You walk into a dark room. There is a hooded figure nearby. The air smells of musty rugs and boiled ravioli.
[[Who is this figure?->coat over a chair]]
(set: $wifekiller to 'no')
The figure is just a tattered coat full of mice!
But who is that [[over there?]]
You can follow Gunnar on <a href="http://www.instagram.com/gunnar.rhea">Instagram</a> @gunnar.rhea
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="6" style=" background:#000; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:450px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:62.5% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BAc_FoYwt7d/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_blank">A photo posted by @gunnar.rhea</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; color:FFF" datetime="2016-01-12T20:46:15+00:00">Jan 12, 2016 at 12:46pm PST</time></p></div></blockquote> <script async defer src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>
<a href="http://www.dashschool.org">DASH</a>, ranked #21 in the Nation, #6 in the Nation’s magnet schools, and #2 in the state of Florida by U.S. News and World Report, is a Miami-Dade County Magnet School that provides a rigorous curriculum in art, design, and academics to students who are admitted through an application process. Students at DASH graduate with 32 credits, exceeding the state required 24.
I graduated Cum Laude in June 2016.
There is a bridge up ahead. Do you dare cross it?
The bridge collapsed.
[[Will you be trapped in limbo forever?->Maybe]]
The mysterious figure says their name is *Gunnar*.
<img src="headshot glitch.jpg" height="500" alt="Gunnar">
[[Who are they?]]
[[Why not go somewhere else]]
Surprise! You went straight to hell (sans handbasket.) Its kinda hot here, not gonna lie. Like, really hot. Miami hot even. You should [[take off your jacket]] or you'll probably [[melt]].
You're no longer on the best dressed list for hell. Your VIP status has been downgraded to a C. What will keep you going now? Charity? Goodwill? Obviously not, you went to hell for a [[reason]].
So you wouldn't sacrifice fashion for staying solid, huh? Well now you've transformed into an *amorphous blob of dough*, congratulations! Eternity as such a wonder is a blessing. Your jacket burst into flames, you are rolling endlessly through the afterlife. [[Get baked.]]
You are now baked into a cake after all the people down there wanted to have a party. What kind of cake are you?
Satan likes chocolate. And so does Shelby.
Would you like to meet Shelby?
[[Get me out!]]
That's a [[dumb]] cake, dude. Why would you melt cheese on a cake?
Damn, son. You meaty.
Shelby likes beefcake. Would you like to meet Shelby?
[[Get me out!]]
Mama's got a fetish, huh?
What are you gonna do with that cake?
This is Shelby.
<img src="shelby.jpg" width="500" alt="Shelby">
She likes a lot of cakes.
She also likes lizards.
Would you like to see her website?
<a href="http://www.fercalderon1998.wix.com/portfolio">Nope show me someone else!</a>
Okay, you asked for it!
[[Go back to Earth]]
You ate it. You [[dead]].
Really? You're sure?
[[Get me out!]]
You lost. [[Loser]].
You're at the mall. The [[stairs]] are crowded. Do you go in the [[elevator]]?
You fall down the crowded stairs and break your legs. But you live to pay the hospital bills.
Did you remember to buy insurance?
The elevator is stuck. You suffocate under piles of millennials who collapsed after their cell service cut out. [[Pray for them]].
You have insurance! Now you just pay the copay! Learning is fun! Go you! [[Yay!]]
What do you want to know?
[[Where were they educated?]]
[[Where can I follow them?]]
[[Just give me the damned CV!]]
Millennials can't be saved from their sinning ways, [[dumb]].
(Insert current president here) gave you a medal for being so SMART!!! [[You WIN!->Tell me about it]]
The lions ate you. [[dead]].
Gimme [[5 bucks->Where can I follow them?]]!!
At a C-list event, you won a Bronze Globe! That's worthless. You can't even melt down bronze for cash. How will you [[pay the hell-rent]] now???
(if: $wifekiller is 'yes')[Now you're working the street corner to pay the rent. The damnation-nylon blend of your shawl itches. Why did you have to be such a lame celebrity? A new john pulls up in a burning chariot. Do you accept the nickel he offers as payment?[[Yes->Sell it to martians]]]
(if: $wifekiller is 'no')[Now you're working the street corner to pay the rent. The damnation-nylon blend of your shawl itches. Why did you have to be such a lame celebrity? A new john pulls up in a burning chariot. Do you accept the nickel he offers as payment?
[[Gotta pay the rent]]]
(set: $wifekiller to 'no')
[[That looks like a button]]
He tickles your thigh, his red, flaming eyeballs swelling in his exposed skull's eyeball sockets. He wants you to play his hard, manly ribcage like a xylophone.
[[Whatever it takes!]]
[[Get me out!]]
It was a button. You have good eyesight for a dead has-been celebrity. You made way more than a nickel tonight anyway, time for some [[pizza]].
You pull out your two Bronze Globes trophies and start hammering away on the guy's ribcage. He likes it, you can tell because his large, rolling eyes are getting even hotter, the red flames throbbing with ecstasy.
<img src="skull hot.gif" height="500" alt="skeleton man">
[[His teeth clack hollowly together in his frenzy.]]
