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[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time"
'Pardon?'
"The exp-"
'I heard that. I'm wondering what you mean.'
"Ah, sorry. For the last ten years, you have been helping the British Government and Apple by allowing us to control every aspect of your day to day. Are those scones?"
'H-help yourself. So when I lost my keys on tuesday-'
"That was our doing, yes."
'My dog. His-'
"That was a tricky one, but yes. Oh now don't be so glum; thousands of lives are going to be saved as a result of this!"
'WHY ME THOUGH?!'
"Me! Me! Me! ...no wonder Mary divorced you last year." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
I look up my bagel halfway to my open mouth and blink.
"Fred?" I ask, recognizing my neighbor.
"The experiment is over. The human-pumpkin mutation worked but produced no significant advancement for pumpkin-kind" Fred says. I put down my bagel and blink confused. He works as a chemist in a Lab downtown, so what the hell is he doing in my kitchen? How did he even get in?
"What?" I stare at Fred. He walks over to me and snatches up my bagel.
"This is not for you! The children will need it first!" He snaps and waves a finger at me.
"Fred..." I say gently. I think I know what's going on here.
"We have to get the experiment swept under the rug. Obama will be here any minute now, and he can't know about it. Canada would nuke us if they knew!" Fred say as he starts breaking the bagel into pieces and hiding it under the tablecloth.
"You're sleepwalking." I say to him. Only a week before Holly, his wife, had found him wandering around the street shouting at cars to stop torturing the cats.
"Nonsense!" Fred exclaims. "Don't you think I would know if I was awake or not?!" The irony of his words makes me smile. It almost seems like he *was* awake.
"Come here." I tell him and try to grab him by the arm.
"Don't touch me heathen! Pumpkins have no rights here! You're a fruit!" He insists then he hesitates and smiles broadly. "And you know what... I bought you 50% off because you were old and no one wanted you!" He adds triumphantly.
"Whatever you say. Obama is waiting for you. We have to hurry or you'll miss him." I tell him.
"Oh! We must not let Canada wait!" Fred exclaims and I'm allowed to pull him along. Halfway to his house he decides it was enough and lays down on the lawn under one of their rose-bushes. I sigh and shake my head, leaving him there while I go to get Holly.
"Yes?" She asks as she opens the door. Her eyes are tired and her red hair stands on end.
"I found your husband in my kitchen. He was sleepwalking and is now napping under your rose-bushes." I tell her. Holly looks towards the bushes and sighs, rubbing her face.
"Not again. I'm sorry, he's had a tough month at work... I'll try tying him up next time." She say wearily and look towards the bushes.
"Have a good morning." I tell her and back away.
"Sure, sure... Thank you." She adds sleepily.
I stroll back to my house. I finish my coffee and get in the car. *What an unusual morning*. I think and chuckle to myself as I go about my day. *I wonder what he was dreaming...* | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time"
'Pardon?'
"The exp-"
'I heard that. I'm wondering what you mean.'
"Ah, sorry. For the last ten years, you have been helping the British Government and Apple by allowing us to control every aspect of your day to day. Are those scones?"
'H-help yourself. So when I lost my keys on tuesday-'
"That was our doing, yes."
'My dog. His-'
"That was a tricky one, but yes. Oh now don't be so glum; thousands of lives are going to be saved as a result of this!"
'WHY ME THOUGH?!'
"Me! Me! Me! ...no wonder Mary divorced you last year." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | "Give her 5 minutes before you go up" he says as he walks out through the front door, "You may not recognise her from the woman she was when you awoke this morning".
I break down in tears, it's been 21 years and i had never been so close to anyone in my life, but somehow we'd become one over those years, a unit that tackled the world together.
She never cared for my physical appearance, her love was on a plane much greater than just physical attraction.
Yes, I'm much more shallow than her however, how she looked was everything to me. In fact i'm far more judgmental on the most mundane of things, how my food looks, the colour of my shirts for example.
As a kid i liked all my possessions close and locked away from others. On reflection i had carried this obsession on into adult life and spread it to the people i loved the most. Or, rather, the person i love the most.
I wouldn't want to lose her.
She calls from upstairs, a tired shout. I have never felt so anxious in my life, i walk towards the stairs and begin to make my way to her.
As i reach the top, i look across at the silhouette of my wife.
She is standing in front of the bedroom window with her back to me. By the side of her i see the darkened glasses she's worn since the day i met her, tossed aside.
"It's all so bright... " She whispers, "I never realised how many colours existed in the world".
She turns, my heart sinks with realisation as she looks at me.
It's the first time she's been able to see the world around her.
Yet instead of happiness, all i can feel is fear.
....Will she still love me? | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
I look up my bagel halfway to my open mouth and blink.
"Fred?" I ask, recognizing my neighbor.
"The experiment is over. The human-pumpkin mutation worked but produced no significant advancement for pumpkin-kind" Fred says. I put down my bagel and blink confused. He works as a chemist in a Lab downtown, so what the hell is he doing in my kitchen? How did he even get in?
"What?" I stare at Fred. He walks over to me and snatches up my bagel.
"This is not for you! The children will need it first!" He snaps and waves a finger at me.
"Fred..." I say gently. I think I know what's going on here.
"We have to get the experiment swept under the rug. Obama will be here any minute now, and he can't know about it. Canada would nuke us if they knew!" Fred say as he starts breaking the bagel into pieces and hiding it under the tablecloth.
"You're sleepwalking." I say to him. Only a week before Holly, his wife, had found him wandering around the street shouting at cars to stop torturing the cats.
"Nonsense!" Fred exclaims. "Don't you think I would know if I was awake or not?!" The irony of his words makes me smile. It almost seems like he *was* awake.
"Come here." I tell him and try to grab him by the arm.
"Don't touch me heathen! Pumpkins have no rights here! You're a fruit!" He insists then he hesitates and smiles broadly. "And you know what... I bought you 50% off because you were old and no one wanted you!" He adds triumphantly.
"Whatever you say. Obama is waiting for you. We have to hurry or you'll miss him." I tell him.
"Oh! We must not let Canada wait!" Fred exclaims and I'm allowed to pull him along. Halfway to his house he decides it was enough and lays down on the lawn under one of their rose-bushes. I sigh and shake my head, leaving him there while I go to get Holly.
"Yes?" She asks as she opens the door. Her eyes are tired and her red hair stands on end.
"I found your husband in my kitchen. He was sleepwalking and is now napping under your rose-bushes." I tell her. Holly looks towards the bushes and sighs, rubbing her face.
"Not again. I'm sorry, he's had a tough month at work... I'll try tying him up next time." She say wearily and look towards the bushes.
"Have a good morning." I tell her and back away.
"Sure, sure... Thank you." She adds sleepily.
I stroll back to my house. I finish my coffee and get in the car. *What an unusual morning*. I think and chuckle to myself as I go about my day. *I wonder what he was dreaming...* | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"Do you have to say it with such finality?" I glanced up from my breakfast as Herald poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
"What do you say then?"
"It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You sound as if you're serving a death sentence."
"I *am*. You want me to be all friendly with my subject before I kill him?" The hint of a chortle snuck it's way into herald's last few syllables.
"*You* aren't killing anyone. *You're* just there to ensure the poison in their breakfast does *it's* job. So try to be amiable for their last moments." The speech might as well have fallen on deaf ears as the man in a lab coat walked out the door waving a hand to fan away the words of advice.
It was only 14 minutes and 38 seconds later when the alarm cacophony filled the research building and spurred a frenzy. Someone had let their research escape.
"This is precisely why it's important *how* you say, 'The experiment is over. Thank you for your time.'"
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for everyone's responses, they inspired me to show a snippet of these antagonist's in lab coats mornings prior to all this chaos. :P | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | "Give her 5 minutes before you go up" he says as he walks out through the front door, "You may not recognise her from the woman she was when you awoke this morning".
I break down in tears, it's been 21 years and i had never been so close to anyone in my life, but somehow we'd become one over those years, a unit that tackled the world together.
She never cared for my physical appearance, her love was on a plane much greater than just physical attraction.
Yes, I'm much more shallow than her however, how she looked was everything to me. In fact i'm far more judgmental on the most mundane of things, how my food looks, the colour of my shirts for example.
As a kid i liked all my possessions close and locked away from others. On reflection i had carried this obsession on into adult life and spread it to the people i loved the most. Or, rather, the person i love the most.
I wouldn't want to lose her.
She calls from upstairs, a tired shout. I have never felt so anxious in my life, i walk towards the stairs and begin to make my way to her.
As i reach the top, i look across at the silhouette of my wife.
She is standing in front of the bedroom window with her back to me. By the side of her i see the darkened glasses she's worn since the day i met her, tossed aside.
"It's all so bright... " She whispers, "I never realised how many colours existed in the world".
She turns, my heart sinks with realisation as she looks at me.
It's the first time she's been able to see the world around her.
Yet instead of happiness, all i can feel is fear.
....Will she still love me? | I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | I look down at my huevos rancheros and thought,
*"I knew this was too good to be true."*
My surroundings flicker and turn blue, then dissolve into static and nothingness. My chair is gone and my ass meets an abrupt end with cold metal floor. I am naked. The last bits of what I knew to be reality fade away and there is only black.
"Hello?"
No answer as the sound reverberated throughout my confinement, growing less human with each pass.
"HELLO?"
I don't even recognize my own voice as it makes its way back to me.
I stand and start to walk forward.
*"Is it forward? Am I even moving?"*
Nothing.
I continue, determined.
Nothing.
I move faster, I run. The darkness is too much and I lose my footing and fall.
*"Fuck it"*
Laying there, against the cold metal floor, I see it for the first time. A tiny flash of red just ahead. It blinks, regularly. I move closer and the blinking gets faster. As my tempo increases so does the lights'.
It's right in front of me, it felt like I ran much further than should have been needed, but that thought is overshadowed by the bright red light in front of my. The blinking is so quick it's almost impossible to notice.
I reach out toward it, grasping for anything. It's there, something hard extending from the floor to the light. Head high and square, in the middle is the light. I inch closer. The light doesn't even blink now, just red consuming all sight.
Then suddenly, green.
From elsewhere a dark figure watches his screen as a human face grows larger, illuminated red. A hand hovers over the kill switch.
Green.
*Flick*
It watches as a metal rod plunges through the humans eye, killing him instantly, then retracts as the man falls away from the screen, the room now empty. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| ^^^changed ^^^the ^^^prompt ^^^a ^^^bit
Breakfast of Champions
 
I was in my bathrobe, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and eating the breakfast cereal when Taysha walked in. She was wearing her long white lab coat and must have just gotten on shift. I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Last time we'd talked she was off to Vegas for a few days.
“Hey Tay. Did ya win big?” I spooned the cereal into my mouth and crunched away as I looked at her and waited for a reply. I felt a little wag through at the back of my bathrobe.
She squirmed where she stood, fidgeted a moment with her lab coat and then brushed it down wit her hands like she was briefly trying to remove wrinkles and straighten it out.
Taysha coughed lightly then spoke, “Um, Mike, the ah...” and watched me take another bite of their cereal. She kind of helplessly pointed at the spoon, “You don't actually have to eat that anymore.” It had come out sort of rushed, the way she had said it.
I looked down at the cereal I'd been made to eat. The study I'd become a part of had been going on for over a month so far. I had to admit I was a little tired of the stuff. But I was hungry so I licked my spoon free of the milk and scooped out another bite. Taysha's eyes bulged as the spoon of their special cereal slowly moved towards my mouth. “MIKE!”
It was like slow motion. She shouted and darted towards me. Her right hand flung out. She slapped the spoon from my hand. It slammed down into the bowl. Milk and cereal went flying everywhere. Little streams of it ran down my face. I could feel droplets of milk hanging off my chin. I tilted my head to the side, glared up at her and growled, “What the fuck did you do that for?!”
I wiped my face with the hem of my bathrobe. She didn't even bother to apologize. She just looked at me perplexed and said, “Are you serious?!”
It was then that Tom and Jessica, two other lab coats from the MIT study walked in at a fast pace.
“Mike. The study is over. It's been...” He stopped momentarily and looked from Taysha to Jessica, “I mean... it's done.” Tom was tall and balding. He had a paunch that was beginning to push over his belt.
“It is?” I looked down at the cereal bowl and the multi-colored shapes that still floated in the sea of milk that remained. I had to admit I was a bit relieved. It had certainly lacked in the flavor department and left a little dusty texture on the tongue. I always wanted to slurp down a glass of water afterwards.
Jessica was short with glasses too big and long blonde hair. She had a squeaky voice when she spoke. “It is.” She squeaked and stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently pushed the bowl of cereal away from me towards Taysha. She moved up to take it from the counter and place it far away from me on the other side of the kitchen. A part of me was briefly disappointed. There was a streak of milk left on the counter from the bottom of the bowl. I brushed a finger through it and sucked on it a moment. I could hear an inward draw of breath from each of them.
I reached for my coffee but Jessica got to it before me and said, “I think maybe bottled water may be the best for now.” She pulled one out of her lab coat pocket, twisted off the top and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and felt like she and I had made some kind of connection. She looked at me and smiled in return but it was a kind of reluctant and almost pitying smile.
Tom motioned over to Taysha, “Taysha will take you back to your room so you can get ready before we give you a full briefing Mike.”
“Well that sounds kind of ominous.” I chuckled and didn't catch the awkward silence as I stood to follow her.
My bathrobe caught on something. I kind of spun around to the left and then spun to the right to try and catch it before I looked up and asked Taysha, “My robe is caught. Can you?...” I twisted so she could help me out. She glanced nervously over at Mike who winced. Jessica looked down.
“Sure.” Taysha said and then lifted my bathrobe up and over so that it covered my tail.
“That's much better, thanks.” My bathrobe bustled at the back as my tail wagged under it.
She nodded, “No problem. Uh... I mean... you're welcome Mike.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | ^^^changed ^^^the ^^^prompt ^^^a ^^^bit
Breakfast of Champions
 
I was in my bathrobe, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and eating the breakfast cereal when Taysha walked in. She was wearing her long white lab coat and must have just gotten on shift. I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Last time we'd talked she was off to Vegas for a few days.
“Hey Tay. Did ya win big?” I spooned the cereal into my mouth and crunched away as I looked at her and waited for a reply. I felt a little wag through at the back of my bathrobe.
She squirmed where she stood, fidgeted a moment with her lab coat and then brushed it down wit her hands like she was briefly trying to remove wrinkles and straighten it out.
Taysha coughed lightly then spoke, “Um, Mike, the ah...” and watched me take another bite of their cereal. She kind of helplessly pointed at the spoon, “You don't actually have to eat that anymore.” It had come out sort of rushed, the way she had said it.
I looked down at the cereal I'd been made to eat. The study I'd become a part of had been going on for over a month so far. I had to admit I was a little tired of the stuff. But I was hungry so I licked my spoon free of the milk and scooped out another bite. Taysha's eyes bulged as the spoon of their special cereal slowly moved towards my mouth. “MIKE!”
It was like slow motion. She shouted and darted towards me. Her right hand flung out. She slapped the spoon from my hand. It slammed down into the bowl. Milk and cereal went flying everywhere. Little streams of it ran down my face. I could feel droplets of milk hanging off my chin. I tilted my head to the side, glared up at her and growled, “What the fuck did you do that for?!”
I wiped my face with the hem of my bathrobe. She didn't even bother to apologize. She just looked at me perplexed and said, “Are you serious?!”
It was then that Tom and Jessica, two other lab coats from the MIT study walked in at a fast pace.
“Mike. The study is over. It's been...” He stopped momentarily and looked from Taysha to Jessica, “I mean... it's done.” Tom was tall and balding. He had a paunch that was beginning to push over his belt.
“It is?” I looked down at the cereal bowl and the multi-colored shapes that still floated in the sea of milk that remained. I had to admit I was a bit relieved. It had certainly lacked in the flavor department and left a little dusty texture on the tongue. I always wanted to slurp down a glass of water afterwards.
Jessica was short with glasses too big and long blonde hair. She had a squeaky voice when she spoke. “It is.” She squeaked and stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently pushed the bowl of cereal away from me towards Taysha. She moved up to take it from the counter and place it far away from me on the other side of the kitchen. A part of me was briefly disappointed. There was a streak of milk left on the counter from the bottom of the bowl. I brushed a finger through it and sucked on it a moment. I could hear an inward draw of breath from each of them.
I reached for my coffee but Jessica got to it before me and said, “I think maybe bottled water may be the best for now.” She pulled one out of her lab coat pocket, twisted off the top and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and felt like she and I had made some kind of connection. She looked at me and smiled in return but it was a kind of reluctant and almost pitying smile.
Tom motioned over to Taysha, “Taysha will take you back to your room so you can get ready before we give you a full briefing Mike.”
“Well that sounds kind of ominous.” I chuckled and didn't catch the awkward silence as I stood to follow her.
My bathrobe caught on something. I kind of spun around to the left and then spun to the right to try and catch it before I looked up and asked Taysha, “My robe is caught. Can you?...” I twisted so she could help me out. She glanced nervously over at Mike who winced. Jessica looked down.
“Sure.” Taysha said and then lifted my bathrobe up and over so that it covered my tail.
“That's much better, thanks.” My bathrobe bustled at the back as my tail wagged under it.
She nodded, “No problem. Uh... I mean... you're welcome Mike.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | ^^^changed ^^^the ^^^prompt ^^^a ^^^bit
Breakfast of Champions
 
I was in my bathrobe, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and eating the breakfast cereal when Taysha walked in. She was wearing her long white lab coat and must have just gotten on shift. I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Last time we'd talked she was off to Vegas for a few days.
“Hey Tay. Did ya win big?” I spooned the cereal into my mouth and crunched away as I looked at her and waited for a reply. I felt a little wag through at the back of my bathrobe.
She squirmed where she stood, fidgeted a moment with her lab coat and then brushed it down wit her hands like she was briefly trying to remove wrinkles and straighten it out.
Taysha coughed lightly then spoke, “Um, Mike, the ah...” and watched me take another bite of their cereal. She kind of helplessly pointed at the spoon, “You don't actually have to eat that anymore.” It had come out sort of rushed, the way she had said it.
I looked down at the cereal I'd been made to eat. The study I'd become a part of had been going on for over a month so far. I had to admit I was a little tired of the stuff. But I was hungry so I licked my spoon free of the milk and scooped out another bite. Taysha's eyes bulged as the spoon of their special cereal slowly moved towards my mouth. “MIKE!”
It was like slow motion. She shouted and darted towards me. Her right hand flung out. She slapped the spoon from my hand. It slammed down into the bowl. Milk and cereal went flying everywhere. Little streams of it ran down my face. I could feel droplets of milk hanging off my chin. I tilted my head to the side, glared up at her and growled, “What the fuck did you do that for?!”
I wiped my face with the hem of my bathrobe. She didn't even bother to apologize. She just looked at me perplexed and said, “Are you serious?!”
It was then that Tom and Jessica, two other lab coats from the MIT study walked in at a fast pace.
“Mike. The study is over. It's been...” He stopped momentarily and looked from Taysha to Jessica, “I mean... it's done.” Tom was tall and balding. He had a paunch that was beginning to push over his belt.
“It is?” I looked down at the cereal bowl and the multi-colored shapes that still floated in the sea of milk that remained. I had to admit I was a bit relieved. It had certainly lacked in the flavor department and left a little dusty texture on the tongue. I always wanted to slurp down a glass of water afterwards.
Jessica was short with glasses too big and long blonde hair. She had a squeaky voice when she spoke. “It is.” She squeaked and stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently pushed the bowl of cereal away from me towards Taysha. She moved up to take it from the counter and place it far away from me on the other side of the kitchen. A part of me was briefly disappointed. There was a streak of milk left on the counter from the bottom of the bowl. I brushed a finger through it and sucked on it a moment. I could hear an inward draw of breath from each of them.
I reached for my coffee but Jessica got to it before me and said, “I think maybe bottled water may be the best for now.” She pulled one out of her lab coat pocket, twisted off the top and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and felt like she and I had made some kind of connection. She looked at me and smiled in return but it was a kind of reluctant and almost pitying smile.
Tom motioned over to Taysha, “Taysha will take you back to your room so you can get ready before we give you a full briefing Mike.”
“Well that sounds kind of ominous.” I chuckled and didn't catch the awkward silence as I stood to follow her.
My bathrobe caught on something. I kind of spun around to the left and then spun to the right to try and catch it before I looked up and asked Taysha, “My robe is caught. Can you?...” I twisted so she could help me out. She glanced nervously over at Mike who winced. Jessica looked down.
“Sure.” Taysha said and then lifted my bathrobe up and over so that it covered my tail.
“That's much better, thanks.” My bathrobe bustled at the back as my tail wagged under it.
She nodded, “No problem. Uh... I mean... you're welcome Mike.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | ^^^changed ^^^the ^^^prompt ^^^a ^^^bit
Breakfast of Champions
 
I was in my bathrobe, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and eating the breakfast cereal when Taysha walked in. She was wearing her long white lab coat and must have just gotten on shift. I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Last time we'd talked she was off to Vegas for a few days.
“Hey Tay. Did ya win big?” I spooned the cereal into my mouth and crunched away as I looked at her and waited for a reply. I felt a little wag through at the back of my bathrobe.
She squirmed where she stood, fidgeted a moment with her lab coat and then brushed it down wit her hands like she was briefly trying to remove wrinkles and straighten it out.
Taysha coughed lightly then spoke, “Um, Mike, the ah...” and watched me take another bite of their cereal. She kind of helplessly pointed at the spoon, “You don't actually have to eat that anymore.” It had come out sort of rushed, the way she had said it.
I looked down at the cereal I'd been made to eat. The study I'd become a part of had been going on for over a month so far. I had to admit I was a little tired of the stuff. But I was hungry so I licked my spoon free of the milk and scooped out another bite. Taysha's eyes bulged as the spoon of their special cereal slowly moved towards my mouth. “MIKE!”
It was like slow motion. She shouted and darted towards me. Her right hand flung out. She slapped the spoon from my hand. It slammed down into the bowl. Milk and cereal went flying everywhere. Little streams of it ran down my face. I could feel droplets of milk hanging off my chin. I tilted my head to the side, glared up at her and growled, “What the fuck did you do that for?!”
I wiped my face with the hem of my bathrobe. She didn't even bother to apologize. She just looked at me perplexed and said, “Are you serious?!”
It was then that Tom and Jessica, two other lab coats from the MIT study walked in at a fast pace.
“Mike. The study is over. It's been...” He stopped momentarily and looked from Taysha to Jessica, “I mean... it's done.” Tom was tall and balding. He had a paunch that was beginning to push over his belt.
“It is?” I looked down at the cereal bowl and the multi-colored shapes that still floated in the sea of milk that remained. I had to admit I was a bit relieved. It had certainly lacked in the flavor department and left a little dusty texture on the tongue. I always wanted to slurp down a glass of water afterwards.
Jessica was short with glasses too big and long blonde hair. She had a squeaky voice when she spoke. “It is.” She squeaked and stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently pushed the bowl of cereal away from me towards Taysha. She moved up to take it from the counter and place it far away from me on the other side of the kitchen. A part of me was briefly disappointed. There was a streak of milk left on the counter from the bottom of the bowl. I brushed a finger through it and sucked on it a moment. I could hear an inward draw of breath from each of them.
I reached for my coffee but Jessica got to it before me and said, “I think maybe bottled water may be the best for now.” She pulled one out of her lab coat pocket, twisted off the top and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and felt like she and I had made some kind of connection. She looked at me and smiled in return but it was a kind of reluctant and almost pitying smile.
Tom motioned over to Taysha, “Taysha will take you back to your room so you can get ready before we give you a full briefing Mike.”
“Well that sounds kind of ominous.” I chuckled and didn't catch the awkward silence as I stood to follow her.
My bathrobe caught on something. I kind of spun around to the left and then spun to the right to try and catch it before I looked up and asked Taysha, “My robe is caught. Can you?...” I twisted so she could help me out. She glanced nervously over at Mike who winced. Jessica looked down.
“Sure.” Taysha said and then lifted my bathrobe up and over so that it covered my tail.
“That's much better, thanks.” My bathrobe bustled at the back as my tail wagged under it.
She nodded, “No problem. Uh... I mean... you're welcome Mike.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | ^^^changed ^^^the ^^^prompt ^^^a ^^^bit
Breakfast of Champions
 
I was in my bathrobe, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter and eating the breakfast cereal when Taysha walked in. She was wearing her long white lab coat and must have just gotten on shift. I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Last time we'd talked she was off to Vegas for a few days.
“Hey Tay. Did ya win big?” I spooned the cereal into my mouth and crunched away as I looked at her and waited for a reply. I felt a little wag through at the back of my bathrobe.
She squirmed where she stood, fidgeted a moment with her lab coat and then brushed it down wit her hands like she was briefly trying to remove wrinkles and straighten it out.
Taysha coughed lightly then spoke, “Um, Mike, the ah...” and watched me take another bite of their cereal. She kind of helplessly pointed at the spoon, “You don't actually have to eat that anymore.” It had come out sort of rushed, the way she had said it.
I looked down at the cereal I'd been made to eat. The study I'd become a part of had been going on for over a month so far. I had to admit I was a little tired of the stuff. But I was hungry so I licked my spoon free of the milk and scooped out another bite. Taysha's eyes bulged as the spoon of their special cereal slowly moved towards my mouth. “MIKE!”
It was like slow motion. She shouted and darted towards me. Her right hand flung out. She slapped the spoon from my hand. It slammed down into the bowl. Milk and cereal went flying everywhere. Little streams of it ran down my face. I could feel droplets of milk hanging off my chin. I tilted my head to the side, glared up at her and growled, “What the fuck did you do that for?!”
I wiped my face with the hem of my bathrobe. She didn't even bother to apologize. She just looked at me perplexed and said, “Are you serious?!”
It was then that Tom and Jessica, two other lab coats from the MIT study walked in at a fast pace.
“Mike. The study is over. It's been...” He stopped momentarily and looked from Taysha to Jessica, “I mean... it's done.” Tom was tall and balding. He had a paunch that was beginning to push over his belt.
“It is?” I looked down at the cereal bowl and the multi-colored shapes that still floated in the sea of milk that remained. I had to admit I was a bit relieved. It had certainly lacked in the flavor department and left a little dusty texture on the tongue. I always wanted to slurp down a glass of water afterwards.
Jessica was short with glasses too big and long blonde hair. She had a squeaky voice when she spoke. “It is.” She squeaked and stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently pushed the bowl of cereal away from me towards Taysha. She moved up to take it from the counter and place it far away from me on the other side of the kitchen. A part of me was briefly disappointed. There was a streak of milk left on the counter from the bottom of the bowl. I brushed a finger through it and sucked on it a moment. I could hear an inward draw of breath from each of them.
I reached for my coffee but Jessica got to it before me and said, “I think maybe bottled water may be the best for now.” She pulled one out of her lab coat pocket, twisted off the top and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and felt like she and I had made some kind of connection. She looked at me and smiled in return but it was a kind of reluctant and almost pitying smile.
Tom motioned over to Taysha, “Taysha will take you back to your room so you can get ready before we give you a full briefing Mike.”
“Well that sounds kind of ominous.” I chuckled and didn't catch the awkward silence as I stood to follow her.
My bathrobe caught on something. I kind of spun around to the left and then spun to the right to try and catch it before I looked up and asked Taysha, “My robe is caught. Can you?...” I twisted so she could help me out. She glanced nervously over at Mike who winced. Jessica looked down.
“Sure.” Taysha said and then lifted my bathrobe up and over so that it covered my tail.
“That's much better, thanks.” My bathrobe bustled at the back as my tail wagged under it.
She nodded, “No problem. Uh... I mean... you're welcome Mike.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| I drop my spoon into a bowl of cheerios and let the milk and cheerios fill the spoon until I can see an arc of water tension at the edge of the spoon. It is the rounded metal spoon, not the oval shaped one which is in my dishwasher because I didn't feel like doing the dishes last night but instead had watched a documentary about ants on YouTube until I fell asleep on the couch which caused the crick in my neck I currently wish to rub. But I don't rub it because then the water tension keeping the milk from spilling over my round metal spoon would fail. And then the milk would spill and they have sayings about that.
I bring the spoon to my lips, the sensation I love at hand, cold milk, crunchy cheerios.
"The experiment is over," a man in a lab coat says as he walks into my kitchen. "Thank you for your -"
My metal spoon has found its way to the man's mouth and I am shoving it down his throat while he gibbers and drools. There is on the table the spoonful of milk and cheerios that he had startled out of my hand, it was his fault, I take no responsibility whatsoever for the spilt milk, which they have sayings about.
The man scratches my face which is annoying because it will hurt when I shave later. He takes forever to die and so I glance over at my bowl of cheerios because pretty soon they're gonna get soggy and my damn milk won't be cold like I like it.
I pull my round metal spoon out of this drooling and finally dead man but now it's covered in his filthy mucus and blood filth disgusting Jesus Christ. I throw the spoon into a corner of the kitchen and retrieve my not so round spoon from the dishwasher. Sweating now I run it under the tap and scrub scrub scrub that'll be good enough no need for soap or sponge. I plunge it into my bowl of cereal and bring a spoonful to my mouth, here it comes, thank God almighty it is still crunchy and cold. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | I drop my spoon into a bowl of cheerios and let the milk and cheerios fill the spoon until I can see an arc of water tension at the edge of the spoon. It is the rounded metal spoon, not the oval shaped one which is in my dishwasher because I didn't feel like doing the dishes last night but instead had watched a documentary about ants on YouTube until I fell asleep on the couch which caused the crick in my neck I currently wish to rub. But I don't rub it because then the water tension keeping the milk from spilling over my round metal spoon would fail. And then the milk would spill and they have sayings about that.
I bring the spoon to my lips, the sensation I love at hand, cold milk, crunchy cheerios.
"The experiment is over," a man in a lab coat says as he walks into my kitchen. "Thank you for your -"
My metal spoon has found its way to the man's mouth and I am shoving it down his throat while he gibbers and drools. There is on the table the spoonful of milk and cheerios that he had startled out of my hand, it was his fault, I take no responsibility whatsoever for the spilt milk, which they have sayings about.
The man scratches my face which is annoying because it will hurt when I shave later. He takes forever to die and so I glance over at my bowl of cheerios because pretty soon they're gonna get soggy and my damn milk won't be cold like I like it.
I pull my round metal spoon out of this drooling and finally dead man but now it's covered in his filthy mucus and blood filth disgusting Jesus Christ. I throw the spoon into a corner of the kitchen and retrieve my not so round spoon from the dishwasher. Sweating now I run it under the tap and scrub scrub scrub that'll be good enough no need for soap or sponge. I plunge it into my bowl of cereal and bring a spoonful to my mouth, here it comes, thank God almighty it is still crunchy and cold. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | I drop my spoon into a bowl of cheerios and let the milk and cheerios fill the spoon until I can see an arc of water tension at the edge of the spoon. It is the rounded metal spoon, not the oval shaped one which is in my dishwasher because I didn't feel like doing the dishes last night but instead had watched a documentary about ants on YouTube until I fell asleep on the couch which caused the crick in my neck I currently wish to rub. But I don't rub it because then the water tension keeping the milk from spilling over my round metal spoon would fail. And then the milk would spill and they have sayings about that.
I bring the spoon to my lips, the sensation I love at hand, cold milk, crunchy cheerios.
"The experiment is over," a man in a lab coat says as he walks into my kitchen. "Thank you for your -"
My metal spoon has found its way to the man's mouth and I am shoving it down his throat while he gibbers and drools. There is on the table the spoonful of milk and cheerios that he had startled out of my hand, it was his fault, I take no responsibility whatsoever for the spilt milk, which they have sayings about.
The man scratches my face which is annoying because it will hurt when I shave later. He takes forever to die and so I glance over at my bowl of cheerios because pretty soon they're gonna get soggy and my damn milk won't be cold like I like it.
I pull my round metal spoon out of this drooling and finally dead man but now it's covered in his filthy mucus and blood filth disgusting Jesus Christ. I throw the spoon into a corner of the kitchen and retrieve my not so round spoon from the dishwasher. Sweating now I run it under the tap and scrub scrub scrub that'll be good enough no need for soap or sponge. I plunge it into my bowl of cereal and bring a spoonful to my mouth, here it comes, thank God almighty it is still crunchy and cold. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | I drop my spoon into a bowl of cheerios and let the milk and cheerios fill the spoon until I can see an arc of water tension at the edge of the spoon. It is the rounded metal spoon, not the oval shaped one which is in my dishwasher because I didn't feel like doing the dishes last night but instead had watched a documentary about ants on YouTube until I fell asleep on the couch which caused the crick in my neck I currently wish to rub. But I don't rub it because then the water tension keeping the milk from spilling over my round metal spoon would fail. And then the milk would spill and they have sayings about that.
I bring the spoon to my lips, the sensation I love at hand, cold milk, crunchy cheerios.
"The experiment is over," a man in a lab coat says as he walks into my kitchen. "Thank you for your -"
My metal spoon has found its way to the man's mouth and I am shoving it down his throat while he gibbers and drools. There is on the table the spoonful of milk and cheerios that he had startled out of my hand, it was his fault, I take no responsibility whatsoever for the spilt milk, which they have sayings about.
The man scratches my face which is annoying because it will hurt when I shave later. He takes forever to die and so I glance over at my bowl of cheerios because pretty soon they're gonna get soggy and my damn milk won't be cold like I like it.
I pull my round metal spoon out of this drooling and finally dead man but now it's covered in his filthy mucus and blood filth disgusting Jesus Christ. I throw the spoon into a corner of the kitchen and retrieve my not so round spoon from the dishwasher. Sweating now I run it under the tap and scrub scrub scrub that'll be good enough no need for soap or sponge. I plunge it into my bowl of cereal and bring a spoonful to my mouth, here it comes, thank God almighty it is still crunchy and cold. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | I drop my spoon into a bowl of cheerios and let the milk and cheerios fill the spoon until I can see an arc of water tension at the edge of the spoon. It is the rounded metal spoon, not the oval shaped one which is in my dishwasher because I didn't feel like doing the dishes last night but instead had watched a documentary about ants on YouTube until I fell asleep on the couch which caused the crick in my neck I currently wish to rub. But I don't rub it because then the water tension keeping the milk from spilling over my round metal spoon would fail. And then the milk would spill and they have sayings about that.
I bring the spoon to my lips, the sensation I love at hand, cold milk, crunchy cheerios.
"The experiment is over," a man in a lab coat says as he walks into my kitchen. "Thank you for your -"
My metal spoon has found its way to the man's mouth and I am shoving it down his throat while he gibbers and drools. There is on the table the spoonful of milk and cheerios that he had startled out of my hand, it was his fault, I take no responsibility whatsoever for the spilt milk, which they have sayings about.
The man scratches my face which is annoying because it will hurt when I shave later. He takes forever to die and so I glance over at my bowl of cheerios because pretty soon they're gonna get soggy and my damn milk won't be cold like I like it.
I pull my round metal spoon out of this drooling and finally dead man but now it's covered in his filthy mucus and blood filth disgusting Jesus Christ. I throw the spoon into a corner of the kitchen and retrieve my not so round spoon from the dishwasher. Sweating now I run it under the tap and scrub scrub scrub that'll be good enough no need for soap or sponge. I plunge it into my bowl of cereal and bring a spoonful to my mouth, here it comes, thank God almighty it is still crunchy and cold. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
The man sitting as his kitchen table let out a deep sigh, unsure if he should feel scared or relived. He turned to his portable recorder, more out of habit than out of necessity. Taking a deep breath, he began recording:
"I knew this day would come, someday. Despite the nasty side effects of the medication (really, what is that thing growing on my back?) living to be 342 is pretty nice. I mean, all my family is dead, all my friends are dead, and I haven't had sex in 150 years. Try getting an attractive 20-something to sleep with you when they recognize you as the guy from the immortality experiment that started over 300 years ago. But it hasn't been terrible! I've seen a lot! I got to witness the first colonization of Mars, the fall of the colony on Mars. I got to see the wonders of science whey they cured cancer. How could they know cancer was stemming off worse diseases? I got to see as the Berlin wall was rebuilt, and then knocked down 50 years later. I watched as China invaded Japan and Korea to form the Republic of Asia, and how the United States allowed it in the name of trade relations... On second thought, living as long as I have has been terrible! Thank God I can be done now and forget all this shit."
The scientist returned to the room to remove more equipment. The man looked at him and, instead of asking what he really wanted to know - how long it would take him to die - he instead asked, "Why end the experiment now?"
The scientist looked at him with cold eyes, and spoke much the way he would speak to a lab rat, "All our tests conclude you are now immortal. The FDA has approved the drug for market. We don't need you anymore."
He turned, continuing on with his collection, either unaware or unmoved by the sobs ripping out of the man seated at the breakfast table. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
The man sitting as his kitchen table let out a deep sigh, unsure if he should feel scared or relived. He turned to his portable recorder, more out of habit than out of necessity. Taking a deep breath, he began recording:
"I knew this day would come, someday. Despite the nasty side effects of the medication (really, what is that thing growing on my back?) living to be 342 is pretty nice. I mean, all my family is dead, all my friends are dead, and I haven't had sex in 150 years. Try getting an attractive 20-something to sleep with you when they recognize you as the guy from the immortality experiment that started over 300 years ago. But it hasn't been terrible! I've seen a lot! I got to witness the first colonization of Mars, the fall of the colony on Mars. I got to see the wonders of science whey they cured cancer. How could they know cancer was stemming off worse diseases? I got to see as the Berlin wall was rebuilt, and then knocked down 50 years later. I watched as China invaded Japan and Korea to form the Republic of Asia, and how the United States allowed it in the name of trade relations... On second thought, living as long as I have has been terrible! Thank God I can be done now and forget all this shit."
The scientist returned to the room to remove more equipment. The man looked at him and, instead of asking what he really wanted to know - how long it would take him to die - he instead asked, "Why end the experiment now?"
The scientist looked at him with cold eyes, and spoke much the way he would speak to a lab rat, "All our tests conclude you are now immortal. The FDA has approved the drug for market. We don't need you anymore."
He turned, continuing on with his collection, either unaware or unmoved by the sobs ripping out of the man seated at the breakfast table. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
The man sitting as his kitchen table let out a deep sigh, unsure if he should feel scared or relived. He turned to his portable recorder, more out of habit than out of necessity. Taking a deep breath, he began recording:
"I knew this day would come, someday. Despite the nasty side effects of the medication (really, what is that thing growing on my back?) living to be 342 is pretty nice. I mean, all my family is dead, all my friends are dead, and I haven't had sex in 150 years. Try getting an attractive 20-something to sleep with you when they recognize you as the guy from the immortality experiment that started over 300 years ago. But it hasn't been terrible! I've seen a lot! I got to witness the first colonization of Mars, the fall of the colony on Mars. I got to see the wonders of science whey they cured cancer. How could they know cancer was stemming off worse diseases? I got to see as the Berlin wall was rebuilt, and then knocked down 50 years later. I watched as China invaded Japan and Korea to form the Republic of Asia, and how the United States allowed it in the name of trade relations... On second thought, living as long as I have has been terrible! Thank God I can be done now and forget all this shit."
The scientist returned to the room to remove more equipment. The man looked at him and, instead of asking what he really wanted to know - how long it would take him to die - he instead asked, "Why end the experiment now?"
The scientist looked at him with cold eyes, and spoke much the way he would speak to a lab rat, "All our tests conclude you are now immortal. The FDA has approved the drug for market. We don't need you anymore."
He turned, continuing on with his collection, either unaware or unmoved by the sobs ripping out of the man seated at the breakfast table. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
The man sitting as his kitchen table let out a deep sigh, unsure if he should feel scared or relived. He turned to his portable recorder, more out of habit than out of necessity. Taking a deep breath, he began recording:
"I knew this day would come, someday. Despite the nasty side effects of the medication (really, what is that thing growing on my back?) living to be 342 is pretty nice. I mean, all my family is dead, all my friends are dead, and I haven't had sex in 150 years. Try getting an attractive 20-something to sleep with you when they recognize you as the guy from the immortality experiment that started over 300 years ago. But it hasn't been terrible! I've seen a lot! I got to witness the first colonization of Mars, the fall of the colony on Mars. I got to see the wonders of science whey they cured cancer. How could they know cancer was stemming off worse diseases? I got to see as the Berlin wall was rebuilt, and then knocked down 50 years later. I watched as China invaded Japan and Korea to form the Republic of Asia, and how the United States allowed it in the name of trade relations... On second thought, living as long as I have has been terrible! Thank God I can be done now and forget all this shit."
The scientist returned to the room to remove more equipment. The man looked at him and, instead of asking what he really wanted to know - how long it would take him to die - he instead asked, "Why end the experiment now?"
The scientist looked at him with cold eyes, and spoke much the way he would speak to a lab rat, "All our tests conclude you are now immortal. The FDA has approved the drug for market. We don't need you anymore."
He turned, continuing on with his collection, either unaware or unmoved by the sobs ripping out of the man seated at the breakfast table. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
The man sitting as his kitchen table let out a deep sigh, unsure if he should feel scared or relived. He turned to his portable recorder, more out of habit than out of necessity. Taking a deep breath, he began recording:
"I knew this day would come, someday. Despite the nasty side effects of the medication (really, what is that thing growing on my back?) living to be 342 is pretty nice. I mean, all my family is dead, all my friends are dead, and I haven't had sex in 150 years. Try getting an attractive 20-something to sleep with you when they recognize you as the guy from the immortality experiment that started over 300 years ago. But it hasn't been terrible! I've seen a lot! I got to witness the first colonization of Mars, the fall of the colony on Mars. I got to see the wonders of science whey they cured cancer. How could they know cancer was stemming off worse diseases? I got to see as the Berlin wall was rebuilt, and then knocked down 50 years later. I watched as China invaded Japan and Korea to form the Republic of Asia, and how the United States allowed it in the name of trade relations... On second thought, living as long as I have has been terrible! Thank God I can be done now and forget all this shit."
The scientist returned to the room to remove more equipment. The man looked at him and, instead of asking what he really wanted to know - how long it would take him to die - he instead asked, "Why end the experiment now?"
The scientist looked at him with cold eyes, and spoke much the way he would speak to a lab rat, "All our tests conclude you are now immortal. The FDA has approved the drug for market. We don't need you anymore."
He turned, continuing on with his collection, either unaware or unmoved by the sobs ripping out of the man seated at the breakfast table. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." |
Not wanting to stand out in any way, Bob decide that this morning he would eat a bowl of the cereal that was on display the day before at the super market. It was a mad rush, everyone seemed to want it, and Bob didn't want to be left out. "It doesn't look that appealing," Bob thought to himself as he reached for a carton of whole milk. "But everyone wanted it. Best to have some, I think."
