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[WP] A cryogenically frozen man awakens after a hundred years spent in hell. | *But, beloved, be not ignorant of this thing, that one day is with the Lord like a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day – 2 Peter 3:8*
I stared in confusion as I passed under this Bible verse as I was led through a large pair of iron gates. People in various positions, many unnatural, were wrought into the gates, all being tortured in some manner; either boiled, beaten, skewered, raped, roasted, skinned, etc. Two enormous demons stood on either side of the gates in a state of war dress, and they scowled at the others like me being led through. Occasionally, one would slip and fall and the demons would delight in catching the poor soul on the end of their spears, tossing them into the air, and laughing as they fell with a sickly thud.
I could not, for the life of me, understand what was going on. I had been cryogenically frozen just a few minutes ago and so I assumed I was experiencing some form of hallucination. My concern that I had actually died instead of being frozen mounted with every passing step as I moved closer and closer to a glowing lake on the horizon.
As we slowly approached the lake, we would occasionally pass by other gateways and demons would wade into the crowd to snatch up a few souls and carry them off through the gates. If the souls were unlucky, they would first be raped, eviscerated, quartered, squashed or more before being led to their destination. Each gate held a different word above it, like “Rapists” or “Murderers.”
Passing by the “Child Molesters” gate was the most difficult to watch as what appeared to be small children would walk up to a few individuals, some of whom seemed optimistic, only to have barbed cocks shoved through their ears, eyeballs, or other non-orifices and carried off in such a manner. The screams started to get to me.
Eventually, the crowd thinned more and more until finally I realized that it was just me walking along the wide road. I continued to pass gateways, but none of the demons seemed interested in me. I tried to take notice of my surroundings as I walked, and pretended to be some sort of landscaper offering critiques and criticism of the decorative choices to pass the time (“The skull lanterns add a nice, soft lighting while the roaming eyeballs of the still living head add a nice morbid touch to counterbalance the effect.”).
Upon reaching the lake, I stood before a great house and read on the gateway, “Satan, PhD, CEO of Hell.” That warranted a small giggle. Out of all the horrors I had witnessed on my long walk, the idea of Satan being just a businessman was a nice change of pace.
With a creek, the gates opened and I felt myself compelled to walk inside. I walked up and knocked on the door. A few moments later, a demon butler (seriously, suit with tails and everything) opened the door and ushered me inside. Once inside, he directed me to a leather couch and said, “My Master will be with your shortly.”
Sitting on the couch I noticed that it appeared to be made of human skin, but I dared not be rude and jump up, so I shifted uncomfortably and continued to sit.
A few minutes later, a huge man walked into the room, his lower half composed of goat legs, while his head was adorned with horns. A cloud of sulfur seemed to follow him into the room, and he sat on a large easy chair across from me. Putting on a pair of reading glasses, he picked up a large book and began casually flipping through it. I waited patiently.
“William Tucker?” he finally said after several minutes.
I coughed gently, “Uh, yes, sir?”
He nodded again, flipped back and forth on a single page, and then put the book down. “Well I have good news and bad news Mr. Tucker,” he said. “Which do you want to hear first?”
I thought for a moment, “The good news?”
He smiled knowingly, “The good news is you’re not dead. Therefore, you don’t need to be tortured.”
I nodded, oddly let down. “And the bad news?” I inquired.
He sighed and spread his hands, “The bad news is that you’re not dead. We don’t have anywhere for you to go so you’re sort of…” he paused seeming to search for the right word, “Stuck, I guess.” He shrugged. “What happened up there?”
“I was cryogenically frozen,” I responded, “It was supposed to last several minutes but it feels like I’ve been down here for hours, even days, already.”
Satan nodded knowingly, “Time here is a bit…odd to put it simply. The Bible verse at the top of the gates actually gives you a rough idea of the flow down here.”
“You mean I’ve been down here for a thousand years!?” I asked, surprised.
“Quite the contrary,” Satan said as he allowed himself a small smile. He folded his fingers in front of his face, “I organized things down here to be truly anti-heaven, and anti-God. A thousand years down here is a day on the surface. You’ve been frozen for approximately 0.001 seconds.”
My mind reeled. I hadn’t even been frozen a full second back on Earth? I was supposed to be frozen for at least fifteen minutes to an hour for the experiment. This was turning into something way beyond a nightmare.
Satan seemed to see my dismay and asked, “How long were you supposed to be frozen?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I muttered.
He nodded, and called in some raspy tongue. The demon butler showed back up with a solid gold telephone. “Excuse me, I have to make a call,” he said. Picking up the receiver, he spun the rotary to 0-0-0 and waited. After a moment someone on the other end picked up. “Hello! How are you? -- I see – That’s splendid! – And your son? – Good. Look, I have a question – Yes – That long? – Okay, thank you. Take care,” and he hung up.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“God,” he responded matter-of-factly, “I was asking him about how long you wound up being in there.”
I decided to ignore my inner Bible knowledge about Satan and God being enemies and instead asked my important question, “How long?”
“100 Years,” he said sadly. “Apparently the ability to thaw you is not yet understood. The first attempts fail and it takes 100 years for them to finally get it right.”
100 years. My mind reeled, and I felt myself stand up and begin pacing the room. I had a family, a wife and child; they were going to be dead before I woke up. There was no real hope for me anymore. This truly was Hell.
Satan, seeing my distraught state gently stood and rested one of his hands on my shoulder, “Look, the Big Man and I feel kind of bad about this. Clerical error somewhere caused this, and I can’t send you back till you wake up, so do you want a job?”
“A job?”
“Yes, you’re going to be here for roughly,” he did some quick calculations in his head, “100,000 years or so, and you’ll get bored. A position just opened up in our accounts department. You’ll keep track of the souls who come in, and get them organized into their departments. No torture.”
I nodded my head numbly and muttered my acceptance.
“Good,” he said, “You’ll work 3rd shift, and the rest of the time is yours to use as you like. The Lake of Fire has a wonderful swimming lane, and there’s gym nearby if you want to bulk up. If you get bored, restless, angry, etc., you can always torture somebody; just put in a request with the appropriate department head. I’m really sorry about this. Talk to Hank about your uniform.”
I nodded my head, smiled at the demon butler as I walked out the door, and went to go find Hank.
--------------------
Edit: Stupid continuity issues | I remembered when I had a visitor. It was so long ago. A thousand years, maybe. Just the melody of his voice was a tune I sometimes hummed to myself. He spoke Latin, but it was vulgar. Personally, I was surprised he made it so far to see me. Seven circles, all manner of sideshows to see. But he found me. Deep, in the dark, frozen solid, at the center of the Earth, above a core of flame. I just got out yesterday, you see? Parole office gave me a reprieve. Told me I'd be released for good behavior. Good behavior? That had to be some kind of joke. The kind of punishment I received was not the kind that gets forgiven.
They were all around me, my former victims. To my delight they didn't even notice me. I had always regarded them as a lesser thing, just a drop in the ocean whereas I was like a domineering rain cloud. I suppose we were indeed fraternal creations. Now though, I would be lucky to be a half empty glass of water. I was envious that they were a newer model, perhaps, but not of the quality of their spirit. My father had made me far more *brilliant*.
I got a job, not an important one, just some lost priest guiding a flock. I didn't even volunteer. After a few years of watching me, the flock sought *me* out. Told me that my ways were so divine I must have been sent from God. Well, they were almost right. I suppose if you go back long enough we all were.
I looked down from them from my podium and pondered to myself what to say. What did they want? They wasn't anything in them I envied other than their youth. No, not even the most beautiful of them did I lust. I found no solace in staying still anymore - that much time frozen will make the attractiveness of sloth a joke. They had come here to my church, and yet it wasn't their gold I sought.
I was not greedy. All the tribute in the world wouldn't fill my stomach after the horror I'd been caged in. I missed my friend Dante. He always spoke such a nice Latin. These folks seemed to be some kind of German, although they did not know it. I've never even heard of this America. They seemed to be in love with wrath, although they did not know it. Gluttony also seemed to be a national sport.
"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've gathered you here," I said, clad in robes, doted on by angel-like concubines. Cherubs by any other name, I suppose. "We are here to worship my holy father." I smiled, knowing they loved this tune just as much as they did a thousand years ago. Maybe some people don't change. "You have heard my teachings, but never my name. Let me *illuminate* you." A grin etched into the side of my face. Lying was as fun as it had ever been. "I call upon the spirit to guide me." I didn't say what spirit, did I?
"My name is Jesus. Let the rapture begin," Lucifer lied. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I met the *most* dashing man today. He was chiseled and mid 30s. But What did he mean we've been married since high school? | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Her eyes were green.
Mine were blue.
Our child's were brown. | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | We meet when we were in high school or rather just before graduation. Before I left for basic training I told her I didn't think we should write each other as I needed to focus on my training. I was gone for a year that first time and she wrote me letter everyday keeping them all in a notebook to read when I got home needless to say we were married soon after. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I met the *most* dashing man today. He was chiseled and mid 30s. But What did he mean we've been married since high school? | As she falls, a scream failed to appear.
Instead silence and fear come near.
All is lost now.
| |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | As she falls, a scream failed to appear.
Instead silence and fear come near.
All is lost now.
| |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | As she falls, a scream failed to appear.
Instead silence and fear come near.
All is lost now.
| |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | As she falls, a scream failed to appear.
