50 SHADES of PAY, the TRAGEDY (Ch. 4, 5 update)
a/n: I think that the length of the added content is way longer than one chapter lmao so I’m splitting into 2 chapters just for length consistency. plenty of plot twists + a poignant moment in this update. im thinking of adding something creepy/supernatural soon so stay tuned and im gonna try to actually make the writing good because ive been bullshitting this thus far and i figured if im gonna write might as well improve my skills. idk, enjoy, my children. lgbtq+ characters are so fun to write omg why would u write just straight characters when there are literally so many option s
***WOW there is actually not a lot of NSFW stuff in this update, don’t know whether to proud of myself or disappointed
LINK TO CHAPTERS 1 & 2: http://rolonpotato.tumblr.com/post/134835827045/50-shades-of-pay-the-tragedy-ch-1-revised
LINK TO CHAPTER 3: http://rolonpotato.tumblr.com/post/135219416945/50-shades-of-pay-the-tragedy-ch-3
if u dont wanna reread all the old stuff then ok. but i always revise the old stuff so its probably worth reading just fyi
Monopolistic Competition arrived at the harbor, desperate. She immediately ran to the information office, which she hoped sold tickets to the ferry.
“Do you sell tickets here?” she asked urgently to the person working the desk.
The clerk gave her a vacant look. “We used to. Someone came in here and bought up all the tickets, though, and then missed the boat.”
Monopolistic Competition felt rage building up inside her. “Who? Who was it?” she implored.
“I dunno, didn’t give me a name. Strange fellow, though. Had four heads.”
Monopolistic Competition grit her teeth and clenched her fists in raw fury. Oligopoly. “Please,” she begged. “I really need to go. I have a friend...I need to save her. If I don’t she’ll be in trouble. Serious...serious trouble…” She began to sob.
The clerk appeared to have pity. “Where to, miss?” He asked softly.
“Monopoly Island.”
The clerk scoffed. “You know how to drive a motorboat, little lady?”
“Of course, of course. Got myself a license and everything,” said Monopolistic Competition. It was true: she had gotten a license and she did know how to sail a boat, though it pained her to know that she possessed these things--they were all a result of her prior belief in Oligopoly’s propaganda. She was the one who was supposed to sail, while Oligopoly lounged around drinking martinis. Monopolistic Competition did not know why she had agreed to his outrageous lies...Maybe because they were beautiful, shrouded in sweet nothings. Maybe because it hurt less to believe them than to challenge them. Maybe it was because...maybe she had really loved him.
Monopolistic Competition pinched herself hard, attempting to rid herself of those bitter memories. Then she accepted the keys to a motorboat.
Monopolistic Competition thanked the clerk and walked onto the dock.
Oligopoly’s breathing was heavy, anxious. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked faster down the sidewalk to his house. Or rather, he tried to stuff his hands into his pockets, but they were too full of ferry tickets. Oligopoly could not deny his feelings of guilt. What was he doing? Wasn’t Perfect Competition his...friend? No, no. Perfect Competition couldn’t be his friend! She couldn’t be! That little wretch had driven him and Monopolistic Competition apart. Perfect Competition was a fiend, not a friend!
Oligopoly broke into a sprint. He passed his house.
He wanted to run away. From Perfect Competition. From Monopolistic Competition.
Perfect Competition smoothed out her dress as the nurse walked in. The nurse was plump and rosy, and had short blond curls that came in tight ringlets down to the middle of her neck.
“Miss Monopsony and good gentlewoman,” she greeted. “How may I be of service?”
Perfect Competition, wincing, raised one foot, revealing the scarred and crusty newly-coagulated mess of red that had formed.
“Oh, dear,” the nurse gasped faintly. “Both feet?”
Perfect Competition nodded grimly.
“Can you lie down on this bed for me, please?” asked the nurse.
“Sure.” Perfect Competition lay down on Monopsony’s aqua-blue bed. Monopsony salivated. “I’d take you like that, little miss perfect,” whispered Monopsony under her breath.
Within an hour, Perfect Competition’s feet were cleaned and dressed with bandages, and she was given a wheelchair so that her feet could heal. “Thank you,” she said graciously.
“You better be,” said the nurse, grimacing. “That was an ugly job.” She promptly exited the room.
Perfect Competition got off the bed and into the wheelchair, much to Monopsony’s dismay. “Well, I guess we should head down to dinner then. I hope you like potatoes,” sighed Monopsony. Perfect Competition nodded in agreement.
Downstairs, Perfect Competition seated herself at the “throne” at the head of the table and instantly began to gorge herself on the many spudly delicacies that lay spread out before her. However, all the food was gone after only a few bites. A waiter gave her the bill.