Bob was ever afraid of being the center of attention. His whole life up to this very point was all about coasting by while trying to seem like he belonged. He picked up his spoon, which had several spots on it (including one over the engraved "Stainless Steel" markings on the neck of it), and saw in it his own unremarkable reflection. Shaggy brown hair, groggy eyes, splotches on his skin, and an irregularly elongated face. For a moment he thought perhaps he always looked this way, but remembered after a bit of reflection that if he had in fact always looked this way, someone would have pointed it out and he would have remembered that.
He lowered his spoon into the cereal, expecting to hear that subtle soggy crunching and bubbling sound that one hears when not really paying attention to much of anything while eating cereal. He heard instead an odd voice coming from somewhere inside his kitchen. "Stop, stop." It said dryly. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
Not wanting to seem out of place, Bob left his spoon in his cereal, stood up, and stepped back. A strange man in a white lab coat stepped forward and started collecting Bob's cereal. Bob was put off a bit. Did he do something wrong? Why is it over? Was someone studying me? Why would anyone do that?
A flurry of questions whipped about in Bob's mind, but he couldn't quite pinpoint any particular one to ask. Mostly, he just didn't want to be a bother to anyone. "Should I just stand here? Or..." Bob asked the man in the lab coat meekly, noticing the clipboard underneath the man's arm as he walked Bob's breakfast to his kitchen sink.
"No, no." The man said in quite the same way as he had told Bob to stop earlier. "Just wait there. Someone will be in momentarily."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um. Should I perhaps clean up a bit? I wasn't expecting-" Bob motioned towards himself, trying to suggest to the man without being rude that perhaps now was not the best time for company. Bob had not yet had the time to shower, brush his teeth, or otherwise compose himself.
"You could clean up a bit." The man said plainly.
As the man with the lab coat was not paying much attention to Bob, and certainly was not looking at him when he suggested that Bob could clean up a bit, Bob was not sure if the man wanted him to clean himself up or help clean the kitchen.
"Oh. Right, then. Sorry." Bob replied, still unsure of what to do.
The man in the lab coat stopped cleaning out Bob's cereal bowl abruptly. He hadn't finished, Bob noticed. If he left the spoon in the bowl like that it would certainly rust. It might even leave a stain on the bowl. Bob thought better of speaking up about it, though. "The man is wearing a lab coat, surely he knows better than I do." Bob thought to himself.
"Yes, quite." The man replied.
Bob was surprised. Had he spoken aloud? At least what he had said wasn't insulting. That could have been awkward. Bob then wondered what sorts of insults he could conjure up, but none came immediately to mind.
The man spun on his heels, turning to face Bob. "Thank you for your time." He said again.
"You're welcome." Bob assured him. Still a bit befuddled at the presence of the man in his kitchen, Bob thought it right to ask what he thought should probably be his last question for fear of upsetting him. "Should I go?"
"No, no." The man said in his now familiar way. Bob noticed, however, that the man did not include any indication of what Bob *should* do at this point. He only walked out of Bob's kitchen, into Bob's den, and turned on Bob's television.
Bob stayed put. He wasn't instructed to do so, but he was so filled with terror at the thought of doing something that he shouldn't. He thought it best to just wait until someone came for him.
He stood for the better part of an hour and a half, only now realizing in his slow process of waking up that he was still wearing his bathrobes. Bob decided it would be best at this point to speak to the man in the lab coat about his presence in his home, and how perhaps now isn't the best time for Bob to entertain guests. He hadn't even eaten, come to think of it, and was growing hungrier by the second.
Bob took a step, but then realized something. What if Bob is the guest? The man seems to feel very much at home, which is not a feeling that Bob was familiar with in any place at all. "Perhaps I do not belong here," Bob thought. "Perhaps I should go." He recalled how the man had told him not to go. "Someone would be in momentarily," he recalled. "Perhaps I should stay."
"Why yes, welcome!" The man shouted from the den.
Was he talking to his television? Perhaps he was. Best leave him alone.
"Be seeing you, then!" The man shouted with barely a moment passing between statements.
Bob decided not to speak up at that point. It could be that the man was just telling Bob that he should go, so Bob did just that. He stepped outside wearing nothing but his bath robes and slippers. Some of his neighbors passed by, not paying him much mind. They never did, though. Bob liked that.
It was a bit cold out. Bob wondered what odd turn of events might have brought him out onto his own doorstep while wearing nothing but his bathrobes and slippers. He decided it would be best to go inside and eat breakfast.
Bob stepped back inside, sat down at his kitchen table where a bowl of cereal had been waiting for him, and began to eat.
Upon the first bite, he promptly spat his new cereal out all over his table. "What an awful taste!" He shouted aloud to himself.
Quite suddenly he heard a voice shout from somewhere in the room, "Why yes, welcome!" but there was no one in sight who might have shouted it.
Bob wondered for a moment, and decided to ignore the voice. Better that nobody pay any attention to him. Whoever it was, maybe they will leave him alone.
Whoever it was, they must have left Bob alone. With his table covered in cereal and milk, and his bathrobes now sliding off one of his shoulders, Bob was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone and very sad. "Why am I sad?" Bob wondered, but the feelings did not relent. "Would someone please take this away?" Bob asked aloud while staring groggily at the puddle of cereal and milk on his table, but was uncertain of what exactly he wanted to have taken away. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling only the baldness of his scalp and a few stray grey hairs that hadn't wanted to give up on him, for whatever reason.
"Would someone please take this away?" He said again, this time a bit softer and far less certain. | I looked at the man in a the lab coat for a moment, gleeful celebration creeping gradually into my mind.
"Oh, thank FUCKING CHRIST!" I leapt up and shook his hand emphatically. Poured the rest of my cereal down the sink. I wouldn't need it.
I ran outside, throwing my bathrobe open to the breeze. Stretched out my wings, working out the kinks and sore muscles accumulated from millions of years of hiding them under clothes and armor.
Soared into the sky, saw my brothers and sisters ascending upward as those on the ground watched in awe. We summoned our weapons. Some (like my brother in the lab coat) chose flaming swords, some chose radiant lances, and others still simply pumped their fists, martial training their style of choice. As for myself my weapon was a simple bow, gleaming and crackling with electric fury.
We amassed, my brothers and sisters in arms, weapons drawn, ready for duty after such an unbelievably long time.
The Great Experiment was over. Now, the Purge could finally begin. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | I looked at the man in a the lab coat for a moment, gleeful celebration creeping gradually into my mind.
"Oh, thank FUCKING CHRIST!" I leapt up and shook his hand emphatically. Poured the rest of my cereal down the sink. I wouldn't need it.
I ran outside, throwing my bathrobe open to the breeze. Stretched out my wings, working out the kinks and sore muscles accumulated from millions of years of hiding them under clothes and armor.
Soared into the sky, saw my brothers and sisters ascending upward as those on the ground watched in awe. We summoned our weapons. Some (like my brother in the lab coat) chose flaming swords, some chose radiant lances, and others still simply pumped their fists, martial training their style of choice. As for myself my weapon was a simple bow, gleaming and crackling with electric fury.
We amassed, my brothers and sisters in arms, weapons drawn, ready for duty after such an unbelievably long time.
The Great Experiment was over. Now, the Purge could finally begin. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | I looked at the man in a the lab coat for a moment, gleeful celebration creeping gradually into my mind.
"Oh, thank FUCKING CHRIST!" I leapt up and shook his hand emphatically. Poured the rest of my cereal down the sink. I wouldn't need it.
I ran outside, throwing my bathrobe open to the breeze. Stretched out my wings, working out the kinks and sore muscles accumulated from millions of years of hiding them under clothes and armor.
Soared into the sky, saw my brothers and sisters ascending upward as those on the ground watched in awe. We summoned our weapons. Some (like my brother in the lab coat) chose flaming swords, some chose radiant lances, and others still simply pumped their fists, martial training their style of choice. As for myself my weapon was a simple bow, gleaming and crackling with electric fury.
We amassed, my brothers and sisters in arms, weapons drawn, ready for duty after such an unbelievably long time.
The Great Experiment was over. Now, the Purge could finally begin. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | I looked at the man in a the lab coat for a moment, gleeful celebration creeping gradually into my mind.
"Oh, thank FUCKING CHRIST!" I leapt up and shook his hand emphatically. Poured the rest of my cereal down the sink. I wouldn't need it.
I ran outside, throwing my bathrobe open to the breeze. Stretched out my wings, working out the kinks and sore muscles accumulated from millions of years of hiding them under clothes and armor.
Soared into the sky, saw my brothers and sisters ascending upward as those on the ground watched in awe. We summoned our weapons. Some (like my brother in the lab coat) chose flaming swords, some chose radiant lances, and others still simply pumped their fists, martial training their style of choice. As for myself my weapon was a simple bow, gleaming and crackling with electric fury.
We amassed, my brothers and sisters in arms, weapons drawn, ready for duty after such an unbelievably long time.
The Great Experiment was over. Now, the Purge could finally begin. | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | Over the last year, my life has been incredibly boring. I mean, yes, I do go out and meet people. I meet all sorts of people from all over the world, but the world is no longer interesting. No books have been written, no new music has been created, all sporting events and television shows have been postponed indefinitely, and worst of all - all the delicious coffee I used to drink is now bland on my tongue. I have almost nothing to occupy my time with except making french toast, steak with eggs, or fruit tarts. I mix it up so that I don't have the same order of those three items for too many days in a row.
Today marks my one year anniversary of boredom. And to combat it yet again, I whip up some french toast for breakfast. Out of nowhere some random guy walks into my kitchen and hands me a remote control with a single large button. Afterwards he says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." Then he leaves. No, seriously, that's it. Some random guy walks in here, hands me a remote, says some garbage about an experiment, and then leaves. At the very least, this makes my day go from blah to a fantastic adventure!
As I roll what the guy said in my head, I flip the remote over continuously in my hand and walk outside into the morning light. I wonder what it does?
"Only one way to find out," I say and hit the button.
The "people" on my street walking their "dogs" turn into a menagerie of creatures. Suddenly there are Fae and Weres, Vampires and Mages, Demons and a vast array of other magical creatures. A gigantic dragon even forms right before my eyes. I can see them all again! It's been a year and I can finally see them again!!!
At last, my world is back to normal.
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | Over the last year, my life has been incredibly boring. I mean, yes, I do go out and meet people. I meet all sorts of people from all over the world, but the world is no longer interesting. No books have been written, no new music has been created, all sporting events and television shows have been postponed indefinitely, and worst of all - all the delicious coffee I used to drink is now bland on my tongue. I have almost nothing to occupy my time with except making french toast, steak with eggs, or fruit tarts. I mix it up so that I don't have the same order of those three items for too many days in a row.
Today marks my one year anniversary of boredom. And to combat it yet again, I whip up some french toast for breakfast. Out of nowhere some random guy walks into my kitchen and hands me a remote control with a single large button. Afterwards he says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." Then he leaves. No, seriously, that's it. Some random guy walks in here, hands me a remote, says some garbage about an experiment, and then leaves. At the very least, this makes my day go from blah to a fantastic adventure!
As I roll what the guy said in my head, I flip the remote over continuously in my hand and walk outside into the morning light. I wonder what it does?
"Only one way to find out," I say and hit the button.
The "people" on my street walking their "dogs" turn into a menagerie of creatures. Suddenly there are Fae and Weres, Vampires and Mages, Demons and a vast array of other magical creatures. A gigantic dragon even forms right before my eyes. I can see them all again! It's been a year and I can finally see them again!!!
At last, my world is back to normal.
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I could still hear the grease sizzling on my crispy, protein packed ripples of mouth watering breakfast bliss.
Bacon, of course. Snugged comfortably in between two farm-fresh scrambled eggs and a flat of golden hash browns the size of my palm.
I surveyed the feast and the jowls of my cheeks slowly filled with saliva.
A man like me doesn't get too many home cooked meals. Not that there's much to be gained from going through the effort, as most men in my dangerous profession would eat them alone, anyhow.
I stabbed a chunk of egg, hash brown, and bacon, stacking them on my fork in neat order. A grease droplet oozed from the savory breakfast kabab.
I opened my mouth and the front door flew open, a man in a lab coat stepped inside.
"The experiment is over-"
Everything froze.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand and my arms flushed with goosebumps.
My pulse increased and I became aware of the adrenaline releasing into my bloodstream as my body prepared for it's expertly trained fight-or-flight response.
The man was a little over six feet tall with a white mustache. He was balding except for a silver horseshoe of hair that wrapped around his enormous head like a scarf.
He was large, but not fat. His left hand clutched a clipboard, but his right hand was in his pocket.
It was gripping something.
What was it?
Tall.
Big. But not fat.
He was not athletic and definitely not fast.
If he was a threat, he wouldn't attack with his bare hands. Which means in his pocket there is a weapon.
Handgun.
I only had, at most, two seconds to react.
I blinked in slow motion.
An image flashed on the inside of my eyelids, like a movie: I was chained to a chair. I was being pummeled by some kind of rubber rope-thing. I screamed in agony, but all I heard was laughter.
Is this some kind of repressed memory?
"John, this is going to be so funny!" a distant voice cried.
"Shh, he's inside" came a whispered response.
More details came: It wasn't a chain or a rope. It was a thick strand of sausage links. I was being whipped. Repeatedly. Tortured, but why?
And then his face came into view. It was the same man, the man in the lab coat.
He's here to kill me this time.
My eyes opened.
"-thank you for your time." the man finished.
The fork reflected the ceiling light like a yellow flame as it left my hand. It tumbled like a ballerina through the air, bits of my breakfast whirling off into the room, each new turn a precise and calculated dance with gravity and physics.
"Ughck!!!" cried the man as he collapsed to the ground, the fork clanking on the floor.
Direct hit.
"Code 206!" the man yelled.
I stood up. How is he still alive?!
Suddenly, the apartment walls erupted in laughter.
A man spoke through what sounded like an intercom, "Carl, this is John," the man started but stopped again as a chuckle caught in his throat. I could hear other people laughing too.
"It was just a joke," he caught his breath. "We programmed some memories in him before you entered. Doug had this great idea about you torturing the subject with breakfast foods. We knew he would do something like that when you walked in. Have you met Doug?"
"You bast- John, he could have killed me!" The scientist said. "These subjects are trained-"
"No, the apartment was swept for weapons. You were fine. Besides, why else do you guys wear those vests?"
I could still hear John smiling through the intercom.
How are they doing this? I surveyed the walls. They were normal, but they weren't! They were emitting sound, but how?
"I knew we never should have contracted the Ops Centers out," Carl sighed. "This subject is ruined now. He'll have to be deleted. That's a few hundred grand down the drain. You can kiss your job goodbye."
The intercom buzzed and screeched loudly. The laughter stopped.
Then I saw it. A small glint about the size of a pinhole in the ceiling. A surveillance camera. I was being watched, studied even. But why?
"Carl, this is Pete, John's supervisor," a new voice said." I overheard the commotion on the Ops floor as I was walking by. John and I are going to have a serious talk about his career after this is resolved. I'm terribly sorry about this, and quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Regardless, do you want us to send the termination commands so we can get to cleaning this mess up?"
Carl looked at me and closed his eyes, "Yes."
"But why?" I asked.
"Sorry," he whispered.
I could hear someone typing on a keyboard, followed by the hard tap of the return key. Everything went black. | I'd been alone for quite some time. I don't mean I hadn't dated anyone or gone out to the clubs. I mean I'd been utterly alone. No contact. With anyone. While most of the time I'd feel pretty sane, once in a while I'd feel like I might have a screw loose or two. Worse yet, that I was a hippie. You might be wondering what's wrong with that. Well, let me explain.
For instance, I didn't particularly care for chairs. I'd find them uncomfortable. Frankly, I never cared for them. They're unnatural. Standing. Laying. Sitting on the ground. Just keep those couches and chairs away from me. Beds are too soft and don't provide support like I've been told they should.
You're probably thinking to yourself "plenty of people live without those amenities are are quite happy." I'll give you that, but try this one on; I don't like doorways.
Your only logical response should be "Uh...doorways?"
That's right. Doorways. They always feel small. They make me feel trapped. Hell, I don' think they're even shaped right. But again, I told you I felt a bit screwy.
Not enough proof for you? Fair enough. I'd been eating the Paleo diet for as long as I can remember. Much longer than it's been in vogue. Again, not that odd, right? Well, I also don't cook anything. Ever. Steak? Unwrap it and put it in me. Vegetables? Don't you dare steam, boil, grill, saute, or commit any other culinary atrocity to them. Strait out of the ground with dirt still on it. That's the way I want MY vegetables.
There are a few other things as well, like I'd rather take a bath in a stream out in nature than take a shower in a stall. Again it's those too small, weird shaped doors. Clothes felt restrictive. TV's were just noise to me. The list keeps going. Can you see why the real possibility of hippie freaks me out a bit?
So what do I do? I live in the woods away from the hustle and bustle of city life. People and their judgments. I've got my little den of a man-cave. I get to hunt, gather, fish, and in general, live the dream. Or at least my dream.
So one day, there I was, sitting in my "kitchen" eating my very berry breakfast. I quote "kitchen" because my home was one room. I liked to give the room a different name based on whatever task was at hand. Eating? Kitchen in the morning, dining room in the evening. Doing a fix it project? It's my shop. Sleeping? Depending on the time of day, it's my living room or bedroom. I digress.
So, again, there I was, sitting in my "kitchen" eating my oh so very berry breakfast, when in walks a man. I almost shat blue and purple! Who even knows I'm here? How did he find me? What does he want?
All I could do was stare dumbfounded at the man. He was very small, wearing a white lab coat and glasses and holding a small black audio recorder. The man was so small. Not even half my size, and I'd never found myself to be overweight. I couldn't get over how small he was.
"Hello, Bjorn. It's been a long time." He said, looking around my home. "I see you've changed the place. Constructed tables, and what looks like a storage bin. Quite excellent." He noted his observations in his recording as "promising."
I was still in shock and confused, with a million questions flying through my brain, and I couldn't emit more than a grunt for a response no matter how hard I try.
The man looked at me over his glasses for a moment, then spoke into his recorder. "Still no speech functionality. That's a shame."
Again, I tried to speak. More grunts, a bit of a growl. Had it been so long since I've interacted with someone I actually forgot how to talk?
The man shook his head sullenly as he put his recorder in an inner pocket in his lab coat. "The military is only interested in the full package, which includes development of speech. While the chip implanted in your brain appears to have you acting more human, you still can't speak. I'm truly sorry. You've been a great animal. The most promising of test subjects. The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
I looked down at my own hands in disbelief. My big hands. Big clawed hands. Bear hands. I looked back up just as he pulled out a tranquilizer dart gun and shot me. The world went black before I hit the ground. Then I woke up here.
"Bjorn, you're full of it. You were born in captivity with the rest of us. Why do you always make up these terrible stories?"
"What else am I going to do with my time, Barry. This zoo is so boring. They don't even give us a TV..." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | I'd been alone for quite some time. I don't mean I hadn't dated anyone or gone out to the clubs. I mean I'd been utterly alone. No contact. With anyone. While most of the time I'd feel pretty sane, once in a while I'd feel like I might have a screw loose or two. Worse yet, that I was a hippie. You might be wondering what's wrong with that. Well, let me explain.
For instance, I didn't particularly care for chairs. I'd find them uncomfortable. Frankly, I never cared for them. They're unnatural. Standing. Laying. Sitting on the ground. Just keep those couches and chairs away from me. Beds are too soft and don't provide support like I've been told they should.
You're probably thinking to yourself "plenty of people live without those amenities are are quite happy." I'll give you that, but try this one on; I don't like doorways.
Your only logical response should be "Uh...doorways?"
That's right. Doorways. They always feel small. They make me feel trapped. Hell, I don' think they're even shaped right. But again, I told you I felt a bit screwy.
Not enough proof for you? Fair enough. I'd been eating the Paleo diet for as long as I can remember. Much longer than it's been in vogue. Again, not that odd, right? Well, I also don't cook anything. Ever. Steak? Unwrap it and put it in me. Vegetables? Don't you dare steam, boil, grill, saute, or commit any other culinary atrocity to them. Strait out of the ground with dirt still on it. That's the way I want MY vegetables.
There are a few other things as well, like I'd rather take a bath in a stream out in nature than take a shower in a stall. Again it's those too small, weird shaped doors. Clothes felt restrictive. TV's were just noise to me. The list keeps going. Can you see why the real possibility of hippie freaks me out a bit?
So what do I do? I live in the woods away from the hustle and bustle of city life. People and their judgments. I've got my little den of a man-cave. I get to hunt, gather, fish, and in general, live the dream. Or at least my dream.
So one day, there I was, sitting in my "kitchen" eating my very berry breakfast. I quote "kitchen" because my home was one room. I liked to give the room a different name based on whatever task was at hand. Eating? Kitchen in the morning, dining room in the evening. Doing a fix it project? It's my shop. Sleeping? Depending on the time of day, it's my living room or bedroom. I digress.
So, again, there I was, sitting in my "kitchen" eating my oh so very berry breakfast, when in walks a man. I almost shat blue and purple! Who even knows I'm here? How did he find me? What does he want?
All I could do was stare dumbfounded at the man. He was very small, wearing a white lab coat and glasses and holding a small black audio recorder. The man was so small. Not even half my size, and I'd never found myself to be overweight. I couldn't get over how small he was.
"Hello, Bjorn. It's been a long time." He said, looking around my home. "I see you've changed the place. Constructed tables, and what looks like a storage bin. Quite excellent." He noted his observations in his recording as "promising."
I was still in shock and confused, with a million questions flying through my brain, and I couldn't emit more than a grunt for a response no matter how hard I try.
The man looked at me over his glasses for a moment, then spoke into his recorder. "Still no speech functionality. That's a shame."
Again, I tried to speak. More grunts, a bit of a growl. Had it been so long since I've interacted with someone I actually forgot how to talk?
The man shook his head sullenly as he put his recorder in an inner pocket in his lab coat. "The military is only interested in the full package, which includes development of speech. While the chip implanted in your brain appears to have you acting more human, you still can't speak. I'm truly sorry. You've been a great animal. The most promising of test subjects. The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
I looked down at my own hands in disbelief. My big hands. Big clawed hands. Bear hands. I looked back up just as he pulled out a tranquilizer dart gun and shot me. The world went black before I hit the ground. Then I woke up here.
"Bjorn, you're full of it. You were born in captivity with the rest of us. Why do you always make up these terrible stories?"
"What else am I going to do with my time, Barry. This zoo is so boring. They don't even give us a TV..." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Oh! Well, thank you." I pause. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, the experiment is over-"
"What experiment?"
He looked as shocked as I felt. It was funny though, I felt almost too calm speaking to him. I should have been freaking out, or calling the police, or something. Why wasn't I freaking out?
He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. I shrugged and turn back to my cereal.
"You need to come with me."
"How come?"
Why wasn't I freaking out? He certainly was. Maybe not as intensely as I wanted to myself, but he was definitely starting to sweat under the collar. I stared at him. He was an Indian man, wearing glasses and a lab coat and holding a grey clipboard. Just a stereotypical scientist. He shouldn't have been in my apartment.
"What's your name?"
"John Vandice." *I really shouldn't have told him that.*
"How long have you lived here?"
"About... two years now, I guess? Why do you ask?"
He didn't answer me. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. He seemed very focused, and somehow it gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. I shook it off.
"How did you get into my apartment?" *Why did it take me so long to ask that?*
He jumped. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you got into my apartment. The door should have been locked." I feel panic rise in my chest. For a moment, I want to squash it down, but I remind myself that I'm *supposed* to be panicking. Nothing is right about this situation. He shouldn't be here.
"I really should be calling the police," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
This agitated him, I think. "Okay, John. John? You need to come with me. Right now."
"I'm not coming with you. You shouldn't be in here. How did you get in here?" I started hyperventilating. "I'm calling the police!"
"Subject 110! Override Command 240 Dash C!"
*Oh.*
I stand perfectly still. The lab technician runs his hand through his hair, recovering from his shock. He sets his clipboard down on the counter, turns to a fresh page, and starts writing.
The panic is gone. Why had I been panicking before?
"Okay. Let's try this again. I need you to come with me."
"But I haven't had breakfast yet."
He slaps his forehead. "We'll get you something else! This is important."
"Of course. Just let me grab my phone," I say cheerfully.
"No, now!"
*That's odd. I could've sworn I charged it last night...*
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. Outside my door are white metal doors set in concrete walls, instead of the wooden doors and beige walls of my apartment building. The doors all have the words "Pandora Research Laboratories" stenciled on them in black ink. This time I resist the urge to get worked up. It's probably nothing.
***
It has been five hours since the lab technician plugged me into this machine. I am locked into the capsule and I can only move my head, which is covered by a helmet that pokes into my skull. My brain is fuzzy, but I feel fine.
A woman has just walked into the room. "Devadas!"
"Oh! Rachel, hi. You need to see this."
"Devadas, what are you doing with the subject?"
"Sequencing."
"Sequencing? Have you forgotten how long that takes?"
"I'm already half done."
"Devadas, this project was cancelled. You were supposed to clear out all the clones by 1700 hours. How much actual work have you gotten done today?"
"Define actual."
"Devadas, you'll be lucky if they don't fire you for this." She walks over to a computer console.
"Rachel, don't unplug him! Wait!"
She starts tapping on a keyboard, but then her eyes are drawn toward something on another monitor. I hear beeping.
"Devadas," she asks shakily, "are these numbers correct?"
He looks at the monitor too, then he claps his hands and pumps his fist. "Ninety-four percent! That's even better than I thought!"
"Devadas, you need to explain this to me."
"Well, I still don't know how it happened." He's pacing now, his arms waving in the air. "I walked in to get him decommissioned, and he didn't recognize me. He thought the simulation environment was his *apartment!*"
"You're joking."
"Check the surveillance if you don't believe me."
"I believe you, it's just..." She hasn't torn her eyes away from the monitor. "Ninety-four percent... Do you know what this means?"
"The experiment isn't over, Rachel." Devadas beams. "A new grant, maybe more than one. And patents! Nobel Prizes, even!"
"Oh, you beautiful angel!" she shrieks, and she kisses Devadas right on the lips. He didn't expect that; he blushes and leans back against the desk with the monitors. "How long until the genetic sequencing is done?"
"Another three hours. Maybe four."
"Nevermind, the memory sequencing is enough. Send me a copy, ASAP! I need to make some phone calls." She skips out of the room. Devadas does nothing for a moment, he just keeps brushing his hair around with his hands like he did when he was nervous. He has the goofiest looking smile on his face.
I clear my throat. "Um, excuse me."
Devadas shakes the fog out of his head and turns to me. He's still grinning. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's going on."
He stares blankly for a moment. Then something clicks. "Oh! No, of course not."
"Do you mind explaining?"
Devadas stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, or at least, where my shoulders would be if I weren't in the capsule.
"John," he says, very seriously, "You are the first cloned human ever to retain more than fifty percent of their original memories."
"Ninety-four percent."
"Exactly!" He grins again. "You are the most important technological advancement in human history. Like, ever."
"Wow. That's a real honor."
"You bet it is." He turns back to the computers. "We have a lot of work to do, buddy."
"I look forward to it," I replied.
*Why am I not freaking out?* | I ain't no expert and never tried this before but Here it goes.
--------------------
What just happened? Who was that man? I thought I was getting robbed for a second. Is this a prank? Holy shit. Wait. It can't...it can't be. Eh...no. This would actually explain so much. Why I felt like I was being followed. When I heard the occasional unexplained voice. It's all starting to come back to me. When I heard fur Elise playing on my piano in the middle of the night, even though I sold it a few weeks before. Only my piano had the A key distorted, and heavily detuned, a very specific way. What the fuck is going on?! I haven't felt hair on my skin rise like this before. I'm terrified. What's going on?!
The fast food lady. She called me by my first name when my food came up. I paid wish cash. I didn't tell anyone my name. I looked startled but-maybe that wasn't why she gave me a weird vibe after. Holy shit-she was in on it. She new who I was.
And the mailman?! "I have a feeling you've been expecting this" with a smug look on his face. I thought it was weird because he acted like we were old friends. It was the piano tuner I had ordered months earlier that got lost in shipping. I didn't realize until now that he was whistling fur Elise as he drove away.... seriously wtf is going on??? I didn't volunteer for an experiment!
How could I be so naive? The librarian, when I approached her to ask for a recommendation, she immediately had a look of horror on her face, but was quick to mask it with a smile and a trembling hello. She took me to a corner and dusted off an old book. Didn't say a word, pointed at the title. "You aren't who you think you are?" I said, confused. It was a sci-fi book. I thought she was belittling me, and I became upset. I scoffed, turned around to leave, and she held me and said, "ceiling, her a weab, rewind"
"What?" I said, irritated
"It's the only way they can't hear me, you must leave now!"
I though "oh whatever crazy lady" and went home.
I thought about what she said, and after all this stuff has happened. "Ceiling, her a waeb, rewind. I thought for a bit. Holy shit. I thought about what it sounded like, being played backwards. I refuse to believe it. I'll record myself saying it and play it backwards and see what it says, just to be sure.
I can't believe my ears. I've played it probably 100 times now. It says, without a doubt, "beware, Elise." What the fuck?? I'm now 100% convinced some fucked up shit is going on. Is someone telling Elise to beware? Or telling me to be aware of Elise??? I don't even know an Elise! I know an Alice though? Maybe that's something? What about middle names? My psychologists middle name is Elisabeth?
Why should I beware her?
Every single hair on my body stood up. She knows every, single, thing, about me.
Is she part of this experiment?! How could she do this to me?! I decide to, at my next appointment, without telling her completely, tell her I think something is up. That weird stuff has been happening. That I'm not sure if I'm crazy or not.
She stares at me for a few seconds, what seemed like minutes. She finally grins, and says "you think you're human?"
"Em....huh?" I struggle to get out
"Do. You. Think....that you, are, a human?" She says.
"What kind of question is that? Of course I'm human" I say, starting to get irritated.
I start to hear fur Elise again. The A key, it's...it's my piano again. But where? It wasn't even my piano. It...my grandpa gave it to me. He told me it tought him things that he never could have possibly conceived. I thought he was just talking about the Beaty of music. What is it with this piano??
I hear footsteps coming towards the door, my psychiatrist, still grinning, waiting for a response. Louder, as the footsteps get closer. She shifts her attention towards the door, soon after is alarmed. Becomes angry, lookes back at me, screams "YOU!"
The door opens, the music stops, my psychiatrist starts seizing, with electrical zaps happening all around her.
It's the man in the lab coat. He looks around for a second, looks at me, quickly composes himself, and says, "I tried to tell you! Beware Elise. The piano in the middle of the night, the mailman whistling, the librarian literally telling you?! Elise is a small pawn in this whole thing. It's much worse now. We must leave. I'll explain everything. But we must leave now"
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | It would have to be a Thursday. Amanda always felt off on Thursdays.
It was a Thursday morning when the man in the lab coat had walked into her kitchen, holding a clipboard and looking very young. Amanda thought that he looked a little like Clint Eastwood from Revenge of the Creature. It was a sight no one should have to deal with with a mouth full of Eggo.
"Morning," the man in the lab coat said in a bored kind of way. He did not look up from his clipboard. "I've been sent to tell you that the experiment is over. Thank you and have a nice day."
The man with the lab coat turned to leave and Amanda scrambled up from the table.
"Mmwaif!" she cried through a mouth of toaster waffles. "Whaf do you meanf effperimenf?"
"Well, ma'am," the man calmly explained. "This whole...planet thing was just our experiment. And now it's over. Thank you."
He turned to leave again and Amanda tried to grab his arm. She was mildly shocked when her hand passed through and the entire figure of the man rippled like jello.
"This is just a hologram, miss," said the man coolly. "Generated to a figure you would find most while still remaining authoritative. The 'scientist' look usually works. In the past we've had to load up various 'messiah' models though."
"Wait, wait, wait," said Amanda, having swallowed her food and trying to slow this whole damn thing down. "This planet was an experiment?"
"Correct, miss. The entire solar system, in fact."
"Who's in charge of all this?"
"That doesn't matter now. Even if I told you, would it even mean anything to you?"
"Well, kind of! It's my planet!"
"Very well. We are the Klaarglackians."
"The what?"
"Told you."
Amanda took a seat in her living room. "This is pretty heavy, man," she said to the hologram who looked vaguely like a young Clint Eastwood. "What will happen to us?"
"Nothing," the hologram said. "We'll simply leave the planet to keep falling through the endless void of space. You're on your own now."
"I thought we always were on our own," said Amanda.
"Then this will be an easy transition for you."
"So hey...what were the results of the experiment?"
The hologram glanced down at his clipboard which Amanda realized was only for her benefit, considering he was a programmed hologram and not a real scientist from a 1950's horror movie. "Inconclusive," the hologram concluded.
"That it, huh," said Amanda, not entirely surprised. "4.6 billion years and nothing to show for it."
"Oh, I don't know," said the hologram. "The mountains were very pretty. And evolution went a lot better than we expected."
They sat there a while in silence.
"I really need to get going," said the hologram finally. "Good luck."
"Yeah," said Amanda. "You too."
The image of the scientist wavered like a hot road and vanished. Amanda sat cross-legged on her floor, wondering what had changed. | “The experiment is over thank you for your time.”
Looking up from my hash browns, my eyes met a man that was as old as time. He had face wrinkles so defined it was like reading a topographical map, hair that barely clung to the rim of his head, and a paper thin white lab coat that cloaked the rest of his body, he smiled at me and spoke again, “Yes Mr. Thompson the twenty five year experiment is finally over, you can wake up now.”
I tilted my head at the man and squinted my eyes, “What did you just say? Hey, how the hell you get in my apartment?”
“Mr. Thompson after reading your endorphin levels and brain functionality-“
“Stop calling me Mr. Thompson. My name is Andrew Dominic, if a man of your age was thinking of robbing me, you are sorely mistaken.” I pushed my chair backwards and snatched my home phone, “I’m calling the police.”
The old man seemed to mutter something to himself before he hobbled further into the room with his cane, “There is no police Mr. Thompson, and I am sure you would remember this situation better if you just woke up.”
“Yes? Hello? I think a man from the retirement home seemed to find his way into my house.”
The old man took a deep breath, “If you don’t want to wake up on your own, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
Even though I was staring at the old man the entire time he was speaking, he had vanished right after he finished speaking his last word. I dropped the phone and held on to the counter. “What is happening?” I wondered out loud. As I blinked my eyes, my surroundings abruptly changed. I was met face to face with a white tile ceiling and a pillow behind my head.
“Glad to see you up Mr. Thompson, are you beginning to remember now?”
I quickly sat up to scan the rest of the room, but as I did so I noticed my body had distinctly changed, my movements were heavier and more sluggish, my arms were bigger, tanner, and hairier. I looked up to see computer monitors surrounding the bed I was lying in and the same old man in my apartment standing beside me. “No, I don’t remember a thing, I just want to go back home.” I fought the tears welling in my eyes, I didn’t understand a thing that was going on, but I still tried to sound normal and mature, “Are you going to start explaining yourself or what?”
The old man only shook his head as he threw a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt into my lap, “I suppose when we removed most of your memory and cognitive thinking at conception we wiped away clean that you wanted to participate in this experiment. All the same, I’ll start from the beginning, put these clothes on and we’ll have a little chit-chat.”
The old man walked out of the room and I stumbled after him, my legs were even heavier and lazier than my arms, but somehow I managed to put on the pants and opened the same door the old man left.
My eyes widened when I looked outside.
The building I just came out of sat on a plateau, giving me the best view of the city down below. Buildings stretched for miles and miles. Each one had immaculate design with a roof garden on each one, the air was so much cleaner than what I was used to. Even without any nature around, the view was incredible with the twilight sky above my head. I could have sat there and admired it for hours, but unfortunately I was interrupted.
“Walk with me Mr. Thompson, what you’re seeing now is what the world has become.”
“I don’t understand at all sir, why are you calling me Mr. Thompson?”
“Twenty five years ago you agreed to be a part of my experiment, to see what life would be like if things were different here. You see, in this world, there is no war, no poverty, no disaster, no negative thoughts even present. Your name before you went to sleep was Michael Thompson. The name that your computer generated parents gave you was Andrew Dia-? Doma-? Whatever you said back in the sim.”
My chest sunk and I began to protest but the old man continued, “I grew up in a similar fashion you did Mr. Thompson. The world was filled with violence, hated, prejudice, and sadness. When the world union was created and country borders began to vanish until we had one overseeing government, they promised us a utopia of happiness, making sure that everyone would be happy. When it reality, they were forced to be happy.”
“Forced to be happy?” I said under my breath.
“Please, let me finish Mr. Thompson. The fact that I am speaking the words that I am speaking means that the police will soon put chains around my legs and feet and I need to get through what I need to say as quickly as possible.” The old man sighed, “I exceeded the levels of hardship in your life than any other scenario that had existed previously. I had the animals you owned die in horrific ways, you were bullied in elementary school, your parents were always disappointed in you, your friends almost never cared for your well being especially after you broke your arm during that lacrosse game, and how you had to spent months after months struggling to find a job as a business consultant. After all of that though, we learned that your happiness was on average twice the amount that people here live. Despite living what some would consider a horrible life, you still managed to not just make the most of it, but you felt enjoyment people who live here never will.”
Tears streamed down my face and in between a few hoarse breaths I managed to speak, “I am so overwhelmed and confused, I don’t understand what is going on at all.”
“That’s not important Mr. Thompson. There is only one thing that you need to know and that is you have freedom, and no government or simulated life can take that away from you. I found you when you were ten years old, you know that? You were going to be taken away because you spoke up in your fifth grade classroom talking about how you sometimes want to feel sad or angry. I wanted to show you that time and place where it was possible to do that. I wanted to be proven wrong, the time where your endorphins would level out to around the same as an average boy I would stop the tests, but after twenty five years I realized that wouldn’t ever happen. Just remember the life you had lived the last twenty five years can be the same you live now, you can feel what you want to feel, you can be who you want to be.”
The old man’s speech was cut off by a black van that drove right up to us. A few men wearing uniforms stepped out and grabbed the old man and began taking him to the back of the van. The old man, clearly hurting from the stranger’s rough treatment manage to speak one final time to me, “You choose how you live your life Michael. Do not forget that.”
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | The smell. It was perfect. The applewood smoked bacon had been sizzled to a crisp that would snap with more resounding satisfaction than a wishbone. Two slices, parallel on the plate to an exact degree. The eggs were nestled artistically next to the bacon, sunny side up but without the slightest hint of a char. Even the yokes achieved a sinless balance between runny and thick, and not even a bubble was visible on their opaque surface. The toast? Ohh...the toast.
Artisanally flakey in crust, tiny trapezoids rising up from the heat like tiles of sand on a desertified plain. Those two slices of marble rye, really one slice cut diagonally, one half casually situated upon the other with one square of pale golden butter on top; just enough butter for both slices, just melty enough to spread firm but not so melty to suggest the toast had gone cold. The plate was simple. The plate was perfect.
He inhaled deeply through his nose and many feelings washed over him. With closed eyes, his lips widened but rose very little. "Yes," he said out loud, "Yes. Yes." His hands deftly found the fork and knife at each side of the plate, and as each rose he opened his eyes. A man was standing beside him, wearing a lab coat and bearing a palpable sense of satisfaction.
"The experiment is over," the man said, "Thank you for your time."
He felt like he was waking up from a dream. He glanced down at the plate and around the suddenly unfamiliar room. He glanced back down at the plate.
"Can I eat now?" This question caused the man in the lab coat a look of genuine mirth. The man reached to put a hand on his shoulder and stopped himself, took in a breath and said. "You can but...think about it. You don't want to."
The man was right, he knew. Nothing about the breakfast in front of him could be nearly as good as the feeling he had looking at it, a feeling he was struggling to retain even as he felt it slipping away. He gently put the fork and knife down where they had been, nodded and stood up. "Well...that was a good breakfast."
He didn't dare look at it again. | **TRIAL 15: DIMF Assessment**
Every morning before bridge club, he read the obituaries, and sometimes he saw a name he recognized.
"Who is she?" His wife didn't look up from the pillbox she was organizing for the week.
He chewed his toast and rolled his tongue around the question he wanted to ask. *How do you know...?* But she always knew, so instead: "Barbara Whitaker."
"Golf buddy?"
"Sgt. Barbara Whitaker."
"Oh."
He always talked about it, but he'd never say. Grandkids loved to hear stories about the good fight and all the good men and their terrible ends. Every Christmas he remember to go on about working for the Captain and spying on submarine sabotagers in their own crew. Good men who wanted to break a few pipes, head back to base, and find a terrible end somewhere closer to home.
But he never gave details. Details were too real for him. That's why she never made him watch movies anymore—the right sort of smile on the screen would leave him sobbing and screaming for hours.
"Tell me about her. Was she important?"
"They're all important."
"You've never mentioned her before." She peeled his gaze away from the paper and reached for a glass of orange juice. "So she must have been important." A soft sip, hard swallow. "Very important."
For a long while he used his spoon to sail the last Cheerios through an ocean of milk.
"There are some things I don't tell you. Lots of things, maybe. But there are some things I've done, and... it's like they happened to other people. I'm not the same guy who knew Barb." What color had her eyes been? Brown? "You know there were other women, other lives, overseas."
"I thought I knew about all the other lives."
But she didn't. There were some lives he even tried to keep from himself. After so many years of trying to make things better, the old same feelings were coming back. He forced himself to face her. Had her eyes always been so blue? He folded up the newspaper slowly enough to arrange his thoughts. So many things he wanted to say about Sgt. Whitaker, but he knew he could never tell her what had really happened between them.
From blue eyes to an empty face—a man in a stark white lab coat stepped through the fridge and stared right through him. The man with no face gradually grew features beyond lidless eyes and lipless teeth. When there was a jaw, he mouthed the same thing over and over.
"The experiment is over," said the man. "Thank you for your time."
When he had a full face, it was flat, two-dimensional, as if this intrusion had been copied and pasted onto the surface of nothing.
"Please collect your free meal coupon, valid at all participating stores in DIMF-compliant bases."
And then the whole world—the breakfast table and his wife and his neatly folded newspaper and his half-eaten toast—simply wasn't.
**STAGE ONE: Experiment Failed**
"It... it worked!"
He woke up with his arms and legs and forehead strapped to a slab. Bright bulbs shining above weighed down his eyes, and he strained to look away. He could almost make out lab coats fluttering around him.
"I can't believe it," said the bottom half of a lab coat. "It actually worked!"
"He's dropping back into the field," said a slightly slimmer bottom half of another lab coat.
In front of the bulbs there danced a woman, and he knew her. She had a name once. Fortunately she didn't know that he couldn't remember it, or else she'd have slapped him. His wife came into focus, and she was floating upright against a roaring sun that almost looked like bulbs in a doctor's surgery, but that wasn't right, because he was here with her and nowhere else. It was her, definitely, but even though she was in focus now and in higher definition than any screen he'd ever seen, he couldn't tell the details. She had a face, but he couldn't make any sense of it. Her eyes were the color of disappointment, and her lips were a shade away from passion, and her voice was almost like that of Sgt. Barbara Whitaker, who—
He blinked back into the world. Everything felt more solid in the seconds that passed, and the dream faded. There was only one lab coat in the room, and it wore a man with a three-dimensional face.