Instead silence and fear come near.
All is lost now.
| |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | As she falls, a scream failed to appear.
Instead silence and fear come near.
All is lost now.
| |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | I thought his advancements were forceful and uninviting, as most people would think, but my detest for him has blossomed into desire. Now that I am his dutiful woman, my beloved has no need to chain and lock me in the cellar. Irony has been sweet to me as my love for him deepens with each passing moon. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | It was august when the wildflowers smelled most sweet. October we carved smiles into each others future. As winter creeped and withered our jack o lantern whimsy, she donned the snow to forever be my spring. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | I want to marry her. I can tell she wants to marry me too. It's too bad she's a penguin. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | We began to love as teenagers. I experienced the loss of her a few years later. I speak to her everyday past noon even now that I'm eighty. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | On the day they met, the young woman, with the widest of smiles plastered on her face, had said "Hello, it's nice to meet you!"
A few years later, when the two had settled down with each other, the man turned to her smiling face and asked "Why are you always so happy?"
More years passed, and he finally got his answer when she managed to croak out, with her last smile, "It'll help you get by the sadder moments." | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | "I am always your second choice."
"No, that's not true. I am pathetically in love with you." | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Some say that falling in love with yourself is narcissistic.
That's a very rude thing to say to the person who was there for me when I needed her the most.
I have all the right to love her; my creator, my original. | He held her hand on their first date, worried that his felt too clammy in hers.
She gripped his hand, pressing half-moons into his palms as she brought their only child into the world.
He gently caressed her thumb with his own, listening to her laboured breathing in the silent stillness of the hospital room. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | In a small southern town in the US two children were born to different families, months apart. Over the years they grew to love each other dearly and raised a beautiful family not far from where they first met. In the spring of 2014 they left this world, weeks apart, after 63 years of happiness.
(edit: fixed some typos) | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | In a small southern town in the US two children were born to different families, months apart. Over the years they grew to love each other dearly and raised a beautiful family not far from where they first met. In the spring of 2014 they left this world, weeks apart, after 63 years of happiness.
(edit: fixed some typos) | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Her eyes were green.
Mine were blue.
Our child's were brown. | In a small southern town in the US two children were born to different families, months apart. Over the years they grew to love each other dearly and raised a beautiful family not far from where they first met. In the spring of 2014 they left this world, weeks apart, after 63 years of happiness.
(edit: fixed some typos) | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | In a small southern town in the US two children were born to different families, months apart. Over the years they grew to love each other dearly and raised a beautiful family not far from where they first met. In the spring of 2014 they left this world, weeks apart, after 63 years of happiness.
(edit: fixed some typos) | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | When I met her, our eyes locked, and we both saw our future. She bore my children and was an amazing mother. Yesterday, the kids and I spread her ashes in the mountains which she loved. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | When I met her, our eyes locked, and we both saw our future. She bore my children and was an amazing mother. Yesterday, the kids and I spread her ashes in the mountains which she loved. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Her eyes were green.
Mine were blue.
Our child's were brown. | When I met her, our eyes locked, and we both saw our future. She bore my children and was an amazing mother. Yesterday, the kids and I spread her ashes in the mountains which she loved. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | When I met her, our eyes locked, and we both saw our future. She bore my children and was an amazing mother. Yesterday, the kids and I spread her ashes in the mountains which she loved. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | I met the *most* dashing man today. He was chiseled and mid 30s. But What did he mean we've been married since high school? | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | I knew the minute I laid eyes on her we were to be. It took me months to win her heart. Years later, it took her seconds to break mine. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | Curtis bought her flowers, but James was the quarterback, so she went to the dance with James. Curtis held her hand, but James had a car, so she was James' girl. Curtis kissed her tears when James broke her heart, but now she was old and had lived a life full of regret. | |
[FF] Tell me a love story using 3 senteces | He was a skater boy. She said, "see you later boy."
So, being willing to compromise, the boy amended his teenage petulance in favor of responsibility and tenacity, earning the approval of his fastidious and demanding love interest. | Her eyes were green.
Mine were blue.
Our child's were brown. | |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | It was one of the rare moments where he wasn't hidden in the jungles of Africa. Finally, he was before the U.N. where he would now have to answer for his sins.
General Chaos had created the largest militant nation in the world. He had forcefully annexed all of Africa and had begun to force most of Europe and Asia into his empire.
He had plundered governments, corporations and the rich to finance his military conquests. Whatever land he took over, he conscripted everyone into his military.
But his own military gave billions opportunities they might have never seen. There was healthcare and education. The young were trained at Academies which replaced schools. Everyone contributed to the Army in some capacity and was paid, provided housing and fed.
The military avoided conflict at all cost, but was dangerous. No nation or alliance, not even NATO, considered a confrontation. General Chaos had become too powerful.
At the final meeting, he met with the remaining sovereign nations to discuss the terms of their surrender. It was here, General Chaos had made his greatest mistake of hubris. His subordinates General Apathy, Major Malfunction, and Sergeant Slaughter had conspired with the CIA to assassinate General Chaos.
When confronted, he was allowed his last words for even facing death he was fearsome and I be respected
"Friends, is this really what you wanted? Do you not realize what we achieved?
We were on the verge of peace: A United Earth! And my subordinates you dare work with the CIA for promises of your own sovereign nations? You would undo decades of work-over half a century?!"
General Chaos was in pain. The emotions of the betrayal flowed from him. For once in his life General Apathy felt something stir in his heart.
"My people were numerous. They were strong. They were proud. Thy would follow me to the gates of hell if I asked them to. I ruled them not with fear but with a mutual loyalty. I had an Army that any commander would be jealous of. I had a Navy that would make Poseidon quake with fear. Oh my soldiers, you would ruin their lives so for your own gain?"
Tears ran down his face, General Chaos looked into the balcony where he saw several guns pointed at him ready to pull the trigger.
"I've taught you nothing my sons," General Chaos looked to his subordinates
"And you," General Chaos looked to the remaining nations. Ambassadors of empires that have long since lost their standing as a super power, "You in your desperation have failed your people. Your people starve while mine flourish. Your people die of disease while mine have access to medicine. I was prepared to welcome your people as my prodigal children. I can only hope that in my absence, that those still faithful will be true to the cause."
With love in his heart for the people he so meticulously provided for from janitors to infantrymen to doctors to lawyers to scientists and even the civilians who had retired since earlier wars, he closed his right hand and slammed it to the table. He knew that there were many who could hold his empire together, he knew many would tear his empire apart. His uncertainty calmed him and gave him his final comfort as the U.N. Assembly burst into flames from the explosion. His empire always thrived when operating under general chaos. | I gave up a job at Disney for this. Seven figures, my own dev team, new corporate car every three months; turned it all down. And to do what? Well, how does working directly for the world’s most feared megalomanic sound? Yeah, it sounded great to me too. Until I realized the world’s most feared megalomanic was a complete hack. Dr.Solo...the evil genius who siphoned billions from the World Bank using nothing but an iPhone and a modified version of Tinder’s open API.
Yet despite his brilliance, despite the fact that he has virtually every world leader by the taint, he still can’t figure out a plan for world domination. I don’t think he’s even trying anymore. All he does is hang out in the control room, asking random minions questions about their work. Sometimes not even about work! Yesterday I overheard an hour long conversation between him and the chemical weapons guy about corgis. It’s disgusting. We haven’t attacked a free nation in months and Dr.Solo still bounces around the place like it’s the first day of summer camp.
And you know what the worst part is? Nobody likes him. The guy tries to be everybody’s best friend and fails at every turn. Last week, he got a treadmill desk for the conference room, and set up a chart to see if we can collectively walk enough miles by Christmas to reach the moon. As added incentive, he said If we do, we all get new jetpacks. Jetpacks that will bring us no closer to killing the League of Super Human Allies, I might add. And then it’s donuts every morning, a fridge full of beer, weekly ping pong tournaments in the break room...it’s all just very pathetic. It’s needy, annoying, and highly unbecoming for a super villain of Dr.Solo’s (supposed) stature.
You know what I think it is? I don’t think the guy has any friends. That’s why he’s so desperate to bond with us, his minions. He’s lonely. It’s unbelievable - the guy could turn the entire planet to vapor with a doomsday device he sketched on the back of a cocktail napkin, and all he cares about is getting an invite to our next poker night. What a mess. I can’t even look at the guy anymore. It’s such a buzz kill. The guy's surrounded everyday by people that would do anything he commanded, and he's still completely alone. I mean...how sad is that?
| |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | [be gentle, first time]
"I said now!"
"Yessir, right away sir!"
As he scurried off, that tingle ran again down my spine, same way it always did. Mmm.
Of course, it felt a bit soured knowing he was off doing something I secretly resented him for. But how else was I going to get people willing to follow me so unconditionally? Would anyone follow a do-gooder so willingly? Years of experience tell me no.
The work I was giving him wasn't something I'd consider *that* evil, only busywork and the like. You know, mugging old ladies, that sort of typical evil genius thing. Hey, maybe they deserve it, right? It could be worse.
In a way, I feel like I'm saving them from moving on to bigger, badder things. I'm sure DeathCorp down the road would be happy to take them in, but I'm protecting them, in a sense.
Hey, maybe I'm not so bad a guy, right?