“Why am I being billed...for...a million dollars?” inquired Perfect Competition.
“The ambience, and also because it is just in my nature. People accuse me of producing too little and charging too much. But I can’t help it!” explained Monopoly.
“Huh. So much for hosts being polite,” mumbled Perfect Competition. Then, louder, she said, “I see. I’ll pay when I leave. You see, my friends who brought me here, they have money. But not me.”
“I’ll give you a ten percent discount if you pay now,” said Monopoly with a dazzling smile.
“Dad! Stop price discriminating! It’s SOOOO embarrassing!” squealed Monopsony. “I’m sorry, Miss Perfect...errr, Perfect Competition...my deepest apologies.”
“It’s okay,” replied Perfect Competition. It actually wasn’t ok. Everyone knows that it is rude and selfish to price discriminate, especially on guests. Nobody wants to give up their consumer surplus.
“Well, Perfect Competition,” declared Monopsony, changing the subject semi-awkwardly, “I have something to show you.”
****
Monopolistic Competition heard the tiny motorboat sputter to life and was filled with determination. The little boat cut through the water like butter and the engines roared feebly as Monopolistic Competition threw her small ship into full throttle. The boat zipped through the water as if it were on nautical steroids, and within an hour, Monopolistic Competition saw the green sand of Monopoly Island form on the horizon. She dropped anchor near the shore and set foot on the enticing emerald shores.
Oligopoly was thoroughly exhausted after having run over a distance of 50 miles, fueled only by fury and sorrow, which brought him into a strange and unfamiliar town. All around him, laborers tinkered and worked and toiled in the hot sun. There were a few small shops around which a worker would occasionally enter and then reemerge from, supplies in hand. Oligopoly, being bone-tired and weary from his journey, entered one of these shops is search of sustenance and drink.
Upon entry, he saw the shop was small, quaint, and orderly. To his delight, he saw bottles of ice-cold water in rows and rows alongside frozen sandwiches and salads. Among these were hammers, ropes, and other labor-specific material.
Oligopoly slammed some cash down next to the register as he snatched up 17 sandwiches, 21 bottles of water, and 25 cookies. He drew his inspiration from his role model, PSAT Thad, who was now an internet sensation.
He sat down in the corner of the shop and began to consume his food with voracity when a laborer from the outside approached him. “Are you also a worker here? I don’t recognize you,” she said.
Oligopoly stuffed his face with three more ham sandwiches and responded, “mrmrrrr mflkaf mff. Mrffff.” When he saw the confused look on the worker’s face, he swallowed and clarified. “I’m not from here. I just stumbled into town by accident. What is this place, by the way?”
“This is Labor Market,” the woman explained. “The great and powerful Monopsony used to be our queen and employer. Then someone kidnapped her--or she abandoned us, the stories depend on the person--and now we are all employed by many different firms that have come into town because of the cheap labor. The firms all face a perfectly competitive labor market which is okay, I guess, because if they try to pay us too little we can just go out and find another firm to work for.” She shrugged. “Anyway...nice meeting you...sir. Sirs.”
Oligopoly suddenly looked up from his feast. “Monopsony!” he whispered to himself. “What a familiar name...Oh!” He whipped out his phone and dialed a number.
“Monopsony, is that you?”
****
“Um...yeah. Hold up. Talk to you later,” said Monopsony, speaking into her cell phone which had just been ringing incessantly to the tune of Darude’s “Sandstorm.”
“Who was that?” asked Perfect Competition.
“No one, no one. It can wait,” said Monopsony. “Let’s go. Dad, may our guest and I be excused?”
“Of course,” said Monopoly, and Monopsony and Perfect Competition took leave of his company.
Monopsony took Perfect Competition by the hand and led her through the seemingly endless hallway until they reached the living room, which had several large velvet chairs. Monopsony pulled one aside to reveal a tiny door the size of a mousehole. She then lifted one of the chair’s soft cushions and picked up a miniscule key, which she inserted into the small door. She turned the key, and a small tunnel emerged from the wall. Monopsony went in first. “Follow me,” she instructed, and Perfect Competition climbed in cautiously.
The tunnel was dark, illuminated only by sparse lightbulbs that hung haphazardly from the top of the tunnel, which smelled like blood, sweat, and tears. Rats scurried through, squeaking as Monopsony and Perfect Competition crawled through the tunnel.
Finally, the pair saw sunlight streaming in through the end of the tunnel and crawled determinedly through. They both emerged on the other side, sweaty from exertion.
What Perfect Competition saw brought tears to her eyes.