"Your pupils are back in shape," said the man. "I'm sorry you had such a rude awakening, but we couldn't ease you out of it like we normally can. Now, *this* was nothing like VR, you see. Hell of a lot more immersive."
A hand wrapped around his, not to comfort, but only to search for the pulse in his wrist.
"Drink lots of fluids for the next couple hours, and keep an eye out for any detached retinas or memory loss or soft fingernails, but aside from that—"
"Where are my teeth?" No, that wasn't what he meant to say. The brain hadn't properly connected back to the mouth yet. "What happened? Where is she?"
"Who, the other test subject? Oh, don't worry about her. The test worked great over there, and we'll get the report in just a few."
"What... other test subject? Where is *my wife*?" But he knew the answer.
"Well, shit. There's that memory loss. How are your fingernails?" A pen scratched across a clipboard and then clicked shut, and the man pressed a button to raise his slab to a sitting position. "They'll cover everything in detail once debrief's ready for you, *but*... This is a lab, you're a soldier, and we're doing some neat experiments to screw with your brain. Ever heard of mind-field tech? It's like that old movie from back in the twenty-tens where two people drive a big robot."
A blank stare.
"Never mind. Look, on the other side of the world, we've got another base with another super-secret government lab where another test subject was linked up with the same mind-field tech as I've got right here."
He gestured to a small tray, portable enough for a dentist's office. On it, there was a squat cylinder the size of his thumb, and out from it, there was a needle the size of his worryingly soft fingernails.
"That goes in the base of your skull. We hook you up to a special intranet, and zippity-do-dah, a whole virtual world with a lived-in history and emotional stakes. Spend a few decades of in-world time there, and you're essentially connected with the other subject in ways that could previously only be expressed through a Disney musical."
"But why... why would you *want* this?" He tasted blood with just a hint of buttered toast. "It was real."
"Well, close enough, anyway."
"All those years. They really happened? 'In-world?'"
"Yeah, yeah, but think of the military applications! Digital Interrogation of Mind Fields is cutting-edge stuff, man. We can interrogate any enemy combatant by just, like—BAM, drop him into a little paradise, take a DIMF sergeant and link him in as, like, the guy's long-lost son. Whatever works. Maybe one day we can link up a whole platoon of DIMF subjects and get them together to work on the sort of complex strategies that can't be automated. We can win the war. Any war. All it takes is hearts and minds."
The ringing was getting louder. All he could think of was the passing of the years. Every moment spent with a wife whose face he couldn't quite remember.
On the far side of the room, a fax machine whirred into life, spitting out page after page of a SECRET watermarked file.
"Ah, that'll be the report," said the man. He leaned against the counter and flipped through the pages. "Ooh, *nice* neuron toxicity count. Not really fair, though. DefSec gives all the good stuff to the Pacific front."
"What was her name?"
The grinning idiot stopped, closed the file. "Patient confidentiality. Why? Do you think you remember her?"
"I can just make out... a face... in my mind."
"You shouldn't."
"I want to know who she is. I still—" Like drowning in a bowl of milk. "—love her. Somehow."
The man sighed and rolled his eyes—not at his subject, but at himself.
"All right, you can't tell anyone, and I mean anyone. Not even debrief."
The man opened the file again and pulled out a picture, gently handing it over.
Years could have passed, and he wouldn't have known the difference.
"That's not my wife."
"Of course not. That's Subject 15."
"No, but I mean," he said, "I mean that's... that's Sgt. Barbara Whitaker."
"*Private* Whitaker. Well, at the time, anyway. But close enough."
The man in the lab coat grinned, and his face flattened to two dimensions. Lab coats blew in through the walls like cherry blossoms, and the slab fell in through the floor, but he was still strapped to it, and he fell into the dark for what must have been centuries.
**STAGE TWO: Positive Identification**
He'd always thought Pvt. Barbara Whitaker was feisty, a girl who could hold her own, but her testimony was really something else. The quiver in her voice, the way she stumbled through her prepared statement, the way she and her lawyer played the jury with tears and stolen memories.
Worst of all, the court smelled like burnt toast and the orange juice he spilled at the bus station where he'd first met her, off-duty of course. Maintaining that he hadn't ever heard of Pvt. Barbara Whitaker, now Sergeant Whitaker, had proven to be sound advice from his legal team. But now the case had gone to prosecution. At first he'd failed the mandatory digital interrogation, but eventually it got results. Only took 15 trials to get it right.
Only, he knew it wasn't quite right. They could call it rape all they wanted, but it was love. Or something close to it. Somehow. He knew the jury would understand. After all, he'd *changed* in there. Really, truly changed after all those years with his wife. He still searched for her, deep inside himself. He wanted to know that he was still as good a man as she'd seen in him. If only there were more women like her and less like that two-dimensional bitch on the stand.
The jury returned.
"The trial is over," said the judge. "Thank you for your time."
**TRIAL 15: Experiment Successful**
**VERDICT: Guilty**
**RECOMMENDATION: Continuation of DIMF program** | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | So there I was, sitting at the breakfast table in my boxers with my Lucky Charms and filthy bong, when this scientist dude in a lab coat walks right in to my kitchen.
"The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." That's all he said. After that, he just stood there, in a sort of semi-comatose trance.
"You okay, scientist dude?" I waved my hand in front of him, and his eyes registered the motion, but only barely.
I noticed how huge his pupils were. Finally, something familiar. I fumbled with my phone, quit out of Candy Crush, and dialed Brad.
"Hey, uh...?" Brad was not very eloquent if you caught him at the crack of noon.
"Hey Brad, it's me. Can you swing by? I gotta trip-sit this dude in a lab coat."
"Yeah, I..." Brad drew out a slow yawn. "...I can be there in like 20," he underestimated.
"Thanks, man. See ya soon."
I looked back at the scientist... still standing there, drooling a bit.
"Come on, dude." I led him to the couch, sat him down, and went to get a sippy-cup full of water. (I keep them around for "special" occasions. Don't judge.)
"Drink this, dude. Gotta stay hydrated."
The scientist took the cup and sipped on it, looking at the TV intently, like a pre-verbal child.
I had left *Ancient Aliens* on while I was making breakfast. The dude with the hair was talking.
"...spectacular to see... that, you know, electricity was not invented... by *our* civilization..."
Normally this would be incredibly entertaining, but I was still slightly too sober to properly enjoy it. I grabbed my bong from the kitchen and went back to my room to pack another bowl. "Stay put, scientist dude. You're safe here."
Two bowls later, I was sufficiently blasted, and I waddled back into the living room, with all the grace of a drunken duck. I felt bad about not offering any to my guest, but he seemed to be in the middle of his own, uh... "experiment."
"How ya doing, man?"
The scientist looked up from his sippy cup. "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
My head and body rushed a toasty comforting haze. The *Ancient Aliens* dude on TV started making more and more sense.
I started to notice I was aware of more than 3 spatial dimensions. Colors began to spread out in a 360-degree mandala pattern, far beyond my normal field of view. Some of these colors had never been witnessed by human eyes.
I was suddenly aware of our true forms. The scientist's consciousness was barely tuned in to this plane of reality... He was less of a messenger than a message, a homunculus or avatar, a semi-autonomous part of a much greater being.
I spread out the fractal tendrils of my interdimensional awareness. How many eons had I stayed in human form? No, not "I"... *We.* What was our purpose, and why had we forgotten? A strange haze clouded my mind, and the train of thought tapered off... Wasn't there a dude in a lab-coat in here earlier? Or did I imagine that?
Shit. This weed is *amazing!*
*Ding-dong!* I wonder who's at the door.
"Hey man, lemme in, I gotta pee."
Oh! Brad's up early! We can get blazed and watch *Ancient Aliens* together!
I open the door, and begin another excellent day. | **TRIAL 15: DIMF Assessment**
Every morning before bridge club, he read the obituaries, and sometimes he saw a name he recognized.
"Who is she?" His wife didn't look up from the pillbox she was organizing for the week.
He chewed his toast and rolled his tongue around the question he wanted to ask. *How do you know...?* But she always knew, so instead: "Barbara Whitaker."
"Golf buddy?"
"Sgt. Barbara Whitaker."
"Oh."
He always talked about it, but he'd never say. Grandkids loved to hear stories about the good fight and all the good men and their terrible ends. Every Christmas he remember to go on about working for the Captain and spying on submarine sabotagers in their own crew. Good men who wanted to break a few pipes, head back to base, and find a terrible end somewhere closer to home.
But he never gave details. Details were too real for him. That's why she never made him watch movies anymore—the right sort of smile on the screen would leave him sobbing and screaming for hours.
"Tell me about her. Was she important?"
"They're all important."
"You've never mentioned her before." She peeled his gaze away from the paper and reached for a glass of orange juice. "So she must have been important." A soft sip, hard swallow. "Very important."
For a long while he used his spoon to sail the last Cheerios through an ocean of milk.
"There are some things I don't tell you. Lots of things, maybe. But there are some things I've done, and... it's like they happened to other people. I'm not the same guy who knew Barb." What color had her eyes been? Brown? "You know there were other women, other lives, overseas."
"I thought I knew about all the other lives."
But she didn't. There were some lives he even tried to keep from himself. After so many years of trying to make things better, the old same feelings were coming back. He forced himself to face her. Had her eyes always been so blue? He folded up the newspaper slowly enough to arrange his thoughts. So many things he wanted to say about Sgt. Whitaker, but he knew he could never tell her what had really happened between them.
From blue eyes to an empty face—a man in a stark white lab coat stepped through the fridge and stared right through him. The man with no face gradually grew features beyond lidless eyes and lipless teeth. When there was a jaw, he mouthed the same thing over and over.
"The experiment is over," said the man. "Thank you for your time."
When he had a full face, it was flat, two-dimensional, as if this intrusion had been copied and pasted onto the surface of nothing.
"Please collect your free meal coupon, valid at all participating stores in DIMF-compliant bases."
And then the whole world—the breakfast table and his wife and his neatly folded newspaper and his half-eaten toast—simply wasn't.
**STAGE ONE: Experiment Failed**
"It... it worked!"
He woke up with his arms and legs and forehead strapped to a slab. Bright bulbs shining above weighed down his eyes, and he strained to look away. He could almost make out lab coats fluttering around him.
"I can't believe it," said the bottom half of a lab coat. "It actually worked!"
"He's dropping back into the field," said a slightly slimmer bottom half of another lab coat.
In front of the bulbs there danced a woman, and he knew her. She had a name once. Fortunately she didn't know that he couldn't remember it, or else she'd have slapped him. His wife came into focus, and she was floating upright against a roaring sun that almost looked like bulbs in a doctor's surgery, but that wasn't right, because he was here with her and nowhere else. It was her, definitely, but even though she was in focus now and in higher definition than any screen he'd ever seen, he couldn't tell the details. She had a face, but he couldn't make any sense of it. Her eyes were the color of disappointment, and her lips were a shade away from passion, and her voice was almost like that of Sgt. Barbara Whitaker, who—
He blinked back into the world. Everything felt more solid in the seconds that passed, and the dream faded. There was only one lab coat in the room, and it wore a man with a three-dimensional face.
"Your pupils are back in shape," said the man. "I'm sorry you had such a rude awakening, but we couldn't ease you out of it like we normally can. Now, *this* was nothing like VR, you see. Hell of a lot more immersive."
A hand wrapped around his, not to comfort, but only to search for the pulse in his wrist.
"Drink lots of fluids for the next couple hours, and keep an eye out for any detached retinas or memory loss or soft fingernails, but aside from that—"
"Where are my teeth?" No, that wasn't what he meant to say. The brain hadn't properly connected back to the mouth yet. "What happened? Where is she?"
"Who, the other test subject? Oh, don't worry about her. The test worked great over there, and we'll get the report in just a few."
"What... other test subject? Where is *my wife*?" But he knew the answer.
"Well, shit. There's that memory loss. How are your fingernails?" A pen scratched across a clipboard and then clicked shut, and the man pressed a button to raise his slab to a sitting position. "They'll cover everything in detail once debrief's ready for you, *but*... This is a lab, you're a soldier, and we're doing some neat experiments to screw with your brain. Ever heard of mind-field tech? It's like that old movie from back in the twenty-tens where two people drive a big robot."
A blank stare.
"Never mind. Look, on the other side of the world, we've got another base with another super-secret government lab where another test subject was linked up with the same mind-field tech as I've got right here."
He gestured to a small tray, portable enough for a dentist's office. On it, there was a squat cylinder the size of his thumb, and out from it, there was a needle the size of his worryingly soft fingernails.
"That goes in the base of your skull. We hook you up to a special intranet, and zippity-do-dah, a whole virtual world with a lived-in history and emotional stakes. Spend a few decades of in-world time there, and you're essentially connected with the other subject in ways that could previously only be expressed through a Disney musical."
"But why... why would you *want* this?" He tasted blood with just a hint of buttered toast. "It was real."
"Well, close enough, anyway."
"All those years. They really happened? 'In-world?'"
"Yeah, yeah, but think of the military applications! Digital Interrogation of Mind Fields is cutting-edge stuff, man. We can interrogate any enemy combatant by just, like—BAM, drop him into a little paradise, take a DIMF sergeant and link him in as, like, the guy's long-lost son. Whatever works. Maybe one day we can link up a whole platoon of DIMF subjects and get them together to work on the sort of complex strategies that can't be automated. We can win the war. Any war. All it takes is hearts and minds."
The ringing was getting louder. All he could think of was the passing of the years. Every moment spent with a wife whose face he couldn't quite remember.
On the far side of the room, a fax machine whirred into life, spitting out page after page of a SECRET watermarked file.
"Ah, that'll be the report," said the man. He leaned against the counter and flipped through the pages. "Ooh, *nice* neuron toxicity count. Not really fair, though. DefSec gives all the good stuff to the Pacific front."
"What was her name?"
The grinning idiot stopped, closed the file. "Patient confidentiality. Why? Do you think you remember her?"
"I can just make out... a face... in my mind."
"You shouldn't."
"I want to know who she is. I still—" Like drowning in a bowl of milk. "—love her. Somehow."
The man sighed and rolled his eyes—not at his subject, but at himself.
"All right, you can't tell anyone, and I mean anyone. Not even debrief."
The man opened the file again and pulled out a picture, gently handing it over.
Years could have passed, and he wouldn't have known the difference.
"That's not my wife."
"Of course not. That's Subject 15."
"No, but I mean," he said, "I mean that's... that's Sgt. Barbara Whitaker."
"*Private* Whitaker. Well, at the time, anyway. But close enough."
The man in the lab coat grinned, and his face flattened to two dimensions. Lab coats blew in through the walls like cherry blossoms, and the slab fell in through the floor, but he was still strapped to it, and he fell into the dark for what must have been centuries.
**STAGE TWO: Positive Identification**
He'd always thought Pvt. Barbara Whitaker was feisty, a girl who could hold her own, but her testimony was really something else. The quiver in her voice, the way she stumbled through her prepared statement, the way she and her lawyer played the jury with tears and stolen memories.
Worst of all, the court smelled like burnt toast and the orange juice he spilled at the bus station where he'd first met her, off-duty of course. Maintaining that he hadn't ever heard of Pvt. Barbara Whitaker, now Sergeant Whitaker, had proven to be sound advice from his legal team. But now the case had gone to prosecution. At first he'd failed the mandatory digital interrogation, but eventually it got results. Only took 15 trials to get it right.
Only, he knew it wasn't quite right. They could call it rape all they wanted, but it was love. Or something close to it. Somehow. He knew the jury would understand. After all, he'd *changed* in there. Really, truly changed after all those years with his wife. He still searched for her, deep inside himself. He wanted to know that he was still as good a man as she'd seen in him. If only there were more women like her and less like that two-dimensional bitch on the stand.
The jury returned.
"The trial is over," said the judge. "Thank you for your time."
**TRIAL 15: Experiment Successful**
**VERDICT: Guilty**
**RECOMMENDATION: Continuation of DIMF program** | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | The man entered my kitchen the way he always had- through the door in the white tile wall, the only door out of my apartment. He gave me his usual smile, one of responsibility tinged with guilt, one of a man who works for the greater good and turns a blind eye to his daily actions. He had on the same clothes he always did, a simple lab coat with pocket protector, and the same hair style, though his balding condition had progressed over the eighteen years of my life.
But one thing was different about Daedalus, my assigned scientist. Today, he carried a gun and a syringe.
From my position at the stove, bacon just in the frying pan and ready to sizzle, three eggs cracked for a future omelet, and diced vegetables waiting to be sauteed, I froze. I'd known this day was coming. We both had.
"The experiment is over," Said Daedalus, offering that sweet smile with heavy eyes, "Thank you for your time."
"Will you at least join me for breakfast first? You owe me that much." I said, extending an arm towards my kitchen table.
Daedalus frowned, his eyes narrowing, and I knew what he was thinking. That it was against protocol. That should an accident happen, and I, Clone 314159, get loose, there would be more than the loss of his career to pay for it.
But he knew I wouldn't be getting loose- I had been bred for civility, for being docile, for low aggression. And Daedalus was human- he was the closest I had to a father or friend, being the only human I had even been in the same room with, and I suspected that I was the closest he had ever had to a son. His body language indicated it, and after years of study on the human interractions that I would never have, I was somewhat of an expert on the subject. Theoretically, at least.
"Fine," He said, sighing, and placed the gun on the table. It was only a precaution, after all. Not once in the history of The Program had the gun ever been used, since every clone had accepted the injection without complaint. Since every clone had died without complaint.
With my back turned towards him, I poured two glasses of orange juice. Mine on the left, and his on the right. And I set them on the table.
Mine on the left. His on the right.
And then I sat down myself.
"Biscuits are in the oven. Done in fifteen minutes. I must know, Daedalus, was it successful?" I asked, searching his face for clues. But Daedelus made no movement as I sipped my own orange juice. And I knew he was thinking back on the same memories as me.
Memories of The Program.
It had been fifty years since The Program had been instituted. Fifty years since a genetic biologist made a discovery that rocked the world, changing religion, science, and philosophy forever. It's strange to think it took humans this long to find. It's stranger to think that the clue was in all of us.
But she found a group of genes, dormant ones, and she disciphered a code from the first. And in that code gene she found Pi, written to sixty digits.
"It is impossible," she said at his press conference, as the world watched on television, "For such a gene to exist by nature. The statistics are astronomical, the chances incredibly slim. No, this gene was placed there. It was left behind by the hand of another. A message for us to find. And we don't know why."
And The Program had been instituted to find out.
There were hundreds of us clones throughout the years, each with slight tinkerings to our genetic code, experiments by scientists trying to activate genes locked away by the mysteries of organic chemistry. We'd been monitored, we'd been interrogated, we've been tested. And of the clones, I had been the most successful.
I still remember when I was two, and Daedalus filmed me reading into a camera.
"Go on," he said, pressing record, "Let's hear it."
"I want a treat first." I pouted, and Daedalus handed me a slice of an apple, my favorite food.
Then I read, enunciating each word correctly, pausing to answer his questions. And after an hour he let me close *Dante's Inferno*, but not before translating it to English.
But Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket.
Years later, I developed my own mathematical theorems. I became a professor at MIT when I was ten, holding lectures over the internet- something Daedalus insisted I always have access to, to spur my learning.
"I don't want to teach class today," I complained, halfway through the semester, as students and scientists alike awaited my lecture.
"Come now, I'll have treats waiting for you," Prompted Daedalus, and held up two apples, "Your favorite."
So I taught the class, and ate the apples.
And Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket afterward.
So the years progressed, and I grew smarter. And I grew stronger, thick muscles forming where I had never exerted myself. Daedalus took notes. And I took apples.
But now, he spoke across the table, answering my question about the success of the program.
"No, it was not a success, but you're the closest we've come." he answered, and took a gulp of his orange juice. And I waited, watching the glass. Because Daedalus was wrong, and I remembered what he did not.
I remember my feelings, urgings to escape, an instinctual pressure that grew with each passing year. A desire to build as a bird creates a nest, or an ant a mound. And I knew from viewing past files that this had occurred to no other clone.
And as Daedalus' skin began to turn purple, I remembered other things.
I remembered collecting the apple seeds for over a decade, and storing them in hidden packets under my bed. I remember the advanced chemistry I took, and the lessons about how cyanide can be attained from natural sources, particularly apple seeds, given time and proper ingenuity. And I remembered making the poison, taking advantage of a power outage two years ago, when a storm had struck and the cameras monitoring my apartment were down.
And I remember just moments before taking the vial of cyanide I had hidden, and adding it to his orange juice. I had never tested the cyanide- I did not know if it would work. But I watched as Daedalus collapsed, and I stood over him, tears streaming down my face for my dying father.
"The experiment is over," I said, my voice choked, the act of poisoning him a direct contrast to the nature bred within me, "Thank you for your time."
Then I took his labcoat, and his gun, and I left my apartment for the first time in my life, with nothing to guide me but instinct.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/416jnr/wp_youre_sitting_in_your_kitchen_eating_breakfast/)
****
By Leo
Another part coming soon. Feel free to check out my work on /r/leoduhvinci while you wait, as part two will be posted on there as well.
| One minute, and fifty six seconds. That is the perfect length of time, for perfectly poached eggs benedict.
I inked the mark on my graph chart, a deep green dot to mark perfection, and the end of my compulsive poaching. But really the secret isn’t just in the time, it’s in a single teaspoon of white vinegar. Perfect coagulation, and the formula to guaranteed morning joy.
I had eased my knife into the plush cloud of benedict when he slid the porch door open and let the cold autumn into my warm kitchen. I could feel the perfect yolks turning into cold gum.
“The experiment is over,” he sat on the couch arm top, and crossed an ankle over a knee, “Thank you for your time.” His voice was a rich drone, as if made mundane by the duty of repeating similar syllables.
“Who the flying f-,“ I stood up, the dish worthless now. His glasses could be much improved with half solidified yolk, but I was worried about the clay plate I had just bought from Thrift Oasis.
“Come along now, little girl,” he waved towards the porch door, his motion casual in a lazed way. I stepped towards him, but half tripped over a tangle of scarves and empty juice bottles. Closer now, he smelled carbolic, and I could see a dark blue ink stain in his coat pocket.
“How the f-“
“Ple-ase, pro-ceed,”
My glare must have meant little, because he stood up and disappeared through a clatter of plastic slider blinds. The flutter of his white coat disappeared into the morning light and my eyes hurt. If I was hangover, the sun this morning could have been migraine inducing.
Butter knife in hand I raked the sliders apart, and stomped onto my porch, the cold concrete stealing warmth through my bare feet. The second my eyes adjusted to the cloudless autumn sky, I felt myself falling through them. The porch dissolved into cloud vapor, and the vapor dissolved into gradients of light, sorted from bright to dark.
And so I remembered I was not Keri, 22 years old, fresh chemistry graduate from Tonin University. I realized I had forgotten to pay the $65.72 meter ticket that lay crumpled at the bottom of my laptop bag. The same way I realized, that I had already found one minute and fifty six seconds to be the perfect poaching time, every time I participated in this experiment.
What I could not remember, was how many cycles I had been here.
I closed my eyes, and saw the bottom of a pond. I opened my eyes, and saw darkness.
*Wake up*, someone whispered in my ear. Their breath was warm, but it smelled like cresylic acid.
| |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | I had poached eggs, the day the world ended.
Now all I have is a blanket and vine-wrapped broken highway in front of me that seems to go on forever.
(the highway, not the blanket.)
But it started with poached eggs and a figure in a lab coat. It walked into my kitchen, stopped right by Amy's side,
looking right at me.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Taylor."
I dropped the fork on the table. Amy was frowning too, and so was Zara (that's our daughter).
"What? Who are you? What is –"
"Please bear in mind that it might take a while, but everything will make sense once the haze of The Box goes away. Thank you very much."
And I'll never forget the poached eggs. I'll never forget because that's when I got up and dropped them and the
plate crashed, and my eyes stopped on Zara's, and she was so scared. It was one second -- one second when time stood still, even the crashing sound seemed to linger -- and before I could say or do anything, the world went black.
 
And then I opened my eyes to the broken world. And no memories. I know nothing of what happened to Amy or Zara. No idea how I got here.
It went from the crashing and the eggs and Zara to silence, and then an open blue sky. Chirping. Leaves rattling and a cold wind, my back against the dirt. I raised my head and looked around.
Trees. An open field. And the distant silhouette of a skeleton city.
I don't know what happened to the world.
You know what I *do* know, though? I know I've been wandering around for three months, and I've yet to see
another human face. I know I've killed a coyote with my bare hands last week, right next to a rotten building that used to be the Griffith Observatory. I know I went past Hollywood Boulevard a couple of days ago, and the Chinese Theater is now a wolf lair, so don't go there.
From that plate crashing spilling poached eggs to the blue, cloudless sky and my back against the dirt, I went from a married man with an apartment in Santa Monica to a cave man.
To the last man in the world.
I have no idea what's going on. But I'm finding Amy. I'm finding Zara.
The day after I woke up I found something in my pocket. It was a piece of paper, old like over thirty years. A page
from a notebook, yellow and flaky. Written in child handwriting was a smiley face and the words 'I'm Tracy.'
I had no memory of this at all.
Then in another handwriting, 'What do you think they're going to do to us?'
And in the first one, 'I don't know. What's *The Box*?'
And then, 'I'm scared.'
I have no idea what's going on. But I'm gonna find out.
The sky is getting darker. I should find a place to sleep. And then tomorrow…
Tomorrow is the day I'll find Amy and Zara.
I have to keep telling myself that. It's what keeps me going. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Thunder. Look like it's raining tonight.
Tomorrow.
_____________
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/412ex0/the_box_part_2/
)
[PART 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/413a9w/the_box_part_3/) | "What the syrup!" Isaac screamed as the man in a white robe with khakis on underneath yanked his plate away.
"The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"No, what? How is my breakfast nook your place for an experiment? And give me back my chocolate chip and raspberry jam waffles, I worked hard on those," Isaac said. Another man in a white robe was shuffling through his kitchen taking every edible item and pouring it out into a trash bag or down the sink.
"Sir, we need you to calm down. You've lived under our view for some time now, you have the cure inside and we needed your body to be surprised."
"That's not a thing..."
"With all do respect, we've just run the tests for two years-"
"Two years! Holy strawberry crepe."
"and we've determined it is very much a 'thing' as you say. Your body has already begun destroying the white blood cells that mutated to combat cancer. Luckily we've extracted enough of them we can conform nanobots to work as they do."
"Nanobots? Who are you all with? I demand to know who's responsible for this outrageous prank- and more importantly, since this is very obviously a jest of some kind- who is going to replace all my groceries and my damn waffles?" Isaac pushed his face as close to the man in the white robe as possible.
"Isn't it obvious?" The man Isaac had his face nearly kissing shoved a two pronged barb into Isaac's side and pulled the trigger. Electricity ripped through Isaac's spine, limbs, torso and skin. "We're with the Church of Scientology." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | The man entered my kitchen the way he always had- through the door in the white tile wall, the only door out of my apartment. He gave me his usual smile, one of responsibility tinged with guilt, one of a man who works for the greater good and turns a blind eye to his daily actions. He had on the same clothes he always did, a simple lab coat with pocket protector, and the same hair style, though his balding condition had progressed over the eighteen years of my life.
But one thing was different about Daedalus, my assigned scientist. Today, he carried a gun and a syringe.
From my position at the stove, bacon just in the frying pan and ready to sizzle, three eggs cracked for a future omelet, and diced vegetables waiting to be sauteed, I froze. I'd known this day was coming. We both had.
"The experiment is over," Said Daedalus, offering that sweet smile with heavy eyes, "Thank you for your time."
"Will you at least join me for breakfast first? You owe me that much." I said, extending an arm towards my kitchen table.
Daedalus frowned, his eyes narrowing, and I knew what he was thinking. That it was against protocol. That should an accident happen, and I, Clone 314159, get loose, there would be more than the loss of his career to pay for it.
But he knew I wouldn't be getting loose- I had been bred for civility, for being docile, for low aggression. And Daedalus was human- he was the closest I had to a father or friend, being the only human I had even been in the same room with, and I suspected that I was the closest he had ever had to a son. His body language indicated it, and after years of study on the human interractions that I would never have, I was somewhat of an expert on the subject. Theoretically, at least.
"Fine," He said, sighing, and placed the gun on the table. It was only a precaution, after all. Not once in the history of The Program had the gun ever been used, since every clone had accepted the injection without complaint. Since every clone had died without complaint.
With my back turned towards him, I poured two glasses of orange juice. Mine on the left, and his on the right. And I set them on the table.
Mine on the left. His on the right.
And then I sat down myself.
"Biscuits are in the oven. Done in fifteen minutes. I must know, Daedalus, was it successful?" I asked, searching his face for clues. But Daedelus made no movement as I sipped my own orange juice. And I knew he was thinking back on the same memories as me.
Memories of The Program.
It had been fifty years since The Program had been instituted. Fifty years since a genetic biologist made a discovery that rocked the world, changing religion, science, and philosophy forever. It's strange to think it took humans this long to find. It's stranger to think that the clue was in all of us.
But she found a group of genes, dormant ones, and she disciphered a code from the first. And in that code gene she found Pi, written to sixty digits.
"It is impossible," she said at his press conference, as the world watched on television, "For such a gene to exist by nature. The statistics are astronomical, the chances incredibly slim. No, this gene was placed there. It was left behind by the hand of another. A message for us to find. And we don't know why."
And The Program had been instituted to find out.
There were hundreds of us clones throughout the years, each with slight tinkerings to our genetic code, experiments by scientists trying to activate genes locked away by the mysteries of organic chemistry. We'd been monitored, we'd been interrogated, we've been tested. And of the clones, I had been the most successful.
I still remember when I was two, and Daedalus filmed me reading into a camera.
"Go on," he said, pressing record, "Let's hear it."
"I want a treat first." I pouted, and Daedalus handed me a slice of an apple, my favorite food.
Then I read, enunciating each word correctly, pausing to answer his questions. And after an hour he let me close *Dante's Inferno*, but not before translating it to English.
But Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket.
Years later, I developed my own mathematical theorems. I became a professor at MIT when I was ten, holding lectures over the internet- something Daedalus insisted I always have access to, to spur my learning.
"I don't want to teach class today," I complained, halfway through the semester, as students and scientists alike awaited my lecture.
"Come now, I'll have treats waiting for you," Prompted Daedalus, and held up two apples, "Your favorite."
So I taught the class, and ate the apples.
And Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket afterward.
So the years progressed, and I grew smarter. And I grew stronger, thick muscles forming where I had never exerted myself. Daedalus took notes. And I took apples.
But now, he spoke across the table, answering my question about the success of the program.
"No, it was not a success, but you're the closest we've come." he answered, and took a gulp of his orange juice. And I waited, watching the glass. Because Daedalus was wrong, and I remembered what he did not.
I remember my feelings, urgings to escape, an instinctual pressure that grew with each passing year. A desire to build as a bird creates a nest, or an ant a mound. And I knew from viewing past files that this had occurred to no other clone.
And as Daedalus' skin began to turn purple, I remembered other things.
I remembered collecting the apple seeds for over a decade, and storing them in hidden packets under my bed. I remember the advanced chemistry I took, and the lessons about how cyanide can be attained from natural sources, particularly apple seeds, given time and proper ingenuity. And I remembered making the poison, taking advantage of a power outage two years ago, when a storm had struck and the cameras monitoring my apartment were down.
And I remember just moments before taking the vial of cyanide I had hidden, and adding it to his orange juice. I had never tested the cyanide- I did not know if it would work. But I watched as Daedalus collapsed, and I stood over him, tears streaming down my face for my dying father.
"The experiment is over," I said, my voice choked, the act of poisoning him a direct contrast to the nature bred within me, "Thank you for your time."
Then I took his labcoat, and his gun, and I left my apartment for the first time in my life, with nothing to guide me but instinct.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/416jnr/wp_youre_sitting_in_your_kitchen_eating_breakfast/)
****
By Leo
Another part coming soon. Feel free to check out my work on /r/leoduhvinci while you wait, as part two will be posted on there as well.
| "What the syrup!" Isaac screamed as the man in a white robe with khakis on underneath yanked his plate away.
"The experiment is over. Thank you for your time."
"No, what? How is my breakfast nook your place for an experiment? And give me back my chocolate chip and raspberry jam waffles, I worked hard on those," Isaac said. Another man in a white robe was shuffling through his kitchen taking every edible item and pouring it out into a trash bag or down the sink.
"Sir, we need you to calm down. You've lived under our view for some time now, you have the cure inside and we needed your body to be surprised."
"That's not a thing..."
"With all do respect, we've just run the tests for two years-"
"Two years! Holy strawberry crepe."
"and we've determined it is very much a 'thing' as you say. Your body has already begun destroying the white blood cells that mutated to combat cancer. Luckily we've extracted enough of them we can conform nanobots to work as they do."
"Nanobots? Who are you all with? I demand to know who's responsible for this outrageous prank- and more importantly, since this is very obviously a jest of some kind- who is going to replace all my groceries and my damn waffles?" Isaac pushed his face as close to the man in the white robe as possible.
"Isn't it obvious?" The man Isaac had his face nearly kissing shoved a two pronged barb into Isaac's side and pulled the trigger. Electricity ripped through Isaac's spine, limbs, torso and skin. "We're with the Church of Scientology." | |
[WP] You're sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast when a man in a lab coat walks in and says, "The experiment is over. Thank you for your time." | The man entered my kitchen the way he always had- through the door in the white tile wall, the only door out of my apartment. He gave me his usual smile, one of responsibility tinged with guilt, one of a man who works for the greater good and turns a blind eye to his daily actions. He had on the same clothes he always did, a simple lab coat with pocket protector, and the same hair style, though his balding condition had progressed over the eighteen years of my life.
But one thing was different about Daedalus, my assigned scientist. Today, he carried a gun and a syringe.
From my position at the stove, bacon just in the frying pan and ready to sizzle, three eggs cracked for a future omelet, and diced vegetables waiting to be sauteed, I froze. I'd known this day was coming. We both had.
"The experiment is over," Said Daedalus, offering that sweet smile with heavy eyes, "Thank you for your time."
"Will you at least join me for breakfast first? You owe me that much." I said, extending an arm towards my kitchen table.
Daedalus frowned, his eyes narrowing, and I knew what he was thinking. That it was against protocol. That should an accident happen, and I, Clone 314159, get loose, there would be more than the loss of his career to pay for it.
But he knew I wouldn't be getting loose- I had been bred for civility, for being docile, for low aggression. And Daedalus was human- he was the closest I had to a father or friend, being the only human I had even been in the same room with, and I suspected that I was the closest he had ever had to a son. His body language indicated it, and after years of study on the human interractions that I would never have, I was somewhat of an expert on the subject. Theoretically, at least.
"Fine," He said, sighing, and placed the gun on the table. It was only a precaution, after all. Not once in the history of The Program had the gun ever been used, since every clone had accepted the injection without complaint. Since every clone had died without complaint.
With my back turned towards him, I poured two glasses of orange juice. Mine on the left, and his on the right. And I set them on the table.
Mine on the left. His on the right.
And then I sat down myself.
"Biscuits are in the oven. Done in fifteen minutes. I must know, Daedalus, was it successful?" I asked, searching his face for clues. But Daedelus made no movement as I sipped my own orange juice. And I knew he was thinking back on the same memories as me.
Memories of The Program.
It had been fifty years since The Program had been instituted. Fifty years since a genetic biologist made a discovery that rocked the world, changing religion, science, and philosophy forever. It's strange to think it took humans this long to find. It's stranger to think that the clue was in all of us.
But she found a group of genes, dormant ones, and she disciphered a code from the first. And in that code gene she found Pi, written to sixty digits.
"It is impossible," she said at his press conference, as the world watched on television, "For such a gene to exist by nature. The statistics are astronomical, the chances incredibly slim. No, this gene was placed there. It was left behind by the hand of another. A message for us to find. And we don't know why."
And The Program had been instituted to find out.
There were hundreds of us clones throughout the years, each with slight tinkerings to our genetic code, experiments by scientists trying to activate genes locked away by the mysteries of organic chemistry. We'd been monitored, we'd been interrogated, we've been tested. And of the clones, I had been the most successful.
I still remember when I was two, and Daedalus filmed me reading into a camera.
"Go on," he said, pressing record, "Let's hear it."
"I want a treat first." I pouted, and Daedalus handed me a slice of an apple, my favorite food.
Then I read, enunciating each word correctly, pausing to answer his questions. And after an hour he let me close *Dante's Inferno*, but not before translating it to English.
But Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket.
Years later, I developed my own mathematical theorems. I became a professor at MIT when I was ten, holding lectures over the internet- something Daedalus insisted I always have access to, to spur my learning.
"I don't want to teach class today," I complained, halfway through the semester, as students and scientists alike awaited my lecture.
"Come now, I'll have treats waiting for you," Prompted Daedalus, and held up two apples, "Your favorite."
So I taught the class, and ate the apples.
And Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket afterward.
So the years progressed, and I grew smarter. And I grew stronger, thick muscles forming where I had never exerted myself. Daedalus took notes. And I took apples.
But now, he spoke across the table, answering my question about the success of the program.
"No, it was not a success, but you're the closest we've come." he answered, and took a gulp of his orange juice. And I waited, watching the glass. Because Daedalus was wrong, and I remembered what he did not.
I remember my feelings, urgings to escape, an instinctual pressure that grew with each passing year. A desire to build as a bird creates a nest, or an ant a mound. And I knew from viewing past files that this had occurred to no other clone.
And as Daedalus' skin began to turn purple, I remembered other things.
I remembered collecting the apple seeds for over a decade, and storing them in hidden packets under my bed. I remember the advanced chemistry I took, and the lessons about how cyanide can be attained from natural sources, particularly apple seeds, given time and proper ingenuity. And I remembered making the poison, taking advantage of a power outage two years ago, when a storm had struck and the cameras monitoring my apartment were down.
And I remember just moments before taking the vial of cyanide I had hidden, and adding it to his orange juice. I had never tested the cyanide- I did not know if it would work. But I watched as Daedalus collapsed, and I stood over him, tears streaming down my face for my dying father.
"The experiment is over," I said, my voice choked, the act of poisoning him a direct contrast to the nature bred within me, "Thank you for your time."
Then I took his labcoat, and his gun, and I left my apartment for the first time in my life, with nothing to guide me but instinct.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/416jnr/wp_youre_sitting_in_your_kitchen_eating_breakfast/)
****
By Leo
Another part coming soon. Feel free to check out my work on /r/leoduhvinci while you wait, as part two will be posted on there as well.
| I had poached eggs, the day the world ended.
Now all I have is a blanket and vine-wrapped broken highway in front of me that seems to go on forever.
(the highway, not the blanket.)
But it started with poached eggs and a figure in a lab coat. It walked into my kitchen, stopped right by Amy's side,
looking right at me.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Taylor."
I dropped the fork on the table. Amy was frowning too, and so was Zara (that's our daughter).
"What? Who are you? What is –"
"Please bear in mind that it might take a while, but everything will make sense once the haze of The Box goes away. Thank you very much."
And I'll never forget the poached eggs. I'll never forget because that's when I got up and dropped them and the
plate crashed, and my eyes stopped on Zara's, and she was so scared. It was one second -- one second when time stood still, even the crashing sound seemed to linger -- and before I could say or do anything, the world went black.
 
And then I opened my eyes to the broken world. And no memories. I know nothing of what happened to Amy or Zara. No idea how I got here.
It went from the crashing and the eggs and Zara to silence, and then an open blue sky. Chirping. Leaves rattling and a cold wind, my back against the dirt. I raised my head and looked around.
Trees. An open field. And the distant silhouette of a skeleton city.
I don't know what happened to the world.
You know what I *do* know, though? I know I've been wandering around for three months, and I've yet to see
another human face. I know I've killed a coyote with my bare hands last week, right next to a rotten building that used to be the Griffith Observatory. I know I went past Hollywood Boulevard a couple of days ago, and the Chinese Theater is now a wolf lair, so don't go there.
From that plate crashing spilling poached eggs to the blue, cloudless sky and my back against the dirt, I went from a married man with an apartment in Santa Monica to a cave man.
To the last man in the world.
I have no idea what's going on. But I'm finding Amy. I'm finding Zara.
The day after I woke up I found something in my pocket. It was a piece of paper, old like over thirty years. A page
from a notebook, yellow and flaky. Written in child handwriting was a smiley face and the words 'I'm Tracy.'
I had no memory of this at all.
Then in another handwriting, 'What do you think they're going to do to us?'
And in the first one, 'I don't know. What's *The Box*?'
And then, 'I'm scared.'
I have no idea what's going on. But I'm gonna find out.
The sky is getting darker. I should find a place to sleep. And then tomorrow…
Tomorrow is the day I'll find Amy and Zara.
I have to keep telling myself that. It's what keeps me going. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Thunder. Look like it's raining tonight.
Tomorrow.
_____________
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/412ex0/the_box_part_2/
)
[PART 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/413a9w/the_box_part_3/) | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Ultra-violet colour buzzed vibrantly across my vision. The sun on my body, a relaxing sedative washing the worries of the world away.
We lay, our bodies apart, but a bright and dazzling force caressed our souls. Bursts of kisses and then the glimmer of a smile as sweet as honey leaving my face alight with an after-glow.
Danger seized me a green haze which contaminated our mood and our hearts. I wanted the threat gone, our safety a candle slowly being snuffed out in the darkness. She egged me on, I turned away to meet the shaking head of an old friend.
My options limited as my enemy drew closer, red hot and seething anger born in an endless supply.
I struck out as fangs met flesh, poison spread fully into a shallow bloodstream.
Shame and tears of despair followed, an act against my own will. I lay close to her our scales touching, the light bright -we were safe again.
| "I can't believe I'm letting this bastard perform this proceedure on me", I thought as Dr. Gable examined me before the surgery. He had been my team mate and the captain of the varsity soccer team several years ago at Melbourne High.
"Nothing to worry about, Shit-stai.. I mean Mr. Baker. We'll get you in and out of there as quickly as possible". He said, beaming.
I murmured beneath my breath as he left the room. We were always competitive as kids, but he had been brought up much more affluently than I had. Ever since Alexa had suggested seeing him, I dreaded doing so because I knew he was the best in the tri-state area.
As I sat in the quiet, I kept thinking of what Alexa had said. "This will be best for both of us. After all, you're the one who said that you dont want children". I didn't know what I wanted. Sterilization didn't seem right, though.
I was alarmed as the examination room door flew open to reveal Kevin, my co-worker and probably best friend. I expected him to be half drunk as the Patriots game had just begun.