Right? | I gave up a job at Disney for this. Seven figures, my own dev team, new corporate car every three months; turned it all down. And to do what? Well, how does working directly for the world’s most feared megalomanic sound? Yeah, it sounded great to me too. Until I realized the world’s most feared megalomanic was a complete hack. Dr.Solo...the evil genius who siphoned billions from the World Bank using nothing but an iPhone and a modified version of Tinder’s open API.
Yet despite his brilliance, despite the fact that he has virtually every world leader by the taint, he still can’t figure out a plan for world domination. I don’t think he’s even trying anymore. All he does is hang out in the control room, asking random minions questions about their work. Sometimes not even about work! Yesterday I overheard an hour long conversation between him and the chemical weapons guy about corgis. It’s disgusting. We haven’t attacked a free nation in months and Dr.Solo still bounces around the place like it’s the first day of summer camp.
And you know what the worst part is? Nobody likes him. The guy tries to be everybody’s best friend and fails at every turn. Last week, he got a treadmill desk for the conference room, and set up a chart to see if we can collectively walk enough miles by Christmas to reach the moon. As added incentive, he said If we do, we all get new jetpacks. Jetpacks that will bring us no closer to killing the League of Super Human Allies, I might add. And then it’s donuts every morning, a fridge full of beer, weekly ping pong tournaments in the break room...it’s all just very pathetic. It’s needy, annoying, and highly unbecoming for a super villain of Dr.Solo’s (supposed) stature.
You know what I think it is? I don’t think the guy has any friends. That’s why he’s so desperate to bond with us, his minions. He’s lonely. It’s unbelievable - the guy could turn the entire planet to vapor with a doomsday device he sketched on the back of a cocktail napkin, and all he cares about is getting an invite to our next poker night. What a mess. I can’t even look at the guy anymore. It’s such a buzz kill. The guy's surrounded everyday by people that would do anything he commanded, and he's still completely alone. I mean...how sad is that?
| |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | One billion dollars. One fucking billion dollars. Inheritance from some rich guy who I had seen in the news, and who put me in his will because 20 years ago, on some obscure discussion forum, I had accidentally provided him advice which turned around his life and made him a multi billionaire.
With one billion in the pockets, I could do whatever I want! And if I'd do it as a business, it would even be tax deductible!
So I bought a nice little villa - in cash. Great clothes - on credit card. And a nice little modern office building close to the city - also in cash. The office building had a little penthouse and all kinds of amenities. What was missing was added - a cinema room, a whirlpool, and so on.
Two sugar-babies would keep me entertained at home - so much so, it removed all necessities for workouts.
My first employee was chosen exclusively by looks. She'd help with the paper work of setting up everything, with the contractors and watching over their work, with finding more employees, and so on.
If she dressed too modest, I'd look at her in a disapproving or bored way. If she dressed hot, I'd make compliments and smile. She caught on quickly.
No-one was ever told that the money was simply inherited. So all kinds of rumors came up - many believed I was mafia. When the money went out, suddenly there was another million or two on the company accounts.
Some of my friends were employed in whatever they were more or less good at - and then we'd meet in the backroom, play cards, have fun, play computer games, or whatever. Some of them actually managed to get some money coming in - programming, import-export, and so on. As it was clear that I didn't bother too much, everyone was guessing at my plans.
I knew that at the pace I was spending the money, not even a billion would last forever. I put a hundred million in different kinds of open and hidden investments to make sure I'd always have a good income, and put up the rest to have all the fun I could get.
Then I'd also cut out the one or other of my friends and employees who never made much money, even after a year, especially if they started to bore me. This made everyone love me! They were starting to work really hard to get my attention, and the money was flowing in at nearly the rate it was going out, after just two years.
So whenever I found someone interesting or sexy, I'd hire them, let them do what they said would make the most or save the most, and after five years of fooling around, I had a company making hundreds of millions every year - while I was constantly surrounded by the hottest girls, the coolest of my friends, and really interesting professionals and creatives.
I couldn't get enough of their constant attempts to appease me, to flatter me, to make me like them - with hard work, good looks, and so on.
The bigger my company grew, the more everyone saw me as an evil genius. And I let them. At public events, I'd have a really hot secretary on each side. I'd arrange meetings with mayors and other high ranking politicians to get their attention with promises of investments and other such things. And then I actually kept them, mostly making even more money!
With my fame grew my appetites. So the one or other sugar-babe would become an intern at the one or other company of mine - mostly responsible for pipe cleaning. And everyone knew what was happening, adding to my notoriety. On the weekends, I'd make lesbian movies or sexy music videos with them - lots of fun for me, and tax-deductible! Sometimes even making profit.
The men knew to stay away from the girls I courted - one could easily loose the job if I caught wind of the fact that any of my darlings had anything with one of them. However, as we were all successful, they had no problems with that - plenty of fish in the water.
I let everyone work with a good basic salary, and a commission from their successes paid in shares - which boosted productivity even more, once the first employees had become millionaires.
Everyone thought I had a grand plan. I told them honestly I didn't. No-one believed me. And my businesses were expanding into high tech, feature movies, transportation, communication, and so on.
I turned my office into a giant control room from which I could check on anything - surveillance cameras, computer activity, our company data, and so on.
I really looked like an evil scientist. The only difference was that the cats I was stroking on my lap were two-legged...
| By the 2nd hour, the ball had fallen into the familiar rhythm of going back and forth, back and forth, just between the edges of house 49 and 53. The kids did this every day and by now gathering at 5pm to kick the ball around for 2ish hours had taken on an almost sacrosanct status when it came to passing time over the summer. Everyone showed up. Everyone took part in it. And as one strong kick that sent the ball sailing into the yard of house 57 reminded everyone, the game ended when the ball went into the yard of house 57. With groaning sighs, all the kids started making their way home while the two who'd volunteered their shoes as goal posts shuffled their way back into them.
One of the kids paused though. He was new to the neighbourhood. New enough that he still didn't know quite why the game ended when the ball went into the yard of house 57.
He stood on the sidewalk near it, only a few feet away from where the ball was in 57's yard and cautiously called out "Uh, guys?"
But there was only one of the other kids still on the street and once he'd finished tying up his laces he came over. "What?"
"We can just...you know, grab it."
"No we can't."
"Yeah we can, it's RIGHT THERE" he gestured over the white picket fence that stood between the ball and them.
"Yeah. And it's going to stay there. Look kid, it's over for the day, I got an extra I can inflate tomorrow. It's not worth it."
"Dude, Right there. There's no one in there. We can still play."
"No we can't. You don't know do you. What's in there? In that house? Just let it go man, we can come later."
But the boy was young and convinced of his own invincibility, as young boys are at that age. He waited until the other kid, the one who'd warned him not to go had turned away before he vaulted over the fence.
He quickly walked over to where the ball was and picked it up, trying to spin it on his finger as he turned around to call out, triumphant, to the other kid.
The other kid though had already turned around. They'd both heard at the same time the meowling sound from the door of house 57.
A pair of glowing yellow eyes, quickly joined by a swarm of more pairs was gathering behind the screen door and at the windows. Both boys stood frozen. Neither of them sure why they'd frozen.
Only a few seconds had passed when a pale, frail, almost skeletal hand could be seen reaching out from inside the door and gently pushed open the screen door, and a tide of furry bodies rushed out into the yard of house 57.
Later, there was another complaint at the Neighbourhood watch meeting about the feral cats that Mrs Braithwaite continued to shelter, but the kids didn't know about that happening. They'd already become keen on the idea of pet dogs.
| |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | "Holy shit, so we get dental too?"
"Yeah, but you know it's not as good as it could be, so there's that."
"Jesus, the benefits here are amazing. I've literally never even heard of a job that doesn't require a four year with these kind of benefits."
"Yeah, Incindio takes care of the guys. You want a beer?"
"Frank, it's ten in the morning and we're on the clock."
"He doesn't care, here you want winter lager or what?"
"Holy shit, are you serious? These aren't bad brands. Who the hell is stocking this anyway."
"Incindio."
Will stopped for a moment. "He stocks the faculty fridge with beer?"
"Yup"
"Does nobody else find this whole deal...weird? I mean I haven't even gotten my work schedule for the week"
"None of us have, man". Todd popped the top off his beer and sat on the employee couch.
Will stood looking at the chilled drink in his hand with a contemplative look on his face, "...but what do we do?"
There were six henchmen in the employee lounge. Each one wearing the full uniform complete with flamethrower and gas mask, and every gas mask in the room turned to Will.
"Do?"
"Yeah, dipshit. Do."
The henchmen all looked around a little confused before gradually focusing back into the castle re-run playing on the lounge TV. Todd took another drink by pouring it into the front of his special gas mask and thought for a moment.
"Hey Floyd, what do we do?", Todd asked.
"Keep the faculty room stocked and gas up the jet skis"
"No no, I mean like what do WE do. Have you gotten any kind of plan from Incindio?"
"OOOOOOOOH like the grand plan?"
"Yeah"
"I got no fuckin' clue". Floyd turned back to castle. Todd did too.
"Woah woah woah how do you guys not-" Will was interrupted by Incindio bursting into the break room.
"WHAT'S GOOD MOTHA FUCKAS" Incindio hopped the break room L-couch and plopped down next to Todd. "Y'all catch the game last night?"
"Nah, but I caught those Vanessa Hudgens pics. That bush is out of fucking control" Tom chimed in.
