow and deliberate, as though testing the words. “At a casino?”
“Yeah, you know, lightening the mood,” Edgar replied, his voice cracking slightly. “Life’s a gamble, right? Thought a few punny rocks might, uh… brighten someone’s day.”
There was a pause. Edgar couldn’t tell if the man was considering his words or just savoring the silence to unnerve him. The air felt heavy, suffocating, and Edgar’s chest tightened as his heart pounded loud enough to echo in his ears. He gripped the armrests tightly, his breath hitching as he struggled in vain to steady it.
“You think this is funny?” the voice asked, colder now. The scrape of shoes against the floor sent a shiver down Edgar’s spine. The man was closer. “You’re sneaking around my casino, acting suspicious, leaving strange objects all over the place, and you think it’s a joke?”
Edgar swallowed hard. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little, uh, unorthodox.” He forced another laugh, weak and nervous. “But it’s harmless. Just rocks with funny sayings. No one’s getting hurt.”
The silence that followed was even more chilling. Edgar could feel the weight of the man’s gaze, heavy and unyielding, as though it could pierce through the blindfold. He shifted in the chair, his nerves fraying like an unraveling thread. “Look, if it’s really a problem, I can, uh, collect the rocks and leave. No harm, no foul. Promise.”
The man exhaled sharply, a sound caught between disbelief and derision. “You think this is about some silly rocks?” His tone turned icy, each word deliberate, sending a chill through Edgar’s body. “It’s about behavior. Intent. People don’t come here to play games they didn’t sign up for.”
“But I thought casinos were all about games!” Edgar quipped, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You know, cards, dice, roulette… pun scavenger hunts?”
A loud thud made Edgar flinch as something heavy slammed against the table in front of him. The sharp sound cut through the room, silencing his nervous humor. He tensed instinctively, his hands clenching into fists as he pressed back against the chair, his breath hitching, every sound around him amplified in the suffocating stillness.
“Enough,” the man said, his voice low and laced with irritation. “You’re testing my patience.” The words carried a weight that made Edgar’s stomach churn.
The air in the room seemed to crystallize around Edgar as the man’s words hung ominously between them. Despite his blindfold, Edgar could feel the man looming closer, his presence an oppressive weight. He swallowed hard, his nervous humor drying up like a creek in the desert. For the first time since this ordeal began, the gravity of his situation began to fully sink in. He wasn’t just dealing with annoyed security guards anymore; this felt like something far darker.
“Look,” Edgar began, his voice shaky but desperate to sound calm. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I swear. I’m just—just an artist, you know? I thought the rocks would be funny. Lighten things up. I didn’t mean for it to—”
“Quiet,” the man cut him off, his tone sharp as a blade. The single word hit Edgar like a slap, silencing him immediately. His pulse thudded in his ears as he tried to focus on the sounds around him. The boss’s light, precise footsteps circled him, contrasting with the heavier, deliberate movements of the guards. The uneven rhythm made it impossible for Edgar to predict what would happen next, each step tightening the knot of fear in his chest.
Suddenly, the footsteps shifted in unison, heading toward the door. The sharp click of the boss’s shoes was accompanied by the heavy thuds of the guards, the coordinated retreat making Edgar’s heart race. The thought of being left alone in the silence was unbearable. “Wait!” he called, his voice cracking with desperation. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! Please! I don’t know what’s going on!”
The door slammed shut, leaving Edgar alone in the suffocating silence. His breath came in shallow gasps as he strained against the zip ties, his mind racing with fear and confusion. What had he gotten himself into? And, more importantly, how was he going to get out of it?
The guards and their boss stood just outside the heavy metal door that separated them from Edgar. The muffled hum of fluorescent lights and the faint sound of Edgar’s desperate breathing filtered through the crack beneath it. Dixon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought. “The kid’s definitely scared out of his mind,” he muttered, glancing at his boss.
“Good,” the boss replied, a trace of satisfaction in his calm, measured tone. “Maybe it’ll help this lesson stick.”
Brooks smirked, scratching his chin. “Great idea about leaving the kid alone to sit with his thoughts, boss. He was practically hyperventilating as we walked out.”
The boss chuckled softly. “Fear of the unknown is a powerful tool. And this one? He’s got a wild enough mind to fill in the blanks all by himself. Makes our job easier.”
Brooks nodded. “So what’s the play now? Keep scaring him? Let him sit in there and stew for a bit?”