"Get the hell out of here, Tim! What are you thinking?!" He screamed. He hated Alexa and believed that she was brainwashing me. I knew that he always had my best interest in mind, but it was hard to look past the things that he would say about her.
Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have left. Instead, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and led him into the waiting room. He was smaller than me at the time, but always a fighter.
"I'm getting my balls removed, so skrew off!", I shouted. The wating room went silent as I returned to the examination room. There I found Dr. Gable, smirking.
"Shall we begin?" he said with a motion toward the door.
This was a pivitol decision in my life. Had I never gone though with the proceedure, I may have had children and been forced to stay with Alexa. She slept with several men in the months following, so I left. I would have never met Miranda, my beautiful wife and I never would have had the chance to raise my three amazing, adopted children.
So thank you Alexa, for showing me the real meaning of betrayal. Thank you Todd (Dr. Gable), for respecting my decision and not telling everyone that you have my balls in captivity. And finally, thank you to Kevin. Thanks for having my back, I might not have changed my life if it weren't for you.
| |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Mirror mirror on the wall, please tell Joe he's got it all.
C'mon dude just get of your ass, a chance like his you cannot pass.
Brother man i know you well, regret like this is an unbroken spell.
Joe my love just grab it and see, you know this is your destiny.
Like she said man grab it now, the consequences are forever scow.
Do not subject yourself to that kind of rule, you are a man and aint no fool.
"Dammit you guys, enough with rhyming! I'll just fix the cable so we can finish the game."
| "I can't believe I'm letting this bastard perform this proceedure on me", I thought as Dr. Gable examined me before the surgery. He had been my team mate and the captain of the varsity soccer team several years ago at Melbourne High.
"Nothing to worry about, Shit-stai.. I mean Mr. Baker. We'll get you in and out of there as quickly as possible". He said, beaming.
I murmured beneath my breath as he left the room. We were always competitive as kids, but he had been brought up much more affluently than I had. Ever since Alexa had suggested seeing him, I dreaded doing so because I knew he was the best in the tri-state area.
As I sat in the quiet, I kept thinking of what Alexa had said. "This will be best for both of us. After all, you're the one who said that you dont want children". I didn't know what I wanted. Sterilization didn't seem right, though.
I was alarmed as the examination room door flew open to reveal Kevin, my co-worker and probably best friend. I expected him to be half drunk as the Patriots game had just begun.
"Get the hell out of here, Tim! What are you thinking?!" He screamed. He hated Alexa and believed that she was brainwashing me. I knew that he always had my best interest in mind, but it was hard to look past the things that he would say about her.
Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have left. Instead, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and led him into the waiting room. He was smaller than me at the time, but always a fighter.
"I'm getting my balls removed, so skrew off!", I shouted. The wating room went silent as I returned to the examination room. There I found Dr. Gable, smirking.
"Shall we begin?" he said with a motion toward the door.
This was a pivitol decision in my life. Had I never gone though with the proceedure, I may have had children and been forced to stay with Alexa. She slept with several men in the months following, so I left. I would have never met Miranda, my beautiful wife and I never would have had the chance to raise my three amazing, adopted children.
So thank you Alexa, for showing me the real meaning of betrayal. Thank you Todd (Dr. Gable), for respecting my decision and not telling everyone that you have my balls in captivity. And finally, thank you to Kevin. Thanks for having my back, I might not have changed my life if it weren't for you.
| |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | “Sweetie, could you sign the papers? We’ve been here for almost an hour already.”
I looked up at my wife.
I had been slightly hunched over a metal table for so long that my back began to hurt. All six eyes in the room were still on me. The pen had been hovering an inch above the dotted line for quite some time now. I blinked. I still hadn’t signed it.
“It’ll be done quickly,” said the woman who had given me the papers. She was just doing her job, but I hated her still. “He won’t-“
I slammed down my pen and glared at her. She stopped talking. The room turned awfully quiet.
Max took this opportunity to begin frantically tugging at my sleeve. “Max, Let go of my shirt.” I mumbled. He released his grip and stared at me. Neither of us liked it here.
My wife opened the door, “I’ll be in the car.” My eyes followed her to the door and lingered. She poked her head back through the door. “Take your time,” She said softly. The door closed with a click.
Turning around quickly, I picked up the pen and scribbled my signature down as illegibly as possible in hopes that it would void the inevitable.
“I know that it was a tough decision, but you’ve done the right thing… Would you like to stay?”
There was a lump in my throat. I sat on the metal table and pulled Max into my lap. His tail wagged while I scratched his chin furiously and absentmindedly patted his tummy. I held him tight as the syringe pierced his body, but he didn’t yelp or cry.
And then his eyes closed.
| "I can't believe I'm letting this bastard perform this proceedure on me", I thought as Dr. Gable examined me before the surgery. He had been my team mate and the captain of the varsity soccer team several years ago at Melbourne High.
"Nothing to worry about, Shit-stai.. I mean Mr. Baker. We'll get you in and out of there as quickly as possible". He said, beaming.
I murmured beneath my breath as he left the room. We were always competitive as kids, but he had been brought up much more affluently than I had. Ever since Alexa had suggested seeing him, I dreaded doing so because I knew he was the best in the tri-state area.
As I sat in the quiet, I kept thinking of what Alexa had said. "This will be best for both of us. After all, you're the one who said that you dont want children". I didn't know what I wanted. Sterilization didn't seem right, though.
I was alarmed as the examination room door flew open to reveal Kevin, my co-worker and probably best friend. I expected him to be half drunk as the Patriots game had just begun.
"Get the hell out of here, Tim! What are you thinking?!" He screamed. He hated Alexa and believed that she was brainwashing me. I knew that he always had my best interest in mind, but it was hard to look past the things that he would say about her.
Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have left. Instead, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and led him into the waiting room. He was smaller than me at the time, but always a fighter.
"I'm getting my balls removed, so skrew off!", I shouted. The wating room went silent as I returned to the examination room. There I found Dr. Gable, smirking.
"Shall we begin?" he said with a motion toward the door.
This was a pivitol decision in my life. Had I never gone though with the proceedure, I may have had children and been forced to stay with Alexa. She slept with several men in the months following, so I left. I would have never met Miranda, my beautiful wife and I never would have had the chance to raise my three amazing, adopted children.
So thank you Alexa, for showing me the real meaning of betrayal. Thank you Todd (Dr. Gable), for respecting my decision and not telling everyone that you have my balls in captivity. And finally, thank you to Kevin. Thanks for having my back, I might not have changed my life if it weren't for you.
| |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Ultra-violet colour buzzed vibrantly across my vision. The sun on my body, a relaxing sedative washing the worries of the world away.
We lay, our bodies apart, but a bright and dazzling force caressed our souls. Bursts of kisses and then the glimmer of a smile as sweet as honey leaving my face alight with an after-glow.
Danger seized me a green haze which contaminated our mood and our hearts. I wanted the threat gone, our safety a candle slowly being snuffed out in the darkness. She egged me on, I turned away to meet the shaking head of an old friend.
My options limited as my enemy drew closer, red hot and seething anger born in an endless supply.
I struck out as fangs met flesh, poison spread fully into a shallow bloodstream.
Shame and tears of despair followed, an act against my own will. I lay close to her our scales touching, the light bright -we were safe again.
| True Story:
My wife had an affair.
My best friend liked a girl.
My wife, the girl, and I had a threesome.
My best friend died of jealousy.
I'm getting a divorce.
I'm dating the girl.
The End. | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Mirror mirror on the wall, please tell Joe he's got it all.
C'mon dude just get of your ass, a chance like his you cannot pass.
Brother man i know you well, regret like this is an unbroken spell.
Joe my love just grab it and see, you know this is your destiny.
Like she said man grab it now, the consequences are forever scow.
Do not subject yourself to that kind of rule, you are a man and aint no fool.
"Dammit you guys, enough with rhyming! I'll just fix the cable so we can finish the game."
| True Story:
My wife had an affair.
My best friend liked a girl.
My wife, the girl, and I had a threesome.
My best friend died of jealousy.
I'm getting a divorce.
I'm dating the girl.
The End. | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | “Sweetie, could you sign the papers? We’ve been here for almost an hour already.”
I looked up at my wife.
I had been slightly hunched over a metal table for so long that my back began to hurt. All six eyes in the room were still on me. The pen had been hovering an inch above the dotted line for quite some time now. I blinked. I still hadn’t signed it.
“It’ll be done quickly,” said the woman who had given me the papers. She was just doing her job, but I hated her still. “He won’t-“
I slammed down my pen and glared at her. She stopped talking. The room turned awfully quiet.
Max took this opportunity to begin frantically tugging at my sleeve. “Max, Let go of my shirt.” I mumbled. He released his grip and stared at me. Neither of us liked it here.
My wife opened the door, “I’ll be in the car.” My eyes followed her to the door and lingered. She poked her head back through the door. “Take your time,” She said softly. The door closed with a click.
Turning around quickly, I picked up the pen and scribbled my signature down as illegibly as possible in hopes that it would void the inevitable.
“I know that it was a tough decision, but you’ve done the right thing… Would you like to stay?”
There was a lump in my throat. I sat on the metal table and pulled Max into my lap. His tail wagged while I scratched his chin furiously and absentmindedly patted his tummy. I held him tight as the syringe pierced his body, but he didn’t yelp or cry.
And then his eyes closed.
| True Story:
My wife had an affair.
My best friend liked a girl.
My wife, the girl, and I had a threesome.
My best friend died of jealousy.
I'm getting a divorce.
I'm dating the girl.
The End. | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Ultra-violet colour buzzed vibrantly across my vision. The sun on my body, a relaxing sedative washing the worries of the world away.
We lay, our bodies apart, but a bright and dazzling force caressed our souls. Bursts of kisses and then the glimmer of a smile as sweet as honey leaving my face alight with an after-glow.
Danger seized me a green haze which contaminated our mood and our hearts. I wanted the threat gone, our safety a candle slowly being snuffed out in the darkness. She egged me on, I turned away to meet the shaking head of an old friend.
My options limited as my enemy drew closer, red hot and seething anger born in an endless supply.
I struck out as fangs met flesh, poison spread fully into a shallow bloodstream.
Shame and tears of despair followed, an act against my own will. I lay close to her our scales touching, the light bright -we were safe again.
| You stand around with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights in all to familiar scene. She lays their in pain, breathing laboured breaths, asking you to end the fight . The doctor stands at the bottom on the bed nodding in agreement with your wife. You are filled with a hate, a hate that burns like a fire that consumes your very broken spirit. All because a man would simply agree to this action, an action so profound and so permanent. Searching for strength you look to her parents, you see their despair and fear and feel they want her to stay, just one more day. They speak no words but reenforce your belief. You spend a minute, a minute that feels like an eternity, realizing what was and what will never be. Finally you stand a broken man staring into an abyss whilst running all the possibilities and outcomes like a Vegas pro, to only realize it's not winnable, you fold. You give your signal and the room is filled with the silent alarm of EKG.
Hope you somewhat like this I guess? | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Mirror mirror on the wall, please tell Joe he's got it all.
C'mon dude just get of your ass, a chance like his you cannot pass.
Brother man i know you well, regret like this is an unbroken spell.
Joe my love just grab it and see, you know this is your destiny.
Like she said man grab it now, the consequences are forever scow.
Do not subject yourself to that kind of rule, you are a man and aint no fool.
"Dammit you guys, enough with rhyming! I'll just fix the cable so we can finish the game."
| You stand around with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights in all to familiar scene. She lays their in pain, breathing laboured breaths, asking you to end the fight . The doctor stands at the bottom on the bed nodding in agreement with your wife. You are filled with a hate, a hate that burns like a fire that consumes your very broken spirit. All because a man would simply agree to this action, an action so profound and so permanent. Searching for strength you look to her parents, you see their despair and fear and feel they want her to stay, just one more day. They speak no words but reenforce your belief. You spend a minute, a minute that feels like an eternity, realizing what was and what will never be. Finally you stand a broken man staring into an abyss whilst running all the possibilities and outcomes like a Vegas pro, to only realize it's not winnable, you fold. You give your signal and the room is filled with the silent alarm of EKG.
Hope you somewhat like this I guess? | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | “Sweetie, could you sign the papers? We’ve been here for almost an hour already.”
I looked up at my wife.
I had been slightly hunched over a metal table for so long that my back began to hurt. All six eyes in the room were still on me. The pen had been hovering an inch above the dotted line for quite some time now. I blinked. I still hadn’t signed it.
“It’ll be done quickly,” said the woman who had given me the papers. She was just doing her job, but I hated her still. “He won’t-“
I slammed down my pen and glared at her. She stopped talking. The room turned awfully quiet.
Max took this opportunity to begin frantically tugging at my sleeve. “Max, Let go of my shirt.” I mumbled. He released his grip and stared at me. Neither of us liked it here.
My wife opened the door, “I’ll be in the car.” My eyes followed her to the door and lingered. She poked her head back through the door. “Take your time,” She said softly. The door closed with a click.
Turning around quickly, I picked up the pen and scribbled my signature down as illegibly as possible in hopes that it would void the inevitable.
“I know that it was a tough decision, but you’ve done the right thing… Would you like to stay?”
There was a lump in my throat. I sat on the metal table and pulled Max into my lap. His tail wagged while I scratched his chin furiously and absentmindedly patted his tummy. I held him tight as the syringe pierced his body, but he didn’t yelp or cry.
And then his eyes closed.
| You stand around with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights in all to familiar scene. She lays their in pain, breathing laboured breaths, asking you to end the fight . The doctor stands at the bottom on the bed nodding in agreement with your wife. You are filled with a hate, a hate that burns like a fire that consumes your very broken spirit. All because a man would simply agree to this action, an action so profound and so permanent. Searching for strength you look to her parents, you see their despair and fear and feel they want her to stay, just one more day. They speak no words but reenforce your belief. You spend a minute, a minute that feels like an eternity, realizing what was and what will never be. Finally you stand a broken man staring into an abyss whilst running all the possibilities and outcomes like a Vegas pro, to only realize it's not winnable, you fold. You give your signal and the room is filled with the silent alarm of EKG.
Hope you somewhat like this I guess? | |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | “Sweetie, could you sign the papers? We’ve been here for almost an hour already.”
I looked up at my wife.
I had been slightly hunched over a metal table for so long that my back began to hurt. All six eyes in the room were still on me. The pen had been hovering an inch above the dotted line for quite some time now. I blinked. I still hadn’t signed it.
“It’ll be done quickly,” said the woman who had given me the papers. She was just doing her job, but I hated her still. “He won’t-“
I slammed down my pen and glared at her. She stopped talking. The room turned awfully quiet.
Max took this opportunity to begin frantically tugging at my sleeve. “Max, Let go of my shirt.” I mumbled. He released his grip and stared at me. Neither of us liked it here.
My wife opened the door, “I’ll be in the car.” My eyes followed her to the door and lingered. She poked her head back through the door. “Take your time,” She said softly. The door closed with a click.
Turning around quickly, I picked up the pen and scribbled my signature down as illegibly as possible in hopes that it would void the inevitable.
“I know that it was a tough decision, but you’ve done the right thing… Would you like to stay?”
There was a lump in my throat. I sat on the metal table and pulled Max into my lap. His tail wagged while I scratched his chin furiously and absentmindedly patted his tummy. I held him tight as the syringe pierced his body, but he didn’t yelp or cry.
And then his eyes closed.
| Ultra-violet colour buzzed vibrantly across my vision. The sun on my body, a relaxing sedative washing the worries of the world away.
We lay, our bodies apart, but a bright and dazzling force caressed our souls. Bursts of kisses and then the glimmer of a smile as sweet as honey leaving my face alight with an after-glow.
Danger seized me a green haze which contaminated our mood and our hearts. I wanted the threat gone, our safety a candle slowly being snuffed out in the darkness. She egged me on, I turned away to meet the shaking head of an old friend.
My options limited as my enemy drew closer, red hot and seething anger born in an endless supply.
I struck out as fangs met flesh, poison spread fully into a shallow bloodstream.
Shame and tears of despair followed, an act against my own will. I lay close to her our scales touching, the light bright -we were safe again.
| |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | "HOW ABOUT YOU JUST GO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF?!"
"Well, if you insist." I got up and yanked open the door to the balcony of my apartment.
"Wait! I-" But it was too late, I had already jumped. She was all that I'd had to live for, and now without her, my life was not one worth living.
It's said that most people who fail to commit suicide regret their attempt. Not me. I welcome death as I fall from the 16th story of the apartment high-rise. | Why? Why did I do it?
Well, she was beautiful. She was ten years younger than we were. She was all laughter and parties and music and *different*, so different from what I was used to. And she had reintroduced me to Victor, an old high-school acquaintance, a lawyer that made the process so *easy*.
"What's wrong, honey?" She's asking me this now from the couch. The couch that you used to lie on. The green one, the one that we picked out from Ikea together.
I'm telling her that nothing's wrong, that this is what I have always wanted, that she gave me the courage to go ahead and do it. A week ago, that would not have been a lie - it was what I thought I wanted. Too bad I was mistaken.
I should have listened to Frank. Why hadn't I listened to Frank? Frank's a neuroscientist. He knows what he's talking about.
"It's the novelty," he had said, pushing those dumb glasses of his up on his nose. "Once you get tired of her, you'll regret it. Probably immediately after you leave. So don't leave. In fact, you should probably cut off this stupid, inadvisable, business as soon as possible and come clean to your wife. Good-hearted as she is, she might even forgive you."
But I didn't listen to Frank, and here we are. Instead, I had gone to see Victor, as Sarah had suggested. All the paperwork had been so easy to fill out. And all that bad business that had happened in high school seemed to be water under the bridge.
I guess that isn't true. I guess he's held a grudge, all this time. I can thank him for helping me to make one of the worst mistakes of my life.
I'm sorry, Andrea. I know you'll never forgive me, but if you haven't thrown this letter in the trash yet, please know that everything was my fault. I never deserved you, and I know that you'll be happier without me.
| |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | Your crazy dude
I frown at my smartphone's screen. I don't need Matt telling me I'm crazy right now, not when I'm feeling nervous enough as it is. Best friends are supposed to comfort and encourage each other. I text him back.
Very supportive of you
...
Its just weird. You said you hated needles
...
I do, thats why I need you to tell me Im not crazy
...
You said needles are your worst enemy
...
When did I say that?
...
That party at Zach's place back in senior year
Did I really say that? Wouldn't put it past myself. Needles *do* give me the heebie-jeebies. I grit my teeth. I'm doing this for Emma. She'll like it.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I look down at it to see that Matt wasn't done writing.
It just seems so unlike you
I sigh. He has a point. I text back.
Yeah I can see that
...
Like I can understand getting your ears pierced. Maybe even your nose but thats a stretch
...
Nose piercings look weird to me. No thanks
... ...
But THIS. Dude it just doesnt make any sense, not from you. Here I thought I was the reckless one about these things, but it makes even ME feel uncomfortable
...
It was Emma's idea, I thought she might like it
It takes a long time for Matt to respond. The typing animation plays, stops, plays again, and stops again. Then it plays a third time and I finally see his answer.
She isnt bullying you into this, is she?
...
No she just mentioned it. She said she thought it might be sexy. She was really respectful about it, Im doing this because I want to
...
Bullshit, you dont want to and you know it
A door opens nearby. I look up from my phone and eye the woman who just came into the waiting room. She has three gold hoops in each of her ears, but other than that she's well-groomed and looks friendly enough. "Leo?" she calls.
I heft myself out of the chair and stand up straight. I force a smile, trying desperately not to let on that there's suddenly a cold, squirmy knot in my gut. "That's me."
"We have you booked for a frenulum piercing?"
I swallow. "Y-yes."
She nods with a smile and waves me into the back room. "Right this way, sir." | Why? Why did I do it?
Well, she was beautiful. She was ten years younger than we were. She was all laughter and parties and music and *different*, so different from what I was used to. And she had reintroduced me to Victor, an old high-school acquaintance, a lawyer that made the process so *easy*.
"What's wrong, honey?" She's asking me this now from the couch. The couch that you used to lie on. The green one, the one that we picked out from Ikea together.
I'm telling her that nothing's wrong, that this is what I have always wanted, that she gave me the courage to go ahead and do it. A week ago, that would not have been a lie - it was what I thought I wanted. Too bad I was mistaken.
I should have listened to Frank. Why hadn't I listened to Frank? Frank's a neuroscientist. He knows what he's talking about.
"It's the novelty," he had said, pushing those dumb glasses of his up on his nose. "Once you get tired of her, you'll regret it. Probably immediately after you leave. So don't leave. In fact, you should probably cut off this stupid, inadvisable, business as soon as possible and come clean to your wife. Good-hearted as she is, she might even forgive you."
But I didn't listen to Frank, and here we are. Instead, I had gone to see Victor, as Sarah had suggested. All the paperwork had been so easy to fill out. And all that bad business that had happened in high school seemed to be water under the bridge.
I guess that isn't true. I guess he's held a grudge, all this time. I can thank him for helping me to make one of the worst mistakes of my life.
I'm sorry, Andrea. I know you'll never forgive me, but if you haven't thrown this letter in the trash yet, please know that everything was my fault. I never deserved you, and I know that you'll be happier without me.
| |
[WP] Bernie Sanders was a Mr Meeseeks tasked with becoming the president of the United States. At the inauguration he vanishes into thin air. | You guys, Bernie Sanders disappeared! He's missing? No, he disappeared at the inauguration, on stage, in front of everyone, on camera." Let me see it on youtube.
Ryan watches Bernie Sanders disappear on a youtube video and says "I'm not
falling for this shit, someone just edited this, uploaded it to youtube and told idiots like you to come in the room freaking out and make me watch it." Rich is stunned by Ryan's stupidity, "go to a news site" he yells. Ryan opens the new york times, fox news, huffington post, reddit, 4chan, and facebooks and everyone was talking about it. After a long silence Ryan looks at Rich and says "Bernie Sanders was a Mr.Meseeks, there's no other way to explain it." | Yes, he did it, Bernie Sanders, a Mr. Meeseeks won the presidency. Here is how he did it. He promised everything to everyone. The republicans got theirs when the FBI arrested Hillary Clinton two days before the democratic convention. Bernie won the nominee by 3 delegates over Debbie Wasserman Schultz. He promised free college to the millennial, free healthcare with no deductibles for all and he promised to break up the banks and big pharma by executive order. He promised to tear down all fences at the Mexican border and promised no strings attached free green cards for all illegal aliens in the USA. Finally, he soothed BLM by promising their lives matter, and they could block roads and malls any time they wanted. He won 75% of the popular vote over Sarah Palin, who was nominated in a brokered republican convention. It was the best of times. Sadly, at the inauguration, he vanished into thin air. | |
[WP] Bernie Sanders was a Mr Meeseeks tasked with becoming the president of the United States. At the inauguration he vanishes into thin air. | "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."
Bernie Sanders said those hallowed words, and vanished in a poof of smoke. The Secret Service swarmed the area, looking for any trace of the new president. There was nothing to be found but his clothes.
Immediately, Bernie took over several presidential trivia facts: shortest term of any president, and the oldest too. For those tidbits at least, he would be remembered for centuries to come.
Meanwhile, Hillary Clinton sat laughing in the Oval Office. Her plan to become president has succeeded - she might not win the vote, but between her and Bernie, one could. And it would have been foolish for Bernie to accept anyone but her as his vice president, wouldn't it? | Yes, he did it, Bernie Sanders, a Mr. Meeseeks won the presidency. Here is how he did it. He promised everything to everyone. The republicans got theirs when the FBI arrested Hillary Clinton two days before the democratic convention. Bernie won the nominee by 3 delegates over Debbie Wasserman Schultz. He promised free college to the millennial, free healthcare with no deductibles for all and he promised to break up the banks and big pharma by executive order. He promised to tear down all fences at the Mexican border and promised no strings attached free green cards for all illegal aliens in the USA. Finally, he soothed BLM by promising their lives matter, and they could block roads and malls any time they wanted. He won 75% of the popular vote over Sarah Palin, who was nominated in a brokered republican convention. It was the best of times. Sadly, at the inauguration, he vanished into thin air. | |
[WP] Bernie Sanders was a Mr Meeseeks tasked with becoming the president of the United States. At the inauguration he vanishes into thin air. | "Holy shit what a stupid idea," said Rick.
"I...I..I dont know about that Rick. I thought it was pretty clever..." Stuttered Morty.
"Well, thats because you are a moron, Morty. We aren't going to make a Meeseeks try and run for President. What part of give them simply attainable tasks didnt you understand?" | Yes, he did it, Bernie Sanders, a Mr. Meeseeks won the presidency. Here is how he did it. He promised everything to everyone. The republicans got theirs when the FBI arrested Hillary Clinton two days before the democratic convention. Bernie won the nominee by 3 delegates over Debbie Wasserman Schultz. He promised free college to the millennial, free healthcare with no deductibles for all and he promised to break up the banks and big pharma by executive order. He promised to tear down all fences at the Mexican border and promised no strings attached free green cards for all illegal aliens in the USA. Finally, he soothed BLM by promising their lives matter, and they could block roads and malls any time they wanted. He won 75% of the popular vote over Sarah Palin, who was nominated in a brokered republican convention. It was the best of times. Sadly, at the inauguration, he vanished into thin air. | |
[WP] In a world where depression is the norm, a content person is seeking therapy. | “You're sleeping seven hours a night?”
“Seven. ... Or eight,” Rhea offers, even though it’s been more like six. She hasn’t slept past noon in months.
“And how many hours in a day do you spend resting? Sedentary?”
“... very few.” Her gaze retreats to the toes of her boots, gleaming softly under a fresh coat of polish. “I used to lie on the floor for hours—we had a lovely high pile installed—but now I find myself out and about. Cutting flowers for the kitchen. Walking to the grocery. Sometimes just listening to the birds.”
“Walking? Outside?”
“Yes. And … and busying myself with these … *tasks*.”
“Could you give me an example?”
“I don’t know. It’s ... a lot of different things. Small things. Like … this morning. Instead of just eating sliced bread straight from the packet, I actually made *toast*. We didn’t have company over, and it … it wasn’t a holiday or anything, obviously. I just wanted—it’s the strangest thing, you know?" She laughs. "I *missed* the smell of bread warming.”
“And has this … food preparation? When did this start happening?”
“The cooking has been a more recent thing. The cooking and the appetite.”
“Any other changes?”
“Yes. ... Some." She pauses. "I ... I don’t know if I’m comfortable …”
“It’s alright," he assures her. "I’m not going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to. But if you *do* want to talk, I am here to listen.”
Rhea kneads at her skirt with nervous hands.
“Doctor," she says, slowly. "I … I’ve been … My sex drive …”
“Has it been higher than normal?” he asks gently.
She nods, still kneading at her skirt. He makes a short mark on his notepad.
“Is that … is that … normal?” she asks.
“Let’s not worry about ‘normal’ for now. Okay, Rhea?”
Another nod. The doctor flips the notepad closed. Rhea wonders if he can smell the soap on her skin, the restless joy in her blood. Lately she can't wake without wanting to shower.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Rhea?" He looks her full in the face, and she can see, for the first time, the heavy, handsome circles that rest beneath his eyes. She can't remember the last time she looked in a mirror and saw the same.
“I just don’t know what to do,” she says finally.
“You’re already doing it. You came here, didn’t you?”
“I know," she says, "But it’s as if … as if there’s a void inside my heart and it's closing. It's *closing.* And there's nothing I can do to stop it."
“Rhea …” he says.
“Doctor,” she says.
“I think that’s enough for today. You’ve done very well.” | The paintings were crying, every pamphlet outside the office might as well be wet they were so covered in pictures of tears. Henry couldn't remember the last time he cried, when was it? When that girl Kate dumped him most likely but that was almost a year ago.
The waiting room was a stoic blue room, that muffled teal color doctors said would calm people down. The three other patients waiting to see one of the fifty therapists must have been color blind. They each were weeping; one wiped it off with his sleeve, another old lady pulled a wad of tissues out of her purse the size of a softball and the third was a small teenage girl with mud caked on her cleets. "Henry Fortane? Ms.Rodriguez will see you now." The nurse held the door open for him as he entered the slightly whiter blue hallway.
They snaked around the desks of nurses before ending in a room with a velvet therapy chair, a beautiful wooden desk, bookshelves with cardboard shapes of books and more of the tearful pamphlets. "She'll be right in to see you and...may I just say it is so courageous of you to hold back those tears in your eyes. I wish I could be that strong but," the nurse walked off without finishing. The door clicked shut but Henry still heard the nurse slip into that sadness everyone else felt was such a weight on him.
Henry waited. He leaned back on the velvety chair, throwing his shoes on the head of it, he found an actual book under the pamphlets and held it over his face. "The Strange Occurences of Oscar Maltese" was the title, it sounded like a cheap mash-up of old English literature, based on his quick paging through it he was right. The door creaked open before he could be sure though.
Flipping his legs to a more socially acceptable spot, he stood to greet the therapist, "good morning Ms. Ridley."
"Good morning Mr.Fortun, now I understand you...well there wasn't much bothering you last time." She flipped her single page of notes on Henry from back to front, she was doing what most people did when he cracked an upside down frown.
"Yes I'm doing pretty good...far better than most people it seems," Henry leaned back and set the book where he had found it.
"Well not all of us can be so lucky as to have a divorce, the third one, three children that won't call you and a publisher that keeps sending your book back saying it 'needs more science'. I can't cram in anymore science if I want an actual human eyeball to grace its cover!" Ms.Ridley threw up her hands with the rant. Shaking her head, she took a seat.
"I've never been married..."
"No no I'm aware. Those are my things Henry. Most of the time people just jump right into their complaints so I guess this is how react when that doesn't happen..." Ms.Ridley set her legal pad down on the desk.
"And how does that make you feel?" Henry asked.
[END] | |
I just stumbled across these words in a goofy conversation I was having, and suddenly thought it would make for a very creepy or intriguing writing prompt. | [WP] "I am the one that listens when the line goes dead." | I am the one who listens
when the line goes dead.
I wait
and I wonder
what could have been said
if only there had been more time
to say
all the things I wanted you to hear that day.
Instead there's a blank ringing noise in my ear
telling me "we're done"
and, "get out of here."
I've been living a dial tone
since you hung up the phone
I wish you'd come back
and say
darling, I'm home.
| Silence or so it seems.
How can this be fair?
Listening, straining,
For answers that are not there.
Then the tones come,
Confirming what I dread.
I am the one who listens,
When the line goes dead. |
I just stumbled across these words in a goofy conversation I was having, and suddenly thought it would make for a very creepy or intriguing writing prompt. | [WP] "I am the one that listens when the line goes dead." | I am the one who listens
when the line goes dead.
I wait
and I wonder
what could have been said
if only there had been more time
to say
all the things I wanted you to hear that day.
Instead there's a blank ringing noise in my ear
telling me "we're done"
and, "get out of here."
I've been living a dial tone
since you hung up the phone
I wish you'd come back
and say
darling, I'm home.
| "911, what is your emergency?"
"Sorry ma'am, was just checking the time," his Master said casually.
Abruptly, the line went dead. It was a dull, pebble of a response, grabbed from some shore and thrown just to see what would happen. The responder probably sensed that too, and ended the call as though his Master, he who could stop rain, sling lightening and summon discount coupons, were some common prankster.
"Give me the phone sir, I'll teach her some manners." He reached for the cell phone sitting on the table between them until his hand was summarily smacked away by an older, firmer one. Pride and nerves lightly flared. Even if his Master lied on a 911 call on loudspeaker in the middle of a restaurant, he still respected him too much to let this slide.
"Patience!" It was a command. The Master resumed tapping quietly to each beep, obnoxiously humming along with the phone. The apprentice slid his back into the chair angrily.
The cell phone was still beeping, appealing to the customers, waitresses and chefs of the diner to shut it off. None dared though, fearing the embarrassment of confronting an old man and his grandson. To their defense, he looked *very* old. The waiter hardly caught the mischievous shine in his eyes when he agreed to give them, "Free deserts afterwards for his grandson's birthday." Patronizing as he was, the parfait was big. And perfect.
Not as pleasant as silence though.
"Well you just lied to the lady and left the phone on like she'll call back!"
"She will," he replied. Old lines that poured from his eyes crinkled in a smile at that comment. Then the lines stretched vertically in a frown. "And *I never lie.*"
The apprentice stopped to puzzle out this nonsensical reply.
Then the beeping stopped. "About bleeding time Chrona," the venerable voice grumbled quietly.
"Ha ha," the emergency responder mocked. "So you finally remembered how to reach me. And here I thought your age finally caught up with you." Her voice became serious. "What do you need Magnus?"
"That name's grimey and sticky," his Master complained in his pathetic old man voice. A finger continued tapping on the table without losing it's rhythm. "I prefer my other one, isn't that right apprentice?"
Nervous words squeaked out from the boy. "Yes Master!"
"Oooh, Master is it?" The phone purred. "Teaching him your dirty tricks? To *bleed time* and *crack worlds*..."
"No, no," the old man reassured her, "Nothing too boring. I need another crate. Repeat the last shipment if you could."
"In *your* time? Most of this junk won't even make sense to---"
"By tomorrow, 6pm, Eastern Standard. I have faith in your expediency," he replied.
"Hey, I still need an addre---"
His finger stopped tapping, held into the table firmly. Her voice cut out and the phone (again) ended another call.
"Ah, well," the old man sagged. "She may not have liked my little joke on the first call."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, just take this as your second real lesson." The apprentice leaned in closely. "Deadlines made over *dead* lines are always respected. Regardless your place or, *peril.*" He chuckled, an event floating fondly in his memory.
"Oh." The apprentice thought hard for a moment, then beamed. "So if I want to ace my *home* work---"
"Don't be stupid boy, you don't get homework from home." He stood, escorting a disgruntled boy from a messy table and a confused audience of patrons at the restaurant.
"Still," the Master offered. "There's much to be excited for. Two things in fact."
"What might those be sir?"
"This crate is going to be *especially* fun. Some relics from my old days. I'll show you the Magnus our friend over the phone remembers."
The apprentice gasped. He rarely got to see anything of the Master's exploits beyond the attic of a hidden study and the street the boy found a homeless man sleeping on. The boy left a five dollar bill on the hat by him, and thought that would be that. *Treat them kindly,* the boy's mother told him. Three months later, and he still regretted it. He had a rising feeling that things were finally going to get serious.
"Can't wait sir! What's the second thing?"
The old man looked down on the eager young face. "I forgot my phone. And you get to fetch it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for the prompt, I enjoyed responding to it. More at /r/galokot for those interested, and thank you for reading! |
How would a DnD session go with these five? Who would be the DM and what classes and alignments would the others have? | [WP] Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Ted Cruz and Chris Christie get together to play Dungeons and Dragons. | "But Donald!" Ted Cruz said in an exasperated voice, "Why do you always get to be DM?"
"I've bought all the damned game pieces and rule books," Trump responded impatiently. "You oughtta be happy I'm letting your Canadian ass even participate."
"Donald," Hillary said, "you know that I subsidized your purchases."
"What about the Iraq war, Hilldog?" Trump asked. "Did you subsidize that or did you just use my tax dollars to do it?"
"How about we let Trump DM again so long as he doesn't use his powers as an excuse to do an hour long commercial for his golf courses and casino again?" Bernie suggested.
Finally everyone agreed that Trump could be the DM again.
"I am an elf queen named Hillary Clinton. I put most of my points into Persuasion and I have an entire army backing me up."
"You can't start with that big of an advantage!" Ted Cruz challenged. "And I don't think that Elven queen is a legitimate class..."
"Well, I have friends in the Elven National Commission and they say that I totally can!"
"The ENC is far too corrupt to serve the people," Bernie Sanders interjected. "I am an elf rogue and I do not serve the queen. We are in rebellion!"
"Well some rebellion that will be without your neckbeard internet forums!" Hillary retorted.
"I don't think we can play this as one group, there is far too much friction," Ted Cruz complained.
"I want to be a stereotypical Muslim suicide bomber!" Chris Christie suddenly yelled out.
"Who invited him?" Whispered Hillary. "I almost forgot he was here."
"I'm just telling it like it is!" Chris Christie responded proudly.
"I actually don't think that is a class or a race either..." Ted Cruz said.
"Why are you always complaining, Teddy?" Donald asked. "What are you anyways?"
"I am a Paladin from the kingdom of..."
"Rocks are about to fall on you, you must roll 23 to dodge and survive."
"Wait, we've started? Hey! This die you gave me only has 21 sides!"
"You're fired, Teddy! Don't forget to pay for your part of the pizza. Your character is crushed to death."
"What!? Screw you guys! I'm going back to Canada." Ted Cruz left the building ranting and didn't help pay for the pizza.
"Well, now that he's out of the way, let's play!" Trump announced. "Ok, so we start in a beautiful golf course just outside Las Vegas..."
"Not this shit again!" Bernie cried out.
"Chris, you can sit on him now," Hillary said coldly.
With some effort Chris Christie stood up and lumbered over toward Donald Trump. Donald became paralyzed with fear and didn't try and escape. He was crushed to death by Chris' enormous body.
"Oh my God!" Bernie cried out. "We're murders now!"
"Relax Bernie," Hillary said. "I'll have my people take care of it. We'll only talk about it on the most secure email servers. Let's get out of here."
"Wait!" Chris Christie cried out as he tried to lift his blood-soaked bottom. "Shouldn't we say a prayer to the Illuminati depopulation god before we leave?"
"Isn't that basically what we were doing by playing D&D?" Bernie replied.
"Oh yeah, that's right!"
And with that, the 3 friends lived happily ever after. | *NOTE: THIS IS A PARODY OF DEAD ALEWIVES CLASSIC I JUST CHANGED THE NAMES AND ADDED SOME LINES*
DM – “Clinton, you have entered the door to the North. You are now by yourself, standing in a dark room. The pungent smell of mildew eminates from the wet dungeon walls.”
Trump – “Where are the Cheetos?”
DM – “They’re right next to you!”
Clinton – “I cast a spell!”
Trump – “Where’s the Mountain Dew?”
DM – “In the fridge, DUH!”
Clinton – “I wanna cast a spell!”
Trump – “Can I Mountain Dew?”
DM – “YES! You can have a Mountain Dew, just go get it!”
Clinton – “I can cast any of these, right? On the list?”
DM – “Yes, any of the first level ones.”
Trump – “I’m gonna get a soda, anyone want one? Hey Grimm, I’m not in the room, right?”
DM – “What room??”
Clinton – “I wanna cast ‘magic missile…'”
Trump – “The room where he’s casting all these spells from.”
DM – “He hasnt’ cast anything yet!”
Clinton – “I am though, if you’d listen. I’m casting ‘magic missile!'”
DM – “Why are you ‘magic missile’? There’s nothing to attack here.”
Clinton – “I… I’m attacking The Darkness!!”
(all laugh)
DM – “Fine! Fine! You attack ‘The Darkness’. There’s an elf in front of you.”
Clinton – “Woah!”
Sanders – “That’s me, right?”
DM – “He’s wearing a brown tunic and he has grey hair and blue eyes.”
Sanders – “No I don’t, I have grey eyes.”
DM – “Let me see that sheet.”
Sanders – “Well, it says I have blue but I decided I wanted grey eyes!”
DM – “Whatever! Okay, you guys can talk to each other now if you want.”
(silence)
Clinton – “Hello.”
Sanders – “Hello.”
Clinton – “I am Clinton, Sorceror of Light.”
Sanders – “Then how come you had to cast ‘magic missile’?”
(laughs)
DM – “You guys are being attacked.”
Trump – “Do I see this happening?”
DM – “NO! You’re outside by the tavern!”
Trump – “Cool! I get drunk!”
DM (sighs) – “There are 7 ogres surrounding you.”
Clinton – “How can they surround us? I had ‘Mordencaiden’s magical watchdog’ cast.”
DM – “No, you didn’t!”
Trump – “I’m getting drunk! Are there any girls there?”
Clinton (angry) – “I totally did! You asked me if I wanted any equipment before this adventure and I said no but I need material components for all my spells so I cast ‘Mordencaiden’s faithful watchdog’.”
DM – “But you never actually cast it.”
Trump – “Roll the dice to see if I’m getting drunk!”
DM (sighs and rolls rice) – “Yeah! You are!”
Trump – “Are there any girls there?”
DM (annoyed) – “Yeah!”
Clinton – “I did though! I completely said when you asked me.”
DM (more annoyed) – “No, you didn’t! You didn’t actually say that you were casting the spells so now there’s ogres, okay?!”
Trump – “Ogres?! Man, I got an ogre-slaying knife! It’s got a +9 against ogres!”
DM (angry) – “You’re not there! You’re getting drunk!”
Trump – “Okay but if there’s any girls there, I want to do them!”
Toilet Flushes
Cruz – “Hey sorry guys, too many nachos. Is it my turn?”
DM – “Uh, hold on you are back in the town with Trump”
Cruz – “Okay but if there’s any girls there, I want to do them!”
Trump – “Nuh-uh I was here first!”
DM – *Sigh*
Doorbell Rings
DM- “It’s Rubio and Christie! Quick hide!”
|
How would a DnD session go with these five? Who would be the DM and what classes and alignments would the others have? | [WP] Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Ted Cruz and Chris Christie get together to play Dungeons and Dragons. | "But Donald!" Ted Cruz said in an exasperated voice, "Why do you always get to be DM?"
"I've bought all the damned game pieces and rule books," Trump responded impatiently. "You oughtta be happy I'm letting your Canadian ass even participate."
"Donald," Hillary said, "you know that I subsidized your purchases."
"What about the Iraq war, Hilldog?" Trump asked. "Did you subsidize that or did you just use my tax dollars to do it?"
"How about we let Trump DM again so long as he doesn't use his powers as an excuse to do an hour long commercial for his golf courses and casino again?" Bernie suggested.
Finally everyone agreed that Trump could be the DM again.
"I am an elf queen named Hillary Clinton. I put most of my points into Persuasion and I have an entire army backing me up."
"You can't start with that big of an advantage!" Ted Cruz challenged. "And I don't think that Elven queen is a legitimate class..."
"Well, I have friends in the Elven National Commission and they say that I totally can!"
"The ENC is far too corrupt to serve the people," Bernie Sanders interjected. "I am an elf rogue and I do not serve the queen. We are in rebellion!"
"Well some rebellion that will be without your neckbeard internet forums!" Hillary retorted.
"I don't think we can play this as one group, there is far too much friction," Ted Cruz complained.
"I want to be a stereotypical Muslim suicide bomber!" Chris Christie suddenly yelled out.
"Who invited him?" Whispered Hillary. "I almost forgot he was here."
"I'm just telling it like it is!" Chris Christie responded proudly.
"I actually don't think that is a class or a race either..." Ted Cruz said.
"Why are you always complaining, Teddy?" Donald asked. "What are you anyways?"
"I am a Paladin from the kingdom of..."
"Rocks are about to fall on you, you must roll 23 to dodge and survive."
"Wait, we've started? Hey! This die you gave me only has 21 sides!"