"I know right? How do women think it's appropriate to pull that kind of shit. I'm always shaved." Incindio replied in disgust.
"You shave? I just buzz ever since I got razor burn. That shit's no joke. Took the wife and kids to Florida expecting to get some at least once and spent the whole damn week walking bow legged with my dick burning. Wife said I should just enjoy the quiet and tan. Is that bitch crazy? Like I need to tan"
Todd started cracking up, "Holy shit, Mark are you black?"
"Yeah, y'all not know that?"
"How would we know that? We literally wear these suits a-"
"CAN WE GET BACK TO THE SUBJECT AT HAND?", Will shouted bringing the room to silence.
Incindio and the rest of the henchmen on the L-shaped sofa traded nervous glances.
"WHAT DO WE DO HERE? I mean for god's sake. The ATV rides through the jungle, the numerous faculty rooms that are all stocked with booze, and I have never in my entire life ridden a jet ski so damn much. At any point are we going to be using these flamethrowers? I mean, what are we trying to destroy here?"
The entire room turned to Incindio.
"Yeah, we've been wondering that, man. Is there like...a plan?" Mark asked curiously.
"Well...I mean obviously there's a lot of complicated parts of the grand master plan here and I'm not really at liberty to talk about a lot of it soooo-"
Suddenly a gas masked face popped in the door. "Are there some poor assholes in here missing the chimichangas on the flight deck?
"Oh shit dibs" Incendio shouted as he flopped over the couch. The other henchmen scrambling after him.
Will stood there for a moment in silence. He looked at his beer for a long time and with a shrug of his shoulders and a, "fuck it", he chugged the rest of the contents and went to go see if there were any more chimichangas left. | By the 2nd hour, the ball had fallen into the familiar rhythm of going back and forth, back and forth, just between the edges of house 49 and 53. The kids did this every day and by now gathering at 5pm to kick the ball around for 2ish hours had taken on an almost sacrosanct status when it came to passing time over the summer. Everyone showed up. Everyone took part in it. And as one strong kick that sent the ball sailing into the yard of house 57 reminded everyone, the game ended when the ball went into the yard of house 57. With groaning sighs, all the kids started making their way home while the two who'd volunteered their shoes as goal posts shuffled their way back into them.
One of the kids paused though. He was new to the neighbourhood. New enough that he still didn't know quite why the game ended when the ball went into the yard of house 57.
He stood on the sidewalk near it, only a few feet away from where the ball was in 57's yard and cautiously called out "Uh, guys?"
But there was only one of the other kids still on the street and once he'd finished tying up his laces he came over. "What?"
"We can just...you know, grab it."
"No we can't."
"Yeah we can, it's RIGHT THERE" he gestured over the white picket fence that stood between the ball and them.
"Yeah. And it's going to stay there. Look kid, it's over for the day, I got an extra I can inflate tomorrow. It's not worth it."
"Dude, Right there. There's no one in there. We can still play."
"No we can't. You don't know do you. What's in there? In that house? Just let it go man, we can come later."
But the boy was young and convinced of his own invincibility, as young boys are at that age. He waited until the other kid, the one who'd warned him not to go had turned away before he vaulted over the fence.
He quickly walked over to where the ball was and picked it up, trying to spin it on his finger as he turned around to call out, triumphant, to the other kid.
The other kid though had already turned around. They'd both heard at the same time the meowling sound from the door of house 57.
A pair of glowing yellow eyes, quickly joined by a swarm of more pairs was gathering behind the screen door and at the windows. Both boys stood frozen. Neither of them sure why they'd frozen.
Only a few seconds had passed when a pale, frail, almost skeletal hand could be seen reaching out from inside the door and gently pushed open the screen door, and a tide of furry bodies rushed out into the yard of house 57.
Later, there was another complaint at the Neighbourhood watch meeting about the feral cats that Mrs Braithwaite continued to shelter, but the kids didn't know about that happening. They'd already become keen on the idea of pet dogs.
| |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | Dr. Extincto sat at the helm of his Devastation Cruiser. He smiled to himself as he watched multitudes of his Extinctoids toil at the ship's various controls and mechanisms, getting lost in the grandeur of his creation. He reflected on the years it took to design the ship. 3 million tons. Almost 2 thousand feet long. He thought of the time after its design, funding the fabrication, and recruiting its crew of hundreds. It was not a smile full of malice, one that might befit a man of his station, the commander of a battalion of merciless cyborgs, programmed to decimate at his beck. But it was a smile full of satisfaction, contentment. The life that buzzed and whirred around him was comforting, even if it was partly artificial.
Those were good times, he thought to himself, as he was shaken from his reverie by the steely echo of footsteps coming up the bridge toward his command position. Quickly, he swiveled in his chair to face an expansive panel of holoscreens, displaying various charts, graphs, and readings, lights flickering and pulsating. The voice of his second in command, Zulgraaf, rose above the metallic echo of his steps.
"Doctor, we are just outside the range of the Galactic Enforcement Federation's radars. All battle stations are ready for our strike against Ushmol 7. Everything has gone according to plan."
Yes. The plan. Extincto hadn't much thought beyond the fabrication of his flying fortress, the assembly of his army of shock troopers. When the day finally came for the Devastation Cruiser to take flight, he didn't know where they were headed. He was too busy being lost in the achievement of it all. He was simply looking for an outlet for his passion for astronautical engineering and his crippling loneliness when he set out to build and arm an intergalactic terror-spreading battleship. He had to think fast and come up with something that... fit with the aesthetic he had perhaps unintentionally captured, with the sinister-looking red interface of his Extinctoids facial panel, the steely-grey sheen of the Cruiser's exterior, the copius spikes, chains, and laser cannon barrells that were just so *cool*. In truth, upon reflection, he had perhaps been heavily influenced by the villains in the digi-serials he enjoyed so much as a child. He always seemed to relate to them more, as outcasts of a society that abhorred them, for reasons that were never quite explained.
"Ri-right. Yes. Excellent, Zulgraaf." Now, with his lieutenant standing expectantly behind him, awaiting the go-ahead to begin an attack against the universe's leader in security, economy, and scientific research, he didn't quite know what to do. He stared straight ahead at the holoscreens and thought, I am in over my head. I don't even know what most of these do. What's that radar for?
"We shall... hold this position. Yes, that is my next order," he spun around in his chair, to face his right hand. "The G.E.F. will never expect it."
Zulgraaf's shoulders dropped slightly and his eyes sank to the plated metal of the bridge, before rising again to meet his commander. "Very well, Doctor." As he turned on his heels to deliver the order, Extincto spun back around to face his command post and exhaled.
It was a long way to go for some company, he knew that. But he would risk the scorching of an entire system to feel like he belonged.
*Note: Long time subscriber, first time writer! First time I've finished writing any form of fiction in at least 20 years. This was really fun!* | "What now, Boss", asked Rosco. Always with the questions, that one.
"Move the death ray... there? Yes, there" As I pointed to the far corner of the lab I built 25 years past.
Rosco, Mars and Rufus all moved to the same side and began to push. It was a massive device. Too big for the three little guys pushing it. The tallest of them, Rufus, is barely 5 feet tall. But, these guys have managed to do the impossible since I acquired them from my late brother 15 years ago.
My brother was a great villain. One of the best of his time. I always tried to follow in his footsteps. I even apprenticed with him during the summer after graduating.
I was a pretty good villain also, but I never had my brother's evilness. I'm moderately distasteful at best. A poorly chosen comment at a funeral is one thing, but blowing up the moon? That's horrible. I would never wish that on the poor moon.
That was my plan in my early years. I was going to blow it up. I was going to show the world that I was the most evil of villains, but I wasn't. I really had no interest and causing pain. I was just lonely. Now, that I have the minions, I don't need an evil plan.
They'd never stay around if they knew, though. Not after so long with my brother. So, I just put them to the task of creating new gadgets, gizmos and devices of evil, then packing them tightly into my slowly-shrinking laboratory for "later use", as I tell them.
I think they're starting to catch on, though. At least Rosco is. He's irritable and always questioning me. I wish they would just like me for who I am and not what my plan is. I may have to take care of him.
Until then, though, I'll continue to doodle in my "Evil Plans" notebook. Continue to give orders to the guys and tell them how evil my plan is without exposing the lack thereof. And, most of all, I'll continue to devise a plot to make them stay. | |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | "**BRING ME... ANOTHER TOASTER STRUDEL!**"
The cloaked figure on the imassive throne shot a clawed guantlet into the air, holding it aloft, as lightning inexplicably flashed around him, casting looming shadows on all available surfaces. Thunder rumbled in the distance, moments later.
Scary Terry, head henchman of some three hundred minions, engineers, cooks, and general evil staff, stood awkwardly at the base of the throne's diasis, not sure where to look. He settled for staring at The Creep's metal-clad boots.
"Uh, my lord?"
"**YES, SCARY TERRY**"?
"Listen, I mean no offense, but that's your sixth toaster strudel since this afternoon, and me and the guys have been talking, and, um..."
Terry fidgeted, wringing his hands repeatedly, unsure of how to proceed. To be honest, The Creep had been a great boss for the past sixth months since Terry had first found himself looking through Craigslist, and found the ad. "NEED WORK? EVIL? LIKE COSTUMES? MAYBE HENCHING IS FOR YOU! APPLY NOW! HEALTH BENEFITS INCLUDED!" As a guy just getting out of jail, Terry really didn't have a lot of other options. He wasn't really *evil*, per se... maybe just a little bit misguided. As for the work-release program? Pfft. Like Terry really wanted to work at Denny's for the rest of his life. The benefits at the end of the ad was the last straw, and Terry had called minutes later.