After the job is over, the skeleton man, eyeballs cooling back to red, wants to know if you wanna go out sometime.
Do you give him your number?
[[Yes, this could be something special...]]
[[No, skeletons are not super sexy...]]
He calls you [[the next day]].
Brimstone oven pizza is way better than the swill mortals eat. [[Yay!]]
You and skeleton man go out to walk leisurely through the picturesque lakes of fire in the park. The way the void reflects off the lakes is breathtaking. You can't breathe anyway. [[He looks into your soul with his fiery eyeballs...]]
Then he cups your soft, bloated corpse face in his hands, caressing it with his bone hands. The cold embrace warms your unbeating heart. [[Is this what love feels like?]]
After your date, you don't know how to feel. You are torn, is it right to feel this way for one of your clients? [[Can this inter-decompositional relationship work out?->ring ring]]
[[Your hellphone rings]]
Do you answer?
An angry voice eminates from the speakers:
*"Get away from my skeleton man, you nickel-priced flim flam! He is MINE we are MARRIED and you better back off! I will send my hellhounds on you if I find out you've been with him again!"*
What do you do?
[[Go talk to him about it]]
[[Drop that man ASAP]]
Hours later you check the message. Your hellphone explodes with [[unearthly shrieks->wifeee]].
You walk up to his house. The door is open, so you walk inside. Then, you begin climbing the stairs, which are unusually steep and probably not up to modern building codes. At the top of the stairs, the person who called you is there, shrieking loudly. In the [[panic]] you [[run]].
You don't need no man that's married! You have ambitions to climb the C-list to the top (of the C-list)! [[You need a new man!]]
...you push the wailing creature down the stairs. The body tumbles almost in slow motion, the final undeath blow being on the [[side table]] at the bottom of the flight.
You run through the narrow and twisting torchlit hallways of the skeleton man's house. You wish he was here, to protect you from this psycho spouse chasing you. You see an open door.
Do you [[go in the mystery room]] or [[keep running]]?
A picture of the skeleton man and his former partner falls off the side table, cracking to tiny sharp pieces in the rapidly spreading demon blood from the spouse.
[[What have you done?]]
You have to do something about the body. But what?
(set: $wifekiller to 'yes')
[[Dump it in the fire lake]]
[[Feed it to the hellhounds]]
[[Sell it to martians]]
The body sizzles as it plops into the lake of fire behind the skeleton man's house. How will you live with this secret?
[[You can't ->Get me out!]]
The undead dogs' teeth gnash together as they chew their former master into mushy clots of flesh. They consume much faster than you expected, and before long, there is no evidence left of your actions. Now there is nobody standing in the way of you wifing this guy up! [[Woop!->Just fine!]]
(if: $wifekiller is 'no')[The martian man doesn't want it.] [[He does want you, you sexy thing, you.]]
With the spouse gone, you go back to pretending everything is *[[juuust fiiiine.]]*
When you light the torch on the wall, the room brightens to reveal...
[[A lovingly cared for collection of rusty knives]]
[[A series of abstract paintings that would drive any mortal insane]]
You keep running down the torchlit passages and bump into the reason you came here, [[the skeleton man!-><3]]
Selecting the sharpest and rustiest knife off the rack, you then jump out of the knife room just as the spouse is running by, stabbing them right in the upper thigh. They burst into a black cloud of rushing smoke, smelling of burnt popcorn and toast. The spouse is [[*gone*->Just fine!]].
(set: $wifekiller to 'yes')
Staring at the framed abstract expressionist paintings wallpapering the room, you start feeling strange. In a good way, you like this feeling. Makes you want to... [[Stab someone]].
A lright, you clicked the typo, really? [[dumb]].
You're in a stabby mood. Where's something pointy? You search the whole room, starting with [[behind the abstractest painting]], then [[rifling through the desk]].
[[Nothing there but a melted doll's head.->Stab someone]]
Digging through the desk, you find a bronze letter opener. This fills you with rage at all those C-list awards you recieved in the past at all those dumb C-list events. [[You clutch the abnormally sharp letter opener in your manicured, rotting hand-> The door opens]].
The door to the ghastly abstract painting room opens, and you leap across to it in an instant, jutting your bronze letter opener through the rapidly expanding opening. [[The person behind the doorway shouts in shock->You stabbed the skeleton man]].
The door opens wider and you discover that the person you stabbed is in fact, the love of your life, the skeleton man. [[He's clutching at the letter opener sticking between his exposed ribs, right where his heart would be.-> He's fine]]
Did you like my story? It beat Buzzfeed for the 2016 Pulitzer prize. That was a lie. Please, tell me about your experience, <a href="http://www.gunnarkortenba.ch/contact">drop me an (email) line.</a>
But he doesn't have a heart. The LOML is just fine. He embraces you as you lovingly tickle his dry and bony spine. [[<3]]
[[How you've missed the clacking of his lovely bones!]]
[[The way it feels to have his hollow pelvis agaainst yours!]]
[[The stiff hollowness of his drafty torso!]]
You love skeleton man so much, how could you ever forget that?