"You're fired, Teddy! Don't forget to pay for your part of the pizza. Your character is crushed to death."
"What!? Screw you guys! I'm going back to Canada." Ted Cruz left the building ranting and didn't help pay for the pizza.
"Well, now that he's out of the way, let's play!" Trump announced. "Ok, so we start in a beautiful golf course just outside Las Vegas..."
"Not this shit again!" Bernie cried out.
"Chris, you can sit on him now," Hillary said coldly.
With some effort Chris Christie stood up and lumbered over toward Donald Trump. Donald became paralyzed with fear and didn't try and escape. He was crushed to death by Chris' enormous body.
"Oh my God!" Bernie cried out. "We're murders now!"
"Relax Bernie," Hillary said. "I'll have my people take care of it. We'll only talk about it on the most secure email servers. Let's get out of here."
"Wait!" Chris Christie cried out as he tried to lift his blood-soaked bottom. "Shouldn't we say a prayer to the Illuminati depopulation god before we leave?"
"Isn't that basically what we were doing by playing D&D?" Bernie replied.
"Oh yeah, that's right!"
And with that, the 3 friends lived happily ever after. | "Horror here at A Kirkland home where police report a 'Dungeons and Dragons' game has turned violent. Police were called by a Domino's delivery driver when he arrived at seven PM. Republican candidate Donald Trump was allegedly heard to be shouting 'Charisma Roll this Sanders'. Police report that Bernie Sanders is in critical condition having been beaten by a large rule book." |
How would a DnD session go with these five? Who would be the DM and what classes and alignments would the others have? | [WP] Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Ted Cruz and Chris Christie get together to play Dungeons and Dragons. | "It's okay guys I'm just going to watch" said Jeb. "I really like to watch. My wife lets me watch and thats what I like to do. Sit back and watch." Jeb explained from across the room.
Marco Rubio looked up from his burner phone. He had a new match on Grindr. But Jeb was mubling things again and he felt obligated to reply. "That's cool Jeb." Rubio turned his attention back to his phone."If your long strong and ready to get the friction on meet me at the campaign bus at nine." Rubio hit send and smiled. That smile quickly faded because Donald Trump, Chris Christy, Ted Cruz, Bernie Sanders, Hillary and Dick Chayne had arrived.
"I shall be the Dungeon Master" Dick Chayne declared. I have extensive experience running secret dungeons from Iraq to Romania. Dick continued. "Now tell me what classes and alignments you have chosen so we can begin"
"I will be a bridge troll" Chris Christy replied. "Unless you pay my troll toll you may not cross the bridge!"
"Sounds like a pretty irrelevant character but okay," continued Dick. "Next."
"I shall be a Canadian monk. I too am neutral and fight for whoever gives me the most coin." Ted Cruz replied as Jeb watched eagerly from a distance with his Jeb look.
"I am a fire wizard known to all as **The Burn** I fight for equality fairness and the ideal, even if its not practical or realistic" Sanders exclaimed while gesticulating wildly with his hands and fingers.
Hillary looked up from her BlackBerry and stood up
. She pulled a knife from her purse. Slit her wrists and drew a pentagram on the floor in her own Blood. "I call upon the unspeakable one to give me strength to win this game! No Sacrifice is too great! Nothing is sacred. Give me the power to rule from the throne of a thousand skulls! The blood pentagram pulsed for a while before fading into the nether.
Dick Chayne wasn't the least bit surprised.
"While brise white by light by night I am the White Knight who fights for what's right for all whom are white" Donald Trump replied.
Dick wasn't surprised by that either. | "Horror here at A Kirkland home where police report a 'Dungeons and Dragons' game has turned violent. Police were called by a Domino's delivery driver when he arrived at seven PM. Republican candidate Donald Trump was allegedly heard to be shouting 'Charisma Roll this Sanders'. Police report that Bernie Sanders is in critical condition having been beaten by a large rule book." |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | *whoosh* That's the only way I can describe it. A sudden rush of air, with a sound like the beating of huge wings. Then, while I blinked at the sound, there were two men in my apartment. Each was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, one wearing grey and white, the other black and white. The one in grey was taller, well-built, like a football player or warrior. The other, in black, was slighter and more lithe, with the thin build of a distance runner or gymnast. Each had eyes that shifted from pools of liquid gold to molten silver, endlessly shifting back and forth. The one in grey had close cropped, yet stylish dark hair, and his companion had longer hair, straight, down to to his shoulders, and pure white. I gasped and backed away with a start, getting off my knees and pushing against the nearest wall.
"Wh- who are you?! How did you get here?" I stuttered, trying to get the words out. I tried to sound tough, but it came out with a mousy squeak.
"Well, brother mine, I guess he wasn't expecting us..." The shorter of the two spoke first. He voice sounded like smooth jazz, with a lilt in odd syllables and a hypnotic musical quality.
"Indeed, it appears not. Strange really, considering we're here because he asked." The taller man's voice was a crash of waves upon a rock. Powerful, commanding, the kind of voice you couldn't ignore, even if you wanted to. he spoke again before I could respond.
"We're here because our father sent us here to answer you for him. You asked him a question, right?" His gaze burned into me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"You--you're father? I didn't ask anyone anything. Just, please, don't hurt me." Staring into those eyes, my false courage gave way and I settled for pleading.
"Yes, yes you did. You asked him what the meaning of life was. He's too busy to handle questions like that himself, but he sent us to answer for you." The tall man looked amused, with a slight smile on his too-handsome face.
"I... I didn't! I swear. The only time I ever asked that was when I was... praying..." Then it dawned me, smashing into my conscious like a wrecking ball. I prayed... Then these men showed up, in a rush of wings. They were talking about their Father. Wait, these were angels! God heard me! He answered my prayer.
"Ah, there it is. Now he understands you, brother mine. I suspect he now knows what we are, if not who." The shorter of the two seemed more serious than his brother, less flippant and frivolous.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that, mortal. I am Michael, and this is my brother Lucifer." Lucifer?! Like the Devil? I glanced fearfully at the smaller one, and then back to the liquid metal of the taller one, Michael, he said his name was.
"Haha!" He barked out a laugh. "Luci, that will never get old for me. They are all so afraid of you!" Lucifer looked more sullen now, bordering on upset. "Oh don't be so upset, brother. He couldn't possibly know." Lucifer seemed to calm a bit, looking less angry and more resigned. I tried to finally find my voice.
"Sorry, but isn't he the bad guy?" I was trying not to look at Lucifer, afraid he'd take my soul or something equally bad.
"You mortals, always so obsessed with him being the Fallen. That was your story, that you invented and believed. He has always been my brother, nothing more or less." Michael seemed to be losing his patience now, irate on behalf of his brother, it seemed.
"The task, brother mine. He didn't pray for a history lesson." Lucifer seemed to be the responsible one, keeping his brother on target.
"Ah, yes! The task! You asked our Father what the meaning of life was. He sent us to tell you! Would you like to know?" I desperately tried to nod yes, how could I say no? The fundamental human question!I was going to know the meaning of life!
"42." Michael's voice was completely deadpan, and I stared at him in shock for a moment. Like the book?! Seriously? "No no, I'm kidding. Sorry. Your Douglas was was so fascinating. He really is a wonderful storyteller for your universe."
I breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been an awful answer, one that I couldn't say I would accept, even if true. Wait, my universe? I kept my mouth shut and let him talk.
"No mortal, the answer is infinitely more complex than that, but also infinitely simpler. The answer is that your life is the first life of the entire universe. It's also the last life, and every life in between. This entire planet, and all the stars and galaxies around it, are a playground created for you. Endless entertainment, so that you may never tire of its wonders." His voice sounded so reverent, as if he was describing God Himself.
"Our Father created an infinite number of playgrounds, for his infinite children, you mortals, to play in. When you die, you are born again as someone else. This whole universe is just you, at different points in time and space, endless living the greatest adventure than anyone will ever have. The meaning of life, mortal, is to enjoy, until the end of time and all things, the paradise our Father built for you."
My breath caught, and I suddenly let out a massive exhalation, as my body finally caught up with the magnitude of what he was saying. All of this, was for me? Or did he just mean humanity as a whole.
"Is this universe just for me, or were you saying 'you', as in humanity?" It seemed wrong to question more after such a revelation, but I couldn't stop myself.
"It's all for you, Jacob Ralph Habegun. This whole universe was created for you to live and explore and enjoy. All of it. All things and people, are so that you may know his creation and never tire of it." Michael sounded a bit jealous now, as if I didn't deserve my universe. He was probably right though, I didn't deserve it...
"Michael..." Lucifer's tone was half warning, half sympathy, as if he understood Michael's jealousy, but cautioned him against it. "Come, brother mine. We have delivered Father's message. We're done here."
"Wait! Does that mean there is no Heaven? When I die, am I just reborn? If so, then what about religion? What about good and evil, heaven and hell?" I rushed the words, trying to get more answers before my guides left.
"You must figure that out for yourself. After all, you started the first religion, and heaven and hell were your ideas. No other universe has them, at least not like yours does. Find your own truth now, Jacob."
There was another rush of wind and when I blinked again, my apartment was empty. I had it though, everything humanity, by which I meant me, had always sought to attain. Everything that we ever searched for. The meaning of life. | I never expected God to be a chain smoker. We sat together in a side room at a businesses expo in Atlanta and he was smoking like a chimney. Or at least he was using my associate, Jim Brown, as a form in which he could chain smoke. Possession wasn't on his list of no-no's, apparently.
"So you're really God?" I murmured cynically. The halo over Jim's black hair made it a bit obvious that something was going on.
He puffed a cloud of smoke at me. I wrinkled my nose at the sick, minty tinge. "Not what you were expected?" He took another drag.
I shrugged speechless, not really sure what I expected of God these days. My wife died a couple years ago and she took my faith with her. It felt like God was an uncaring monster that took and provided little. I guessed possessing someone to try and persuade an atheist feel into that category. "Naw, this is about the picture I had in my head."
God arched an eyebrow. His eyes changed from Jim's cold green to a muddy brown. "So," he started, putting out the cancer stick on Jim's overpriced shoe. "Today is your lucky day Phil. Today is your day of enlightenment. You get to ask me one question."
I felt confused, but decided why not. "What is the meaning of life," I started. God rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. "if my wife and I cannot be together any more?" I was proud for a moment because that seemed to stop him in his tracks.
God lit another cigarette and took a drag. He sat looking off in the distance. The silence grew long and uncomfortable. "I'll be honest with you Phil. I am the one true God. I created the whole of reality, but I am really bad at micro-management."
I felt my jaw drop and had to catch it.
"Accidents happen," the Almighty continued. "You humans were an accident. Ninety-nine percent of the planets have no life on them, and Earth wasn't suppose to be one of them. You guys were an accident. We just have to keep moving to see where it goes?"
"So my wife just died?" I fought back some tears. "Not only that but life also has no meaning?"
God reached out to put his hand on my shoulder. It was cold and heavy. "Sorry, but that is the way things happened. I would love to change it if I could. I'd love to put purpose in your life and tell you that your wife's death saved a million people around the world. I'd love to make human's part of my plans, but I set these things in motion a long time ago. It's too late for me to do anything."
"But you are all powerful? Why can't you do anything?"
He gave me a tired smile. "I am a creator, an artist. The universe is became more of bureaucracy the larger it got. That is why I made the angels. They are heaven's little tax consultants."
I got a picture of an Arch-angel that once swung a flaming sword, now pushed up behind a desk, wearing glass and working an adding machine. I laughed from the heart.
God's smile warmed up. "That's the spirit. Just try to be happy and create something of your own. It worked from me when I was depressed."
The halo faded from Jim.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Grammar is hard
Please give me any advance, I am new at creative writing. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | One second I was curled up in a fetal position, sobbing into the arm of my couch, cursing and yelling nonsense into the air - and the next I was sitting in a white room.
Well, it wasn't really a room because there wasn't a floor. Or walls. Or a ceiling. But I was sitting on something. And I felt closed in, somehow.
And there he was, walking towards me.
God.
I don't even know how I knew. It's not like I'm a religious person. But I still knew.
He stopped a few feet in front of me.
"Hey."
His voice was quiet but deep.
I was shivering and just stared up at him. There were still tears and snot streaming down my face.
"So um. I heard you...you know. A minute ago."
He crouched down and folded his hands and stared into my eyes.
"You were asking about the meaning of life?"
He waited.
I managed to nod my head and wipe my face with my sleeve.
"Well. I realize this isn't usual protocol..but..you know.." he shook his head slightly, "sometimes it gets hard seeing you all like this. Just asking these same questions, over and over. The meaning of it. Purposes. What happens when it's all over. You ask it so so often..." He trailed off.
I waited for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute.
"I get it. I get why there's so many questions. You have these things happen - like, death - I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I know you loved her very much."
I start crying again, silently.
He looked down and continued.
"But you have these things happen and you start asking all these questions. But you never ask them until the bad things happen. When everything is good, nobody asks - why are these good things happening? So the thing is...I don't really know how to put this, because I know you aren't capable of understanding this fully...but there just isn't. A purpose. Or meaning."
I stop crying and stare at him.
"What?" my voice shakes and squeaks.
"Well. It's complicated...but I was sort of bored one day and I decided to make you guys up. I didn't really think it through. I just wanted someone else around. You guys were cute little things. And then you started breeding and there were more - and those little ones are just adorable, you know? Ugh. I didn't realize you would all start becoming so self-aware. I just thought you'd eat and breed and play and it'd be fun. I just didn't expect all this. And now you guys are just getting out of control. All the fighting and you're ruining your home and asking me all these questions...."
He looked up at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
I was shaking hard now, my teeth chattering. My head was spinning.
"Oh no, now you're going into shock. See what I did now.."
He stood up and stepped towards me. He reached his hand out and I flinched, involuntarily.
He sighed and reached further and tousled my hair.
"Just try to be happy, okay? That's all I wanted for you. All of you. You're alive. You're living beings. You can love and make love and play and eat. Isn't that enough? I mean...does there really have to be more?"
He sighed again, a deep long sigh, and I was back on my couch. | I never expected God to be a chain smoker. We sat together in a side room at a businesses expo in Atlanta and he was smoking like a chimney. Or at least he was using my associate, Jim Brown, as a form in which he could chain smoke. Possession wasn't on his list of no-no's, apparently.
"So you're really God?" I murmured cynically. The halo over Jim's black hair made it a bit obvious that something was going on.
He puffed a cloud of smoke at me. I wrinkled my nose at the sick, minty tinge. "Not what you were expected?" He took another drag.
I shrugged speechless, not really sure what I expected of God these days. My wife died a couple years ago and she took my faith with her. It felt like God was an uncaring monster that took and provided little. I guessed possessing someone to try and persuade an atheist feel into that category. "Naw, this is about the picture I had in my head."
God arched an eyebrow. His eyes changed from Jim's cold green to a muddy brown. "So," he started, putting out the cancer stick on Jim's overpriced shoe. "Today is your lucky day Phil. Today is your day of enlightenment. You get to ask me one question."
I felt confused, but decided why not. "What is the meaning of life," I started. God rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. "if my wife and I cannot be together any more?" I was proud for a moment because that seemed to stop him in his tracks.
God lit another cigarette and took a drag. He sat looking off in the distance. The silence grew long and uncomfortable. "I'll be honest with you Phil. I am the one true God. I created the whole of reality, but I am really bad at micro-management."
I felt my jaw drop and had to catch it.
"Accidents happen," the Almighty continued. "You humans were an accident. Ninety-nine percent of the planets have no life on them, and Earth wasn't suppose to be one of them. You guys were an accident. We just have to keep moving to see where it goes?"
"So my wife just died?" I fought back some tears. "Not only that but life also has no meaning?"
God reached out to put his hand on my shoulder. It was cold and heavy. "Sorry, but that is the way things happened. I would love to change it if I could. I'd love to put purpose in your life and tell you that your wife's death saved a million people around the world. I'd love to make human's part of my plans, but I set these things in motion a long time ago. It's too late for me to do anything."
"But you are all powerful? Why can't you do anything?"
He gave me a tired smile. "I am a creator, an artist. The universe is became more of bureaucracy the larger it got. That is why I made the angels. They are heaven's little tax consultants."
I got a picture of an Arch-angel that once swung a flaming sword, now pushed up behind a desk, wearing glass and working an adding machine. I laughed from the heart.
God's smile warmed up. "That's the spirit. Just try to be happy and create something of your own. It worked from me when I was depressed."
The halo faded from Jim.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Grammar is hard
Please give me any advance, I am new at creative writing. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | To be honest, when I found out I was going to meet God, I expected quite a bit more. I thought I would see some grand ancient figure, some shining paragon of power beyond mortal comprehension itself. And yet the man who sat before me was just that, an ordinary guy in a suit, unremarkable in every way.
"My sincerest apologies." he replied, simply seeing through me. "I'm afraid you humans have exaggerated quite a bit of my stories. And even with the amount of power I do have, I prefer to remain humble about it."
"I see. Anyways, you know everything, don't you?"
"In a way." he replied. "I mean, it's not that I keep it all up here or anything." He gestured to his head. "However, I need only look to discover everything there is to know about something, down to the most infinitesimal particle. And from that information, I can piece together its past and predict its future."
"You can see my future?"
"Of course, I know pretty much what would be in store for you if I disappeared right now and let you live out the rest of your life. But if I told you, then it might change, would it not?"
"I suppose. Anyways, the thing I've been meaning to ask you about... What's the meaning of life? Why were we placed here on Earth? What purpose do we have?"
"First of all... define life."
"Huh?"
"This is a big universe. I've got trillions and trillions of planets with differing natural phenomena. What do you mean by life?" He produced a small toy, a tiny chicken of plastic and metal. Winding up a key on its side, he gently set it down on the table, and it began to walk towards me. "This toy, for example. Is it alive?"
"...I'd say no." I replied, catching the toy before it could walk off the table. "I mean, its just a spring and some gears, right?"
"Perhaps you could consider it a creature that feeds off of the energy of me winding it. A very simple creature, yes, but it does things nonetheless."
"It doesn't reproduce on its own, though."
"Neither do you. You require a human of the opposite gender, and this chicken requires a factory."
"But the chicken and the factory aren't the same species. They don't even have genetic material."
"This chicken has an idea behind it, does it not?" God asked. "Its design. Its inner workings. The plans that this was made from. This universe is far larger than you know, and most races do not possess nucleic acids of any kind despite a few of them being even more advanced than you are. I doubt they'd take kindly to being called nonliving. Anyways..." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on. "I hear this is an example that you humans once pondered. This flame. Is it alive?" Wrinkling up a napkin, he lit a corner of it ablaze. "It is born. It eats. It breathes. It grows. It reproduces."
"Well, of course not."
"Before you explain your reasoning, I'd like to tell you the story about a small planet several light-years from here." God interrupted. "Its inhabitants are crystals, small crystals that are rather similar in structure to your own computers. They sense radio waves, analyze and store information with piezoelectric impulses, and reproduce by attracting dissolved minerals in their seas to grow clones. Relatively recently for them, they discovered calculus."
"...But still. None of these things check all the boxes. They don't meet all the criteria needed to be considered alive."
"Neither do you." he replied. "There are aliens out there who would consider you inanimate for not being powered by plutonium, for not being capable of unaided flight, for not sharing a single consciousness..."
"So I'm just like this chicken?" I stared at the wind-up toy in my hand.
"From a certain point of view, yes." God answered. "That's why I can't tell you the meaning of life. Because life isn't really a thing. That chicken is a machine. A system. It obeys one simple rule. When it is wound, it will walk forwards until it runs out of energy. You're more complex. You follow lots of rules." Without warning, he kicked me in the knee under the table, prompting my leg to reflexively shoot out. "That's one of them. When your knee is hit, your leg straightens. When the otherwise friendly person you're talking to suddenly hits you, you look at them like that. You're an extremely complicated system, but you're a system nonetheless. It's not much different from those computer programs you humans are so fond of. Things happen and cause other things. These systems appear all over the universe, from the scale of galaxies to sizes of a single Planck length. Many times, these systems can do extraordinary things, like trap light with immense gravity, fuse elements in vast and powerful forges, spew molten rock from the ground, or even hold a conversation with me. A sufficiently complex system could even create the universe." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "To conclude, life is nothing more than an arbitrary set of constraints that allow humans to specialize a bit when it comes to exploring the wonders of the universe. If there is a meaning to all this... it's that the present happens because the past happened, and the future will happen because the present is happening and the past already happened. You were put here because of past events, and your purpose is to cause future events. Everything is a product of what came before."
"So you're a system too?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I said yes and nodded just now because I heard a statement phrased in the form of a question that I knew to be correct. That is one of my many rules."
"Did someone create you, too?"
"Who can say?" he shrugged. "Perhaps I was created by an even more complex system. I don't know what goes on above my head." | I never expected God to be a chain smoker. We sat together in a side room at a businesses expo in Atlanta and he was smoking like a chimney. Or at least he was using my associate, Jim Brown, as a form in which he could chain smoke. Possession wasn't on his list of no-no's, apparently.
"So you're really God?" I murmured cynically. The halo over Jim's black hair made it a bit obvious that something was going on.
He puffed a cloud of smoke at me. I wrinkled my nose at the sick, minty tinge. "Not what you were expected?" He took another drag.
I shrugged speechless, not really sure what I expected of God these days. My wife died a couple years ago and she took my faith with her. It felt like God was an uncaring monster that took and provided little. I guessed possessing someone to try and persuade an atheist feel into that category. "Naw, this is about the picture I had in my head."
God arched an eyebrow. His eyes changed from Jim's cold green to a muddy brown. "So," he started, putting out the cancer stick on Jim's overpriced shoe. "Today is your lucky day Phil. Today is your day of enlightenment. You get to ask me one question."
I felt confused, but decided why not. "What is the meaning of life," I started. God rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. "if my wife and I cannot be together any more?" I was proud for a moment because that seemed to stop him in his tracks.
God lit another cigarette and took a drag. He sat looking off in the distance. The silence grew long and uncomfortable. "I'll be honest with you Phil. I am the one true God. I created the whole of reality, but I am really bad at micro-management."
I felt my jaw drop and had to catch it.
"Accidents happen," the Almighty continued. "You humans were an accident. Ninety-nine percent of the planets have no life on them, and Earth wasn't suppose to be one of them. You guys were an accident. We just have to keep moving to see where it goes?"
"So my wife just died?" I fought back some tears. "Not only that but life also has no meaning?"
God reached out to put his hand on my shoulder. It was cold and heavy. "Sorry, but that is the way things happened. I would love to change it if I could. I'd love to put purpose in your life and tell you that your wife's death saved a million people around the world. I'd love to make human's part of my plans, but I set these things in motion a long time ago. It's too late for me to do anything."
"But you are all powerful? Why can't you do anything?"
He gave me a tired smile. "I am a creator, an artist. The universe is became more of bureaucracy the larger it got. That is why I made the angels. They are heaven's little tax consultants."
I got a picture of an Arch-angel that once swung a flaming sword, now pushed up behind a desk, wearing glass and working an adding machine. I laughed from the heart.
God's smile warmed up. "That's the spirit. Just try to be happy and create something of your own. It worked from me when I was depressed."
The halo faded from Jim.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Grammar is hard
Please give me any advance, I am new at creative writing. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | *whoosh* That's the only way I can describe it. A sudden rush of air, with a sound like the beating of huge wings. Then, while I blinked at the sound, there were two men in my apartment. Each was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, one wearing grey and white, the other black and white. The one in grey was taller, well-built, like a football player or warrior. The other, in black, was slighter and more lithe, with the thin build of a distance runner or gymnast. Each had eyes that shifted from pools of liquid gold to molten silver, endlessly shifting back and forth. The one in grey had close cropped, yet stylish dark hair, and his companion had longer hair, straight, down to to his shoulders, and pure white. I gasped and backed away with a start, getting off my knees and pushing against the nearest wall.
"Wh- who are you?! How did you get here?" I stuttered, trying to get the words out. I tried to sound tough, but it came out with a mousy squeak.
"Well, brother mine, I guess he wasn't expecting us..." The shorter of the two spoke first. He voice sounded like smooth jazz, with a lilt in odd syllables and a hypnotic musical quality.
"Indeed, it appears not. Strange really, considering we're here because he asked." The taller man's voice was a crash of waves upon a rock. Powerful, commanding, the kind of voice you couldn't ignore, even if you wanted to. he spoke again before I could respond.
"We're here because our father sent us here to answer you for him. You asked him a question, right?" His gaze burned into me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"You--you're father? I didn't ask anyone anything. Just, please, don't hurt me." Staring into those eyes, my false courage gave way and I settled for pleading.
"Yes, yes you did. You asked him what the meaning of life was. He's too busy to handle questions like that himself, but he sent us to answer for you." The tall man looked amused, with a slight smile on his too-handsome face.
"I... I didn't! I swear. The only time I ever asked that was when I was... praying..." Then it dawned me, smashing into my conscious like a wrecking ball. I prayed... Then these men showed up, in a rush of wings. They were talking about their Father. Wait, these were angels! God heard me! He answered my prayer.
"Ah, there it is. Now he understands you, brother mine. I suspect he now knows what we are, if not who." The shorter of the two seemed more serious than his brother, less flippant and frivolous.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that, mortal. I am Michael, and this is my brother Lucifer." Lucifer?! Like the Devil? I glanced fearfully at the smaller one, and then back to the liquid metal of the taller one, Michael, he said his name was.
"Haha!" He barked out a laugh. "Luci, that will never get old for me. They are all so afraid of you!" Lucifer looked more sullen now, bordering on upset. "Oh don't be so upset, brother. He couldn't possibly know." Lucifer seemed to calm a bit, looking less angry and more resigned. I tried to finally find my voice.
"Sorry, but isn't he the bad guy?" I was trying not to look at Lucifer, afraid he'd take my soul or something equally bad.
"You mortals, always so obsessed with him being the Fallen. That was your story, that you invented and believed. He has always been my brother, nothing more or less." Michael seemed to be losing his patience now, irate on behalf of his brother, it seemed.
"The task, brother mine. He didn't pray for a history lesson." Lucifer seemed to be the responsible one, keeping his brother on target.
"Ah, yes! The task! You asked our Father what the meaning of life was. He sent us to tell you! Would you like to know?" I desperately tried to nod yes, how could I say no? The fundamental human question!I was going to know the meaning of life!
"42." Michael's voice was completely deadpan, and I stared at him in shock for a moment. Like the book?! Seriously? "No no, I'm kidding. Sorry. Your Douglas was was so fascinating. He really is a wonderful storyteller for your universe."
I breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been an awful answer, one that I couldn't say I would accept, even if true. Wait, my universe? I kept my mouth shut and let him talk.
"No mortal, the answer is infinitely more complex than that, but also infinitely simpler. The answer is that your life is the first life of the entire universe. It's also the last life, and every life in between. This entire planet, and all the stars and galaxies around it, are a playground created for you. Endless entertainment, so that you may never tire of its wonders." His voice sounded so reverent, as if he was describing God Himself.
"Our Father created an infinite number of playgrounds, for his infinite children, you mortals, to play in. When you die, you are born again as someone else. This whole universe is just you, at different points in time and space, endless living the greatest adventure than anyone will ever have. The meaning of life, mortal, is to enjoy, until the end of time and all things, the paradise our Father built for you."
My breath caught, and I suddenly let out a massive exhalation, as my body finally caught up with the magnitude of what he was saying. All of this, was for me? Or did he just mean humanity as a whole.
"Is this universe just for me, or were you saying 'you', as in humanity?" It seemed wrong to question more after such a revelation, but I couldn't stop myself.
"It's all for you, Jacob Ralph Habegun. This whole universe was created for you to live and explore and enjoy. All of it. All things and people, are so that you may know his creation and never tire of it." Michael sounded a bit jealous now, as if I didn't deserve my universe. He was probably right though, I didn't deserve it...
"Michael..." Lucifer's tone was half warning, half sympathy, as if he understood Michael's jealousy, but cautioned him against it. "Come, brother mine. We have delivered Father's message. We're done here."
"Wait! Does that mean there is no Heaven? When I die, am I just reborn? If so, then what about religion? What about good and evil, heaven and hell?" I rushed the words, trying to get more answers before my guides left.
"You must figure that out for yourself. After all, you started the first religion, and heaven and hell were your ideas. No other universe has them, at least not like yours does. Find your own truth now, Jacob."
There was another rush of wind and when I blinked again, my apartment was empty. I had it though, everything humanity, by which I meant me, had always sought to attain. Everything that we ever searched for. The meaning of life. | “Oh god oh god", I thought, memories rushing through my head on the righteousness of my deeds done throughout the short and peculiar existence known as 'life' while my body flopped around, spewing bodily fluids like some sort of epileptic seagull.
But! Out of the embarrassment of such a pathetic, and unheroic death the mighty seagull ascends to the heavens!
Or so I thought, before my ever-so majestic soul crash-landed into a rather unsatisfactory dentists' waiting room of a building designated to recently non-living humans. Seriously. All the crudeness and shortcomings of human language become apparent in attempting to describe the sheer disappointment a mortal feels when first arriving. "Where's Saint Peter? My guardian angel? **Or my benevolent deity of choice, dammit?!** *I want answers!*"
"Oh god oh god oh god", I kept thinking with my heart racing.
…
“**DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID SOMEBODY SAY GOD? IIIIIIII THINK I CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT, SON!**”
I was met by what could be best described as "the result of an outrageous overweight African-American gospel preacher being somehow considered competent enough by whatever bureaucracy runs the damned business of processing the recently-deceased got put on the 'new arrivals board'."
"**OH FORGIVE ME FATHER FOR I-HAVE SI-IIIINED, PLEASE TELL ME SON, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!**"
“It’s…uh….Jeremy, sir. It’s Jeremy.”
“**WELL, JEREMY MY SON! YOU, HAVE DIED! AIN’T THAT SAD?**”
“I…I guess, I think.”
“**WEEEEELL, JEREMEY I THINK YOU’D DO WELL IN THE KIIIIIIIINGDOM OF OUR LORD SON!**”
“A-Alright, the-“
“**BUT JEREMY MY SON! I HAVE BUT ONE QUESTION TO ASK *YOU*!**”
“I…go for it.”
“**DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS YOU’D LIKE TO ASK OUR LORD AND FATHER BEFORE YOU PASS ON?**”
By this point I am rather certain my mental capabilities threw itself off a high-rise building. *”You have one chance to ask this question, to know something no living human knows, and you don’t know what to ask?*” my mind started chastising me like a sadistic primary school teacher.
“I…would like to know the meaning of life.”
“**WELL, SON! IT LOOKS LIKE *YOU* ASKED THE RIGHT QUESTION! HOLD UP, LET ME GET MY JC ON THE PHONE!**”
The charismatic grim reaper picked up a brick-sized phone reminiscent of the eighties with “JC- FOR IMPORTANT QUESTIONS ONLY. THAT INCLUDES *YOU*, ARISTIADES,” crudely drawn on in what appeared to be black marker. Saint Peter was on a union-regulated workers’ break, I guess.
“**YEAH! THIS GUY! MEANING OF LIFE! *I KNOW*, RIGHT!**”
His face lit up with a sense of immortal glee.
“**HE WANTS TO SPEAK TO YOU, DIRECTLY!**”
He held the phone to my ear.
I spoke quietly. Maybe too quietly. Maybe too much panic underlying my words. I don’t know, people do weird things when you are about to *literally talk to a servant of God himself*.
“H-hello? I would like to know the meaning of l-life please.”
There was only silence.
…
“***THAT QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED THIS SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE WWE SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPERSLAM!***”
Trumpets blew open my ear drums with sheer level of apocalyptic power described in Revelations 8:1. Their manly authority incinerated the inner workings of my auditory cavity. It was too much for my mortal self. I had perished in the immortal plain, and back to the mortal plain I was.
| |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | One second I was curled up in a fetal position, sobbing into the arm of my couch, cursing and yelling nonsense into the air - and the next I was sitting in a white room.
Well, it wasn't really a room because there wasn't a floor. Or walls. Or a ceiling. But I was sitting on something. And I felt closed in, somehow.
And there he was, walking towards me.
God.
I don't even know how I knew. It's not like I'm a religious person. But I still knew.
He stopped a few feet in front of me.
"Hey."
His voice was quiet but deep.
I was shivering and just stared up at him. There were still tears and snot streaming down my face.
"So um. I heard you...you know. A minute ago."
He crouched down and folded his hands and stared into my eyes.
"You were asking about the meaning of life?"
He waited.
I managed to nod my head and wipe my face with my sleeve.
"Well. I realize this isn't usual protocol..but..you know.." he shook his head slightly, "sometimes it gets hard seeing you all like this. Just asking these same questions, over and over. The meaning of it. Purposes. What happens when it's all over. You ask it so so often..." He trailed off.
I waited for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute.
"I get it. I get why there's so many questions. You have these things happen - like, death - I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I know you loved her very much."
I start crying again, silently.
He looked down and continued.
"But you have these things happen and you start asking all these questions. But you never ask them until the bad things happen. When everything is good, nobody asks - why are these good things happening? So the thing is...I don't really know how to put this, because I know you aren't capable of understanding this fully...but there just isn't. A purpose. Or meaning."
I stop crying and stare at him.
"What?" my voice shakes and squeaks.
"Well. It's complicated...but I was sort of bored one day and I decided to make you guys up. I didn't really think it through. I just wanted someone else around. You guys were cute little things. And then you started breeding and there were more - and those little ones are just adorable, you know? Ugh. I didn't realize you would all start becoming so self-aware. I just thought you'd eat and breed and play and it'd be fun. I just didn't expect all this. And now you guys are just getting out of control. All the fighting and you're ruining your home and asking me all these questions...."
He looked up at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
I was shaking hard now, my teeth chattering. My head was spinning.
"Oh no, now you're going into shock. See what I did now.."
He stood up and stepped towards me. He reached his hand out and I flinched, involuntarily.
He sighed and reached further and tousled my hair.
"Just try to be happy, okay? That's all I wanted for you. All of you. You're alive. You're living beings. You can love and make love and play and eat. Isn't that enough? I mean...does there really have to be more?"
He sighed again, a deep long sigh, and I was back on my couch. | “Oh god oh god", I thought, memories rushing through my head on the righteousness of my deeds done throughout the short and peculiar existence known as 'life' while my body flopped around, spewing bodily fluids like some sort of epileptic seagull.
But! Out of the embarrassment of such a pathetic, and unheroic death the mighty seagull ascends to the heavens!
Or so I thought, before my ever-so majestic soul crash-landed into a rather unsatisfactory dentists' waiting room of a building designated to recently non-living humans. Seriously. All the crudeness and shortcomings of human language become apparent in attempting to describe the sheer disappointment a mortal feels when first arriving. "Where's Saint Peter? My guardian angel? **Or my benevolent deity of choice, dammit?!** *I want answers!*"
"Oh god oh god oh god", I kept thinking with my heart racing.
…
“**DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID SOMEBODY SAY GOD? IIIIIIII THINK I CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT, SON!**”
I was met by what could be best described as "the result of an outrageous overweight African-American gospel preacher being somehow considered competent enough by whatever bureaucracy runs the damned business of processing the recently-deceased got put on the 'new arrivals board'."
"**OH FORGIVE ME FATHER FOR I-HAVE SI-IIIINED, PLEASE TELL ME SON, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!**"
“It’s…uh….Jeremy, sir. It’s Jeremy.”
“**WELL, JEREMY MY SON! YOU, HAVE DIED! AIN’T THAT SAD?**”
“I…I guess, I think.”
“**WEEEEELL, JEREMEY I THINK YOU’D DO WELL IN THE KIIIIIIIINGDOM OF OUR LORD SON!**”
“A-Alright, the-“
“**BUT JEREMY MY SON! I HAVE BUT ONE QUESTION TO ASK *YOU*!**”
“I…go for it.”
“**DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS YOU’D LIKE TO ASK OUR LORD AND FATHER BEFORE YOU PASS ON?**”
By this point I am rather certain my mental capabilities threw itself off a high-rise building. *”You have one chance to ask this question, to know something no living human knows, and you don’t know what to ask?*” my mind started chastising me like a sadistic primary school teacher.
“I…would like to know the meaning of life.”
“**WELL, SON! IT LOOKS LIKE *YOU* ASKED THE RIGHT QUESTION! HOLD UP, LET ME GET MY JC ON THE PHONE!**”
The charismatic grim reaper picked up a brick-sized phone reminiscent of the eighties with “JC- FOR IMPORTANT QUESTIONS ONLY. THAT INCLUDES *YOU*, ARISTIADES,” crudely drawn on in what appeared to be black marker. Saint Peter was on a union-regulated workers’ break, I guess.
“**YEAH! THIS GUY! MEANING OF LIFE! *I KNOW*, RIGHT!**”
His face lit up with a sense of immortal glee.
“**HE WANTS TO SPEAK TO YOU, DIRECTLY!**”
He held the phone to my ear.
I spoke quietly. Maybe too quietly. Maybe too much panic underlying my words. I don’t know, people do weird things when you are about to *literally talk to a servant of God himself*.
“H-hello? I would like to know the meaning of l-life please.”
There was only silence.
…
“***THAT QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED THIS SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE WWE SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPERSLAM!***”
Trumpets blew open my ear drums with sheer level of apocalyptic power described in Revelations 8:1. Their manly authority incinerated the inner workings of my auditory cavity. It was too much for my mortal self. I had perished in the immortal plain, and back to the mortal plain I was.
| |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | To be honest, when I found out I was going to meet God, I expected quite a bit more. I thought I would see some grand ancient figure, some shining paragon of power beyond mortal comprehension itself. And yet the man who sat before me was just that, an ordinary guy in a suit, unremarkable in every way.
"My sincerest apologies." he replied, simply seeing through me. "I'm afraid you humans have exaggerated quite a bit of my stories. And even with the amount of power I do have, I prefer to remain humble about it."
"I see. Anyways, you know everything, don't you?"
"In a way." he replied. "I mean, it's not that I keep it all up here or anything." He gestured to his head. "However, I need only look to discover everything there is to know about something, down to the most infinitesimal particle. And from that information, I can piece together its past and predict its future."
"You can see my future?"
"Of course, I know pretty much what would be in store for you if I disappeared right now and let you live out the rest of your life. But if I told you, then it might change, would it not?"
"I suppose. Anyways, the thing I've been meaning to ask you about... What's the meaning of life? Why were we placed here on Earth? What purpose do we have?"
"First of all... define life."
"Huh?"
"This is a big universe. I've got trillions and trillions of planets with differing natural phenomena. What do you mean by life?" He produced a small toy, a tiny chicken of plastic and metal. Winding up a key on its side, he gently set it down on the table, and it began to walk towards me. "This toy, for example. Is it alive?"
"...I'd say no." I replied, catching the toy before it could walk off the table. "I mean, its just a spring and some gears, right?"
"Perhaps you could consider it a creature that feeds off of the energy of me winding it. A very simple creature, yes, but it does things nonetheless."
"It doesn't reproduce on its own, though."
"Neither do you. You require a human of the opposite gender, and this chicken requires a factory."
"But the chicken and the factory aren't the same species. They don't even have genetic material."
"This chicken has an idea behind it, does it not?" God asked. "Its design. Its inner workings. The plans that this was made from. This universe is far larger than you know, and most races do not possess nucleic acids of any kind despite a few of them being even more advanced than you are. I doubt they'd take kindly to being called nonliving. Anyways..." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on. "I hear this is an example that you humans once pondered. This flame. Is it alive?" Wrinkling up a napkin, he lit a corner of it ablaze. "It is born. It eats. It breathes. It grows. It reproduces."
"Well, of course not."
"Before you explain your reasoning, I'd like to tell you the story about a small planet several light-years from here." God interrupted. "Its inhabitants are crystals, small crystals that are rather similar in structure to your own computers. They sense radio waves, analyze and store information with piezoelectric impulses, and reproduce by attracting dissolved minerals in their seas to grow clones. Relatively recently for them, they discovered calculus."
"...But still. None of these things check all the boxes. They don't meet all the criteria needed to be considered alive."
"Neither do you." he replied. "There are aliens out there who would consider you inanimate for not being powered by plutonium, for not being capable of unaided flight, for not sharing a single consciousness..."
"So I'm just like this chicken?" I stared at the wind-up toy in my hand.
"From a certain point of view, yes." God answered. "That's why I can't tell you the meaning of life. Because life isn't really a thing. That chicken is a machine. A system. It obeys one simple rule. When it is wound, it will walk forwards until it runs out of energy. You're more complex. You follow lots of rules." Without warning, he kicked me in the knee under the table, prompting my leg to reflexively shoot out. "That's one of them. When your knee is hit, your leg straightens. When the otherwise friendly person you're talking to suddenly hits you, you look at them like that. You're an extremely complicated system, but you're a system nonetheless. It's not much different from those computer programs you humans are so fond of. Things happen and cause other things. These systems appear all over the universe, from the scale of galaxies to sizes of a single Planck length. Many times, these systems can do extraordinary things, like trap light with immense gravity, fuse elements in vast and powerful forges, spew molten rock from the ground, or even hold a conversation with me. A sufficiently complex system could even create the universe." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "To conclude, life is nothing more than an arbitrary set of constraints that allow humans to specialize a bit when it comes to exploring the wonders of the universe. If there is a meaning to all this... it's that the present happens because the past happened, and the future will happen because the present is happening and the past already happened. You were put here because of past events, and your purpose is to cause future events. Everything is a product of what came before."
"So you're a system too?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I said yes and nodded just now because I heard a statement phrased in the form of a question that I knew to be correct. That is one of my many rules."
"Did someone create you, too?"
"Who can say?" he shrugged. "Perhaps I was created by an even more complex system. I don't know what goes on above my head." | “Oh god oh god", I thought, memories rushing through my head on the righteousness of my deeds done throughout the short and peculiar existence known as 'life' while my body flopped around, spewing bodily fluids like some sort of epileptic seagull.
But! Out of the embarrassment of such a pathetic, and unheroic death the mighty seagull ascends to the heavens!
Or so I thought, before my ever-so majestic soul crash-landed into a rather unsatisfactory dentists' waiting room of a building designated to recently non-living humans. Seriously. All the crudeness and shortcomings of human language become apparent in attempting to describe the sheer disappointment a mortal feels when first arriving. "Where's Saint Peter? My guardian angel? **Or my benevolent deity of choice, dammit?!** *I want answers!*"
"Oh god oh god oh god", I kept thinking with my heart racing.
…
“**DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID SOMEBODY SAY GOD? IIIIIIII THINK I CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT, SON!**”
I was met by what could be best described as "the result of an outrageous overweight African-American gospel preacher being somehow considered competent enough by whatever bureaucracy runs the damned business of processing the recently-deceased got put on the 'new arrivals board'."
"**OH FORGIVE ME FATHER FOR I-HAVE SI-IIIINED, PLEASE TELL ME SON, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!**"
“It’s…uh….Jeremy, sir. It’s Jeremy.”