The boss stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I was thinking something a bit more creative,” he said. “Something that’ll really leave an impression. No need to rough him up physically, it’s not like he’s a real threat. But we do need him to take us seriously.”
Dixon straightened up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Got any ideas?”
“Not yet,” the boss admitted, his gaze drifting toward the door. “But it’s about sending a message, not causing pain. He’s already on edge. We just need to push him a little further to make sure this is a lesson he’ll never forget.”
There was a pause as the guards exchanged glances. Then Dixon’s expression shifted, and he let out a low chuckle. “This might sound silly,” he said hesitantly, “but… what if we tickled him?”
Brooks blinked, his face a mix of surprise and amusement. “Tickle him?” he echoed. “That’s your big idea?”
“Think about it,” Dixon insisted, a grin spreading across his face. “It’s kind of poetic justice, in a way. He came in here trying to make people laugh, right? So what if we give him a taste of his own medicine? Nobody likes being tickled, it’s pure torture. But at the same time, he’ll be laughing whether he wants to or not. It’s perfect.”
The boss tilted his head, considering the suggestion. “Tickling, huh?” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s unconventional. But I’ll admit, there’s a certain irony to it.”
Brooks started laughing. “I gotta hand it to you, Dixon,” he said, clapping his colleague on the back. “That’s one of the weirdest ideas I’ve ever heard, but it’s kind of brilliant. The kid’s already freaking out. This would push him right over the edge.”
The boss nodded slowly. “It’s a good balance,” he said. “Memorable, humiliating, and completely unexpected. And it reinforces the point: actions have consequences, even if they’re not the ones you expect.”
“Exactly!” Dixon said enthusiastically. “We’ll catch him off guard, make him squirm a little. Literally. He won’t forget this night anytime soon.”
The boss’s smile grew sharper. “All right,” he said. “We’ll give it a shot. But we keep it controlled. Just enough to make the point.”
“Got it, boss,” Brooks said, his grin widening. “This is going to be one for the books.”
The three of them shared a conspiratorial chuckle before turning their attention back to the door. Inside, Edgar sat in the chair trembling, completely unaware of the bizarre plan taking shape just a few feet away. The blindfold over his eyes only heightened his fear, every sound sharper and more menacing in the darkness. He sniffled, bound and helpless, trying to hold back his tears, but the lump in his throat was impossible to swallow.
When the door opened and he heard the men re-enter, his voice cracked with emotion as he pleaded, “Please…”
“Quiet,” came the curt reply from the boss, silencing Edgar instantly. The sharpness of the word cut through him like a blade, and he bit his lip, trying to suppress a sob.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Edgar stiffen, his heart pounding. One of the guards dragged it closer, the noise grating in the otherwise silent room. When the chair’s legs stopped moving, Edgar let out a quiet, involuntary whimper.
“Relax, kid,” Dixon said, his voice low and steady. “We’re not going to hurt you.” But the reassurance did little to soothe Edgar, who flinched hard when he felt a sudden jab to his ribs. The sharp, unexpected sensation made him jump, a startled squeak escaping his lips. For a moment, he thought it might have been accidental—until another poke landed, this time on a different spot.
“Hey! Haha—what are you doing?” Edgar blurted, squirming in the chair.
“Just testing an idea,” Dixon replied casually, his tone almost amused. “You ticklish at all, kid?”
Edgar froze, his breath catching in his throat as his mind scrambled to process the unexpected question. “N-No, I’m not,” he stammered, his voice unsteady and far from convincing.
Dixon chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mix of anticipation and mischief. “We’ll see about that.” Before Edgar could react, all ten of the guard’s fingers pressed firmly against his ribs, vibrating with a calculated, ticklish intent.
Edgar’s reaction was immediate and explosive. “NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!” he cried, his voice pitching higher as he twisted helplessly against the restraints. The sensation was maddening, and his mind struggled to reconcile the sharp turn from fear to hysterical laughter. His head jerked side to side, and he tugged fruitlessly at the zip ties digging into his wrists, but there was no escape. “HAHAHA! PLEAHEHESE!”
Brooks snorted from nearby, clearly entertained. “What was that about not being ticklish?” he teased, his tone thick with mockery as he dragged a chair closer to Edgar’s other side. Settling in with ease, Brooks leaned forward, his fingers darting to Edgar’s sides.
“Let’s see how much this joker can really take,” Brooks said, his smirk audible in every word.