Thousands upon thousands of workers, all dressed in tattered rags, labored in the hot factory, which lacked any sort of cooling system. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the workers were mass-producing spud muffins.
Without any sort of government regulation on the production process of spud muffins (the process was evidently quite secret, and the government had absolutely no means of even trying to implement any policy on the secluded Monopoly Island), workers regularly cut themselves on sharp equipment and bled into spud muffin batter. Many workers were ill and almost all of them looked half dead from exhaustion. Perfect Competition saw, with horror, that small children and senior citizens also worked the dangerous machinery and labored to produce the spud muffins.
“Quite impressive, isn’t it?” asked Monopsony, grinning.
“I know, I know. And guess who designed all this?”
“Uh--”
“That’s right! C’est moi! I, Monopsony, am the sole employer in this whole island. See, all these people used to be regular citizens here. My father, Monopoly, moved in and began to sell them spud muffins to supplement their diets. You see, Vitamin Potato is only found in a certain tuber that only grows on this island. Before the villagers could make spud muffins for themselves, my father harvested all of the tubers in the entire island, giving him control of an essential resource. The villagers would die if they didn’t get their fix of Vitamin Potato, so they began to pay exorbitant amounts to Mr Monopoly so that they could survive. Those who couldn’t pay up died. That’s how poverty was eliminated!”
What a dastardly and devious plan, thought Perfect Competition. The horror!
“And then my father had an idea and I sprung from his head like the goddess Athena. He built a giant spud muffin factory, the same one that we use today, and after construction was finished I captured each and every villager and forced them to work in the factory to produce spud muffins. To keep the population from diminishing, we kidnap towns of people from other countries sometimes. Or sometimes we will post advertisements asking a town to send thousands of their most hardworking people for a test for some special scholarship. Of course there is no scholarship. We just make them work in the factory. They don’t get monetary compensation for their labor, of course. How ridiculous! We just pay them in spud muffins. Each family gets one muffin per day. This has led to cannibalism and starvation, but that’s ok. We can just get more workers elsewhere for free!”
Perfect Competition was terrified. I have to get out of here. I have to escape, she thought, panicking.
“You look concerned,” said Monopsony. “Don’t worry, these people are very happy here! Don’t mind their prominent ribcages and how emaciated they all are. Or the blood dripping from their fingers, or the bags under their eyes...I should stop talking. Anyway, I have another surprise for you!”
Monopolistic Competition paced around the front of Monopoly Manor. Unlike Perfect Competition, she had kept on her shoes. She did not trust Monopoly enough to even allow an inch of her skin to be exposed to something created by him...other than spud muffins, of course.
After a few hours, she started to become weak and dizzy, two symptoms of Vitamin Potato deficiency--in all the chaos of recent events, she had not consumed a spud muffin in days.
It became clear that no one was coming for her, yet she had the strange feeling that she was being watched.
After five hours had elapsed, Monopolistic Competition crumpled to her knees, gasping for air. Her lungs strained to take in air, and in her heart she was suffering from weakened trabeculae carnae and as a result she was experiencing mitral valve prolase, causing arrythmias. Congestive heart failure was imminent if she did not consume a spud muffin soon.
Monopolistic Competition was delirious. She hallucinated that Perfect Competition was next to her, a phantasmic, immaculate apparition of warm light. Her wavy light-brown hair floated up angelically in loose ringlets framing her rosy face. Dressed in a white, flowing gown, she appeared to emit a light, welcoming glow. Monopolistic Competition grabbed at thin air, trying to reach her best friend and feeling nothing. At last, I have found you, she thought as she cried for her friend to come nearer. “I’m sorry for all this,” she cried, “I never meant for it to happen this way. Just hear me out!” Monopolistic Competition sobbed helplessly. No matter how close she crawled, Perfect Competition was always just out of reach. Tears reddened her eyes, paving sorrowful little rivers down dusty cheeks.
“Please,” she wept. “Please. Don’t do this. It was all...all a mistake…” Her vision began blurring at the edges, fading. “No...don’t go away...please…” It was hopeless, and a sorry sight--Monopolistic Competition writhing on the ground, tormented by what, in actuality, was only herself.
Slowly, her vision blackened. And slowly, her body twitched into stillness.
Her lips were blue. Eyelids translucent.
Somewhere, there was a feeble heartbeat.
Oligopoly woke drowsily from his comfy-though-stained-with-coal bed. He did not recall getting into any bed. He remembered two things: entering the quaint town of The Labor Market, and buying water, cookies and sandwiches.
That water had tasted a little funny. And he had felt a little...weird after drinking it.