“**WELL, JEREMY MY SON! YOU, HAVE DIED! AIN’T THAT SAD?**”
“I…I guess, I think.”
“**WEEEEELL, JEREMEY I THINK YOU’D DO WELL IN THE KIIIIIIIINGDOM OF OUR LORD SON!**”
“A-Alright, the-“
“**BUT JEREMY MY SON! I HAVE BUT ONE QUESTION TO ASK *YOU*!**”
“I…go for it.”
“**DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS YOU’D LIKE TO ASK OUR LORD AND FATHER BEFORE YOU PASS ON?**”
By this point I am rather certain my mental capabilities threw itself off a high-rise building. *”You have one chance to ask this question, to know something no living human knows, and you don’t know what to ask?*” my mind started chastising me like a sadistic primary school teacher.
“I…would like to know the meaning of life.”
“**WELL, SON! IT LOOKS LIKE *YOU* ASKED THE RIGHT QUESTION! HOLD UP, LET ME GET MY JC ON THE PHONE!**”
The charismatic grim reaper picked up a brick-sized phone reminiscent of the eighties with “JC- FOR IMPORTANT QUESTIONS ONLY. THAT INCLUDES *YOU*, ARISTIADES,” crudely drawn on in what appeared to be black marker. Saint Peter was on a union-regulated workers’ break, I guess.
“**YEAH! THIS GUY! MEANING OF LIFE! *I KNOW*, RIGHT!**”
His face lit up with a sense of immortal glee.
“**HE WANTS TO SPEAK TO YOU, DIRECTLY!**”
He held the phone to my ear.
I spoke quietly. Maybe too quietly. Maybe too much panic underlying my words. I don’t know, people do weird things when you are about to *literally talk to a servant of God himself*.
“H-hello? I would like to know the meaning of l-life please.”
There was only silence.
…
“***THAT QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED THIS SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE WWE SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPERSLAM!***”
Trumpets blew open my ear drums with sheer level of apocalyptic power described in Revelations 8:1. Their manly authority incinerated the inner workings of my auditory cavity. It was too much for my mortal self. I had perished in the immortal plain, and back to the mortal plain I was.
| |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | One second I was curled up in a fetal position, sobbing into the arm of my couch, cursing and yelling nonsense into the air - and the next I was sitting in a white room.
Well, it wasn't really a room because there wasn't a floor. Or walls. Or a ceiling. But I was sitting on something. And I felt closed in, somehow.
And there he was, walking towards me.
God.
I don't even know how I knew. It's not like I'm a religious person. But I still knew.
He stopped a few feet in front of me.
"Hey."
His voice was quiet but deep.
I was shivering and just stared up at him. There were still tears and snot streaming down my face.
"So um. I heard you...you know. A minute ago."
He crouched down and folded his hands and stared into my eyes.
"You were asking about the meaning of life?"
He waited.
I managed to nod my head and wipe my face with my sleeve.
"Well. I realize this isn't usual protocol..but..you know.." he shook his head slightly, "sometimes it gets hard seeing you all like this. Just asking these same questions, over and over. The meaning of it. Purposes. What happens when it's all over. You ask it so so often..." He trailed off.
I waited for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute.
"I get it. I get why there's so many questions. You have these things happen - like, death - I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I know you loved her very much."
I start crying again, silently.
He looked down and continued.
"But you have these things happen and you start asking all these questions. But you never ask them until the bad things happen. When everything is good, nobody asks - why are these good things happening? So the thing is...I don't really know how to put this, because I know you aren't capable of understanding this fully...but there just isn't. A purpose. Or meaning."
I stop crying and stare at him.
"What?" my voice shakes and squeaks.
"Well. It's complicated...but I was sort of bored one day and I decided to make you guys up. I didn't really think it through. I just wanted someone else around. You guys were cute little things. And then you started breeding and there were more - and those little ones are just adorable, you know? Ugh. I didn't realize you would all start becoming so self-aware. I just thought you'd eat and breed and play and it'd be fun. I just didn't expect all this. And now you guys are just getting out of control. All the fighting and you're ruining your home and asking me all these questions...."
He looked up at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
I was shaking hard now, my teeth chattering. My head was spinning.
"Oh no, now you're going into shock. See what I did now.."
He stood up and stepped towards me. He reached his hand out and I flinched, involuntarily.
He sighed and reached further and tousled my hair.
"Just try to be happy, okay? That's all I wanted for you. All of you. You're alive. You're living beings. You can love and make love and play and eat. Isn't that enough? I mean...does there really have to be more?"
He sighed again, a deep long sigh, and I was back on my couch. | *whoosh* That's the only way I can describe it. A sudden rush of air, with a sound like the beating of huge wings. Then, while I blinked at the sound, there were two men in my apartment. Each was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, one wearing grey and white, the other black and white. The one in grey was taller, well-built, like a football player or warrior. The other, in black, was slighter and more lithe, with the thin build of a distance runner or gymnast. Each had eyes that shifted from pools of liquid gold to molten silver, endlessly shifting back and forth. The one in grey had close cropped, yet stylish dark hair, and his companion had longer hair, straight, down to to his shoulders, and pure white. I gasped and backed away with a start, getting off my knees and pushing against the nearest wall.
"Wh- who are you?! How did you get here?" I stuttered, trying to get the words out. I tried to sound tough, but it came out with a mousy squeak.
"Well, brother mine, I guess he wasn't expecting us..." The shorter of the two spoke first. He voice sounded like smooth jazz, with a lilt in odd syllables and a hypnotic musical quality.
"Indeed, it appears not. Strange really, considering we're here because he asked." The taller man's voice was a crash of waves upon a rock. Powerful, commanding, the kind of voice you couldn't ignore, even if you wanted to. he spoke again before I could respond.
"We're here because our father sent us here to answer you for him. You asked him a question, right?" His gaze burned into me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"You--you're father? I didn't ask anyone anything. Just, please, don't hurt me." Staring into those eyes, my false courage gave way and I settled for pleading.
"Yes, yes you did. You asked him what the meaning of life was. He's too busy to handle questions like that himself, but he sent us to answer for you." The tall man looked amused, with a slight smile on his too-handsome face.
"I... I didn't! I swear. The only time I ever asked that was when I was... praying..." Then it dawned me, smashing into my conscious like a wrecking ball. I prayed... Then these men showed up, in a rush of wings. They were talking about their Father. Wait, these were angels! God heard me! He answered my prayer.
"Ah, there it is. Now he understands you, brother mine. I suspect he now knows what we are, if not who." The shorter of the two seemed more serious than his brother, less flippant and frivolous.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that, mortal. I am Michael, and this is my brother Lucifer." Lucifer?! Like the Devil? I glanced fearfully at the smaller one, and then back to the liquid metal of the taller one, Michael, he said his name was.
"Haha!" He barked out a laugh. "Luci, that will never get old for me. They are all so afraid of you!" Lucifer looked more sullen now, bordering on upset. "Oh don't be so upset, brother. He couldn't possibly know." Lucifer seemed to calm a bit, looking less angry and more resigned. I tried to finally find my voice.
"Sorry, but isn't he the bad guy?" I was trying not to look at Lucifer, afraid he'd take my soul or something equally bad.
"You mortals, always so obsessed with him being the Fallen. That was your story, that you invented and believed. He has always been my brother, nothing more or less." Michael seemed to be losing his patience now, irate on behalf of his brother, it seemed.
"The task, brother mine. He didn't pray for a history lesson." Lucifer seemed to be the responsible one, keeping his brother on target.
"Ah, yes! The task! You asked our Father what the meaning of life was. He sent us to tell you! Would you like to know?" I desperately tried to nod yes, how could I say no? The fundamental human question!I was going to know the meaning of life!
"42." Michael's voice was completely deadpan, and I stared at him in shock for a moment. Like the book?! Seriously? "No no, I'm kidding. Sorry. Your Douglas was was so fascinating. He really is a wonderful storyteller for your universe."
I breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been an awful answer, one that I couldn't say I would accept, even if true. Wait, my universe? I kept my mouth shut and let him talk.
"No mortal, the answer is infinitely more complex than that, but also infinitely simpler. The answer is that your life is the first life of the entire universe. It's also the last life, and every life in between. This entire planet, and all the stars and galaxies around it, are a playground created for you. Endless entertainment, so that you may never tire of its wonders." His voice sounded so reverent, as if he was describing God Himself.
"Our Father created an infinite number of playgrounds, for his infinite children, you mortals, to play in. When you die, you are born again as someone else. This whole universe is just you, at different points in time and space, endless living the greatest adventure than anyone will ever have. The meaning of life, mortal, is to enjoy, until the end of time and all things, the paradise our Father built for you."
My breath caught, and I suddenly let out a massive exhalation, as my body finally caught up with the magnitude of what he was saying. All of this, was for me? Or did he just mean humanity as a whole.
"Is this universe just for me, or were you saying 'you', as in humanity?" It seemed wrong to question more after such a revelation, but I couldn't stop myself.
"It's all for you, Jacob Ralph Habegun. This whole universe was created for you to live and explore and enjoy. All of it. All things and people, are so that you may know his creation and never tire of it." Michael sounded a bit jealous now, as if I didn't deserve my universe. He was probably right though, I didn't deserve it...
"Michael..." Lucifer's tone was half warning, half sympathy, as if he understood Michael's jealousy, but cautioned him against it. "Come, brother mine. We have delivered Father's message. We're done here."
"Wait! Does that mean there is no Heaven? When I die, am I just reborn? If so, then what about religion? What about good and evil, heaven and hell?" I rushed the words, trying to get more answers before my guides left.
"You must figure that out for yourself. After all, you started the first religion, and heaven and hell were your ideas. No other universe has them, at least not like yours does. Find your own truth now, Jacob."
There was another rush of wind and when I blinked again, my apartment was empty. I had it though, everything humanity, by which I meant me, had always sought to attain. Everything that we ever searched for. The meaning of life. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | To be honest, when I found out I was going to meet God, I expected quite a bit more. I thought I would see some grand ancient figure, some shining paragon of power beyond mortal comprehension itself. And yet the man who sat before me was just that, an ordinary guy in a suit, unremarkable in every way.
"My sincerest apologies." he replied, simply seeing through me. "I'm afraid you humans have exaggerated quite a bit of my stories. And even with the amount of power I do have, I prefer to remain humble about it."
"I see. Anyways, you know everything, don't you?"
"In a way." he replied. "I mean, it's not that I keep it all up here or anything." He gestured to his head. "However, I need only look to discover everything there is to know about something, down to the most infinitesimal particle. And from that information, I can piece together its past and predict its future."
"You can see my future?"
"Of course, I know pretty much what would be in store for you if I disappeared right now and let you live out the rest of your life. But if I told you, then it might change, would it not?"
"I suppose. Anyways, the thing I've been meaning to ask you about... What's the meaning of life? Why were we placed here on Earth? What purpose do we have?"
"First of all... define life."
"Huh?"
"This is a big universe. I've got trillions and trillions of planets with differing natural phenomena. What do you mean by life?" He produced a small toy, a tiny chicken of plastic and metal. Winding up a key on its side, he gently set it down on the table, and it began to walk towards me. "This toy, for example. Is it alive?"
"...I'd say no." I replied, catching the toy before it could walk off the table. "I mean, its just a spring and some gears, right?"
"Perhaps you could consider it a creature that feeds off of the energy of me winding it. A very simple creature, yes, but it does things nonetheless."
"It doesn't reproduce on its own, though."
"Neither do you. You require a human of the opposite gender, and this chicken requires a factory."
"But the chicken and the factory aren't the same species. They don't even have genetic material."
"This chicken has an idea behind it, does it not?" God asked. "Its design. Its inner workings. The plans that this was made from. This universe is far larger than you know, and most races do not possess nucleic acids of any kind despite a few of them being even more advanced than you are. I doubt they'd take kindly to being called nonliving. Anyways..." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on. "I hear this is an example that you humans once pondered. This flame. Is it alive?" Wrinkling up a napkin, he lit a corner of it ablaze. "It is born. It eats. It breathes. It grows. It reproduces."
"Well, of course not."
"Before you explain your reasoning, I'd like to tell you the story about a small planet several light-years from here." God interrupted. "Its inhabitants are crystals, small crystals that are rather similar in structure to your own computers. They sense radio waves, analyze and store information with piezoelectric impulses, and reproduce by attracting dissolved minerals in their seas to grow clones. Relatively recently for them, they discovered calculus."
"...But still. None of these things check all the boxes. They don't meet all the criteria needed to be considered alive."
"Neither do you." he replied. "There are aliens out there who would consider you inanimate for not being powered by plutonium, for not being capable of unaided flight, for not sharing a single consciousness..."
"So I'm just like this chicken?" I stared at the wind-up toy in my hand.
"From a certain point of view, yes." God answered. "That's why I can't tell you the meaning of life. Because life isn't really a thing. That chicken is a machine. A system. It obeys one simple rule. When it is wound, it will walk forwards until it runs out of energy. You're more complex. You follow lots of rules." Without warning, he kicked me in the knee under the table, prompting my leg to reflexively shoot out. "That's one of them. When your knee is hit, your leg straightens. When the otherwise friendly person you're talking to suddenly hits you, you look at them like that. You're an extremely complicated system, but you're a system nonetheless. It's not much different from those computer programs you humans are so fond of. Things happen and cause other things. These systems appear all over the universe, from the scale of galaxies to sizes of a single Planck length. Many times, these systems can do extraordinary things, like trap light with immense gravity, fuse elements in vast and powerful forges, spew molten rock from the ground, or even hold a conversation with me. A sufficiently complex system could even create the universe." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "To conclude, life is nothing more than an arbitrary set of constraints that allow humans to specialize a bit when it comes to exploring the wonders of the universe. If there is a meaning to all this... it's that the present happens because the past happened, and the future will happen because the present is happening and the past already happened. You were put here because of past events, and your purpose is to cause future events. Everything is a product of what came before."
"So you're a system too?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I said yes and nodded just now because I heard a statement phrased in the form of a question that I knew to be correct. That is one of my many rules."
"Did someone create you, too?"
"Who can say?" he shrugged. "Perhaps I was created by an even more complex system. I don't know what goes on above my head." | *whoosh* That's the only way I can describe it. A sudden rush of air, with a sound like the beating of huge wings. Then, while I blinked at the sound, there were two men in my apartment. Each was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, one wearing grey and white, the other black and white. The one in grey was taller, well-built, like a football player or warrior. The other, in black, was slighter and more lithe, with the thin build of a distance runner or gymnast. Each had eyes that shifted from pools of liquid gold to molten silver, endlessly shifting back and forth. The one in grey had close cropped, yet stylish dark hair, and his companion had longer hair, straight, down to to his shoulders, and pure white. I gasped and backed away with a start, getting off my knees and pushing against the nearest wall.
"Wh- who are you?! How did you get here?" I stuttered, trying to get the words out. I tried to sound tough, but it came out with a mousy squeak.
"Well, brother mine, I guess he wasn't expecting us..." The shorter of the two spoke first. He voice sounded like smooth jazz, with a lilt in odd syllables and a hypnotic musical quality.
"Indeed, it appears not. Strange really, considering we're here because he asked." The taller man's voice was a crash of waves upon a rock. Powerful, commanding, the kind of voice you couldn't ignore, even if you wanted to. he spoke again before I could respond.
"We're here because our father sent us here to answer you for him. You asked him a question, right?" His gaze burned into me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"You--you're father? I didn't ask anyone anything. Just, please, don't hurt me." Staring into those eyes, my false courage gave way and I settled for pleading.
"Yes, yes you did. You asked him what the meaning of life was. He's too busy to handle questions like that himself, but he sent us to answer for you." The tall man looked amused, with a slight smile on his too-handsome face.
"I... I didn't! I swear. The only time I ever asked that was when I was... praying..." Then it dawned me, smashing into my conscious like a wrecking ball. I prayed... Then these men showed up, in a rush of wings. They were talking about their Father. Wait, these were angels! God heard me! He answered my prayer.
"Ah, there it is. Now he understands you, brother mine. I suspect he now knows what we are, if not who." The shorter of the two seemed more serious than his brother, less flippant and frivolous.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that, mortal. I am Michael, and this is my brother Lucifer." Lucifer?! Like the Devil? I glanced fearfully at the smaller one, and then back to the liquid metal of the taller one, Michael, he said his name was.
"Haha!" He barked out a laugh. "Luci, that will never get old for me. They are all so afraid of you!" Lucifer looked more sullen now, bordering on upset. "Oh don't be so upset, brother. He couldn't possibly know." Lucifer seemed to calm a bit, looking less angry and more resigned. I tried to finally find my voice.
"Sorry, but isn't he the bad guy?" I was trying not to look at Lucifer, afraid he'd take my soul or something equally bad.
"You mortals, always so obsessed with him being the Fallen. That was your story, that you invented and believed. He has always been my brother, nothing more or less." Michael seemed to be losing his patience now, irate on behalf of his brother, it seemed.
"The task, brother mine. He didn't pray for a history lesson." Lucifer seemed to be the responsible one, keeping his brother on target.
"Ah, yes! The task! You asked our Father what the meaning of life was. He sent us to tell you! Would you like to know?" I desperately tried to nod yes, how could I say no? The fundamental human question!I was going to know the meaning of life!
"42." Michael's voice was completely deadpan, and I stared at him in shock for a moment. Like the book?! Seriously? "No no, I'm kidding. Sorry. Your Douglas was was so fascinating. He really is a wonderful storyteller for your universe."
I breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been an awful answer, one that I couldn't say I would accept, even if true. Wait, my universe? I kept my mouth shut and let him talk.
"No mortal, the answer is infinitely more complex than that, but also infinitely simpler. The answer is that your life is the first life of the entire universe. It's also the last life, and every life in between. This entire planet, and all the stars and galaxies around it, are a playground created for you. Endless entertainment, so that you may never tire of its wonders." His voice sounded so reverent, as if he was describing God Himself.
"Our Father created an infinite number of playgrounds, for his infinite children, you mortals, to play in. When you die, you are born again as someone else. This whole universe is just you, at different points in time and space, endless living the greatest adventure than anyone will ever have. The meaning of life, mortal, is to enjoy, until the end of time and all things, the paradise our Father built for you."
My breath caught, and I suddenly let out a massive exhalation, as my body finally caught up with the magnitude of what he was saying. All of this, was for me? Or did he just mean humanity as a whole.
"Is this universe just for me, or were you saying 'you', as in humanity?" It seemed wrong to question more after such a revelation, but I couldn't stop myself.
"It's all for you, Jacob Ralph Habegun. This whole universe was created for you to live and explore and enjoy. All of it. All things and people, are so that you may know his creation and never tire of it." Michael sounded a bit jealous now, as if I didn't deserve my universe. He was probably right though, I didn't deserve it...
"Michael..." Lucifer's tone was half warning, half sympathy, as if he understood Michael's jealousy, but cautioned him against it. "Come, brother mine. We have delivered Father's message. We're done here."
"Wait! Does that mean there is no Heaven? When I die, am I just reborn? If so, then what about religion? What about good and evil, heaven and hell?" I rushed the words, trying to get more answers before my guides left.
"You must figure that out for yourself. After all, you started the first religion, and heaven and hell were your ideas. No other universe has them, at least not like yours does. Find your own truth now, Jacob."
There was another rush of wind and when I blinked again, my apartment was empty. I had it though, everything humanity, by which I meant me, had always sought to attain. Everything that we ever searched for. The meaning of life. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | To be honest, when I found out I was going to meet God, I expected quite a bit more. I thought I would see some grand ancient figure, some shining paragon of power beyond mortal comprehension itself. And yet the man who sat before me was just that, an ordinary guy in a suit, unremarkable in every way.
"My sincerest apologies." he replied, simply seeing through me. "I'm afraid you humans have exaggerated quite a bit of my stories. And even with the amount of power I do have, I prefer to remain humble about it."
"I see. Anyways, you know everything, don't you?"
"In a way." he replied. "I mean, it's not that I keep it all up here or anything." He gestured to his head. "However, I need only look to discover everything there is to know about something, down to the most infinitesimal particle. And from that information, I can piece together its past and predict its future."
"You can see my future?"
"Of course, I know pretty much what would be in store for you if I disappeared right now and let you live out the rest of your life. But if I told you, then it might change, would it not?"
"I suppose. Anyways, the thing I've been meaning to ask you about... What's the meaning of life? Why were we placed here on Earth? What purpose do we have?"
"First of all... define life."
"Huh?"
"This is a big universe. I've got trillions and trillions of planets with differing natural phenomena. What do you mean by life?" He produced a small toy, a tiny chicken of plastic and metal. Winding up a key on its side, he gently set it down on the table, and it began to walk towards me. "This toy, for example. Is it alive?"
"...I'd say no." I replied, catching the toy before it could walk off the table. "I mean, its just a spring and some gears, right?"
"Perhaps you could consider it a creature that feeds off of the energy of me winding it. A very simple creature, yes, but it does things nonetheless."
"It doesn't reproduce on its own, though."
"Neither do you. You require a human of the opposite gender, and this chicken requires a factory."
"But the chicken and the factory aren't the same species. They don't even have genetic material."
"This chicken has an idea behind it, does it not?" God asked. "Its design. Its inner workings. The plans that this was made from. This universe is far larger than you know, and most races do not possess nucleic acids of any kind despite a few of them being even more advanced than you are. I doubt they'd take kindly to being called nonliving. Anyways..." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on. "I hear this is an example that you humans once pondered. This flame. Is it alive?" Wrinkling up a napkin, he lit a corner of it ablaze. "It is born. It eats. It breathes. It grows. It reproduces."
"Well, of course not."
"Before you explain your reasoning, I'd like to tell you the story about a small planet several light-years from here." God interrupted. "Its inhabitants are crystals, small crystals that are rather similar in structure to your own computers. They sense radio waves, analyze and store information with piezoelectric impulses, and reproduce by attracting dissolved minerals in their seas to grow clones. Relatively recently for them, they discovered calculus."
"...But still. None of these things check all the boxes. They don't meet all the criteria needed to be considered alive."
"Neither do you." he replied. "There are aliens out there who would consider you inanimate for not being powered by plutonium, for not being capable of unaided flight, for not sharing a single consciousness..."
"So I'm just like this chicken?" I stared at the wind-up toy in my hand.
"From a certain point of view, yes." God answered. "That's why I can't tell you the meaning of life. Because life isn't really a thing. That chicken is a machine. A system. It obeys one simple rule. When it is wound, it will walk forwards until it runs out of energy. You're more complex. You follow lots of rules." Without warning, he kicked me in the knee under the table, prompting my leg to reflexively shoot out. "That's one of them. When your knee is hit, your leg straightens. When the otherwise friendly person you're talking to suddenly hits you, you look at them like that. You're an extremely complicated system, but you're a system nonetheless. It's not much different from those computer programs you humans are so fond of. Things happen and cause other things. These systems appear all over the universe, from the scale of galaxies to sizes of a single Planck length. Many times, these systems can do extraordinary things, like trap light with immense gravity, fuse elements in vast and powerful forges, spew molten rock from the ground, or even hold a conversation with me. A sufficiently complex system could even create the universe." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "To conclude, life is nothing more than an arbitrary set of constraints that allow humans to specialize a bit when it comes to exploring the wonders of the universe. If there is a meaning to all this... it's that the present happens because the past happened, and the future will happen because the present is happening and the past already happened. You were put here because of past events, and your purpose is to cause future events. Everything is a product of what came before."
"So you're a system too?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I said yes and nodded just now because I heard a statement phrased in the form of a question that I knew to be correct. That is one of my many rules."
"Did someone create you, too?"
"Who can say?" he shrugged. "Perhaps I was created by an even more complex system. I don't know what goes on above my head." | "Dear heavenly Father, blessed be thy name," I'd started like every night before bed. Of course, I'd never get a straight answer beforehand, it always came as a cryptic message. "I'd like to-" My words were cut off by a clap of ear ringing thunder.
I had moved location. Where the hell was I? It was hot and red. Did I die and go to hell? "Hello?" I called out. "You were going to ask for the meaning of life, weren't you?" Came a snakey voice, echoing in my ears. I turned towards where I thought it'd came from. "Wrong way." The voice teased, and I did a complete 360. "Truth is, I'm everywhere." The voice barks out a villainous laughter.
"Where the hell am I?" I asked, rather distraught. "Oh, my dear boy, I believe your question answered itself." The voice rang through my head. I forced my feet to move themselves down the bridge I'd been on since arriving in this place. "So, the meaning of life?" The voice asks, and I could almost envision what I believed to be a serpents quizzical look.
"Can we move along with this?" I asked, beginning to get agitated after waiting what felt like an hour for a response from the voice. "I have an art project due in the morning, and I'd like to get back to it." The voice returned with a booming laugh. It almost startled the hair right off my head.
"The true meaning of life..." The voice echoed through my skull once more, and there seemed, now, to be multiple voices speaking at once. "Well, the true meaning of life is ***kill or be killed.***" The voices immediately cut off after that, no more echo.
The next day I failed my project. That was the last straw for the school. I was kicked out. All that money down the drain. And so started my campaign. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | When I sat down next to God, I don’t know what it was I expected. To be hugged into some epic aura of divine understanding and comfort, perhaps. To know what could not be known. To be, for just a moment, everything the human race never knew it was.
But it was really more just that uncomfortable silence brought on by staring at a stranger while sitting spitting distance on a bench. Me looking at him, him trying to get a squirrel to come nibble on the dregs of his smelly salami sandwich. Me repeating the number 42 over and over in my head, him swearing and swatting at a troop of fire ants that had migrated from the sidewalk up his left pant leg.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, I found myself mumbling at his expectedly wisened face, “So what’s the deal, man?”
“Pardon?” he turned, a vague hint of annoyance creasing in his bushy grey brows.
“Life, the universe, everything, dude. What’s the deal?” I was brave now. Brazened. Ready for the epiphany. The sum total of my life’s work coming down to this moment. Me, God, a squirrel, and the most disgusting sandwich made this side of 5th avenue.
“Ok, Douglas Adams,” he huffed, staring blankly at a tree across the path from us.
Well, I thought, at least he’s well read. I stared down into my palms.
He turned to me then, a strange instantaneous sort of motion that’s implied, though never actually seen. My eyes focusing hard into the lines of my pink, irritated skin, I could feel his attentions press deep and full into the side of my face. I did not dare meet his gaze.
“Because,” he said simply. The heat of his eyes moving back to the tree, then down, trying to recapture the squirrel he’d been so aggravatingly interested in moments before.
“Because what?” I said.
“Oh, you know,” I could hear the smile in his voice as he rose, “just… because.” | "Dear heavenly Father, blessed be thy name," I'd started like every night before bed. Of course, I'd never get a straight answer beforehand, it always came as a cryptic message. "I'd like to-" My words were cut off by a clap of ear ringing thunder.
I had moved location. Where the hell was I? It was hot and red. Did I die and go to hell? "Hello?" I called out. "You were going to ask for the meaning of life, weren't you?" Came a snakey voice, echoing in my ears. I turned towards where I thought it'd came from. "Wrong way." The voice teased, and I did a complete 360. "Truth is, I'm everywhere." The voice barks out a villainous laughter.
"Where the hell am I?" I asked, rather distraught. "Oh, my dear boy, I believe your question answered itself." The voice rang through my head. I forced my feet to move themselves down the bridge I'd been on since arriving in this place. "So, the meaning of life?" The voice asks, and I could almost envision what I believed to be a serpents quizzical look.
"Can we move along with this?" I asked, beginning to get agitated after waiting what felt like an hour for a response from the voice. "I have an art project due in the morning, and I'd like to get back to it." The voice returned with a booming laugh. It almost startled the hair right off my head.
"The true meaning of life..." The voice echoed through my skull once more, and there seemed, now, to be multiple voices speaking at once. "Well, the true meaning of life is ***kill or be killed.***" The voices immediately cut off after that, no more echo.
The next day I failed my project. That was the last straw for the school. I was kicked out. All that money down the drain. And so started my campaign. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | A bright, blinding light. The sounds of mountains splitting, oceans boiling, livestock in a frenzy of panic. A lowly mountain range shepherd was the least likely of candidates to hear the Archangel Metatron, and yet there he was, getting a full blast of heavenly energy that knocked him clean off his feet.
"What...what are you?!" He finally managed to spit out through frightened lips.
"I am Metatron. The voice of God. You have been chosen." The sky boomed. The mountains themselves quaked with the reverb of its voice.
"Chosen for what?" The shepherd squeaked.
"To recieve the answer to any question you may have of God. Your future, the fate of your species, whatever your heart desires"
"I...I wish to know the meaning of life?" The shepherd answered uncertainly.
"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ," the voice boomed "Of all the questions you could ask your eternal creator you go with the biggest cliche of them all. Boss, what do you want me to say to this cretin?" The sky pulsed, lightning flashed, thunder threatened to blast the shepherd's eardrums to smithereens. "All right, if you say so. YOU!"
"M-m-me?" a slow trickle of urine escaped him.
"Since you have asked, you shall be told the truth. Are you prepared?"
"Y-Y-Yes!" He felt honored. Special. No human being has ever recieved a direct answer to the all pervasive question of purpose in the universe.
"All right..." There was a gust of wind as the world itself seemed to sigh. "There is no purpose to your existence. In fact, you were one of the last species created in the universe. One of the least intelligent, least resilient ones. You were created from the leftovers of great, noble species like the Tilaxeiu and Baranath. Everything you are is a product of chance and a slow, meandering evolution on your boondocks planet in your less than average galaxy. Every other species on this planet, besides your own, has mastered their purpose in life. God has granted even the smallest ant the same opportunity as you have been given today, and do you know what that measly creature wished to know?" There was a stillness.
"..what?" The shepherd softly asked
"where to send the thank you card." The sky pulsed, light escaping cloud cover for a moment, then retreating. "Your species is the only one on this planet arrogant enough to believe there was a purpose in your creation. You were made because God is a stingy cunt who doesn't like to waste material. You should bow down and pray there isn't a recall of the product, like your Noah experienced. Instead, you ask what your purpose is. Well, here it is: You have none. Whatever you wish to do, do. Whatever you wish to make, make. You have been given freedom unlike any other of God's creatures, which you squander. All other beings in this universe have purpose, are slaves to it. They are incapable of profound change.
"But you! You are free. You can create your own purpose only because God truly does not care about you. You were given an advantage most species could only dream of. And in your freedom, you beg for chains. Make your own purpose; you are but a krill in the vast ocean of existence, use your status however you'd like."
The silence was intense after such a heralding of bad news.
"Satisfied?" The sky asked.
"...yes." The shepherd whispered.
"Good. Now that you've wasted the ultimate opportunity of mankind, good day." As the sky returned to normal, the livestock settling in the aftermath of the unearthly stress they had experienced, the shepherd was left alone with his thoughts.
And he smiled. | "Dear heavenly Father, blessed be thy name," I'd started like every night before bed. Of course, I'd never get a straight answer beforehand, it always came as a cryptic message. "I'd like to-" My words were cut off by a clap of ear ringing thunder.
I had moved location. Where the hell was I? It was hot and red. Did I die and go to hell? "Hello?" I called out. "You were going to ask for the meaning of life, weren't you?" Came a snakey voice, echoing in my ears. I turned towards where I thought it'd came from. "Wrong way." The voice teased, and I did a complete 360. "Truth is, I'm everywhere." The voice barks out a villainous laughter.
"Where the hell am I?" I asked, rather distraught. "Oh, my dear boy, I believe your question answered itself." The voice rang through my head. I forced my feet to move themselves down the bridge I'd been on since arriving in this place. "So, the meaning of life?" The voice asks, and I could almost envision what I believed to be a serpents quizzical look.
"Can we move along with this?" I asked, beginning to get agitated after waiting what felt like an hour for a response from the voice. "I have an art project due in the morning, and I'd like to get back to it." The voice returned with a booming laugh. It almost startled the hair right off my head.
"The true meaning of life..." The voice echoed through my skull once more, and there seemed, now, to be multiple voices speaking at once. "Well, the true meaning of life is ***kill or be killed.***" The voices immediately cut off after that, no more echo.
The next day I failed my project. That was the last straw for the school. I was kicked out. All that money down the drain. And so started my campaign. | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | To be honest, when I found out I was going to meet God, I expected quite a bit more. I thought I would see some grand ancient figure, some shining paragon of power beyond mortal comprehension itself. And yet the man who sat before me was just that, an ordinary guy in a suit, unremarkable in every way.
"My sincerest apologies." he replied, simply seeing through me. "I'm afraid you humans have exaggerated quite a bit of my stories. And even with the amount of power I do have, I prefer to remain humble about it."
"I see. Anyways, you know everything, don't you?"
"In a way." he replied. "I mean, it's not that I keep it all up here or anything." He gestured to his head. "However, I need only look to discover everything there is to know about something, down to the most infinitesimal particle. And from that information, I can piece together its past and predict its future."
"You can see my future?"
"Of course, I know pretty much what would be in store for you if I disappeared right now and let you live out the rest of your life. But if I told you, then it might change, would it not?"
"I suppose. Anyways, the thing I've been meaning to ask you about... What's the meaning of life? Why were we placed here on Earth? What purpose do we have?"
"First of all... define life."
"Huh?"
"This is a big universe. I've got trillions and trillions of planets with differing natural phenomena. What do you mean by life?" He produced a small toy, a tiny chicken of plastic and metal. Winding up a key on its side, he gently set it down on the table, and it began to walk towards me. "This toy, for example. Is it alive?"
"...I'd say no." I replied, catching the toy before it could walk off the table. "I mean, its just a spring and some gears, right?"
"Perhaps you could consider it a creature that feeds off of the energy of me winding it. A very simple creature, yes, but it does things nonetheless."
"It doesn't reproduce on its own, though."
"Neither do you. You require a human of the opposite gender, and this chicken requires a factory."
"But the chicken and the factory aren't the same species. They don't even have genetic material."
"This chicken has an idea behind it, does it not?" God asked. "Its design. Its inner workings. The plans that this was made from. This universe is far larger than you know, and most races do not possess nucleic acids of any kind despite a few of them being even more advanced than you are. I doubt they'd take kindly to being called nonliving. Anyways..." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on. "I hear this is an example that you humans once pondered. This flame. Is it alive?" Wrinkling up a napkin, he lit a corner of it ablaze. "It is born. It eats. It breathes. It grows. It reproduces."
"Well, of course not."
"Before you explain your reasoning, I'd like to tell you the story about a small planet several light-years from here." God interrupted. "Its inhabitants are crystals, small crystals that are rather similar in structure to your own computers. They sense radio waves, analyze and store information with piezoelectric impulses, and reproduce by attracting dissolved minerals in their seas to grow clones. Relatively recently for them, they discovered calculus."
"...But still. None of these things check all the boxes. They don't meet all the criteria needed to be considered alive."
"Neither do you." he replied. "There are aliens out there who would consider you inanimate for not being powered by plutonium, for not being capable of unaided flight, for not sharing a single consciousness..."
"So I'm just like this chicken?" I stared at the wind-up toy in my hand.
"From a certain point of view, yes." God answered. "That's why I can't tell you the meaning of life. Because life isn't really a thing. That chicken is a machine. A system. It obeys one simple rule. When it is wound, it will walk forwards until it runs out of energy. You're more complex. You follow lots of rules." Without warning, he kicked me in the knee under the table, prompting my leg to reflexively shoot out. "That's one of them. When your knee is hit, your leg straightens. When the otherwise friendly person you're talking to suddenly hits you, you look at them like that. You're an extremely complicated system, but you're a system nonetheless. It's not much different from those computer programs you humans are so fond of. Things happen and cause other things. These systems appear all over the universe, from the scale of galaxies to sizes of a single Planck length. Many times, these systems can do extraordinary things, like trap light with immense gravity, fuse elements in vast and powerful forges, spew molten rock from the ground, or even hold a conversation with me. A sufficiently complex system could even create the universe." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "To conclude, life is nothing more than an arbitrary set of constraints that allow humans to specialize a bit when it comes to exploring the wonders of the universe. If there is a meaning to all this... it's that the present happens because the past happened, and the future will happen because the present is happening and the past already happened. You were put here because of past events, and your purpose is to cause future events. Everything is a product of what came before."
"So you're a system too?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I said yes and nodded just now because I heard a statement phrased in the form of a question that I knew to be correct. That is one of my many rules."
"Did someone create you, too?"
"Who can say?" he shrugged. "Perhaps I was created by an even more complex system. I don't know what goes on above my head." | A man suffers a heart attack and meets god. God in his great BOOMING VOICE tells the man, "ASK ME ANY QUESTION AND I SHALL GIVE YOU THE ANSWER." the man tough about it for a minute and asked, "what is the meaning to life my lord?" God stares at him beaming. "AHA THIS QUESTION AGAIN. EVERY TIME. HOW ABOUT WHO IS GOING TO WIN THE NEXT SUPER BOWL? HINT NOT THE CHARGERS HAHAHA." The man becomes uneasy as he never believed in god but he had read the bible and knows what the man is cable of. "Umm sir, can we get back to the question.." God looks back dissatisfied with the reaction or lack there of. "THE PUPPY AND KITTEN BOWL." "Umm what sir? Did you just say the Puppy and Kitten Bowl? Like the thing after the superbowl but with animals?" "YES! I LOVE THAT SHOW" "but how is that the meaning of life when it only started up 12 years ago." WATCHING CUTE ANIMALS COMPETE FOR A GOOD CAUSE IS THE MEANING OF LIFE. WHY DO YOU THINK MY NAME IS SPELLED DOG BACKWARDS!" "But, what about your book? The virgin marry that gave birth to your son? Jesus and all of his miracles?! What about the holy bible?!" "AHH YES THE BOOK. WELL MARY WAS A WHORE. YOU REALLY THINK I GOT HER PREGNANT? SERIOUSLY. THE WISE MEN ONLY CAME BECAUSE THEY ALL THOUGHT THEY WERE THE FATHER'S. JESUS IS MY SON LIKE YOU ARE ALL MY SONS AND DAUGHTERS. I'M REALLY DISAPPOINTED THE PUPPY BOWL ISN'T A BIGGER DEAL DOWN THERE. LIKE SERIOUSLY. WAR, FAMINE, DOGS NOT BEING CUDDLED. AND NOW YOU GUYS ARE BEING DIVIDED BY RACE AND SEX. BUT YOU FAIL TO REALIZE THE ONE THING THAT BRINGS YOU ALL TOGETHER. THE ME-DAMNED PUPPY BOWL! DOGS HAVE NO BIAS. THEY LOVE WITHOUT CONDITION. I HAVE GIVIN YOU THE ULTIMATE COMPANION AND AN EVENT TO BRING EVERYONE TOGETHER. THE PUPPY BOWL IS THE MEANING OF LIFE CHILD!" the man was knocked off his feet. Unable to comprehend this. "And what of the devil? What is his role in all of this?" "THAT BASTARD RUNS FOX NEWS TO DISTRACT YOU BRAINLESS APES FROM THE TRUTH." | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | When I sat down next to God, I don’t know what it was I expected. To be hugged into some epic aura of divine understanding and comfort, perhaps. To know what could not be known. To be, for just a moment, everything the human race never knew it was.
But it was really more just that uncomfortable silence brought on by staring at a stranger while sitting spitting distance on a bench. Me looking at him, him trying to get a squirrel to come nibble on the dregs of his smelly salami sandwich. Me repeating the number 42 over and over in my head, him swearing and swatting at a troop of fire ants that had migrated from the sidewalk up his left pant leg.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, I found myself mumbling at his expectedly wisened face, “So what’s the deal, man?”
“Pardon?” he turned, a vague hint of annoyance creasing in his bushy grey brows.
“Life, the universe, everything, dude. What’s the deal?” I was brave now. Brazened. Ready for the epiphany. The sum total of my life’s work coming down to this moment. Me, God, a squirrel, and the most disgusting sandwich made this side of 5th avenue.
“Ok, Douglas Adams,” he huffed, staring blankly at a tree across the path from us.
Well, I thought, at least he’s well read. I stared down into my palms.
He turned to me then, a strange instantaneous sort of motion that’s implied, though never actually seen. My eyes focusing hard into the lines of my pink, irritated skin, I could feel his attentions press deep and full into the side of my face. I did not dare meet his gaze.
“Because,” he said simply. The heat of his eyes moving back to the tree, then down, trying to recapture the squirrel he’d been so aggravatingly interested in moments before.
“Because what?” I said.
“Oh, you know,” I could hear the smile in his voice as he rose, “just… because.” | A man suffers a heart attack and meets god. God in his great BOOMING VOICE tells the man, "ASK ME ANY QUESTION AND I SHALL GIVE YOU THE ANSWER." the man tough about it for a minute and asked, "what is the meaning to life my lord?" God stares at him beaming. "AHA THIS QUESTION AGAIN. EVERY TIME. HOW ABOUT WHO IS GOING TO WIN THE NEXT SUPER BOWL? HINT NOT THE CHARGERS HAHAHA." The man becomes uneasy as he never believed in god but he had read the bible and knows what the man is cable of. "Umm sir, can we get back to the question.." God looks back dissatisfied with the reaction or lack there of. "THE PUPPY AND KITTEN BOWL." "Umm what sir? Did you just say the Puppy and Kitten Bowl? Like the thing after the superbowl but with animals?" "YES! I LOVE THAT SHOW" "but how is that the meaning of life when it only started up 12 years ago." WATCHING CUTE ANIMALS COMPETE FOR A GOOD CAUSE IS THE MEANING OF LIFE. WHY DO YOU THINK MY NAME IS SPELLED DOG BACKWARDS!" "But, what about your book? The virgin marry that gave birth to your son? Jesus and all of his miracles?! What about the holy bible?!" "AHH YES THE BOOK. WELL MARY WAS A WHORE. YOU REALLY THINK I GOT HER PREGNANT? SERIOUSLY. THE WISE MEN ONLY CAME BECAUSE THEY ALL THOUGHT THEY WERE THE FATHER'S. JESUS IS MY SON LIKE YOU ARE ALL MY SONS AND DAUGHTERS. I'M REALLY DISAPPOINTED THE PUPPY BOWL ISN'T A BIGGER DEAL DOWN THERE. LIKE SERIOUSLY. WAR, FAMINE, DOGS NOT BEING CUDDLED. AND NOW YOU GUYS ARE BEING DIVIDED BY RACE AND SEX. BUT YOU FAIL TO REALIZE THE ONE THING THAT BRINGS YOU ALL TOGETHER. THE ME-DAMNED PUPPY BOWL! DOGS HAVE NO BIAS. THEY LOVE WITHOUT CONDITION. I HAVE GIVIN YOU THE ULTIMATE COMPANION AND AN EVENT TO BRING EVERYONE TOGETHER. THE PUPPY BOWL IS THE MEANING OF LIFE CHILD!" the man was knocked off his feet. Unable to comprehend this. "And what of the devil? What is his role in all of this?" "THAT BASTARD RUNS FOX NEWS TO DISTRACT YOU BRAINLESS APES FROM THE TRUTH." | |
[WP] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer | A bright, blinding light. The sounds of mountains splitting, oceans boiling, livestock in a frenzy of panic. A lowly mountain range shepherd was the least likely of candidates to hear the Archangel Metatron, and yet there he was, getting a full blast of heavenly energy that knocked him clean off his feet.