Edgar thrashed, his laughter spilling out in uncontrollable waves. “HAHAHA! NOHOHO! THIHIHIS ISN’T FAHAHAIR!” he gasped, his head lolling back as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. The blindfold heightened every sensation, leaving him completely disoriented and defenseless.
The boss’s voice broke through the chaos, calm but tinged with dark amusement. “You wanted to entertain people, didn’t you, Mr. Poem? Well, here’s your chance.”
“NAHAHAT LIKE THIHIHIS!” Edgar howled, his protests drowned out by his uncontrollable laughter as the guards continued their merciless tickling. The absurdity of the situation made it impossible to decide whether he was more horrified or humiliated. All he knew was that if they didn’t stop, he would crumble into a breathless, giggling mess.
His body shook so violently from laughter that the chair beneath him creaked under the strain. With his hands bound and his eyes covered, resistance was a hopeless dream. The only reality was the maddening sensation of fingers digging into his ribs and sides, each touch forcing sharp bursts of laughter from him.
“HAHAHA! NOHOHO! STAHAHAHAP!” he screamed, his voice breaking with desperation. Dixon leaned in, his fingers methodically working their way down Edgar’s ribs. His thumbs worked together, circling and prodding in ways that sent sharp shocks of ticklish sensation shooting through Edgar’s body.
“Looks like someone’s got a real sensitive side,” Dixon teased, his voice brimming with smug amusement. “I wonder just how many spots we can find.”
“PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE!” Edgar pleaded, his voice high-pitched and desperate. He flailed wildly, but the guard’s grip on his ribs didn’t falter.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Brooks teased, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “I thought you liked making people laugh. You’re doing a great job of it now.”
Edgar could only shake his head frantically, his messy hair clinging to his damp forehead as fresh waves of laughter erupted from his chest. “I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT! PLEHEHEASE!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation.
Dixon chuckled, his tone lighter, almost playful. “You think this is bad? Let’s see what happens when we change tactics.” Edgar barely had time to register the words before he felt the guard shift positions. His pulse quickened with fresh panic as the new assault began. Fingers slid into the hollows of his armpits, pressing into the sensitive flesh. The effect was immediate and devastating.
“OH NOHOHOHO!” Edgar shrieked, his laughter taking on a new level of hysteria. His body bucked wildly against the chair, but the zip ties held him firmly in place. The fingers began wiggling mercilessly, teasing the hypersensitive skin. “NOT THEHEHEHEHERE! AHAHAHAHA!”
“Bingo,” Brooks said with a grin Edgar couldn’t see. “Looks like we found the jackpot.”
Brooks shifted to Edgar’s ribs, kneading with a steady rhythm, while Dixon explored every inch of Edgar’s underarms. His fingers alternated between soft, teasing strokes and firmer digs that sent Edgar into bouts of helpless, shrieking laughter.
“Ticklish little guy, aren’t you?” Dixon taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think we’d be getting such a show tonight.”
“PLEHEHEASE! I’M BEHEHEGGING YOHOHOU!” Edgar cried, his voice hoarse and broken. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the blindfold as his shoulders shook uncontrollably with every burst of laughter.
Brooks moved lower, kneading the sensitive spots just above Edgar’s hips, then sliding back up again with torturous slowness. “You know,” he said casually, “this guy’s got some of the most ticklish ribs I’ve ever seen. Or felt, I guess.”
Dixon let out a chuckle, his fingers slowing briefly to draw lazy circles in Edgar’s underarms before stopping. “What about here?” he asked, pressing into the spot where Edgar’s underarm met his chest.
“AHAHAHAHA! NOHOHO! I CAHAHAN’T BREHEHEATHE!” Edgar screamed, his head thrashing violently as his laughter became ragged and frantic.
The boss, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. “That’s enough for now,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. Both guards stopped immediately, stepping back as Edgar slumped in the chair. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and his entire body twitched from the lingering sensations of their torment.
The guards exchanged smirks. “You know,” Dixon said, still amused, “I think we’ve got him figured out. He’s all talk, but a couple of tickles, and he’s completely helpless.”
“Completely,” Brooks agreed with a chuckle. “It’s almost too easy.”
Edgar couldn’t muster a response at first. He was too exhausted, his body limp, and his throat raw from the relentless ordeal. Finally, after a few moments of ragged breathing, he managed a hoarse whimper. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
The boss stepped forward, his tone sharp and measured. “To make a point, Mr. Poem. Actions have consequences. You wanted to make people laugh. Looks like you got your wish.”