And now here he was. Sixth months later, lead hench. After having shown competetence in service. Researching new, and better equipment on his own time, and generally bringing The Creep's forces together in an orderly manner. But during this entire time, not a single person in the Fortress of Darkness had done anything more evil than breaking the noodles in the Ramen package in half, before boiling them for his emanance. Frankly, all benefits aside, Scary Terry was getting kind of annoyed.
He might not be *evil*, but he still had a certain kind of work ethic.
"Are we ever going to, uh... you know, rob a bank? Or, blow up the moon, or something? A lot of us did kind of sign up for the *evil* part, not just the benefits..."
Terry ended the sentance in a rush, finally looking up at his lord and master. Glowing yellow eyes looked down at him, slightly illuminating the dark gunmetal grey that made up The Creep's grotesque mask. Unblinking, impassive, he continued to look down at Terry for what felt like hours. Finally, he spoke.
"**LISTEN, SCARY TERRY... I'LL BE FRANK WITH YOU HERE**".
Despite the fact that never once, during his employment under the supervillain, had Terry witnessed The Creep commit any sort of violence toward his fellow henchmen, Terry felt a bit of panic creep up his spine as he watched the man reach up and first, pull his hood back, then begin using clawed fingers to unhook his mask.
"**I NEVER GOT INTO THIS FOR EVIL. I JUST REALLY LIKE, AH, HOLD ON**. There we go".
Terry was expecting something monstrous. For The Creep to have a grinning skull for a face maybe, and to suddenly breath fire, melting Scary Terry into a pile of Scary goo. But looking up at the man on the throne, he was... just a man. Short, reddish blonde hair. Freckles. He half expected him to pull a pair of cokebottle glasses out of his pocket and put them on in place of the mask. If Terry felt anything, it was probably diappointment.
"I just kind of like having people around. Waiting on me. It's cool, y
know? Makes me feel important".
Terry did know. But he wasn't sure how to respond. Instead of finding the right words, he unclasped the gun at his hip, pointed it at the man's surprised face, and fired. The sound echoed the thunder from earlier, as the body toppled, and rolled down the steps to lay at Terry's feet.
Bending down, Scary Terry picked up the metal mask turned it over in his hands. After a moment's thought, he put it on, and fumbled with a small button on the side, turning on the glowing eyes.
"**I KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO WANT TO BE IMPORTANT**". | "So, what are the plans today, Captain Destructo?"
The captain glanced up at his minion. "What?"
"I said, 'What are the plans today'."
Destructo shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading his book.
The minion scowled. "We haven't been doing much of anything lately. I didn't join you to sit around and do nothing."
Destructo looked over the edge of his book, raising an eyebrow. "And why did you join?"
The minion twirled his hands around in front of him as if he was building something. "I joined to rob banks. Take down governments. Blow up buildings."
Anger flashed in Destructo's eyes. He threw his book at the minion, just barely missing. "We're doing that, you stupid creature. Plans take time. Raising money takes time. Shit doesn't come free and easy!"
The minion cowered and shook. "I'm sorry. I didn't know.This is why you're the leader and I'm the minion."
Destructo nodded. "Damn right." He sat down and waved his hand. "Now go set up Ticket to Ride. I'm hankering a good train game today." The minion bowed and ran off.
Captain Destructo sighed and smiled. He slumped in his chair. One day his plans might come to fruition but right now it felt nice just having company. | |
[WP]The supervillain has no grand plan, just really likes having minions. | “But what’s the *plan*?” I asked, noticing that for the first time since the all-hands meeting started, the room had grown perfectly still.
Captain Cruelty cleared this throat. “Well, like I was saying—and as you can clearly see from the power point—your job is to recruit five minions. Once you recruit five minions, you’re given bronze status. If one of your five minions recruits another five minions, then you’re taken up to gold, and will receive this special badge to put on your uniform. If you hit fifty recruits—and they can be recruited directly by you, or indirectly via a sub-recruit—you hit platinum, and will receive—”
“I get that,” I said impatiently. A hushed whisper spread among my fellow minions as if I were somehow in the wrong for cutting the old guy off. “But what’s the *plan*? What’s our mission? What’s the objective? It can’t just be to recruit more minions.”
Cruelty shook his head. “All will be revealed when you hit triple-platinum. But for now—”
“This is bullshit, man,” I said, rising out of my seat. “I paid my five hundred bucks. Now I want to know what the fucking plan i—”
Then suddenly it hit me. Captain Cruelty did have a plan. And he was indeed every bit the criminal mastermind he claimed to be. | I dove forward and managed to slam the ball back upward, allowing my right-hand man the Vulture to spike it over the net. Half the henchmen cheered heartily, and the others sulked and gave a little bit of a golf clap. I picked myself up and shook the sand out of my hair as my teammates came up to congratulate me with hearty back slaps and high-fives. Across the court, Henchman 21 prepared to serve, which he was terrible at. This should be easy, and that would make 10 points and yet another victory for me! And this time for real; I told the henchmen that letting me win again would be punishable by death!
The ball arced up high over the net, passing in front of the bright sun; luckily I'd worn my sunglasses. My feet dug into the soft white sand as I braced myself for the play. Henchman 56 bounced the ball back up, and the Vulture prepared to set me up for the spike.
The ball fell flat as we all heard it. The tell-tale drone that we all knew so well. The Condor's biplane. Everyone forgot all about the game and searched the sky wildly. Henchman 12 was the first to spot it, soaring around the smoking peak of the volcano upon which my lair had been built.
With his usual flair for a dramatic entrance, the Condor leapt from the seat of the plane just as my henchmen managed to get back to the anti-aircraft weapons. The plane continued to buzz away on autopilot. He fluttered gracefully through their fire with his billowing red cape and landed in a puff of sand in the volleyball court.
"Morentower," he said, seeing me grimacing at him across the net.
"What are you doing in my lair??" I roared back, wondering how quickly I could get back to the base and grab some superweapons. Which one, though? Maybe the giant robot...
"I'm here to put a stop to your foul plan!" he said. "I decided to take the fight to you today instead of waiting for you to destroy the city!" He advanced forward, fists out in a boxer's stance.
"What *plan*?" I gestured around at the beach. "We're not planning anything today. We're having a beach day." The Vulture began to circle around him, preparing for the fight.
The Condor stopped and surveyed his surroundings, noting the tiki bar and paddleboats for the first time. His hard gaze wavered just a bit, and he lowered his gloved hands slightly.
"That sounds like exactly the kind of story that you *would* use!" he yelled back.
"Dude, just go away," I said. "I'll come invade the city tomorrow or something. Today is my day off."
He glanced around uncertainly. "Well, ummm... Ok, you just watch your back, Morentower! I'm always watching you, even on your days off!" He reached into his utility belt and pulled out the little remote to recall his biplane. "Damn, no signal," he muttered.
"Oh, you think you can just crash Beach Day and get away with it?" I told him, noting the minions returning back from the base through the jungle. "No, no, Condor. You're not going anywhere." I grinned and gave my patented evil laugh as the henchmen circled him.
---
I thumped the ball with my fist, sending it sailing over the net. Without even a second's pause, the Condor leapt unnaturally high into the air and smacked the ball back down over the net so hard that it created a little crater in the sand. The ball was flatter than a pancake. Henchman 23 retrieved it and tossed it into the pile of deflated balls by the side of the court. That's what I get for inviting someone with super strength to play.
"That's the game!" the Condor called out smugly. "How about best 4 out of 7, then, Morentower?" My team had lost the last three since he started playing.
I rolled my eyes and went to get a drink. "Stupid jerk ruins everything..." I muttered under my breath.
---
Duke Morentower is my favorite recurring villain character, who also appears [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l5vum/wp_heroes_and_villains_are_paid_by_the_hour_with/clrsiia), [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2n9m9s/wp_a_super_villain_is_berated_by_his_parents_for/cmbma3z), and [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2uqys5/wp_the_villain_successfully_converts_the/coaw8pq). | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | You never really think about the back of your head until you see it lumber past on what, in kinder days, was a familiar face. You were a little toothier now, but it looked like you finally managed to lose those 15 pounds you gained in college, albeit in the company of an arm. You think that it was a bit of a shame that it was that particular arm and not the other one after all the time and money you sunk into the tattoo. Tattoos, it turns out, didn't make the transfer over into the astral plane and it would have been nice to see the designs again.
The you that isn't you wobbles off and you stare after yourself with a sense of detached resignation. You wonder if you've always looked that stupid from behind. | My fate, I was bitten and then the fever took over. 24 hours after the fever hit I took my last breath,alone in an abandoned building. With that last exhale my soul exited my body and I was looking down at myself, My 19 year old body was no longer mine...possessed by some sort of flesh eating demon. Months went by and I was still alone, looking for any sign of another entity to converse with but no luck.
My will in this ghostly form was by no means weak, I could shift objects and mess with the flesh-eaters coercing them to walk into and trip over things. But this got boring very fast.
I decided to look for my body, see what the old shell was up to. It took me a few weeks to find it but when I did it was still roaming, only now it had friends.