"What...what are you?!" He finally managed to spit out through frightened lips.
"I am Metatron. The voice of God. You have been chosen." The sky boomed. The mountains themselves quaked with the reverb of its voice.
"Chosen for what?" The shepherd squeaked.
"To recieve the answer to any question you may have of God. Your future, the fate of your species, whatever your heart desires"
"I...I wish to know the meaning of life?" The shepherd answered uncertainly.
"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ," the voice boomed "Of all the questions you could ask your eternal creator you go with the biggest cliche of them all. Boss, what do you want me to say to this cretin?" The sky pulsed, lightning flashed, thunder threatened to blast the shepherd's eardrums to smithereens. "All right, if you say so. YOU!"
"M-m-me?" a slow trickle of urine escaped him.
"Since you have asked, you shall be told the truth. Are you prepared?"
"Y-Y-Yes!" He felt honored. Special. No human being has ever recieved a direct answer to the all pervasive question of purpose in the universe.
"All right..." There was a gust of wind as the world itself seemed to sigh. "There is no purpose to your existence. In fact, you were one of the last species created in the universe. One of the least intelligent, least resilient ones. You were created from the leftovers of great, noble species like the Tilaxeiu and Baranath. Everything you are is a product of chance and a slow, meandering evolution on your boondocks planet in your less than average galaxy. Every other species on this planet, besides your own, has mastered their purpose in life. God has granted even the smallest ant the same opportunity as you have been given today, and do you know what that measly creature wished to know?" There was a stillness.
"..what?" The shepherd softly asked
"where to send the thank you card." The sky pulsed, light escaping cloud cover for a moment, then retreating. "Your species is the only one on this planet arrogant enough to believe there was a purpose in your creation. You were made because God is a stingy cunt who doesn't like to waste material. You should bow down and pray there isn't a recall of the product, like your Noah experienced. Instead, you ask what your purpose is. Well, here it is: You have none. Whatever you wish to do, do. Whatever you wish to make, make. You have been given freedom unlike any other of God's creatures, which you squander. All other beings in this universe have purpose, are slaves to it. They are incapable of profound change.
"But you! You are free. You can create your own purpose only because God truly does not care about you. You were given an advantage most species could only dream of. And in your freedom, you beg for chains. Make your own purpose; you are but a krill in the vast ocean of existence, use your status however you'd like."
The silence was intense after such a heralding of bad news.
"Satisfied?" The sky asked.
"...yes." The shepherd whispered.
"Good. Now that you've wasted the ultimate opportunity of mankind, good day." As the sky returned to normal, the livestock settling in the aftermath of the unearthly stress they had experienced, the shepherd was left alone with his thoughts.
And he smiled. | A man suffers a heart attack and meets god. God in his great BOOMING VOICE tells the man, "ASK ME ANY QUESTION AND I SHALL GIVE YOU THE ANSWER." the man tough about it for a minute and asked, "what is the meaning to life my lord?" God stares at him beaming. "AHA THIS QUESTION AGAIN. EVERY TIME. HOW ABOUT WHO IS GOING TO WIN THE NEXT SUPER BOWL? HINT NOT THE CHARGERS HAHAHA." The man becomes uneasy as he never believed in god but he had read the bible and knows what the man is cable of. "Umm sir, can we get back to the question.." God looks back dissatisfied with the reaction or lack there of. "THE PUPPY AND KITTEN BOWL." "Umm what sir? Did you just say the Puppy and Kitten Bowl? Like the thing after the superbowl but with animals?" "YES! I LOVE THAT SHOW" "but how is that the meaning of life when it only started up 12 years ago." WATCHING CUTE ANIMALS COMPETE FOR A GOOD CAUSE IS THE MEANING OF LIFE. WHY DO YOU THINK MY NAME IS SPELLED DOG BACKWARDS!" "But, what about your book? The virgin marry that gave birth to your son? Jesus and all of his miracles?! What about the holy bible?!" "AHH YES THE BOOK. WELL MARY WAS A WHORE. YOU REALLY THINK I GOT HER PREGNANT? SERIOUSLY. THE WISE MEN ONLY CAME BECAUSE THEY ALL THOUGHT THEY WERE THE FATHER'S. JESUS IS MY SON LIKE YOU ARE ALL MY SONS AND DAUGHTERS. I'M REALLY DISAPPOINTED THE PUPPY BOWL ISN'T A BIGGER DEAL DOWN THERE. LIKE SERIOUSLY. WAR, FAMINE, DOGS NOT BEING CUDDLED. AND NOW YOU GUYS ARE BEING DIVIDED BY RACE AND SEX. BUT YOU FAIL TO REALIZE THE ONE THING THAT BRINGS YOU ALL TOGETHER. THE ME-DAMNED PUPPY BOWL! DOGS HAVE NO BIAS. THEY LOVE WITHOUT CONDITION. I HAVE GIVIN YOU THE ULTIMATE COMPANION AND AN EVENT TO BRING EVERYONE TOGETHER. THE PUPPY BOWL IS THE MEANING OF LIFE CHILD!" the man was knocked off his feet. Unable to comprehend this. "And what of the devil? What is his role in all of this?" "THAT BASTARD RUNS FOX NEWS TO DISTRACT YOU BRAINLESS APES FROM THE TRUTH." | |
[WP] Tell me a bedtime story with a happy ending. | Once upon a time, there was a young eel, deep in the coral reef. He lived a happy life and never thought of anything but feasting on the tasty fish and shrimp that lived in the bottom of the ocean with him, swimming and feeling the push of the tide as it drew him in and out, and sleeping in his comfortable hidey-hole. It was a comfortable life, and he was content.
Until one day, as he was swimming about, a wise old shark swam by. "Little eel," said the shark. "Are you not lonely? Do you not often wish for companionship?"
The little eel thought about it. "No, sir," he said. "I am quite content swimming around and eating delicious shrimp and living in my hidey-hole."
"Suit yourself," said the old shark. But as he swam away, he added, "Might as well forget I asked."
Now, if that shark had said something like, "Mark my words," or if the shark had emphasized the importance of it, then the young eel would have done just that. But since the shark had made nothing of it and, in fact, had told the eel to forget it, quite naturally the eel could think of nothing else for days. And because he could think of nothing else, he became very unhappy with his life indeed. He became bitter about his shrimp and fish dinners and uncomfortable with his hidey-hole. And when he went out to swim with the tide, surrounded by the population of the reef, it only made him feel lonelier.
"Oh stuff all these things!" he said. "I was never unhappy about it, but now I am unhappy without a companion! I must find one." And so the young eel swam off in search of a companion.
Within minutes, he found another eel. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "Would you like to be my companion?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I have a companion already, and all these little fry to take care of! But thank you for the offer." And he swam away, disappointed, but he did not expect to be so lucky on the first try.
He came up to another eel a couple of hours later. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "I would like a companion."
"You would, would you?" said she. "Well, good luck with your search."
"Would you like to be my companion?" he asked.
"I am not interested in a companion at this time." And he swam away, quite perturbed.
A couple of days later, he came upon another eel. "My dearest Miss eel," he said to her. "Isn't it a lovely day for companionship? Would you like to join me?"
"No," she said.
"Why not?" asked he.
"Because," she said, "In all honesty, you seem a bit too eager for companionship to me. And I wonder, what is it you are looking for that you haven't found?"
"I am looking for a companion," he said. "I was happy in my hole, eating shrimp and fish and swimming with the tide, but then I realized that I did not have a companion, and that I must have a companion to be happy."
"But my dear Mister eel," she replied. "If you are not satisfied without a companion, what makes you think you will find something with one? Companionship is as much about giving as it is about taking. Are you ready to give? I can tell you are not. You are thinking only of what you want. Now do go, I have had a busy day of swimming and need my rest."
And the young eel was more frustrated than ever, and darted back to his hidey-hole, bitter and upset.
He had been there a week, pouting and grouchy, before the shark swam by again. "What's this?" he asked the little eel. "What happened to my happy young eel? I think I have not seen an eel so miserable as this in all my years! Do you no longer enjoy your shrimp and fish and your swimming with the tide and your coze hidey-hole?"
"No!" the young eel nearly shouted. "I do not have a companion to share this with me! And I must have one to be happy," he said.
"Oh, dear," said the shark. "You do now? You didn't before."
"Well, yes," said the eel. "I was quite content before. But then the idea of having a companion -- well it seemed so nice! Someone I can snuggle with in my cozy hidey-hole. I can catch a big fish or shrimp and split it with her! We can swim in the ocean together."
"Those sound quite nice. But they seem quite nice even without a companion, no?"
"Well, yes, but now that I think of how it might feel to do them with someone..."
"Perhaps that is the case. Perhaps there is no more enjoyment to be had in these things," said the shark, and he swam away.
Now if that shark had pointed out to the eel that the things he had enjoyed were still just as fun as they had been before, the eel never would have thought another thing of it. But because the shark said there was no more enjoyment to be had, the young eel began to think.
"You know, I do still like my hidey-hole. It is a very nice hidey-hole by itself. And I enjoy swimming in the water just as much as I always did. And the little fish I ate yesterday was particularly good. I would enjoy them just as much as I did before if I don't have a companion. Why would I miss the joy without them?"
And so the little eel stopped worrying about having a companion, and began to enjoy his life once again. He still had that longing in his heart, but he was no longer a miserable young eel. He was happy again.
One month later, the water was warming up as Spring began to arrive, and he was just the happiest little eel swimming about, when someone came up to him.
"Pardon me," she said. "I couldn't help but notice how much you were enjoying the water here."
"Dance with me!" said the little eel. "It's fun, but it's even more fun if we do it together!" And she did. And the two eels spun and coiled and danced, and all the fish and life around the reef were amazed at the beauty of their dance.
Just then, the eel spotted a large tiger shrimp! "Over there!" he said to the other eel. "Those taste wonderful, but they are too large for one little eel to eat. Would you like to split one with me?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replied.
"You don't have to if you don't want to. Here, I'll catch some for myself, and you may try it if you like." And he shot forward and snapped and bit the tiger shrimp clean in two. He nudged the tastiest part, the head, to the female eel, and she ate it. Together, they ate the delicious shrimp.
"You know," she said, "I've had them before, but for some reason, like this, it tastes better!"
"Yes," the little eel yawned, "I think... I think you're right!" And the little eel was very tired.
"I must retire to my cozy hidey-hole. It is truly a nice hidey-hole. Great for sleep. I am tired."
"Oh, I do love a good hidey-hole," she said.
"Would you... would you like to share mine with me?"
"I do believe I would!"
And so the young eel snuggled up in his hidey-hole with his new *companion,* and they went to sleep.
**DAD JOKE ENDING**
The wise old shark watched all this from afar, while an even older lobster ambled up to him.
"You knew that the little eel would finally find love all along?" the lobster.
"Of course," said the shark. "That's a moray." | So this girl orders a pizza in the middle of the day and somehow the place delivers. Guy get to her place with her pizza, and it's a ridiculous size pizza for one person, and wouldn't you know it, she has no money. Not sure who orders a pizza with no money, but the pizza guy doesn't seem too upset by this. She invites him in, despite the fact that he probably has more deliveries, and to your surprise he comes in. Her house is amazing which is ironic cause she has no money in the whole place. The pizza guy is like "What should we do about this pizza?" and the girl, who by the way isn't dressed appropriately to have company over says "I really want that pizza and I'll do anything!" The pizza guy is a little taken back by this and thinks to himself "I can really take advantage of this opportunity." He sits down on the couch, holding the pizza box awkwardly, and begins to open it. The girls eyes open widely and she says "Is that....sausage?" The pizza man replies "Didn't you order a extra large sausage?" Her parents then come home and luckily have money so they pay for the pizza and tip the guy well for his time. The end. | |
[WP] Tell me a bedtime story with a happy ending. | Once upon a time, there was a young eel, deep in the coral reef. He lived a happy life and never thought of anything but feasting on the tasty fish and shrimp that lived in the bottom of the ocean with him, swimming and feeling the push of the tide as it drew him in and out, and sleeping in his comfortable hidey-hole. It was a comfortable life, and he was content.
Until one day, as he was swimming about, a wise old shark swam by. "Little eel," said the shark. "Are you not lonely? Do you not often wish for companionship?"
The little eel thought about it. "No, sir," he said. "I am quite content swimming around and eating delicious shrimp and living in my hidey-hole."
"Suit yourself," said the old shark. But as he swam away, he added, "Might as well forget I asked."
Now, if that shark had said something like, "Mark my words," or if the shark had emphasized the importance of it, then the young eel would have done just that. But since the shark had made nothing of it and, in fact, had told the eel to forget it, quite naturally the eel could think of nothing else for days. And because he could think of nothing else, he became very unhappy with his life indeed. He became bitter about his shrimp and fish dinners and uncomfortable with his hidey-hole. And when he went out to swim with the tide, surrounded by the population of the reef, it only made him feel lonelier.
"Oh stuff all these things!" he said. "I was never unhappy about it, but now I am unhappy without a companion! I must find one." And so the young eel swam off in search of a companion.
Within minutes, he found another eel. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "Would you like to be my companion?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I have a companion already, and all these little fry to take care of! But thank you for the offer." And he swam away, disappointed, but he did not expect to be so lucky on the first try.
He came up to another eel a couple of hours later. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "I would like a companion."
"You would, would you?" said she. "Well, good luck with your search."
"Would you like to be my companion?" he asked.
"I am not interested in a companion at this time." And he swam away, quite perturbed.
A couple of days later, he came upon another eel. "My dearest Miss eel," he said to her. "Isn't it a lovely day for companionship? Would you like to join me?"
"No," she said.
"Why not?" asked he.
"Because," she said, "In all honesty, you seem a bit too eager for companionship to me. And I wonder, what is it you are looking for that you haven't found?"
"I am looking for a companion," he said. "I was happy in my hole, eating shrimp and fish and swimming with the tide, but then I realized that I did not have a companion, and that I must have a companion to be happy."
"But my dear Mister eel," she replied. "If you are not satisfied without a companion, what makes you think you will find something with one? Companionship is as much about giving as it is about taking. Are you ready to give? I can tell you are not. You are thinking only of what you want. Now do go, I have had a busy day of swimming and need my rest."
And the young eel was more frustrated than ever, and darted back to his hidey-hole, bitter and upset.
He had been there a week, pouting and grouchy, before the shark swam by again. "What's this?" he asked the little eel. "What happened to my happy young eel? I think I have not seen an eel so miserable as this in all my years! Do you no longer enjoy your shrimp and fish and your swimming with the tide and your coze hidey-hole?"
"No!" the young eel nearly shouted. "I do not have a companion to share this with me! And I must have one to be happy," he said.
"Oh, dear," said the shark. "You do now? You didn't before."
"Well, yes," said the eel. "I was quite content before. But then the idea of having a companion -- well it seemed so nice! Someone I can snuggle with in my cozy hidey-hole. I can catch a big fish or shrimp and split it with her! We can swim in the ocean together."
"Those sound quite nice. But they seem quite nice even without a companion, no?"
"Well, yes, but now that I think of how it might feel to do them with someone..."
"Perhaps that is the case. Perhaps there is no more enjoyment to be had in these things," said the shark, and he swam away.
Now if that shark had pointed out to the eel that the things he had enjoyed were still just as fun as they had been before, the eel never would have thought another thing of it. But because the shark said there was no more enjoyment to be had, the young eel began to think.
"You know, I do still like my hidey-hole. It is a very nice hidey-hole by itself. And I enjoy swimming in the water just as much as I always did. And the little fish I ate yesterday was particularly good. I would enjoy them just as much as I did before if I don't have a companion. Why would I miss the joy without them?"
And so the little eel stopped worrying about having a companion, and began to enjoy his life once again. He still had that longing in his heart, but he was no longer a miserable young eel. He was happy again.
One month later, the water was warming up as Spring began to arrive, and he was just the happiest little eel swimming about, when someone came up to him.
"Pardon me," she said. "I couldn't help but notice how much you were enjoying the water here."
"Dance with me!" said the little eel. "It's fun, but it's even more fun if we do it together!" And she did. And the two eels spun and coiled and danced, and all the fish and life around the reef were amazed at the beauty of their dance.
Just then, the eel spotted a large tiger shrimp! "Over there!" he said to the other eel. "Those taste wonderful, but they are too large for one little eel to eat. Would you like to split one with me?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replied.
"You don't have to if you don't want to. Here, I'll catch some for myself, and you may try it if you like." And he shot forward and snapped and bit the tiger shrimp clean in two. He nudged the tastiest part, the head, to the female eel, and she ate it. Together, they ate the delicious shrimp.
"You know," she said, "I've had them before, but for some reason, like this, it tastes better!"
"Yes," the little eel yawned, "I think... I think you're right!" And the little eel was very tired.
"I must retire to my cozy hidey-hole. It is truly a nice hidey-hole. Great for sleep. I am tired."
"Oh, I do love a good hidey-hole," she said.
"Would you... would you like to share mine with me?"
"I do believe I would!"
And so the young eel snuggled up in his hidey-hole with his new *companion,* and they went to sleep.
**DAD JOKE ENDING**
The wise old shark watched all this from afar, while an even older lobster ambled up to him.
"You knew that the little eel would finally find love all along?" the lobster.
"Of course," said the shark. "That's a moray." | Once upon a time there was a successful hit man named Wak M. Alle. Mr. Alle got involved in the business of termination at a young age-he used a garret on his first target at twenty-two. Since then he'd traveled all over the world-Rome, Istanbul, Tehran, Hong Kong-building his reputation as a silent killer, a shadow in the corner, a virtual boogeyman for those important enough to warrant a bounty. He was hired by CEO's and head's of state, and agencies too secretive for him to know their name.
Sometimes the missions required him to dress up as a hotel staff. Sometimes they required him to be a sophisticated socialite. Sometimes he had to dress in filth and wait in a back alley. And others he had to lay on a gravel roof for hours while the sun beat his brow.
Sometimes he used a gun, sometimes a knife, sometimes he had to strangle them with his bare hands. Whatever the job required, he delivered. He left no unhappy clients. He never left unpaid.
And it was another such night that he lay on a rooftop, staring through the scope of a sniper rifle across at a neighboring skyscraper. Mr. Alle's static attention sharpened as one of the skylines' apartments lit up. The scopes' magnification allowed Mr. Alle to see his targets' profile clearly. His target crossed the living area wearily and flicked on the lights in his bedroom. Wearily, he sighed and began to set is briefcase, keys, and wallet in their proper space.
Mr. Alle flicked the safety off. His finger crept closer to the trigger.
Then suddenly, another figure ran in. A small figure.
The targets' daughter wasn't supposed to be here. Wasn't expected. The girl jumped into his arms, and hugged him tight. Mr. Alle could see even from here the smile that came to the tired man's face. The little girl showed him a piece of paper-a drawing. It made him laugh, and he hugged her again.
Mr. Alle watched all this impassively. Then, his finger slowly withdrew from the trigger. He lay there a few moments longer, watching his target and the daughter move out of sight. Then he stood, packed up the rifle. And slowly, he walked away. It didn't matter who wanted him dead, or what he'd done to deserve the bounty. It had stopped mattering to Wak M. Alle a long time ago.
The end
***
Sleep well :) | |
[WP] Tell me a bedtime story with a happy ending. | Once upon a time, there was a young eel, deep in the coral reef. He lived a happy life and never thought of anything but feasting on the tasty fish and shrimp that lived in the bottom of the ocean with him, swimming and feeling the push of the tide as it drew him in and out, and sleeping in his comfortable hidey-hole. It was a comfortable life, and he was content.
Until one day, as he was swimming about, a wise old shark swam by. "Little eel," said the shark. "Are you not lonely? Do you not often wish for companionship?"
The little eel thought about it. "No, sir," he said. "I am quite content swimming around and eating delicious shrimp and living in my hidey-hole."
"Suit yourself," said the old shark. But as he swam away, he added, "Might as well forget I asked."
Now, if that shark had said something like, "Mark my words," or if the shark had emphasized the importance of it, then the young eel would have done just that. But since the shark had made nothing of it and, in fact, had told the eel to forget it, quite naturally the eel could think of nothing else for days. And because he could think of nothing else, he became very unhappy with his life indeed. He became bitter about his shrimp and fish dinners and uncomfortable with his hidey-hole. And when he went out to swim with the tide, surrounded by the population of the reef, it only made him feel lonelier.
"Oh stuff all these things!" he said. "I was never unhappy about it, but now I am unhappy without a companion! I must find one." And so the young eel swam off in search of a companion.
Within minutes, he found another eel. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "Would you like to be my companion?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I have a companion already, and all these little fry to take care of! But thank you for the offer." And he swam away, disappointed, but he did not expect to be so lucky on the first try.
He came up to another eel a couple of hours later. "Hello, Miss eel," he said to her. "I would like a companion."
"You would, would you?" said she. "Well, good luck with your search."
"Would you like to be my companion?" he asked.
"I am not interested in a companion at this time." And he swam away, quite perturbed.
A couple of days later, he came upon another eel. "My dearest Miss eel," he said to her. "Isn't it a lovely day for companionship? Would you like to join me?"
"No," she said.
"Why not?" asked he.
"Because," she said, "In all honesty, you seem a bit too eager for companionship to me. And I wonder, what is it you are looking for that you haven't found?"
"I am looking for a companion," he said. "I was happy in my hole, eating shrimp and fish and swimming with the tide, but then I realized that I did not have a companion, and that I must have a companion to be happy."
"But my dear Mister eel," she replied. "If you are not satisfied without a companion, what makes you think you will find something with one? Companionship is as much about giving as it is about taking. Are you ready to give? I can tell you are not. You are thinking only of what you want. Now do go, I have had a busy day of swimming and need my rest."
And the young eel was more frustrated than ever, and darted back to his hidey-hole, bitter and upset.
He had been there a week, pouting and grouchy, before the shark swam by again. "What's this?" he asked the little eel. "What happened to my happy young eel? I think I have not seen an eel so miserable as this in all my years! Do you no longer enjoy your shrimp and fish and your swimming with the tide and your coze hidey-hole?"
"No!" the young eel nearly shouted. "I do not have a companion to share this with me! And I must have one to be happy," he said.
"Oh, dear," said the shark. "You do now? You didn't before."
"Well, yes," said the eel. "I was quite content before. But then the idea of having a companion -- well it seemed so nice! Someone I can snuggle with in my cozy hidey-hole. I can catch a big fish or shrimp and split it with her! We can swim in the ocean together."
"Those sound quite nice. But they seem quite nice even without a companion, no?"
"Well, yes, but now that I think of how it might feel to do them with someone..."
"Perhaps that is the case. Perhaps there is no more enjoyment to be had in these things," said the shark, and he swam away.
Now if that shark had pointed out to the eel that the things he had enjoyed were still just as fun as they had been before, the eel never would have thought another thing of it. But because the shark said there was no more enjoyment to be had, the young eel began to think.
"You know, I do still like my hidey-hole. It is a very nice hidey-hole by itself. And I enjoy swimming in the water just as much as I always did. And the little fish I ate yesterday was particularly good. I would enjoy them just as much as I did before if I don't have a companion. Why would I miss the joy without them?"
And so the little eel stopped worrying about having a companion, and began to enjoy his life once again. He still had that longing in his heart, but he was no longer a miserable young eel. He was happy again.
One month later, the water was warming up as Spring began to arrive, and he was just the happiest little eel swimming about, when someone came up to him.
"Pardon me," she said. "I couldn't help but notice how much you were enjoying the water here."
"Dance with me!" said the little eel. "It's fun, but it's even more fun if we do it together!" And she did. And the two eels spun and coiled and danced, and all the fish and life around the reef were amazed at the beauty of their dance.
Just then, the eel spotted a large tiger shrimp! "Over there!" he said to the other eel. "Those taste wonderful, but they are too large for one little eel to eat. Would you like to split one with me?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replied.
"You don't have to if you don't want to. Here, I'll catch some for myself, and you may try it if you like." And he shot forward and snapped and bit the tiger shrimp clean in two. He nudged the tastiest part, the head, to the female eel, and she ate it. Together, they ate the delicious shrimp.
"You know," she said, "I've had them before, but for some reason, like this, it tastes better!"
"Yes," the little eel yawned, "I think... I think you're right!" And the little eel was very tired.
"I must retire to my cozy hidey-hole. It is truly a nice hidey-hole. Great for sleep. I am tired."
"Oh, I do love a good hidey-hole," she said.
"Would you... would you like to share mine with me?"
"I do believe I would!"
And so the young eel snuggled up in his hidey-hole with his new *companion,* and they went to sleep.
**DAD JOKE ENDING**
The wise old shark watched all this from afar, while an even older lobster ambled up to him.
"You knew that the little eel would finally find love all along?" the lobster.
"Of course," said the shark. "That's a moray." | Once upon a time;
There was a Prince named Lance. He became friends with a peasant kid named Samus. They grew up together, even when they became teenagers they both were the best of friends. One day, Lance was called upon by the King who wanted him to fetch something upon the highest mountain. Lance wanted Samus to come; but the King demanded he had to go alone and leave Samus behind. "It's for the best of the kingdom" His father said. "It's time you learn how to be King yourself."
So Lance did what he was told, he wanted to please his father. He began ascending the mountain, fighting the cold winds, harsh landscapes and grueling exertion. However, Lance found himself alone, scared and unhappy. Upon further thinking he descended back down and called Samus to join him on his journey. Together they climbed the mountain and found the sword the King had requested.
When they returned to the kingdom the King was most unhappy. "Why did you bring Samus with you? This is against my wishes!" Lance started to become scared but stood up to his father and told him "I wanted my friend by my side!". The King smiled; "And now you know how to be king. I am proud of you Lance."
Lance and Samus remained friends ever since and still are great friends.
The End. | |
[WP] No matter how hard people try they can never write stories or sing songs about your heroic deeds. You are the unsung hero. | Once there was a hero named... well, you know, I don't remember that he had a name. Let's just call him Fred. So Frank, I mean, Fred--Fred goes off to the Twinkling Forest... or was it the Winkling Forest? That can't be right. In any case, I don't think it was a forest after all. I think it was a mountain. The Finkling Mountain? Yeah, something like that.
So Fron goes off to this canyon, see. He's got sword--might have been a dagger--I don't know. Some sort of weapon. He's off to kill the Twining Terror... Twinning Terror. A terrible beast. It's back up in the hills, you see. Somewhere. Hiding.
He struggles through the swamp, ol' Fons does, lost as all get out, until he meets this old person--probably a witch--old people are usually witches in stories. We'll say she's a witch. Or he--I'm not pre-jucial. So he--or she--they. This witch says--she says--turn left. Or bring me water. Or--um--I'm hungry. Or something.
Doesn't matter. Fritz gets his directions. He forges on through this really shallow lake thing that he's in. He finds the Fearsome Fanger and he runs at him with his axe waving wildly. But the monster hits him with it's long claws and the mace goes flying. Fuh is all flailing on the ground, but just in time he--
He... you know what...? I plum forgot what he did next. Goshdern it!
I give up.
Stupid Fern. | It happened again today. The men spilled from the boat, battle-lust in their hearts, my name upon their lips and the sigil of our gods in shining metal on their shields. The fishing village was quiet, and a single elder walked out to meet us.
"I'm sorry," he said, "who are you folks?" The worst part is always the politeness. If they're not going to cower before us, they could at least try screaming defiance. It makes you feel a bit of a twerp, really.
The previous week I hired someone to handle this for me, and I was feeling optimistic.
"Behold," said Urik, "the warriors of the far North / O blood-drenched axe and crushing mace / Whose gnashing wail--"
"Ah!" exclaimed the old man. "You must be Ylrod the Axe's people. Sorry about that, took me a minute."
"Well, no," said Urik, surprised at the interruption. He'd get used to it eventually. "Anyways. O blood-drenched axe and crushing--"
"Hmm, are you sure?" he asked. "Bard last month came around the pub with all kinds of songs about that Ylrod fellow. 'Blood-drenched axe' was in there quite a lot. 'Ylrod the Axe,' you see. Can't knock his branding, and all the songs about his heroic deeds are popular with the kids these days. Frankly we were looking forward to getting pillaged by Ylrod."
"No," said Urik. "We're definitely not with Ylrod. Can we get back to the epic poem, now?"
"Fair enough," said the old man.
"Alright. Ahem. 'O blood-drenched axe and crushing mace / Whose gnashing wail 'gainst skull of mewling child--'"
"Aha!" The old man looked pleased. "I knew I'd get it. You're Bear the Indomitable's lot! Goodness, when we had that bard in to sing songs of your mighty doings none of us could stop humming along for days after. Well, I'm certain you'd like to get started, so--"
"Not Bear the Indomitable either. 'Whose gnashing wail 'gainst skull of mewling child--"
"I'm almost certain that bit about the skulls of mewling children is in Bear the Indomitable's tune. You might like to rethink your hiring strategy in terms of bards."
I left Urik to try and sort things out with the elder while I went back to the ship and helped the lads get the fire arrows going. It always ends up like this. Put in ten good years of pillaging, kill all the mighty warriors you like, and all the bards have to say is that it's too tricky to find a rhyme for "Halldor the Orange." | |
[WP] No matter how hard people try they can never write stories or sing songs about your heroic deeds. You are the unsung hero. | Once there was a hero named... well, you know, I don't remember that he had a name. Let's just call him Fred. So Frank, I mean, Fred--Fred goes off to the Twinkling Forest... or was it the Winkling Forest? That can't be right. In any case, I don't think it was a forest after all. I think it was a mountain. The Finkling Mountain? Yeah, something like that.
So Fron goes off to this canyon, see. He's got sword--might have been a dagger--I don't know. Some sort of weapon. He's off to kill the Twining Terror... Twinning Terror. A terrible beast. It's back up in the hills, you see. Somewhere. Hiding.
He struggles through the swamp, ol' Fons does, lost as all get out, until he meets this old person--probably a witch--old people are usually witches in stories. We'll say she's a witch. Or he--I'm not pre-jucial. So he--or she--they. This witch says--she says--turn left. Or bring me water. Or--um--I'm hungry. Or something.
Doesn't matter. Fritz gets his directions. He forges on through this really shallow lake thing that he's in. He finds the Fearsome Fanger and he runs at him with his axe waving wildly. But the monster hits him with it's long claws and the mace goes flying. Fuh is all flailing on the ground, but just in time he--
He... you know what...? I plum forgot what he did next. Goshdern it!
I give up.
Stupid Fern. | If I write about my deeds, I become a sung hero, losing the one trait that makes me special. I could tell of my tales of triumph, of the teetering tribulations that attest to my glory... But that makes me just another legend. What's special about another Ajax, another Achilles...?
What I revel is not whatever I'm spoken of doing, but what hasn't been. I am become death, destroyer of worlds. My name may one day be whispered, spoken only in hushed tones for fear of provoking my unholy wrath. May my legend be passed in this manner. Not preached in a textbook, included in some droning text, elaborating upon what I have contributed to the progression of mankind. I am the antithesis of plague, wrapped in the shadow of anonymity. The few who may know my existence will know it through the cold, passionless edge that spills their entrails. This is how I will become known. I am the shadow lurking in the night, the feeling that something is watching you, and finally, the unmerciful end as Death beckons. | |
[WP] No matter how hard people try they can never write stories or sing songs about your heroic deeds. You are the unsung hero. | The Dragon Slayer comes to our village tonight!
Beasts and monsters all hi-i-ide in fright!
The True Hero and his cape so orange!
Is coming to...
You know what? Forget it. | If I write about my deeds, I become a sung hero, losing the one trait that makes me special. I could tell of my tales of triumph, of the teetering tribulations that attest to my glory... But that makes me just another legend. What's special about another Ajax, another Achilles...?
What I revel is not whatever I'm spoken of doing, but what hasn't been. I am become death, destroyer of worlds. My name may one day be whispered, spoken only in hushed tones for fear of provoking my unholy wrath. May my legend be passed in this manner. Not preached in a textbook, included in some droning text, elaborating upon what I have contributed to the progression of mankind. I am the antithesis of plague, wrapped in the shadow of anonymity. The few who may know my existence will know it through the cold, passionless edge that spills their entrails. This is how I will become known. I am the shadow lurking in the night, the feeling that something is watching you, and finally, the unmerciful end as Death beckons. | |
Assuming he can't resign until everyone hates him because he doesn't want to look like an ass.
He's trying to make bad decisions that won't straight up ruin everything like nuking the east coast or declaring nationwide martial law, but bad enough people want him out of office.
---
He bans soda? New study shows it causes cancer.
New plan that has serious flaws? The debt is gone in a year and the quality of life skyrockets.
Openly insults the people? Seen as a "man of bold words."
Supports a terrorist group? Turns out they were actually the good guys. | [WP] A President is elected, but immediately realizes he made a huge mistake. He goes off making the worst possible decisions for the country to try and get people to hate him so he can resign. Unfortunately, everything goes horribly right. | It is the year 8200, humanity has eradicated all of it's faults, diseases are cured in an instant, peace reigns across the galaxy, and death is but a faint memory. All thanks to one man, President Marks. Thanks to his leadership, humanity has entered a golden age, and with it, total control over the entire Milky Way. Now, four-thousand years after being elected, an event scholars now refer to as "The greatest moment is history", he is being honored by the galaxy for his contributions to the species.
The ceremony begins in hushed tones, as the presenter walks to the podium, a hush falls over the galaxy. The woman, black, with glowing blue eyes, wearing a holographic dress that simulates bright red fabric, gently lowers her datapad onto the podium, the nanobots that make up the podium reshape it for easier reading.
"People of the universe. We are here today, to celebrate the eternal life of humanities greatest mind. The man who's ended war by attacking everybody, thus showing the world how pointless conflict is. The man who ordered us to dedicate all of our resourced to the study soda pop, allowing us to discover the enzymes which grant us immortality. The man who revolutionized space travel by standardizing the idea that Light Years were for time not distance. The man who conquered time it's self by discovering "Ence" the hidden number and making it a standard part of curriculum. The man who saved us from Dalakis: Lord of Moon's by firing the planet's nuclear arsenal at Luna, which was revealed to be his mobile warmachine." The woman smiles, the stage shifts to become much grander. "Ladies, Gentlemen, on Earth and beyond. I present to you; PRESIDENT JOHN MARKS!" She steps away, the smile growing larger. The crowd erupts into a roar of applause, it's deafening, or it would be, if technology had not made ears impervious to sound damage. Out walked the man of the hour, President John Marks, leader of the Human Galactic Republic since 4032. Marks had taken the age treatments like everyone else, but he still looked old. Not because he was aged, but because he was tired. He had run for office on a drunken dare, he had never expected to actually win, let alone hold the fate of the entire galaxy in his hands, but here he was, being handed yet another award for his efforts. He didn't understand it, every decision he made he did with the hope it would get him impeached and release him from what he soon discovered was the worst job in the universe. Each order had been more insane then the last, less feasible, more dangerous... but it backfired spectacularly. Every decision was praised, each one raised humanity higher and higher until now they where practically Gods. His reign was known as an eternal Golden Age, and all basked in it's glory.... except for the man who had brought it about. He was broken, he simply couldn't take it anymore, so as the crowd cheered his name, he pulled out a pistol, likely the last of it's kind following the Universal Disarmament Act, and pressed it against his head, he closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.
Marks slowly opened his eyes, the world was blurry, for a minute he thought he had finally done it, he had finally escaped, but he was wrong. he was alive, as the dull pain at the side of his head proved. He leaned back and smiled, perhaps now the galaxy's God like view of him would cease, perhaps he would finally know peace... his vision fully returned to him, and he could see the television clearly....
*"Surgery to save President Marks' results in the discovery of hidden Psionic potential, telekinesis available to all in four months. interdimensional travel also possible."*
.....Damn. | *DAMN! Damn damn damn damn shoot all ta hell!!!!!*
*What was I thinking? I can’t be the leader of the free world. My brain should NOT contain the nuclear launch codes. I just wanted to make dad proud but this went way tooo far. Haven’t slept with Laura in 6 months! Jeb won’t speak to me! Dammit bush what you got yourself in to. You can’t do this for the next 4 years!*
G.W. felt his hear race as he stared out on to the white house lawn. The fine leather chair he assumed would be the most comfortable seat in America was in fact making his lower back hurt. He had already nodded politely through four meetings this morning and it wasn’t even 9:30. All the while Cheney had been sitting in the corner of the room. Grunting in approval or disapproval; G.W wasn’t sure which was which.
*I mean god damn man! I’ve been president for all of 14 hours and I ain’t even been in the oval office alone.*
**Hey Dick do ya think ya can you give me the room please? Just for a few minutes?**
G.W watched as his long time mentor waddled out of the room mumbling in his nasally style, “ mah. Remember you have that meeting with that British poof Blair in 20 minutes. Don’t be late. mah mah”
*Oh man I don’t want to go to that. I’m president for god sake I can do whatever I want! can’t I?*
It was as if G.W had realized the magnitude of his predicament for the first time. He pulled the drapes closed. With a sigh he sat down at his desk; admired the beauty of the room that so few great men had been privileged to work in. Pulled down his pants, and began to masturbate furiously.
The secret service agents outside the door exchanged smirks from behind black aviators. They were security detail left over from the Clinton administration. The sound of presidential wanking was all too familiar to their veteran ears.
|
Assuming he can't resign until everyone hates him because he doesn't want to look like an ass.
He's trying to make bad decisions that won't straight up ruin everything like nuking the east coast or declaring nationwide martial law, but bad enough people want him out of office.
---
He bans soda? New study shows it causes cancer.
New plan that has serious flaws? The debt is gone in a year and the quality of life skyrockets.
Openly insults the people? Seen as a "man of bold words."
Supports a terrorist group? Turns out they were actually the good guys. | [WP] A President is elected, but immediately realizes he made a huge mistake. He goes off making the worst possible decisions for the country to try and get people to hate him so he can resign. Unfortunately, everything goes horribly right. | "...Mr. President?" the man in glasses said.
*Fuck.* he thought, staring at the desk where so many great men sat before him. *The first fucking day?* He flicked the handle of his desk childishly, watching the brass fall back into position.
"Mr. President..." The man in glasses was getting impatient.
"I'm the fucking President of the United States of America for God's sake! Can't you let me just think for a goddamned second?" His well coiffed hair trembled with his indignant response.
"With all due respect, sir..."
The Man at the desk slammed his hands on the finely glossed mahogany before him, standing. "DON'T YOU FUCKING SAY IT. IT'S BEEN TWELVE FUCKING HOURS! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS KIND OF PRESSURE!"
"...it's your wife on the phone," the man in glasses continued, "she's on line 2."
"Oh," the Man said, plopping back into his chair. "Is that the red phone?"
"No, sir. We don't use the red phone for that." the man in glasses said, closing the door quietly behind him.
The Man was left to his thoughts, the red light blinking from an otherwise inconspicuous office phone.
*What have I done? I can't do this.* His anxiety was palpable.
"Hello?" He said. A pause silenced the room again before his response. "I really don't give a shit about dinner right now. Do you know all the things I have to do?" Another pause. "That's fucking right, you don't...well, I can tell you it surely is a lot." He slammed the phone, leaving it cocked on the receiver.
Truthfully, the Man had nothing to do. Well, maybe He did, but He wasn't sure. What does one do on his first day as President? On his way into the Oval Office, he'd stopped at the Rose Garden, took a brief tour of the West Wing, and broke what he was sure was a very priceless vase on a side table in some hallway. He just put it back onto the table. His door opened after a brief knock. The fucking man in glasses.
"Sir?"
"What is it?" He said, twirling in his chair.
"The meeting at 3:00 has been pushed back to 3:15." the man in glasses said from the middle of the doorway.
"Well too fucking bad." He said from behind the desk. "I'm going to give a State of the Union address instead. That's what Presidents do, right? State of the Unions?"
The man in glasses blinked. "Sir, it hasn't even been twelve hours. I don't think it's necessary to give a State of the Union address."
"Call the press. Get them here by 3:00." He stopped twirling and stared at the man in glasses. "Well...what are you waiting on? Get."
The man in glasses shut the door again. That'd be the last time He saw the man in glasses before the chaos began.
__________________________________________________________
The TV flickered. "...reports suggest that the attack began at approximately 2:15. Now, after 30 minutes under siege, the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, Building 3019, has been officially overtaken by the unidentified group of militiamen. Threats of nuclear holocaust seem imminent for the southeastern United States. The President has scheduled a State of the Union for 3:00 to discuss the attacks. Stay right here, with Your News on..."
He shut the television off. *Jesus fucking Christ.*
__________________________________________________________
(I'm at work, so I can't continue this, but I'd be willing to give it an update in a little bit if anyone's interested. I haven't written since college, so I feel I'm a little rusty.)
| *DAMN! Damn damn damn damn shoot all ta hell!!!!!*
*What was I thinking? I can’t be the leader of the free world. My brain should NOT contain the nuclear launch codes. I just wanted to make dad proud but this went way tooo far. Haven’t slept with Laura in 6 months! Jeb won’t speak to me! Dammit bush what you got yourself in to. You can’t do this for the next 4 years!*
G.W. felt his hear race as he stared out on to the white house lawn. The fine leather chair he assumed would be the most comfortable seat in America was in fact making his lower back hurt. He had already nodded politely through four meetings this morning and it wasn’t even 9:30. All the while Cheney had been sitting in the corner of the room. Grunting in approval or disapproval; G.W wasn’t sure which was which.
*I mean god damn man! I’ve been president for all of 14 hours and I ain’t even been in the oval office alone.*
**Hey Dick do ya think ya can you give me the room please? Just for a few minutes?**
G.W watched as his long time mentor waddled out of the room mumbling in his nasally style, “ mah. Remember you have that meeting with that British poof Blair in 20 minutes. Don’t be late. mah mah”
*Oh man I don’t want to go to that. I’m president for god sake I can do whatever I want! can’t I?*
It was as if G.W had realized the magnitude of his predicament for the first time. He pulled the drapes closed. With a sigh he sat down at his desk; admired the beauty of the room that so few great men had been privileged to work in. Pulled down his pants, and began to masturbate furiously.
The secret service agents outside the door exchanged smirks from behind black aviators. They were security detail left over from the Clinton administration. The sound of presidential wanking was all too familiar to their veteran ears.
|
Assuming he can't resign until everyone hates him because he doesn't want to look like an ass.
He's trying to make bad decisions that won't straight up ruin everything like nuking the east coast or declaring nationwide martial law, but bad enough people want him out of office.
---
He bans soda? New study shows it causes cancer.
New plan that has serious flaws? The debt is gone in a year and the quality of life skyrockets.