Edgar’s head drooped, his cheeks burning with humiliation. Though he couldn’t see their faces, every noise—the shuffle of feet, the creak of a chair, and the murmur of low voices—felt sharper than ever. For a moment, he thought it was over.
But just as hope began to bloom, the guards struck again. Brooks firmly gripped and kneaded just above Edgar's knees, while Dixon’s fingers resumed their relentless attack on his armpits, this time moving faster and more erratically.
“STAHAHAHAHAHAP! NOHOHOHO! MERCEHEHEY!” Edgar’s screams of laughter echoed through the room, his hoarse voice cracking from overuse as his body bucked and twisted against the restraints. He had never felt so helpless, so completely at someone else’s mercy. His muscles burned from the constant thrashing, but the relentless tickling sensations overwhelmed him, leaving no room for resistance.
The guards laughed at his plight. “Mercy? Man, this guy’s falling apart,” Dixon said with a chuckle. “I think he’s starting to learn something. What do you think?”
“Oh, I think so,” Brooks replied, his smirk audible even if Edgar couldn’t see it.
“PLEAHEHEHESE! I’LL DO ANYTHIHIHING!” Edgar cried, his voice cracking with desperation as he descended into silent laughter. His body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve in his body alight from the sheer exertion of laughing so hard.
Several more agonizing minutes crawled by, each second stretching unbearably, before the boss’s calm, authoritative voice finally cut through the chaos. “That’s enough. He’s had enough.” The guards slowed their movements immediately, stepping back as Edgar slumped in the chair. His chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths, his body trembling from head to toe.
Dixon let out a contented sigh. “Well, that was fun.”
Edgar sagged further into the chair, his body still twitching involuntarily, the ghost of their fingers lingering on his skin. He was drenched in sweat, his throat raw from the relentless laughter, but despite everything, his sense of humor wasn’t entirely extinguished.
After a few minutes, with a shaky breath, Edgar rasped, “Do you guys always treat your special guests this way, or am I just extra special?”
Brooks chuckled, clearly amused. “Extra special, no doubt. You’re a real VIP—Very Important Pipsqueak.”
“Enough.” The boss’s voice sliced through the tension in the room as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. His tone was calm and measured. “You’ve made quite the impression tonight, Mr. Poem. I hope we’ve managed to leave an impression on you as well.”
He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing. “You seem to have a passion for your craft. So here’s a proposition for you, a gamble, if you will.”
The boss leaned in slightly, his words precise and deliberate. “I want you to humor me. You will have three chances to deliver a pun clever enough to amuse me, something sharp and worth hearing. If you can make me smile or laugh, I’ll let you go. You’ll retrieve your pun rocks under the supervision of my security team and be free to leave.”
His gaze sharpened, the faintest trace of a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “But if you fail... well, let’s just say, you don’t want to fail.”
Despite the lingering effects of the tickling and the anxiety coursing through him, Edgar's heart leapt at the challenge. This was his element, his art, and even with the stakes so terrifyingly high, it was a chance to reclaim control and perhaps even turn the tables. He gulped nervously, his throat dry and raw from laughing, and mustered his voice. “O-okay… but one thing. Can the blindfold be removed? It might sound weird, but I feel like I can’t think as well. Please…”
The room fell silent, and Edgar held his breath, hoping they’d grant his request. Finally, the boss spoke. “Very well.”
Edgar felt the blindfold being untied and blinked rapidly as the dim light of the room came into view. His vision swam for a moment before settling on the imposing figures of the boss and the two guards, their expressions expectant. His throat was dry, his chest still heaving from the ordeal, but at least now, without the blindfold, he could think a little clearer. Swallowing hard, he racked his brain, searching for puns sharp enough to earn his freedom.
“Alright,” the boss said, crossing his arms and fixing Edgar with an unwavering stare. “Three chances. Impress me.”
Edgar swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. The room felt heavier than ever, with every pair of eyes locked on him, waiting. He could feel the intensity of the moment like a weight pressing on his chest, his breath coming in shallow bursts. His fingers twitched involuntarily against the restraints as he forced a nervous smile.
“Okay,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Here goes…” The room was so quiet he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Edgar took a deep breath, his mind scrambling to find the right words.
“Why don’t rocks ever gamble at casinos?” he asked, pausing just long enough to feel the silence tighten around him. No one answered. Their faces offered no hint of reaction, and Edgar’s stomach knotted painfully.
He pushed forward, his voice trembling slightly. “Because they always get stoned and lose their marbles.”
