Is This How Andrew Guthrie Dies?

Hear me read this story out loud: https://youtu.be/lKMfbOJP54g?si=7fbh1PviWqz2YXS0 I asked myself, “Is this how Andrew Guthrie dies?”

Yes.

–

A few months ago, my acquaintance - who I’ll call Larpio - invited me to try out Live-Action-Role-Play, or LARP which I understood to be something like team-based organized pillow fighting with a story. Last week, I signed a waiver.

On an ooky spooky Saturday night, the GPS coordinates Larpio provided brought me to an unlit 3-story building, maybe a library. Next to the dark building was a derelict barn packed with junk, and to the left of that was a mound of partially processed firewood. I grimly imagined getting torn up by a chainsaw. I texted Larpio, “This place is sketchy.” I also texted my friend, GuitarBee “I’m at a supposed LARP, if I go missing - I am at Taber Creek.” GuitarBee texted back, “LOL.”

Over the phone, Larpio told me it was a 10-minute walk from their location. 12 minutes later, a crossbow-wielding silhouette the size of a lineman walked into the light from my headlights. Larpio’s face was powdered bright white and atop Larpio’s head was a red wig resembling Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, but more like a mop’s head. Larpio leaned, wig dangling, through my passenger window. Instinct urged I reverse into potential traffic.

Larpio-Dorothy gestured ecstatically, “Follow me!” Their head slanted with a far-too-happy grin. My mind wrestled with curiosity and rationalization: following Dorothy down the rabbit hole was probably harmless, what was the worst that could happen. Death?

In my electric car, I silently followed the Dancing-Dorothy, assuring myself I lived a good life. I parked, got out, then followed the gleeful early-20-something who waved around the crossbow with the grace of a toddler.  “You. Gotta. Yell Slay. To kill.” Larpio gesticulated the crossbow toward me with each point. We kept walking, though Larpio did more of a skip.

The path got darker.

Finally, we entered a bright cabin where a man in an orange vest drew goblin makeup on the faces of adult strangers wearing brown tunics. A map of Taber Creek was posted on the wall surrounded by a variety of schedules. One room had bunk beds. Another had racks of what appeared to be swords, spears, shields, throwing axes, and crossbows identical to Larpio’s. The-Man-In-The-Orange-Vest promised he would explain my role after he finished directing the horde of NPCs (Non-Player-Characters) who shortly vanished into the darkness.

–Flashback–

As a high school senior, my friends declared a cardboard-weapon war. They made cool-looking duct tape wrapped shiny scimitars and the such. Mine were ugly 9-foot tubes rummaged from the rug store’s dumpster. I tied them together behind my neck granting me a 20-foot wing span which I swung dangerously. Someone broke a nose.

–Snap back to reality–

A female recruit arrived, The-Man-In-The-Orange-Vest had her duel me with nearly-harmless styrofoam weapon replicas called boffers. She won. I practiced sniping targets around the room with a crossbow that shot zipping foam darts with a satisfying twang. I put on a brown tunic with a black ribbon belt that came with a satchel of darts.

The other NPCs returned. Lord Orange decreed we were marionettes who suddenly gained sentience whose sole temporary-life purpose was to murder the Player-Characters (PCs). He gave us marionette make-up and trained us to click menacingly.

–

I stumbled through darkness. Invisible branches snapped my face while treacherous tree roots attempted to re-injure my already weak ankle. “It will be embarrassing if I have to explain to my doctor that I hurt myself walking to a make-believe battle.” I thought.

At the edge of Camp-Goodie-2-Shoe my night vision began to adjust, I loosed a nerf bolt indiscriminately toward the PC crowd which prompted a fellow marionette to remind me, “Yell ‘SLAY!’ or it doesn’t count.” Oops. I reloaded my crossbow. Out of nowhere, some PC-Aragorn-Wannabe brandishing a boffer sword aggressively struck me - declaring, “FIRE SLAY!”

Putting a hand on top of my head, which meant I was a ghost, I navigated carefully toward the glow-stick respawn point 30 paces back. My second life was as lackluster as the first. When I spawned into my final life, I realized my marionette comrades were vanquished. Certain demise liberated my resolve. There were too many PCs to win this battle. “Lord Orange, thank you for making me understand how to feel pain!” Calmly, I walked toward Death, who I greeted as my equal.

With perfect focus I shot the sorceress in her puny heart as I uttered a confident, diminutive, low-bellowing, “SLAY.” Her nearby knight, and probably lover, hysterically exclaimed, “Sniperrr!” My mind whispered sadistic snake-like thoughts, “Too bad you cannot magically heal yourself.” She wailed “I’M DOWN!”, her knight errant proclaimed, “I’ll save you!” But he couldn’t because I shot his arm off. “SLAY.” Two more PCs approached me cautiously, swords drawn. My crossbow thudded to the ground as I unsheathed my 2-handed boffer sword like a berserker. Though the night was black, all I saw was red.

EVIL FILLS MY VEINS WITH DARKNESS!

Feigning to strike the first swordsman by intentionally scraping his shield, I simultaneously spun, lunged, and ducked in a 360, dismembering his friend’s leg - she wailed! “Aaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Her scream seemed genuine. I froze and broke character, “Oh sorry!” - she responded, “Don’t worry, I am not really hurt, you just surprised me.” That moment of compassion caused me to temporarily lower my guard, the first swordsman slashed me down, “SLAY!” Game Over.