To Be Or Not To Be Parodies 2z6w56

Matthew Mong English 12 Mini To text, or not to text To text, or not to text? That is the question— Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The anxiety and panic of waiting for her message, Or to take arms against a wave of anxiety, And, by opposing, message her first? To type, to hit enter— No more—and by a single word to say we start The heartache and the thousand introductions lacking valor That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished! To talk, to chat. To chat, perchance to meet—ay, there’s the rub, For in that first conversation what scenarios may arise When we have but mere minutes to impress, Must give us pause. There’s the respect That makes one stare at this screen. For who would bear the whips and scorns of loneliness, The seen with nay a response, the number yond isn’t actually her’s, The pangs of despised love, the battery’s drain, The insolence of your wingman, and the spurns That the bumbling and witless bachelor takes, When he himself might avoid his debacle With a simple “power off”? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary existence, But that the dread of life full of loneliness, The mad game of courtship, whose rules incomprehensible, Few travelers master, puzzles the mind. And makes us rather bear the single life we have Than fly into a relationship that we know not of? Thus the pursuit of love doth make cowards of us all, And thus man must remain in heated debate Choosing between ive and aggressive And enterprises of great hope and desire With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose thy name of action.—Soft you now, Thy first message—brothers, in thy orisons Wish me godspeed and fortune

The quarter spins on the cluttered table before him. Between the gloom of dusk and the haze of dust it’s hard to see anything past the tiny eating space. He’s done this hundreds of times, and yet today he sits rigid, watching with rapture. Today the sides of the coin mock him endlessly. The face on the coin spits venom into his ears: it speaks of the pain he has endured, the fighting, the running, the crying. The coin slows. There is no point to this existence if it will continue like this, it would be so much better to end himself now. The sleep would be peaceful, he could feel it, the everlasting nothingness would be a welcome friend in this broken world of fear and anger. But the coin keeps spinning, and now the opposite side taunts him, death is not the end, it is the unknown. The coin teeters, his heart skips a beat. For all he knows it could be a darker black than the night of pain he already lives in. The mocking continues, he is no hero. The voice tells him to run, to escape the pain, but if he isn’t even capable of living there’s no way he would have the courage to end his life with a killing. How could he be worthy of death if he isn’t capable of living. The coin falls. The words in his head slither away as he looks at the piece of metal. Today he lives, tomorrow is up to fate.