For a moment, the silence stretched unbearably. Then Dixon glanced at Brooks, who raised an eyebrow. A low chuckle finally broke from Dixon, light but genuine, and Brooks’s lips twitched briefly, though he held back a laugh. Edgar thought he caught a faint shift in the boss’s expression, the corner of his mouth tightening ever so slightly, but it was impossible to tell for sure.
Encouraged but still on edge, Edgar pressed on, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. “Why did the rock go to therapy after a trip to the casino?” He paused, forcing himself to meet their gazes. “Because it hit rock bottom.”
This time, Dixon let out a bark of laughter, his amusement breaking through without hesitation. Brooks cracked a grin, muttering, “That’s not bad,” as he shook his head in reluctant amusement. Edgar’s chest loosened slightly, relief threatening to creep in, but he couldn’t ignore the boss. His face remained calm, though something flickered in his eyes; a faint glimmer that Edgar couldn’t quite place.
“One more,” the boss said, his voice steady and direct. “Make it count.”
Edgar’s heart raced, the finality of those words gripping him like a vice. The laughter from the guards had dissipated, leaving behind a suffocating quiet that seemed to magnify the stakes. This was it. He licked his dry lips, took another deep breath, and began.
“Why should you never expect perfection from geologists?” He straightened slightly, his demeanor deadpan as he delivered the punchline. “Because they all have their faults.”
For a moment, the silence returned, cold and heavy. Then Dixon burst out laughing, slapping his knee as his amusement spilled out uncontrollably. Brooks let out a loud chuckle, clapping Edgar on the shoulder with enough force to make him wince. Edgar barely had time to process their reactions before the boss let a small, deliberate smile curve his lips. His slight nod was the closest thing to approval Edgar could have hoped for.
“Alright,” the boss said, his tone lighter than before. “You’ve earned your freedom.”
Edgar’s body slumped forward as the tension drained from him, replaced by overwhelming relief. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, his voice thick with exhaustion and gratitude.
The boss gestured to the guards. “Get him untied and supervise him while he retrieves his rocks. Then escort him out.”
As the zip ties were cut and Edgar rubbed his sore wrists, a surge of relief coursed through him. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the phantom sensations of his ordeal. Though his ribs still tingled, and his throat was raw, a small swell of pride flickered inside him; he had turned his wit into his salvation. Shaken but determined, Edgar vowed silently to stay away from gambling, especially in ways as reckless and rocky as tonight.
As Edgar stepped out of the Rock Candy Casino, the cool desert air hit his face like a balm, soothing the lingering heat of the night’s ordeal. His legs felt steady again, though his ribs ached faintly, the phantom sensation of merciless tickling refusing to fade entirely. Clutched in his arms was a bag filled with his painted pun rocks, each one now carrying a memory he wasn’t likely to forget.
For a moment, Edgar simply stared at the building he had exited. Its flashing lights and chiming slot machines spilled their chaotic energy into the night, as if mocking his misadventure. The absurdity of it all left him breathless. He’d wanted to bring laughter, not nearly die from it.
“Guess I should’ve stuck to gas stations and park benches,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a rueful smile.
Shifting the bag to one hand, Edgar dug out one of his rocks. Its bold orange surface bore the words: “Even rock bottom can be a stepping stone.” He turned it over in his palm, tracing the smooth surface with his thumb as a quiet chuckle escaped him. The night hadn’t gone as planned, but somehow, he still felt… whole. His art had left an impression, unintentional though it might have been.
Spotting a nearby bench, Edgar set the rock down gently, its painted face gleaming under the dim glow of a streetlamp. It felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to reclaim the joy he’d meant to spread. As he lingered, his gaze drifted back toward the casino. The absurdity of what had happened played through his mind again, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in his chest loosening.
As he walked toward the parking lot, the distant sounds of the casino faded, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets in the cool desert air. His body ached, his pride was bruised, and his nerves were frayed, but Edgar Allen Poem smiled faintly, his spirit unbroken. “Don’t take life for granite,” he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye, “and let the good times roll.”
With that, he climbed into his car, the weight of the night easing as he started the engine. The gaudy glow of the Rock Candy Casino faded into the distance, shrinking in his rearview mirror as the quiet desert stretched before him. The absurdity of the evening replayed in his mind once more, and he let out a soft chuckle. From the way he saw it, after a night this rocky, the only fitting way to end it was to go home and get stoned.
THE END