You love the way he doesn't breathe and sounds like windchimes when a breeze blows through his spine. You love his style, his kindness, [[his now missing spouse.]]
But first, you need to sell this old hellphone 7. Practically ancient, time to get a hellphone 9!
[[You've heard rumors that the martians buy old hellphones.->Sell it to martians]]
He looks you up and down with his large, bulbous black eyes. They're blacker than onyx, it's like looking into the void for the first time. [[It feels like home.]]
This cannot happen! You have a man in your life! Or at least had... But this one is so new and different, you never could've met a man like this in your previous mortal life. That time feels so far away now, as you continue looking into those voluminous void eyes. The eyes blink, when they do it's like the whole world has been created all over again. [[This man is cosmic]].
Much later, as you lay wrapped in the spaghetti-esque arms of the martian, against his cool, scaly flesh, you remember skeleton man once again. You remember the touch of his brittle bone fingers, and how he never complained about being hungry. The perfect man. The martian, however, is flesh and maybe not blood like you. There is something to be said for [[life pulsating through and into you]].
Also, he even says he can get you a great deal on that new hellphone 9, now that you qualify for the friends and [[martian spawn]] discount at the hellphone store. Yay!
The possibility that your body *might* be swarming with exactly *seven potential martian children* does not alarm you. The idea of the unknown unsettles you in an all too familiar way. [[That's life, bay-bee!!!]]
You consider the morality of producing offspring just for the discount but only for a little bit. There are many people doing much worse things than feeling an extremely attractive alien up for a new hellphone. [[You're pretty sure]].
[[Or are you?]]
[[You're a demon and you love it!!]]
It's a weird thing, to question your morality when you have literally been sent to hell. (if: $wifekiller is 'yes')[Also, you're a murderer.] BUT you are a hellion with standards.
You think that maybe letting him down easy right now might not be the best idea...you don't even know if you're Alien Pregnant!! What will you do?
[[Have another internal crisis]]
You politely and not-at-all-suspiciously excuse yourself from the Long and Tender Embrace that has been going on for who knows how long. What does time mean anyways when you're getting down and dirty in hell?
It's only when you reach the bathroom that you let yourself panic. For a little bit. You check around for any equivalent of a pregnancy test.[[!]]
Resigning yourself to the inexplainable and unavoidable chaos your life has become sounds easier that doing so. Yet you hike up the cloth that has been on the Probing Chamber to your chin, making sure to see how close to engulfing your entire being said cloth can be.
Only, its takes you a little bit to realize that the feeling doesn't stand as metaphorical only, the blanket is eating you[[...............]]
you know it
you don't even need the hypothetical equivalent of a pregancy test!!
[[what were you thinking!!!!!]]
You don't even have a stable job to support your hell-rent!! This is what you get for finding cosmic love.
Would skeleton man do you this way?
Every man will hurt you, this is something that you resolve will continue on regardless of place or whether they are skeleton or cosmic. You feel yourself get more bitter by the second. But wait, do seconds really matter when you're in HELL?
Sweet, sweet skeleton man. Oh what have you done? He's the only one who made you feel a certain way...without banging you like the charming martian.
He asks you if you've seen his significant other during your time in his home. You answer to the negative, you haven't seen them anywhere.
(if: $wifekiller is 'yes')[This is a lie, but he doesn't know that. Murderer.]
(if: $wifekiller is 'no')[Hopefully they aren't hiding behind a door somewhere.]
[[He nods, accepting your answer.->divorce]]
Skeleton man says he wants to divorce his partner. He doesn't love them anymore. He loves you. Awwwww. (if: $wifekiller is 'yes')[Little does he know, [[he won't need a divorce!->missing wife]]]
(if: $wifekiller is 'no')[[[He cares about you!]]]
Walking back down the hallway inside the house, you see the skeleton man walking through the doorway to the abstract painting room. With his late partner gone, [[a huge weight seems to have been lifted off his fleshless reanimated shoulders.-><3]]
48 hours later, and it appears skeleton man's wife is missing. **Where** *could she be?* He doesn't seem terribly upset about it, and neither do you. He keeps glancing at you, [[does he suspect something?]]
Double-click this passage to edit it.
How could he? You're just the person he's been cheating with....[[ha...hah...]]
Double-click this passage to edit it.
Hellphone here we come! your baby is your free ticket!!!
<a href="http://www.cooper.edu">The Cooper Union</a> is a private college that was founded in 1859 by Peter Cooper, a successful inventor and industrialist. To gain admittance to the School of Art prospective students have to complete a month long home test of 6 conceptual art prompts plus a survey and 20 piece portfolio.
U.S. News & World Report ranks The Cooper Union as the #2 college in the northern region of the United States. Their art program has an acceptance rate of about 7%. Newsweek ranks Cooper as the "#1 Most Desireable Small School" and the "#7 Most Desirable School" overall.
Okay, you asked for it!
<img src="resume 7-17-16.png" height="500" alt="Gunnar's Resume">
"I am currently a student at [[The Cooper Union]], where I study interdisciplinary conceptual art.
I previously studied at [[Design Architecture Senior High '[DASH]']], a Newsweek top-rated school in the heart of downtown Miami.