Openly insults the people? Seen as a "man of bold words."
Supports a terrorist group? Turns out they were actually the good guys. | [WP] A President is elected, but immediately realizes he made a huge mistake. He goes off making the worst possible decisions for the country to try and get people to hate him so he can resign. Unfortunately, everything goes horribly right. | Day 1-"This sucks" I thought to myself. "The carpet is horrible in the oval office! I want out."
**"We need six new Supreme Court Justices."**
*President adds Six New Justices, New Levels of Fairness reached*
Day 38- "What? That's a Terrible Idea! How did it work?"
**"Drill for Oil in Manhattan"**
*President orders Manhattan oil drilling, massive reserves found*
Day 81- "How is there oil in MANHATTAN?"
**"Invade Switzerland!"**
*Swiss invasion of Britain foiled*
Day 137- "ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? Fine. It worked for Nixon, right?"
**"Spy on the Democrats"**
*Democratic Terror plot foiled, senators arrested.*
Day 273- "Come on...."
**"BUILD A WALL!"**
*Mexican Invasion of US foiled*
Day 465- "Huh. Trump was right."
**"65% Tarriff!"**
*Us economy flourishes, national debt is eradicated*
Day 1460- "Somehow.. I made it through my term. But finally, it will be over"
**"I will not run again"**
*President Re-elected despite not running*
Day 1461- "Son of a b-" | *DAMN! Damn damn damn damn shoot all ta hell!!!!!*
*What was I thinking? I can’t be the leader of the free world. My brain should NOT contain the nuclear launch codes. I just wanted to make dad proud but this went way tooo far. Haven’t slept with Laura in 6 months! Jeb won’t speak to me! Dammit bush what you got yourself in to. You can’t do this for the next 4 years!*
G.W. felt his hear race as he stared out on to the white house lawn. The fine leather chair he assumed would be the most comfortable seat in America was in fact making his lower back hurt. He had already nodded politely through four meetings this morning and it wasn’t even 9:30. All the while Cheney had been sitting in the corner of the room. Grunting in approval or disapproval; G.W wasn’t sure which was which.
*I mean god damn man! I’ve been president for all of 14 hours and I ain’t even been in the oval office alone.*
**Hey Dick do ya think ya can you give me the room please? Just for a few minutes?**
G.W watched as his long time mentor waddled out of the room mumbling in his nasally style, “ mah. Remember you have that meeting with that British poof Blair in 20 minutes. Don’t be late. mah mah”
*Oh man I don’t want to go to that. I’m president for god sake I can do whatever I want! can’t I?*
It was as if G.W had realized the magnitude of his predicament for the first time. He pulled the drapes closed. With a sigh he sat down at his desk; admired the beauty of the room that so few great men had been privileged to work in. Pulled down his pants, and began to masturbate furiously.
The secret service agents outside the door exchanged smirks from behind black aviators. They were security detail left over from the Clinton administration. The sound of presidential wanking was all too familiar to their veteran ears.
|
Gogogogo! | [WP] "It's a dangerous job, I won't lie to ya. But there's a lot of money to be made." | I looked over the bow of the ship, second guessing my decision of being on board for the season. The cold, salty sea spray stung my face, amplified by the chilly arctic air. I pulled the fur lined hood of my coat closer, attempting to dampen the assault of the elements against every inch of exposed skin, to no avail. I sighed deeply, my breath coming out in a thick plume of almost frozen condensation.
I hear a barely audible shout, “All hands on deck!”
It was the seasoned captain of the ship. The sound of his words nearly lost, caught on the rippling winds that swirled around us. I turn, careful to try and keep my footing as a massive wave smashes against the hull of the ship, nearly sending me reeling. I catch myself before I stumble, stealing a glimpse of the captain through the chilly haze. The Captain is a lifelong seaman, weathered, with an attitude, and a beard to match. He seemed unphased by the constant assault of the waves, his footing steady as he moved with the rocking and swaying of the boat. The Captain gestures for me to come over.
“Quickly!” He bellows. “And secure your safety!”
I look down, quickly realizing that I was not secured to an anchor point on the boat. This could spell trouble, if the surf becomes more violent. I look over to where the rest of the crew are standing, getting ready to pull up our first catch of the day. I quickly make my way across the deck to secure myself to an anchor point.
At that moment, I hear a commotion and shouting from the crew as they frantically point and check to make sure they themselves are secured to the boat. I look up, and see a wave, easily three times the size of the vessel approaching rapidly.
“Secure yourself!” The crew screams at me.
I quickly scramble to the anchor point, attempting to clip myself to the boat. My fingers, so incredibly cold from the arctic air, are having an insurmountably difficult time managing the clip. I try once, twice, three times, to secure myself, but it was too late. I don’t even have time to react as the exceptional force of the wave crashes into the boat, throwing me against the railing of the ship. I manage to wrap my frozen glove around the rail, holding on with every last ounce of strength I possess, frantically attempting to pull myself back onto the boat.
“Man overboard!” The Captain bellows, as the crew moves quickly towards me.
I hold on with all my might, the crew is almost upon me. I’m almost safe. I’ll make it home alive after this. A determined grin spreads across my face, everything is going to be okay. My other hand manages to grip the railing now. Two hands firmly planted on the side of the ship. The crew only a few steps away now. They start to reach out, as a look of horror slowly spreads across their faces. I barely have time to register their looks as they frantically reach out for me before another massive blow from the ocean crashes against the ship. I feel myself being ripped from the railing, a single glove left behind, frozen in place as I crash into the water.
"It's a dangerous job, I won't lie to ya. But there's a lot of money to be made."
Famous last words, I thought, watching the final traces of light disappear, as I sink deeper and deeper into the frozen sea. | The cloaked man dropped his business card in my hand and disappeared before I could even thank him. I had to admit I hadn't expected to get the call before I was even out of high school. I hadn't done much to deserve it yet, a couple mean facebook statuses. Maybe with my pedigree that was all I needed. Either that, or they didn't give a shit what I did because of who I was. It didn't really matter in the end.
I dialed the phone number on the black card into my cellphone. My hands were shaking as I did it and I needed to retype the number twice. I didn't want to fuck this up. I pulled the phone to my ear and leaned against the wall outside of the grocery store. I pulled my jacket tight as the phone rang the first time, and tapped my foot once it rang a second time.
"Hello?" the voice on the other end asked. I turned over the black business stock in my hand and read the name off of the back, "Hensen," I said.
"Right away."
The line went dead for a moment as I was transferred. I pulled the phone away from my ear so they wouldn't hear me taking a deep breath. I needed to seem cool as a cucumber, or even ice. You only got one shot at the phone call after all.
"Jim Henson's speaking, you got our card?"
"Yes," I said, I caught my voice just before it broke.
"Please say your name."
"Silas Vermillion."
"Please hold Silas."
The line went dead again and I felt my lungs tightening up. I needed people watching me do this, but I knew that this was the one thing in my life that I needed to do alone. An old lady walked by, she didn't nod at me, and I kept my eyes off of her.
"Silas?" the voice on the other end asked.
"Yes."
"Are you confident about your decision to join the school?" the man said. I could hear the tone in his voice telling me that 'no' wasn't really an option. I'd called, and that meant I was in or I was out of a lot more than a school.
"Yes," I said after a pause that was a second too long. The man held his tongue on the other end.
"Very well," he said, "the Jim Henson School of Super Villainy would be glad to have you, please pack your bags and meet us at the texted address at 2am this morning. Delays aren't appreciated." The line went dead before I could ask a question. My phone kicked back to the home screen and I glared a hole in it waiting for the text. It didn't come until my bags were long packed and I was ready to sneak out.
My father was the hero, I wasn't cut out for it. I was going to be the greatest villain that the world had ever seen. It was a tough job, but there was a world to be made. |
[WP] Write a short story in which the last paragraph is identical to the first. | *Being backed into a corner often makes an animal do terrible things -- ghastly things. And when you think about it, man is really nothing more than an animal. Once he feels threatened, once his way of life is interrupted, it takes only one small step to send him over the edge - and into the abyss.*
*Snap.*
__________________
Harold set the book down and took a sip from his glass, thought for a second, then pulled his silky, blood-red handkerchief from its familiar place in his breast pocket. He wiped the glass down slowly - almost lovingly - then turned his gaze to the faded picture of his wife that rested on his mantle, above the fireplace.
Her face was lit up, as always, with a brilliant smile that made her cheeks glow and her eyes sparkle. Harold could still hear her joyful, warm laugh ringing in his ears, as clearly as it had on the day they were married - twelve years ago today.
*Beeeeep.*
He glanced down at his watch.
11:55. It was almost time.
Harold gently lifted his black leather gloves from their familiar place on the table and slipped them on slowly. He slid into his boots, lacing and tying them with the utmost care, careful not to pull each lace harder than the others.
He stood up and glided noiselessly to the door, which was exactly twelve feet and six inches away from his armchair. Six steps. He lightly turned the knob to open the door, which eased open on its well-oiled hinges. Ninety degrees. He stepped through the frame and into the darkness, making sure to close the door behind him. Ninety degrees again.
*Click.*
The only necessary noise, the light switch.
Harold took the stairs one at a time. Twelve steps.
He checked his watch again. 11:58.
As he turned the corner into his basement, Harold was comforted by the familiar scene that met his eyes. His implements were arranged perfectly in a row, as they always were. There were twelve of them, ordered by size, their polished steel emitting a soft metallic glow as they reflected the white fluorescent light.
Harold selected the vise - the largest of the twelve - and the pistol - sixth largest - and turned exactly ninety degrees to face the hooded figure quivering on the table in the corner. He walked up and positioned the vise around his victim's right leg, exactly six inches below the knee, ignoring the muffled screams coming from underneath the rough burlap hood. He glanced at his watch once again.
11:59. Thirty seconds left.
Harold closed his eyes softly and let the dull black newspaper text fill his vision, as he had so many times before.
_______________________________________________
*December 6th, 1990.*
*Police identified Martha A. Bowman, 41, as the victim of a hit-and-run earlier today on the corner of Market and Oak. Witnesses at the scene state they saw her walking with her husband, Harold, 43, as a white sedan careened off the road and into Bowman before the driver rolled down the window and fired two shots - one into her abdomen, the second into her head. She sustained a shattered tibia in the initial impact and reportedly screamed in pain, begging her husband to help her. Witnesses called an ambulance while Mr. Bowman attended to his wife, but she was pronounced dead at the scene by paramedics.*
_________________________________________________
*Beeeeep.*
12:00. It was time.
Harold dutifully began tightening the vise around his victim's leg - 90 degrees at a time. The muffled screams rose to a crescendo, now begging him to stop, but he paid them no mind.
Tighter, tighter...
___________________________________________________
Being backed into a corner often makes an animal do terrible things -- ghastly things. And when you think about it, man is really nothing more than an animal. Once he feels threatened, once his way of life is interrupted, it takes only one small step to send him over the edge - and into the abyss.
*Snap.*
| She was a statue. A stone cold, icy hearted being that stood with an overbearing arrogance and yet a mesmorizing elegance. A demon, with a stare so hot it could burn into your skin, and heat up your soul. She was Satan's spawn, but also Gods perfect creation, a contradiction to reality itself. She was my greatest friend, my worst enemy. She was the lungs that helped me breathed, and the stress that hurt my back. She was my wife, my life, my everything, my nothing. I had to get out, but needed to stay in. | |
[WP] Last night, your spouse's ghost, lost and confused, begged you to solve their murder, so they can move on. The problem is... you're the killer. | **Day Four**
"How's the hunt going? Did you find my killer yet?"
"Nope. I was, um, tracking leads all day. Everything kept coming up empty. Sorry."
"That's ok. There's always tomorrow."
**Day Twelve**
"Final Fantasy X? You've even beaten this one before. Twice! I was there! What the hell, man?"
"First of all, this is the remaster, so it's different. Second... I'm tired.... from chasing your killer, I'll have you know."
"You found my killer!?!"
"Yup. Totally. But he got away. It was crazy, I chased him to a rooftop and it was like he vanished into *thin air.* I'm sure he just hid somewhere, but *I* sure as hell couldn't find him. I've got guys working on it though. We may have a lead on a warehouse somewhere. Now can you get off my ass? You know how hard this stupid Yunalesca battle is."
"That's... well, that's tremendous. I'm sorry I doubted you. In that case, don't forget you have to zombify everyone and cast reflect a bunch."
**Day Twenty-One**
"Why's there a container of ricin in the attic? Honey?"
**Day Twenty-Two**
"So you see, it's a spacious 3 bedroom with an open floor plan just like you were looking for. As you can see the seller is in the process of moving out and, although it just popped on the market this morning, the seller *is motivated.* Put in a low bid and the worst he can do is counter-offer." | I sigh rolling over while simultaneously reaching out for you coming fully awake when I realize you are not there. I listen for any bathroom noises when hearing nothing I slip out of bed puzzled.
It's all the way downstairs through the garage and into the yard before I find you.
Silhouetted by moonlight looking at me so lost and confused.
That's when I remember. I stagger back clasp a hand to my chest.
My whole body rejecting the knowledge I vomit.
Stumbling back into the house I bolt the door behind me and go back through the garage to the living room collapsing onto the sofa.
I breathe deeply and take in my surroundings. There on the coffee table my wine glass sits empty accompanied by the equally empty bottle.
I shake my head. You can't be there because I killed you. I'm losing it, cracked up, maybe I'll be able to plead insanity.
I cooked your favorite dinner tonight. When you said we needed to talk I knew something was wrong. You haven't been the same. All those long hours.
Then you came in and I poured the wine. I took one look at you and I knew. I didn't mean to John. I was so upset. I had the bottle already in hand and when I lashed out. I didn't mean to.
It's ok though John. I forgive you.
| |
[WP] Last night, your spouse's ghost, lost and confused, begged you to solve their murder, so they can move on. The problem is... you're the killer. | After some time off, Mike had returned to work. His co-workers were understanding of his situation and despite his objections did most of his work for him. After an afternoon of checking emails and Facebook he felt annoyed, but relieved things were returning to normal.
Mike walked over to the fridge, grabbed a beer and sat in front of the TV. But before he could even turn it on he felt a chill. An apparition appeared before him. It was his dead wife Carol. In a flash of blinding light and mist she proclaimed, "My love i have returned, i require your assistance!"
Mike looked up and calmly replied "Oh hey Carol, what's up?"
"Mike! On the fateful night of my murder i was taken from you and this realm with questions burning in my mind! I need you to solve my mur.."
"It was me." he interrupted
"...Excuse me?" she said confusingly.
"Yep, all me." he replied.
"What the fuck Mike! I thought we were in love! We've been married for ten years!" she shouted.
"I just stopped loving you Carol. Five years ago when you got that sales job, you were never around. Then you didn't want to have kids anymore because you wanted to focus on your career. I've been cheating on you for four years now with Rachel from accounting." he explained.
"I knew it! That Bitch! Wait wait wait. That's not important right now. How could you of killed me? You were asleep when i heard that sound downstairs. You had taken your sleeping pills so i knew i wouldn't be able to get you to wake up. So i went downstairs myself and was killed by that robber." she inquired.
"I faked sleeping and payed some drifter to break into the house. Was easy enough, I found him near the train station on the way to work. I paid him $1000 to break in and leave town. Never even got his name. When you went downstairs i just hit you in the back of the head with a baseball bat i found in someones yard and you went down easy. After that i paid the guy and he left town. He even said he liked the bat so i gave it to him. Saved disposing of it later. Then i went back upstairs, took some pills and slept through the night. It wasn't until 5AM when Mr Johnson saw the broken window and decided to investigate." He explained.
Mike took a sip of beer. "Ahhhhh. Yep, no one ever even suspected me." he announced in confidence.
Carol Floated backwards. She was in awe at what her husband had gotten away with. Just then she felt something odd on the back of her head. Or, better yet she could no longer feel it. A large chunk of her skull had disappeared. The realisation of her death had caught up to her spirit.
Carol stared at her husband. She could feel her spirit being put to rest. She was being pulled to the other side. But instead of serenity, she felt only rage. In her last moments on Earth she screamed. "MIKE YOU BASTARD! I'LL SEE YOU IN HEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!" and she faded into nothing.
Mike paused for a moment. Put down his drink and picked up the remote. Turning on his television he thought to himself whether Rachel would be free tonight.
| I sigh rolling over while simultaneously reaching out for you coming fully awake when I realize you are not there. I listen for any bathroom noises when hearing nothing I slip out of bed puzzled.
It's all the way downstairs through the garage and into the yard before I find you.
Silhouetted by moonlight looking at me so lost and confused.
That's when I remember. I stagger back clasp a hand to my chest.
My whole body rejecting the knowledge I vomit.
Stumbling back into the house I bolt the door behind me and go back through the garage to the living room collapsing onto the sofa.
I breathe deeply and take in my surroundings. There on the coffee table my wine glass sits empty accompanied by the equally empty bottle.
I shake my head. You can't be there because I killed you. I'm losing it, cracked up, maybe I'll be able to plead insanity.
I cooked your favorite dinner tonight. When you said we needed to talk I knew something was wrong. You haven't been the same. All those long hours.
Then you came in and I poured the wine. I took one look at you and I knew. I didn't mean to John. I was so upset. I had the bottle already in hand and when I lashed out. I didn't mean to.
It's ok though John. I forgive you.
| |
North Korea has an alliance with China and sits on a ton of artillery. | [WP] The US congress declared war with North Korea one hour ago, tell the story from the perspective of a South Korean stationed at the DMZ | I'll take a stab. Keep in mind I have never been to South Korea and my knowledge of South Korean culture is mostly limited to the many great films that have come out of South Korea.
----------------------------------
Kyung-min Nan stood in position at the DMZ. It had been just over an hour since the United States had declared war on North Korea. He supposed it was only a matter of time until one of the world superpowers got fed up enough with North Korea to do something about it. Even China in recent years appeared to be at their wit's end.
Only a matter of time, indeed.
In the short amount of time since the declaration of war, the DMZ had already seen dramatic changes from its day-to-day operations. Kyung-min Nan had manned his post at the DMZ for many years whenever he was ordered to do so, gazing across the small, proverbial valley at the North Korean soldiers opposite him, everyone silent, stoic, ready. His duties had become routine. For years he and his fellow soldiers would stand at their posts, staring, gazing, watching. It was tense, sure, but after so many uneventful years, one starts to forget the tension -- starts to forget the precarious and fragile nature of the DMZ itself. It is the dividing line between two opposed, polar opposite nations; the dividing line between ideologies; the dividing line between war and peace. Or at least, it was. Now it was just an abstract border.
Now, there were no North Korean soldiers opposite him. Now, Kyung-min Nan stared at empty posts. A childlike part of him wanted to cross to the North Korean side of the DMZ just for the sake of doing so, perhaps to see what those North Korean soldiers saw for all those many years they stared at each other.
*Probably isn't any different,* he thought.
Kyung-min Nan supposed he shouldn't be surprised that the North Korean posts had been abandoned. After decades of grandstanding and empty, naive threats by Kim Il Sung and his progeny, they were finally getting a first-hand experience of the capabilities of the world superpowers and just how far behind they were.
For decades -- ever since the Korean War, when Kyung-min Nan's own grandfather was still a young man -- South Korea had deferred to the United States military, and for good reason. Unlike North Korea, the South Koreans had personally witnessed the military might of the US and, more importantly, how their might had only grown exponentially year after year, outpacing everyone else on the planet -- at least as far as anyone could tell. South Korea had bought into the Western view of the world after World War 2 and in no other part of the planet were the differences between the ideologies of communism and capitalism more apparent. South Korea went on to prosper while North Korea quickly fell into debilitating, nationwide, unending poverty.
Even now, the South Korean military was, to many extents, beholden to the approval of the US military. They could take no significant military action against North Korea without first consulting US military advisors. Kyung-min Nan supposed that some of his fellow Koreans may take issue with that fact, but he considered it a small price to pay for the backing of the strongest and most capable military force mankind had ever seen.
Kyung-min Nan often spent his uneventful days at the DMZ wondering if South Korea would have taken action against the North sooner if they were not so beholden to the US. Either scenario is just as likely as the other, he supposed, but at long last, the US had taken the initiative and made the decision many likely considered inevitable.
In the hours immediately following the declaration of war, more and more of his fellow South Korean soldiers joined him at the DMZ while the North Korean soldiers disappeared, retreating deeper into their own territory, likely to buckle down for the mainland battle.
Only, there wouldn't be a mainland battle. At least, not one as the North Koreans expected. Not one that any person would reasonably expect given how wars have been fought throughout human history.
But this was a new era of human history, with unprecedented technology, and one of the major players was the greatest military might human civilization had ever witnessed. North Korea had been a country stuck in the past for its entire existence, and they would soon discover just how far behind they were.
Only a few hours after the declaration of war, one of Kyung-min Nan's closest friends from their days at boot camp joined him at the DMZ. Jae-suk Dahn told him that he and several other soldiers saw the arrival of an enormous US fleet off the coast only a couple hours ago. Although he wore an uneasy smile and was clearly impressed by the sight, Kyung-min Nan could tell the sight of such a force made Jae-suk a little unnerved. The reality of their situation was beginning to set in. People will die. Loved ones will be lost. Innocents will be killed. Korea will never be the same.
Days went by. Kyung-min Nan and his fellow soldiers continued manning their posts at the DMZ.
*War feels a hell of a lot like my every day duties,* he thought.
They had expected some shelling, or some sort of attempt at an ambush -- something. But nothing came. No gunshots, no bombs, nothing.
*This is war?*
Kyung-min Nan supposed it was foolish, in retrospect, to expect any direct, adverse action by the outmatched North Koreans. The US had positioned their naval fleet strategically along the Korean coasts and had already made quick work of the North Korean Navy. In what was essentially a matter of hours, North Korea was entirely landlocked. Their Navy was devastated almost instantly while the US Navy didn't suffer so much as a scratch on the paint of even their smallest ship.
Kyung-min Nan's uneventful days at his DMZ post were soon accompanied by the sound of roaring jet engines overhead. The US had deployed their state-of-the-art F-22's to establish air superiority. Unsurprisingly, air superiority was establish almost as soon as the US arrived. Hell, it was something South Korea could establish itself given how inferior North Korean aviation assets were. The US Navy had also deployed F-18 Super Hornets and F-35s along with other fighter-bombers to perform bombing runs on key North Korean military targets. In a matter of hours or days, the North Korean military had essentially been dismantled, and not a single South Korean or US soldier had even stepped foot across the DMZ.
The North Koreans were prepared for a mainland battle, but as Kyung-min Nan expected, they would never get a mainland battle. The US was quick to deploy drones to take out individual targets and infantry, as well as to supplement the bombing runs by their manned aircraft. The North Koreans had no feasible way to fight back. With each passing hour, they lost countless soldiers and military assets, yet they were powerless to retaliate. No enemy soldiers to shoot, no way to challenge air superiority or threaten enemy aircraft.
Just over two weeks after the declaration of war, the order finally came down. Kyung-min Nan and many other soldiers were to venture out of the DMZ and into North Korean territory.
*Finally,* Kyung-min thought.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to think. Would they encounter resistance, or had North Korean morale been completely destroyed by the US and South Korean joint military strikes? Would they find soldiers wanting to surrender? Would they have to be concerned with soldiers posing as innocent civilians, only to turn it into an ambush? Had North Korea somehow been biding their time, waiting for the opportunity to play their hand? Kyung-min Nan let out a short chuckle at that last thought.
*Well, at least one of those scenarios almost certainly won't happen.*
As the hours ticked away and turned into days during their march into North Korean territory, the reality of war's consequences revealed themselves piece by piece, sense by sense. First, it was the smell. Burning forests and buildings. Burnt bodies. Then it was the sound of distant explosions and aircraft overhead, with the occasional distant screams and yelling of people fleeing from some unseen carnage. Then came the sight of dead soldiers, bloody soil, the ruins of houses. Kyung-min Nan tried not to dwell on the dead civilians he saw along the way -- innocents merely caught in the middle.
*Collateral damage is inherent in war. You know that. Be strong.*
As the sun began to set one day, however, Kyung-min and his squad came across a kneeling, lone North Korean soldier. His uniform was ripped and tattered, his body bloodied and burnt, large chunks of hair peppering his head. He did not appear to be armed. Kyung-min and the others drew their weapons and aimed them at the soldier, shouting orders that were likely incoherent to the North Korean.
As the North Korean looked up to gaze at them, Kyung-min saw the soldier was no older than he was. He saw in his eyes anger and hate, but also fear and desperation. Kyung-min couldn't shake the thought that the young man was only an enemy because he had the misfortune of being born on a different side of an arbitrary border. This soldier had seen more horrors in the last few days than most will likely see in their lifetimes -- even Kyung-min Nan.
As if ignoring their shouts, the soldier slowly began to get on his feet, his eyes somehow remaining locked with those of each South Korean soldier. The shouting became louder, the orders more forceful. The lone, beaten soldier remained silent, eventually turning his gaze only to Kyung-min Nan.
Kyung-min put his finger on the trigger, and in that moment, the world went silent. The Earth stopped turning.
Korea would never be the same.
| One second ago my friend yelled at me that the armistice agreement was just dissolved by the United States. Now I am on a cloud sitting in front of a big desk, behind that desk is an old man with the name tag Saint Peter. He looks at me and says you are the first of many welcome to heaven. To his right I see a glorious bald eagle spirit sing you will be avenged.
I think to myself huh all those artillery canons that the North has pointed at the DMZ and Seoul really do work. I hope them Americans Bring Freedom to North Korea. the end.
Edit: added my rationale
For an explanation of my story. We are still at war with North Korea only an armistace agreement was signed not a peace treaty. Any soldier currently standing on the DMZ would be canon fodder for all of the artillary that the North has pointed at the DMZ. Granted the North would lose but a whole lot of shells would land on us first.
I am not an expert, I was in the army and in field artillery but never in NK all of my knowledge comes second hand from friends I had that were stationed in Korea during the 90s |
North Korea has an alliance with China and sits on a ton of artillery. | [WP] The US congress declared war with North Korea one hour ago, tell the story from the perspective of a South Korean stationed at the DMZ | The lamps are going out all over Asia, we shall not see them lit again in our life-time.
Here, within sight of the DMZ, I look out into the dark that is the North as a river of fire and steel arcs over my head before gravity pulls it inexorably down into the homes and industries of ten million people. During the first world war they called it "Drum Fire;" it's a sound no one has heard in the century since - artillery fire so fast, so intense, and so concentrated that it sounds like a drum-roll.
The people of Seoul hear it now. The drums of this war will not fall silent until their cadence is drowned in blood.
| One second ago my friend yelled at me that the armistice agreement was just dissolved by the United States. Now I am on a cloud sitting in front of a big desk, behind that desk is an old man with the name tag Saint Peter. He looks at me and says you are the first of many welcome to heaven. To his right I see a glorious bald eagle spirit sing you will be avenged.
I think to myself huh all those artillery canons that the North has pointed at the DMZ and Seoul really do work. I hope them Americans Bring Freedom to North Korea. the end.
Edit: added my rationale
For an explanation of my story. We are still at war with North Korea only an armistace agreement was signed not a peace treaty. Any soldier currently standing on the DMZ would be canon fodder for all of the artillary that the North has pointed at the DMZ. Granted the North would lose but a whole lot of shells would land on us first.
I am not an expert, I was in the army and in field artillery but never in NK all of my knowledge comes second hand from friends I had that were stationed in Korea during the 90s |
[WP] During your morning bus ride, the person next to you dies. | Asher Vega.
His neighbors would comment on how he was a nice man, quiet and respectful, kept to himself and would always return a friendly smile.
Within 5 years of moving into the neighborhood he had established himself as a community leader.A small business owner who devoted most of his time to managing and running his bakery. Attending city meetings and even taking on additional responsibilities to keep his neighbourhood clean and safe.
He would be missed by everyone (especially by the older ladies). He would spend his free time jumping between businesses and restaurants rubbing elbows and making friends. He had made himself an asset to his community, firmly setting his roots and making himself comfortable.
Have you ever met one of those "beloved by all" who always seem to good to be true? Well, this was one of those cats. Sure, he was known for being a real sweetheart, a champion among men and overall someone you would bring home to mama.
However, they don't hire me to take out the "nice guy"
That's right, Mr.Vega, or as people in the trade knew him Hector Vismo. A real heavy-hitter in our world, as far as his accomplishments were concerned. By the age of 18 he had already killed 5 men simply out of curiosity, evaded arrest 4 times, robbed 3 banks and burned down 2 of his halfway homes and this was all before his professional career took off.
A war criminal, mercenary, slaver, sadist and psychopath, he torched villages in Mozambique and traded children in Singapore. As far as humans go he was the worst around.
His cause of death would be chalked up as a heart attack, but those who know, know better. | An exasperated expletive leapt from Preston's sleep fuzzed mouth, momentarily cutting through the dulcet oohs, aahhhs, and pleas of "Is it too late now to say sorry" blasting out of a phone drunkenly deposited beneath the bed last night. Aimlessly groping for the device it dawned on Preston that he was late for his work-study shift at the library. Late for the third time that semester. After a three-year boycott the local Thursday night cover band had regained its awful charm for the second-semester senior and his friends. A wild-eyed desperation to squeeze every drop out of their liquor filled education had captured Preston. He didn't particularly care about his job but he had fought hard for the languid Friday morning shift whose sparse responsibilities allowed him to tool around on the internet and catch up with his readings. Well, that was before he had embarked on this particularly vicious binge, he should have known that second semester senior year was no time for an early Friday shift. Preston's mind jumped between self-admonishment for his scheduling stupidity, the slim chance of verbal reprimand by his bespectacled and hushed sexagenarian boss, and the bus schedule. He hopped out of bed, grabbed the jeans from last night, and searched his closet for a clean button down. Quickly clothed he ran through the list: wallet, keys, phone... shit. He jumped down onto his hands and knees following the the manicured wails of Justin Bieber to just underneath his bed. Okay. He stepped out of his room and bound down the stairs of his two story clapboard New England house. His bus would arrive in five minutes and it was usually a six minute walk to the stop, he quickened his pace. It was cold out and he immediately regretted not bringing a sweater but it was too late to turn back. Hurriedly, he looked down at his phone and calculated his bus' arrival: one minute. He was only a block away from the stop. Weezing, Preston furiously power walked his aching body to the stop. A hydraulic gasp, a gust of warm air, and the swipe of a card later he thudded onto the hard plastic of the first available seat. Sweeping his unwashed hair off his face Preston looked down towards the rest of the bus and was struck with a peculiar feeling...nobody was sitting or standing within a five seat radius of him and hushed murmurs filled the air. Suddenly his nostrils were hit with the stale stench of urine and unwashed humanity...he looked around frantically, scared that he had just sat in a pile of vomit or worse. Nothing, until he looked down at his feet. Directly underneath his row was a crumpled dark mass, laying perfectly still. Preston shot up out of his chair. "Holy sh*t!" Preston yelped, as a waves of shock, embarrassment, and fear crashed over him. The guy was f*cking dead. There was no question. "DRIVER!" he yelled, suddenly taking initiative borne from being the only one stupid enough to sit directly on top of the dead man as the rest of the bus denizens all suddenly burst into action, hollering commands toward the driver. Preston tried to make his voice heard over the others but it didn't matter, the group had delivered the message ten times over and the bus was stopping. Scared to touch the man, but even more scared of looking like an a**hole, Preston quickly rolled the dark huddle of cloth out from underneath the seat, careful to tuck his hand into the sleeve of his shirt. "Well damn," Preston thought, "at least now I'll have a good excuse for being late to work." A wave of relief and self-satisfaction washed over him as he thought of the sympathetic pats on the back he had waiting for him when he told everyone this story. "How could everyone else on the bus have acted so callously," he wondered, as two blood shot slits gazed up past Preston's feet and into infinity. And to think he only had to survive a few more months until what he was desperately trying to out-drink would inevitably catch up to him - black gowns and rows upon rows of gleaming parents.
| |
[WP] During your morning bus ride, the person next to you dies. | Two scoops into my cup of cornflakes and I taste blood. I don't know where it's coming from but I read somewhere that the iron is good for you. It goes down easy as I swallow.
"Mind passing me a tissue?" A voice asks.
I acknowledge it with a shake of my head. They only gave me one when I made the purchase, I'll be using it shortly.
My alien-eyeball looking ear plugs squish in like foam. I decide to play Justin Bieber, just loud enough that the girl behind me won't sing along.
I catch a glimpse from my partner, the music seems to be working.
The final jerk is a satisfying one, and the old cobbler next to me has fallen asleep.
I hop out, flinging tissue to dirt. As I pass the old fella and lean up to say hello, he's still out.
Poor guy.
That's the problem with riding the bus.
Nobody gives a rat's ass if it's your stop or the next.
| An exasperated expletive leapt from Preston's sleep fuzzed mouth, momentarily cutting through the dulcet oohs, aahhhs, and pleas of "Is it too late now to say sorry" blasting out of a phone drunkenly deposited beneath the bed last night. Aimlessly groping for the device it dawned on Preston that he was late for his work-study shift at the library. Late for the third time that semester. After a three-year boycott the local Thursday night cover band had regained its awful charm for the second-semester senior and his friends. A wild-eyed desperation to squeeze every drop out of their liquor filled education had captured Preston. He didn't particularly care about his job but he had fought hard for the languid Friday morning shift whose sparse responsibilities allowed him to tool around on the internet and catch up with his readings. Well, that was before he had embarked on this particularly vicious binge, he should have known that second semester senior year was no time for an early Friday shift. Preston's mind jumped between self-admonishment for his scheduling stupidity, the slim chance of verbal reprimand by his bespectacled and hushed sexagenarian boss, and the bus schedule. He hopped out of bed, grabbed the jeans from last night, and searched his closet for a clean button down. Quickly clothed he ran through the list: wallet, keys, phone... shit. He jumped down onto his hands and knees following the the manicured wails of Justin Bieber to just underneath his bed. Okay. He stepped out of his room and bound down the stairs of his two story clapboard New England house. His bus would arrive in five minutes and it was usually a six minute walk to the stop, he quickened his pace. It was cold out and he immediately regretted not bringing a sweater but it was too late to turn back. Hurriedly, he looked down at his phone and calculated his bus' arrival: one minute. He was only a block away from the stop. Weezing, Preston furiously power walked his aching body to the stop. A hydraulic gasp, a gust of warm air, and the swipe of a card later he thudded onto the hard plastic of the first available seat. Sweeping his unwashed hair off his face Preston looked down towards the rest of the bus and was struck with a peculiar feeling...nobody was sitting or standing within a five seat radius of him and hushed murmurs filled the air. Suddenly his nostrils were hit with the stale stench of urine and unwashed humanity...he looked around frantically, scared that he had just sat in a pile of vomit or worse. Nothing, until he looked down at his feet. Directly underneath his row was a crumpled dark mass, laying perfectly still. Preston shot up out of his chair. "Holy sh*t!" Preston yelped, as a waves of shock, embarrassment, and fear crashed over him. The guy was f*cking dead. There was no question. "DRIVER!" he yelled, suddenly taking initiative borne from being the only one stupid enough to sit directly on top of the dead man as the rest of the bus denizens all suddenly burst into action, hollering commands toward the driver. Preston tried to make his voice heard over the others but it didn't matter, the group had delivered the message ten times over and the bus was stopping. Scared to touch the man, but even more scared of looking like an a**hole, Preston quickly rolled the dark huddle of cloth out from underneath the seat, careful to tuck his hand into the sleeve of his shirt. "Well damn," Preston thought, "at least now I'll have a good excuse for being late to work." A wave of relief and self-satisfaction washed over him as he thought of the sympathetic pats on the back he had waiting for him when he told everyone this story. "How could everyone else on the bus have acted so callously," he wondered, as two blood shot slits gazed up past Preston's feet and into infinity. And to think he only had to survive a few more months until what he was desperately trying to out-drink would inevitably catch up to him - black gowns and rows upon rows of gleaming parents.
| |
[WP] During your morning bus ride, the person next to you dies. | I was so sick of riding of the bus, but I couldn't afford a car. There was always some kind of weirdo sitting next to you. That day was no different.
A pale, sickly looking man fell asleep in the seat next to me. At least he wasn't lying against my shoulder or anything. It must have been some kind of record. The day before, it was a man with a nagging cough. The day before that it was a woman with a baby that just wouldn't stop crying. At least today's annoyance was quiet, but it didn't change the fact that there was a guy sleeping next to me.
It occurred to me that the man hadn't even moved since I sat down. I leaned toward him, listening for a breath, but all I got was silence.
"Somebody help!" I yelled. "This man isn't breathing!"
The man's eyes shot open, his face contorted into a beastly mix of wrinkly scars. He let out a high-pitched hiss, exposing two razor-sharp fangs. Before I could even jump out of my seat, a fiery tingling sensation spread through my body as the man latched his teeth onto my neck. Everything went black.
I woke up in a haze. My stomach screamed at me in pain; it felt like I hadn't eaten in years. At first, I thought I was still on the bus, but it smelled different. I peeked my eyes open to find I was sitting on a train. A woman sat down next to me and I closed my eyes.
"Somebody help!" she yelled. "This man isn't breathing!" | An exasperated expletive leapt from Preston's sleep fuzzed mouth, momentarily cutting through the dulcet oohs, aahhhs, and pleas of "Is it too late now to say sorry" blasting out of a phone drunkenly deposited beneath the bed last night. Aimlessly groping for the device it dawned on Preston that he was late for his work-study shift at the library. Late for the third time that semester. After a three-year boycott the local Thursday night cover band had regained its awful charm for the second-semester senior and his friends. A wild-eyed desperation to squeeze every drop out of their liquor filled education had captured Preston. He didn't particularly care about his job but he had fought hard for the languid Friday morning shift whose sparse responsibilities allowed him to tool around on the internet and catch up with his readings. Well, that was before he had embarked on this particularly vicious binge, he should have known that second semester senior year was no time for an early Friday shift. Preston's mind jumped between self-admonishment for his scheduling stupidity, the slim chance of verbal reprimand by his bespectacled and hushed sexagenarian boss, and the bus schedule. He hopped out of bed, grabbed the jeans from last night, and searched his closet for a clean button down. Quickly clothed he ran through the list: wallet, keys, phone... shit. He jumped down onto his hands and knees following the the manicured wails of Justin Bieber to just underneath his bed. Okay. He stepped out of his room and bound down the stairs of his two story clapboard New England house. His bus would arrive in five minutes and it was usually a six minute walk to the stop, he quickened his pace. It was cold out and he immediately regretted not bringing a sweater but it was too late to turn back. Hurriedly, he looked down at his phone and calculated his bus' arrival: one minute. He was only a block away from the stop. Weezing, Preston furiously power walked his aching body to the stop. A hydraulic gasp, a gust of warm air, and the swipe of a card later he thudded onto the hard plastic of the first available seat. Sweeping his unwashed hair off his face Preston looked down towards the rest of the bus and was struck with a peculiar feeling...nobody was sitting or standing within a five seat radius of him and hushed murmurs filled the air. Suddenly his nostrils were hit with the stale stench of urine and unwashed humanity...he looked around frantically, scared that he had just sat in a pile of vomit or worse. Nothing, until he looked down at his feet. Directly underneath his row was a crumpled dark mass, laying perfectly still. Preston shot up out of his chair. "Holy sh*t!" Preston yelped, as a waves of shock, embarrassment, and fear crashed over him. The guy was f*cking dead. There was no question. "DRIVER!" he yelled, suddenly taking initiative borne from being the only one stupid enough to sit directly on top of the dead man as the rest of the bus denizens all suddenly burst into action, hollering commands toward the driver. Preston tried to make his voice heard over the others but it didn't matter, the group had delivered the message ten times over and the bus was stopping. Scared to touch the man, but even more scared of looking like an a**hole, Preston quickly rolled the dark huddle of cloth out from underneath the seat, careful to tuck his hand into the sleeve of his shirt. "Well damn," Preston thought, "at least now I'll have a good excuse for being late to work." A wave of relief and self-satisfaction washed over him as he thought of the sympathetic pats on the back he had waiting for him when he told everyone this story. "How could everyone else on the bus have acted so callously," he wondered, as two blood shot slits gazed up past Preston's feet and into infinity. And to think he only had to survive a few more months until what he was desperately trying to out-drink would inevitably catch up to him - black gowns and rows upon rows of gleaming parents.
| |
[WP] During your morning bus ride, the person next to you dies. | Asher Vega.
His neighbors would comment on how he was a nice man, quiet and respectful, kept to himself and would always return a friendly smile.
Within 5 years of moving into the neighborhood he had established himself as a community leader.A small business owner who devoted most of his time to managing and running his bakery. Attending city meetings and even taking on additional responsibilities to keep his neighbourhood clean and safe.
He would be missed by everyone (especially by the older ladies). He would spend his free time jumping between businesses and restaurants rubbing elbows and making friends. He had made himself an asset to his community, firmly setting his roots and making himself comfortable.
Have you ever met one of those "beloved by all" who always seem to good to be true? Well, this was one of those cats. Sure, he was known for being a real sweetheart, a champion among men and overall someone you would bring home to mama.
However, they don't hire me to take out the "nice guy"
That's right, Mr.Vega, or as people in the trade knew him Hector Vismo. A real heavy-hitter in our world, as far as his accomplishments were concerned. By the age of 18 he had already killed 5 men simply out of curiosity, evaded arrest 4 times, robbed 3 banks and burned down 2 of his halfway homes and this was all before his professional career took off.
A war criminal, mercenary, slaver, sadist and psychopath, he torched villages in Mozambique and traded children in Singapore. As far as humans go he was the worst around.
His cause of death would be chalked up as a heart attack, but those who know, know better. | She always told me to call her Dorie, just Dorie. Sweetest old lady anyone ever met—she’d ask me about my little son Jake every day and if I was seeing any new “young numbers” after my divorce last year. I never had a grandma and formed a bond with her everyone else who rode the 7:15AM Red Line was jealous of. Or maybe they were just annoyed that we talked the whole hour it took for me to get to my dishwashing job.
Dorie had the voice of a screechy goblin from a Harry Potter movie but a heart of fresh-baked cookies—she also perpetually toted a cup of 7-11 coffee. But I noticed something odd this morning.
No cup of coffee—and she was asleep? I gently touched her shoulder right when I sat down next to her, left side, third row back.
“Dorie, hey, you seem tired today? Are you OK?” I asked.
No response. The driver kicked the bus into gear and it shook forward. I guess she was tired today so I decided to let her lean on me this morning while she slept.
Her shriveled mouth opened as her head lay at a right angle on my shoulder. But blood came out. I screamed and the bus shoved to a halt as Dorie hit the front seat. I had taken a CPR class last year when my son was born and my instincts took over—I straddled over her in the middle of the bus and began doing compressions as everyone watched in glazed terror.
The ambulance came in ten minutes. I carried her limp body like a bag of feathers and gave it to the EMTs. There was so much she gave to me and so much I forgot to give.
|
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