Written to a buddy of mine whose phone was slain in battle a few months ago. I realized this is the first bit of creative writing I've done in a while.


Apparently I'm a huge one-upper. I couldn't let you hog the glory of having your phone destroyed in an epic battle with Poseidon's untamable sea (that's how you should tell the tale). No, no, I have indeed surpassed your paltry exploits. After raining death down upon my porcelain throne, some manner of sorcerous hex caused my phone to flop out of my pocket and curve in an impossible trajectory through the fetid air. Not sideways, as you might expect from a side pocket. But, rather, backwards and down, down, down into that rank abyss - that place no man's hand should ever have to go. In truth, my courage wavered as I calculated my odds of survival as being particularly grim. A sliver of hope broached the sea of despair my heart swam in as one corner of the phone bobbed upward out of the murk, and with all the grit of Leonidas at the Hot Gates, I seized upon that capital moment and freed my friend, my companion, my dear phone at last.

Victory, as they say of any war, is a bittersweet thing. It sputtered as I dressed its wounds, crying out for dear life and lamenting its fate. Alas, I awoke to find that it had gone to Valhalla, to be with its warrior kin.