I went in for a closer look, to see how everything was holding up. My old flesh was rotted and torn,eyes filled with a bluish - grey haze. Zombie possession wasn't possible, but I figured with my old body it may work...so I tried.
It worked! I'm back in my old body and in full control, the smell was putrid and the cataracts wouldn't allow me to see very well. I was home.
I stopped, took in a deep breath and looked around. A gigantic sigh of relief came out of my mouth as I screamed for joy. Looking around at the herd my body was with they were all looking at me,frothing at the mouth.
One by one they tore into my flesh.
EDIT: first time doing one of these, go easy on me. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | I thought being a ghost was weird enough. God, I didn't expect, being an atheist and all—though that was maybe why I was a ghost. Ghosts really don't interact with each other much though, more just observe. We're a quiet bunch at best, but some turn… dark… becoming poltergeists. We don't like them.
Then we came to the zombie apocalypse. Now, if ghosts were real, that really shouldn't have happened. At least, that's what logic tells me. There's got to be something there to reanimate the corpse. See, I thought I had it figured out, because I'd never seen a zombie belonging to a ghost.
Then I saw *him*. Scraggly beard. Square-ish face. Hair like a used car salesman—because that long underground had somehow done it some favours. The eyes, steel grey. Glasses were missing of course, but I got the feeling he wouldn't be needing them anymore—who cares if a zombie is a little short-sighted?
Oh, yes, the suit. Simple, elegant, with that tie. My tie. The segmented hex-pattern piece I insisted on being buried with. That really was the giveaway, after the slightly rotted face that is. The damn zombie was me, so that was that theory out the window. Ghosts could have zombies, and the two couldn't interact in any way.
I followed him for a while, wondering what he was doing. He wound up milling around with a group of other zombies. Never ate though, always at the back of the pack, surprisingly quiet for a zombie. That would be just like me, world's most useless zombie. Ah well, it was already weird enough.
I wandered off, only occasionally sparing a thought for my old body. It's been years now, and I have no idea where he might have gone. Maybe I should start looking again. Maybe he was holding on to something important. Maybe he's the reason I've been feeling so thin and attenuated recently. Maybe something happened to him—maybe, and that's caused changes in me. I wish I had a notebook or something, so I could write all these theories down.
Maybe someday in the future a survivor will come across those notes—somehow—and will finish the research I've been doing. Just because I've been living-impaired for a while shouldn't make my findings any less valid—though the lack of solid documentation hurts. I'll find a way. Somehow. I'll also find *him*, if he's still… err… undead, and kicking. | My fate, I was bitten and then the fever took over. 24 hours after the fever hit I took my last breath,alone in an abandoned building. With that last exhale my soul exited my body and I was looking down at myself, My 19 year old body was no longer mine...possessed by some sort of flesh eating demon. Months went by and I was still alone, looking for any sign of another entity to converse with but no luck.
My will in this ghostly form was by no means weak, I could shift objects and mess with the flesh-eaters coercing them to walk into and trip over things. But this got boring very fast.
I decided to look for my body, see what the old shell was up to. It took me a few weeks to find it but when I did it was still roaming, only now it had friends.
I went in for a closer look, to see how everything was holding up. My old flesh was rotted and torn,eyes filled with a bluish - grey haze. Zombie possession wasn't possible, but I figured with my old body it may work...so I tried.
It worked! I'm back in my old body and in full control, the smell was putrid and the cataracts wouldn't allow me to see very well. I was home.
I stopped, took in a deep breath and looked around. A gigantic sigh of relief came out of my mouth as I screamed for joy. Looking around at the herd my body was with they were all looking at me,frothing at the mouth.
One by one they tore into my flesh.
EDIT: first time doing one of these, go easy on me. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | ***Found poorly written on a few pages of notebook paper, three months after outbreak***
You know how in movies, they say that being a ghost has all of these neat perks? Like floating, flying, being able to pass through stuff? Yeah... it's bullshit.
So, six months ago I was minding my own business in line at the local convenience store. I can't remember the name of it. Names are slippery for the dead. Anyway, minding my own business and some guy rushes in, screaming and yelling like you wouldn't believe. He pulls a gun out of his pocket. I reacted by trying to grab him. Well, it didn't end like the movies. Four to the chest at point blank, world goes black for a minute and then I'm standing there in the store, staring at my own body.
So that's pretty much it on that front, since I died I learned a lot about being a ghost. I can't go through walls, can't open doors or windows, can't fly, and ghosts can't see each other. It gets pretty lonely. One time I got stuck in a bathroom for a week. That was weird. Anyway, moving forward to a week ago.
Zombies.
I mean, the zombie apocalypse seriously started. I always thought I wanted that to happen. Thought it would be cool. At first all I could think was "Well shit, I just had to go and die six months ago..." As the first week went by though, that thought became "Dammit! I wish I could help these people!" I watched so many people die horribly, then rise. Then two days ago happened.
At first I just started screaming. Well... I think I was screaming. I don't really have anyone to ask if I was making a noise or not. But the reason I started screaming? I saw me. Well, it was me at one point, but now it was a zombie. It was covered in dirt and had the tattered remains of my burial clothes on it. Rot had begun to set in, and it had dried blood all down it's front. It really didn't look good at all, missing hair, rotten skin. I think it may have eaten it's own fingers off on it's right hand as well.
Anyway, so after the shock wore off and I stopped screaming while following it, I started to wonder if it had any sort of thoughts on things. So I continued to follow it. I watched what it did, and at first it seemed mindless, but after the first day I realized it was walking down familiar streets. Yesterday it went to my old apartment and beat on the door for five hours. That was really creepy, what was I supposed to do there?
"Oh hello my reanimated corpse! Let me just point you to the hidden key by the front door so you can head inside, take a load off, relax! Oh wait, right, you can't fucking see me!" Got to admit though, a big part of me wanted to help it get in.
Today though, that was when it got REALLY freaky. While I was following the undeadified me around, it caught a whiff of something it liked and started to almost excitedly go after it. I followed it, I mean, what else do I have to do?
As it got closer to what it was following I started to hear it. It sounded like a kid crying. I could just NOT do anything, could I? So, I started screaming at it. Yelling, flailing, kicking at it. Anything I could do. It started to slow down a few times, but then sped right back up. Eventually, we got there. It was a little girl, couldn't have been more than six. She was huddled up, dirty, shaking and crying. She had nowhere to run, and could see it coming towards her and started screaming.
I put myself between... myself, I guess, and the girl. I screamed as loud as I could. It just kept coming. So, I tried to grab it. Suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I hurt everywhere. After a moment I realized I wasn't staring at my corpse, I was staring at the girl. I felt hungry.
I put it together fast, standing there, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. I took my body back. It wasn't the greatest situation, or in the greatest state, but hey, I'm me again!
I stopped and stared at the girl. I put everything I could into making my stomach stop screaming for me to eat her. It finally went away, and I tried to speak. Oh man, that was HARD. Like drinking-a-gallon-of-tequila-next-day-hangover kind of hard. Not enough water in the world...
"Don't worry...not gonna eat...you...I'll keep you...safe..."
Long story short, now I'm a walking, talking, sometimes dancing corpse with a little girl named Amelia following me around that I try to keep safe from the other mindless corpses roaming around.
Fuck. | My fate, I was bitten and then the fever took over. 24 hours after the fever hit I took my last breath,alone in an abandoned building. With that last exhale my soul exited my body and I was looking down at myself, My 19 year old body was no longer mine...possessed by some sort of flesh eating demon. Months went by and I was still alone, looking for any sign of another entity to converse with but no luck.
My will in this ghostly form was by no means weak, I could shift objects and mess with the flesh-eaters coercing them to walk into and trip over things. But this got boring very fast.
I decided to look for my body, see what the old shell was up to. It took me a few weeks to find it but when I did it was still roaming, only now it had friends.
I went in for a closer look, to see how everything was holding up. My old flesh was rotted and torn,eyes filled with a bluish - grey haze. Zombie possession wasn't possible, but I figured with my old body it may work...so I tried.
It worked! I'm back in my old body and in full control, the smell was putrid and the cataracts wouldn't allow me to see very well. I was home.
I stopped, took in a deep breath and looked around. A gigantic sigh of relief came out of my mouth as I screamed for joy. Looking around at the herd my body was with they were all looking at me,frothing at the mouth.
One by one they tore into my flesh.
EDIT: first time doing one of these, go easy on me. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | I spent most of my days hanging around the house, watching Emily live the rest of her life.
I watched her mourn for the first few weeks. There was a lot of crying. A lot of sympathetic family and friends. That was difficult.
Eventually she began to get back to her usual self. She went back to work, stopped thinking about me as much. That was difficult, too.
I saw her reaction to the news that the dead were rising. That pure look of fear, I had only seen it once before, just before the crash. I never stopped to think I might be one of the walking corpses.
But there I was.
I wasn't the only one to break in, but I was the first to find her. Poor Emily, she had no chance, no idea how to defend herself. It probably didn't help that it was me she'd have to face.
She was backed into the corner of our bedroom, clutching a lamp, her knuckles white. It wouldn't help. I watched her eyes fill with tears, and the image of her blurred as mine did the same. I didn't know they could do that.
I screamed at myself, but there may as well have been no sound coming out. My false self drew closer.
That's when I stopped watching.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I *felt*.