A nurse entered his room. “Anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“A little water, please,” rasped Oligopoly, his throat parched.
“I’m sorry, in this town, there is only vodka. Is that okay?”
Oligopoly threw up over the side of the bed. “Oh my god,” he said. “I drank 21 bottles--” he threw up again, “--of vodka!”
“Yeah, the shopkeeper did say something about a crazy guy with four heads who had bought 21 bottles of water,” said the nurse.
“That’s me,” said Oligopoly with mock enthusiasm as he vomited again. “Is there a train I can take out of here?”
“Amtrak,” the nurse said instantly. “He’s never pulled a profit. Congress is his sugar daddy. He’s really gay and a nice guy.”
“Amtrak is a train, you’re talking about it like it’s a person.”
“You’re a market structure and you’re a person. He is a train. Plus, trains were personified in Thomas the Tank Engine. This shouldn’t really be surprising. Anyway, after you stop throwing up, I’ll show you to him. In the meanwhile, take this hangover remedy.”
“Thanks,” said Oligopoly as he took the odd-looking solution from the nurse. It was hot pink with pieces of cucumber inside, but it tasted like a cool summer night and he felt better almost instantly. The nurse left.
After Oligopoly had consumed the drink, he tore off his sheets, as there was no air conditioning and it was even hotter than usual due to global warming. He noticed that his clothes were gone.
At that moment, two extremely handsome young men entered the room. “Wondering where your clothes are?” they smirked. Their voices were undeniably sexy. Oligopoly inconspicuously drew up his sheets, hoping that there was a legitimate malady causing his butt to hurt.
“We had a threesome with you last night,” they said. “Good fun.”
Oligopoly gasped. “I’m not gay! I’m really not gay!”
“Last night you said you were hella gay,” said one of the men, who had hair the color of obsidian.
“I had 21 bottles of vodka last night!” said Oligopoly.
Both men rolled their eyes.
“You know what you said?” asked the second man, who had chestnut brown hair with royal purple streaks.
“Oh, you can free-ride off me,” finished Obsidian, “You were absolutely breathless when you said it.”
“You wanna see how big my externality is?” quoted Chestnut. “You said that as you had one hand on either of our--”
“STOP!” said Oligopoly as green vomit poured out of his mouth. “Give me my fucking clothes and get the hell out.”
“This isn’t your town, little boy,” said Obsidian dangerously, a fatal gleam in his unreasonably dark eyes. “You’d best not use that kind of tone with us.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Oligopoly, apologizing profusely.
“You’d better be,” said Chestnut, throwing the clothes at Oligopoly. The duo left the room, muttering to themselves contentiously.
Oligopoly could not deny that even though he had said he was not gay, he had just been ridiculously attracted to both those men. “I need a cure for this improper behavior!” thought Oligopoly. He drank another glass of hangover remedy that the nurse had left on the nightstand. He did not put on his clothes because he did not want to mess them up with vomit. Not because he was waiting for those men to come back or anything. Nope.
Oligopoly pulled his cell phone off the nightstand and wearily punched in the number that had went to voicemail the other day. “Monopsony?” he asked.
This time, there was an answer. “God. Oligopoly, I’m in the middle of something. I’m on a date!”
“What? With whom?”
“Uh. You’re not gonna like this, she’s like 12.”
“OH my god. She’s 17 and you can’t date Perfect Competition! I don’t think she even knows what dating is! Oh my god! But you do have her, right? She’s safe?”
“Chill, chill. It’s not like I’m screwing her or anything. This is innocent stuff. And yeah, she’s safe.”
“How soon can you get her out of there?”
“I dunno. When are you coming?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, I can get her out tomorrow night. My dad sleeps like a rock.”
“All right. Um. Just out of curiosity...did you happen to see a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl dressed in a tube top and short-shorts?”
“There’s one lying on the beach, I saw her through the window just kind of writhing on the sand and screaming. She’s not moving anymore, though. Or screaming. I plan to just let her float away with the tide.”
“Monopsony. I know this is a lot to ask...but...can you get her out, too?”
“I don’t know…”
“Please. She’s my ex. I made so many mistakes and I still really care for her. I know there’s no chance of an us ever again, but I don’t want her to die. And not like that.”
There was an exasperated sigh. “I’ll try,” said Monopsony, and she hung up.
I have a spy on the inside, thought Oligopoly, HERCULES MULLIGAN!
He was a fan of the Hamilton musical.
Monopsony emerged from the storage closet. “Sorry, sorry. Just had to take a call,” she apologized to Perfect Competition as she led her through the dark corridor toward a dim light.