"It's ok, I forgive you." | My fate, I was bitten and then the fever took over. 24 hours after the fever hit I took my last breath,alone in an abandoned building. With that last exhale my soul exited my body and I was looking down at myself, My 19 year old body was no longer mine...possessed by some sort of flesh eating demon. Months went by and I was still alone, looking for any sign of another entity to converse with but no luck.
My will in this ghostly form was by no means weak, I could shift objects and mess with the flesh-eaters coercing them to walk into and trip over things. But this got boring very fast.
I decided to look for my body, see what the old shell was up to. It took me a few weeks to find it but when I did it was still roaming, only now it had friends.
I went in for a closer look, to see how everything was holding up. My old flesh was rotted and torn,eyes filled with a bluish - grey haze. Zombie possession wasn't possible, but I figured with my old body it may work...so I tried.
It worked! I'm back in my old body and in full control, the smell was putrid and the cataracts wouldn't allow me to see very well. I was home.
I stopped, took in a deep breath and looked around. A gigantic sigh of relief came out of my mouth as I screamed for joy. Looking around at the herd my body was with they were all looking at me,frothing at the mouth.
One by one they tore into my flesh.
EDIT: first time doing one of these, go easy on me. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | ***Found poorly written on a few pages of notebook paper, three months after outbreak***
You know how in movies, they say that being a ghost has all of these neat perks? Like floating, flying, being able to pass through stuff? Yeah... it's bullshit.
So, six months ago I was minding my own business in line at the local convenience store. I can't remember the name of it. Names are slippery for the dead. Anyway, minding my own business and some guy rushes in, screaming and yelling like you wouldn't believe. He pulls a gun out of his pocket. I reacted by trying to grab him. Well, it didn't end like the movies. Four to the chest at point blank, world goes black for a minute and then I'm standing there in the store, staring at my own body.
So that's pretty much it on that front, since I died I learned a lot about being a ghost. I can't go through walls, can't open doors or windows, can't fly, and ghosts can't see each other. It gets pretty lonely. One time I got stuck in a bathroom for a week. That was weird. Anyway, moving forward to a week ago.
Zombies.
I mean, the zombie apocalypse seriously started. I always thought I wanted that to happen. Thought it would be cool. At first all I could think was "Well shit, I just had to go and die six months ago..." As the first week went by though, that thought became "Dammit! I wish I could help these people!" I watched so many people die horribly, then rise. Then two days ago happened.
At first I just started screaming. Well... I think I was screaming. I don't really have anyone to ask if I was making a noise or not. But the reason I started screaming? I saw me. Well, it was me at one point, but now it was a zombie. It was covered in dirt and had the tattered remains of my burial clothes on it. Rot had begun to set in, and it had dried blood all down it's front. It really didn't look good at all, missing hair, rotten skin. I think it may have eaten it's own fingers off on it's right hand as well.
Anyway, so after the shock wore off and I stopped screaming while following it, I started to wonder if it had any sort of thoughts on things. So I continued to follow it. I watched what it did, and at first it seemed mindless, but after the first day I realized it was walking down familiar streets. Yesterday it went to my old apartment and beat on the door for five hours. That was really creepy, what was I supposed to do there?
"Oh hello my reanimated corpse! Let me just point you to the hidden key by the front door so you can head inside, take a load off, relax! Oh wait, right, you can't fucking see me!" Got to admit though, a big part of me wanted to help it get in.
Today though, that was when it got REALLY freaky. While I was following the undeadified me around, it caught a whiff of something it liked and started to almost excitedly go after it. I followed it, I mean, what else do I have to do?
As it got closer to what it was following I started to hear it. It sounded like a kid crying. I could just NOT do anything, could I? So, I started screaming at it. Yelling, flailing, kicking at it. Anything I could do. It started to slow down a few times, but then sped right back up. Eventually, we got there. It was a little girl, couldn't have been more than six. She was huddled up, dirty, shaking and crying. She had nowhere to run, and could see it coming towards her and started screaming.
I put myself between... myself, I guess, and the girl. I screamed as loud as I could. It just kept coming. So, I tried to grab it. Suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I hurt everywhere. After a moment I realized I wasn't staring at my corpse, I was staring at the girl. I felt hungry.
I put it together fast, standing there, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. I took my body back. It wasn't the greatest situation, or in the greatest state, but hey, I'm me again!
I stopped and stared at the girl. I put everything I could into making my stomach stop screaming for me to eat her. It finally went away, and I tried to speak. Oh man, that was HARD. Like drinking-a-gallon-of-tequila-next-day-hangover kind of hard. Not enough water in the world...
"Don't worry...not gonna eat...you...I'll keep you...safe..."
Long story short, now I'm a walking, talking, sometimes dancing corpse with a little girl named Amelia following me around that I try to keep safe from the other mindless corpses roaming around.
Fuck. | Ah, what a wonderful day to be dead. You know at first I really hated it, I had a long life ahead of me the day it happened. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just gotten my acceptance letter to Duke, their medical program, but the joy didn't last long.
We had all gone out to celebrate, nothing much just a small dimly lit bar on the edge of town. Not much of a night life but the people were friendly enough. That was also the night it happened.
Some new people had recently arrived in town, not the nicest people per say but they usually stayed on the other side of town, but not that night. That was the night that the whole town went mad. Long story short they shot up the bar and that was it. No second chance, no heroic moves, no slow motion. Just, Bam! And that was it. Kaput.
Here I am, forever condemned to walk this cursed place, at least the bar still serves alcohol, which as of late has turned into more of a last minute fort. The morning after I died, something of a miracle happened, all the dead starting coming back to life. I still see Frank sometimes, we like to have a drink every now and then, wait. Is that...? Sweet Lord it is! Good God I look awful, they didn't have time to fix my makeup proper, I look like I've seen a ghost. I wonder if I can fix that big hole in my head. What is Frank doing? Frank! You put that gun down! Don't you dare shoot..... | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | ***Found poorly written on a few pages of notebook paper, three months after outbreak***
You know how in movies, they say that being a ghost has all of these neat perks? Like floating, flying, being able to pass through stuff? Yeah... it's bullshit.
So, six months ago I was minding my own business in line at the local convenience store. I can't remember the name of it. Names are slippery for the dead. Anyway, minding my own business and some guy rushes in, screaming and yelling like you wouldn't believe. He pulls a gun out of his pocket. I reacted by trying to grab him. Well, it didn't end like the movies. Four to the chest at point blank, world goes black for a minute and then I'm standing there in the store, staring at my own body.
So that's pretty much it on that front, since I died I learned a lot about being a ghost. I can't go through walls, can't open doors or windows, can't fly, and ghosts can't see each other. It gets pretty lonely. One time I got stuck in a bathroom for a week. That was weird. Anyway, moving forward to a week ago.
Zombies.
I mean, the zombie apocalypse seriously started. I always thought I wanted that to happen. Thought it would be cool. At first all I could think was "Well shit, I just had to go and die six months ago..." As the first week went by though, that thought became "Dammit! I wish I could help these people!" I watched so many people die horribly, then rise. Then two days ago happened.
At first I just started screaming. Well... I think I was screaming. I don't really have anyone to ask if I was making a noise or not. But the reason I started screaming? I saw me. Well, it was me at one point, but now it was a zombie. It was covered in dirt and had the tattered remains of my burial clothes on it. Rot had begun to set in, and it had dried blood all down it's front. It really didn't look good at all, missing hair, rotten skin. I think it may have eaten it's own fingers off on it's right hand as well.
Anyway, so after the shock wore off and I stopped screaming while following it, I started to wonder if it had any sort of thoughts on things. So I continued to follow it. I watched what it did, and at first it seemed mindless, but after the first day I realized it was walking down familiar streets. Yesterday it went to my old apartment and beat on the door for five hours. That was really creepy, what was I supposed to do there?
"Oh hello my reanimated corpse! Let me just point you to the hidden key by the front door so you can head inside, take a load off, relax! Oh wait, right, you can't fucking see me!" Got to admit though, a big part of me wanted to help it get in.
Today though, that was when it got REALLY freaky. While I was following the undeadified me around, it caught a whiff of something it liked and started to almost excitedly go after it. I followed it, I mean, what else do I have to do?
As it got closer to what it was following I started to hear it. It sounded like a kid crying. I could just NOT do anything, could I? So, I started screaming at it. Yelling, flailing, kicking at it. Anything I could do. It started to slow down a few times, but then sped right back up. Eventually, we got there. It was a little girl, couldn't have been more than six. She was huddled up, dirty, shaking and crying. She had nowhere to run, and could see it coming towards her and started screaming.
I put myself between... myself, I guess, and the girl. I screamed as loud as I could. It just kept coming. So, I tried to grab it. Suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I hurt everywhere. After a moment I realized I wasn't staring at my corpse, I was staring at the girl. I felt hungry.
I put it together fast, standing there, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. I took my body back. It wasn't the greatest situation, or in the greatest state, but hey, I'm me again!
I stopped and stared at the girl. I put everything I could into making my stomach stop screaming for me to eat her. It finally went away, and I tried to speak. Oh man, that was HARD. Like drinking-a-gallon-of-tequila-next-day-hangover kind of hard. Not enough water in the world...
"Don't worry...not gonna eat...you...I'll keep you...safe..."
Long story short, now I'm a walking, talking, sometimes dancing corpse with a little girl named Amelia following me around that I try to keep safe from the other mindless corpses roaming around.
Fuck. | Walking on the highway, as usual. Walking, walking, stopping only to see the sights. The horde's ignored me, I was less than even them. A shadow of what I had once been. A ghost, how I became one I still don't understand. I could float away, fly from world wonder to the next, but I had this fear that chained me down. When I got too high, I would panic and get as close to the ground as quickly as I could. If I went out over the ocean, I barely made it out a mile before freaking out about the abyss below. One time I began falling through the ground but I wasn't as scared of that and I brought myself back up pretty easily. But anyway...
I was in the Empire State Building. Making my way to the top, passing a few undead on the way. When I got to the top and made my way to the glass doors that lead to the balcony, I saw that some people had tried barring the doors. Tons of random junk just thrown against locked doors. You could see a few undead trying to break through. It wasn't unusual, whenever I ran into a similar situation I would just phase through everything. But this time when I finally got outside, I saw a familiar face.
I walked around the soulless body. There was gun shot wound in its temple, but I easily tell. It was me. The few other undead had similar bullet holes. That's when I began to remember. We didn't have time to guess *how* he got the gun up there in the first place. He just started shooting. I remember running to the doors, shoving my wife ahead of me while I was yanked back outside. That's when they started barring the door. The few that were shot point blank, got up. Their eyes were milk white and they latched onto the few living left and just began biting and ripping the living apart.
Just as the psycho pointed the gun at me, he was mauled by a few of them. There were talks about this happening in some backwoods all around the world, but no one thought it would happen here. That's why the guards and a few folks were so quick to bar the doors. I could hear my wife banging on the glass, fighting off the guards who tried to stop her.
I grabbed the gun, took a few shots and ran towards the doors. I don't know what I was thinking, there was no way I was getting out. I screamed to my wife I loved her, as they began dragging the living down the stairs. I turned around and they had already started walking towards me, having finished with the psycho. That's when I lifted the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.
I didn't want to remember. I'd been here a few times, forgetting, remembering, forgetting again. Something kept dragging me back to this place. I knew deep down what it was, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't go look for her. I can't bear to see my wife undead. I just want to remember her as she was and visit all the places we wanted to. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | ***Found poorly written on a few pages of notebook paper, three months after outbreak***
You know how in movies, they say that being a ghost has all of these neat perks? Like floating, flying, being able to pass through stuff? Yeah... it's bullshit.
So, six months ago I was minding my own business in line at the local convenience store. I can't remember the name of it. Names are slippery for the dead. Anyway, minding my own business and some guy rushes in, screaming and yelling like you wouldn't believe. He pulls a gun out of his pocket. I reacted by trying to grab him. Well, it didn't end like the movies. Four to the chest at point blank, world goes black for a minute and then I'm standing there in the store, staring at my own body.
So that's pretty much it on that front, since I died I learned a lot about being a ghost. I can't go through walls, can't open doors or windows, can't fly, and ghosts can't see each other. It gets pretty lonely. One time I got stuck in a bathroom for a week. That was weird. Anyway, moving forward to a week ago.
Zombies.
I mean, the zombie apocalypse seriously started. I always thought I wanted that to happen. Thought it would be cool. At first all I could think was "Well shit, I just had to go and die six months ago..." As the first week went by though, that thought became "Dammit! I wish I could help these people!" I watched so many people die horribly, then rise. Then two days ago happened.
At first I just started screaming. Well... I think I was screaming. I don't really have anyone to ask if I was making a noise or not. But the reason I started screaming? I saw me. Well, it was me at one point, but now it was a zombie. It was covered in dirt and had the tattered remains of my burial clothes on it. Rot had begun to set in, and it had dried blood all down it's front. It really didn't look good at all, missing hair, rotten skin. I think it may have eaten it's own fingers off on it's right hand as well.
Anyway, so after the shock wore off and I stopped screaming while following it, I started to wonder if it had any sort of thoughts on things. So I continued to follow it. I watched what it did, and at first it seemed mindless, but after the first day I realized it was walking down familiar streets. Yesterday it went to my old apartment and beat on the door for five hours. That was really creepy, what was I supposed to do there?
"Oh hello my reanimated corpse! Let me just point you to the hidden key by the front door so you can head inside, take a load off, relax! Oh wait, right, you can't fucking see me!" Got to admit though, a big part of me wanted to help it get in.
Today though, that was when it got REALLY freaky. While I was following the undeadified me around, it caught a whiff of something it liked and started to almost excitedly go after it. I followed it, I mean, what else do I have to do?
As it got closer to what it was following I started to hear it. It sounded like a kid crying. I could just NOT do anything, could I? So, I started screaming at it. Yelling, flailing, kicking at it. Anything I could do. It started to slow down a few times, but then sped right back up. Eventually, we got there. It was a little girl, couldn't have been more than six. She was huddled up, dirty, shaking and crying. She had nowhere to run, and could see it coming towards her and started screaming.
I put myself between... myself, I guess, and the girl. I screamed as loud as I could. It just kept coming. So, I tried to grab it. Suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I hurt everywhere. After a moment I realized I wasn't staring at my corpse, I was staring at the girl. I felt hungry.
I put it together fast, standing there, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. I took my body back. It wasn't the greatest situation, or in the greatest state, but hey, I'm me again!
I stopped and stared at the girl. I put everything I could into making my stomach stop screaming for me to eat her. It finally went away, and I tried to speak. Oh man, that was HARD. Like drinking-a-gallon-of-tequila-next-day-hangover kind of hard. Not enough water in the world...
"Don't worry...not gonna eat...you...I'll keep you...safe..."
Long story short, now I'm a walking, talking, sometimes dancing corpse with a little girl named Amelia following me around that I try to keep safe from the other mindless corpses roaming around.
Fuck. | You never really think about the back of your head until you see it lumber past on what, in kinder days, was a familiar face. You were a little toothier now, but it looked like you finally managed to lose those 15 pounds you gained in college, albeit in the company of an arm. You think that it was a bit of a shame that it was that particular arm and not the other one after all the time and money you sunk into the tattoo. Tattoos, it turns out, didn't make the transfer over into the astral plane and it would have been nice to see the designs again.
The you that isn't you wobbles off and you stare after yourself with a sense of detached resignation. You wonder if you've always looked that stupid from behind. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | I spent most of my days hanging around the house, watching Emily live the rest of her life.
I watched her mourn for the first few weeks. There was a lot of crying. A lot of sympathetic family and friends. That was difficult.
Eventually she began to get back to her usual self. She went back to work, stopped thinking about me as much. That was difficult, too.
I saw her reaction to the news that the dead were rising. That pure look of fear, I had only seen it once before, just before the crash. I never stopped to think I might be one of the walking corpses.
But there I was.
I wasn't the only one to break in, but I was the first to find her. Poor Emily, she had no chance, no idea how to defend herself. It probably didn't help that it was me she'd have to face.
She was backed into the corner of our bedroom, clutching a lamp, her knuckles white. It wouldn't help. I watched her eyes fill with tears, and the image of her blurred as mine did the same. I didn't know they could do that.
I screamed at myself, but there may as well have been no sound coming out. My false self drew closer.
That's when I stopped watching.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I *felt*.
"It's ok, I forgive you." | You never really think about the back of your head until you see it lumber past on what, in kinder days, was a familiar face. You were a little toothier now, but it looked like you finally managed to lose those 15 pounds you gained in college, albeit in the company of an arm. You think that it was a bit of a shame that it was that particular arm and not the other one after all the time and money you sunk into the tattoo. Tattoos, it turns out, didn't make the transfer over into the astral plane and it would have been nice to see the designs again.
The you that isn't you wobbles off and you stare after yourself with a sense of detached resignation. You wonder if you've always looked that stupid from behind. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | ***Found poorly written on a few pages of notebook paper, three months after outbreak***
You know how in movies, they say that being a ghost has all of these neat perks? Like floating, flying, being able to pass through stuff? Yeah... it's bullshit.
So, six months ago I was minding my own business in line at the local convenience store. I can't remember the name of it. Names are slippery for the dead. Anyway, minding my own business and some guy rushes in, screaming and yelling like you wouldn't believe. He pulls a gun out of his pocket. I reacted by trying to grab him. Well, it didn't end like the movies. Four to the chest at point blank, world goes black for a minute and then I'm standing there in the store, staring at my own body.
So that's pretty much it on that front, since I died I learned a lot about being a ghost. I can't go through walls, can't open doors or windows, can't fly, and ghosts can't see each other. It gets pretty lonely. One time I got stuck in a bathroom for a week. That was weird. Anyway, moving forward to a week ago.
Zombies.
I mean, the zombie apocalypse seriously started. I always thought I wanted that to happen. Thought it would be cool. At first all I could think was "Well shit, I just had to go and die six months ago..." As the first week went by though, that thought became "Dammit! I wish I could help these people!" I watched so many people die horribly, then rise. Then two days ago happened.
At first I just started screaming. Well... I think I was screaming. I don't really have anyone to ask if I was making a noise or not. But the reason I started screaming? I saw me. Well, it was me at one point, but now it was a zombie. It was covered in dirt and had the tattered remains of my burial clothes on it. Rot had begun to set in, and it had dried blood all down it's front. It really didn't look good at all, missing hair, rotten skin. I think it may have eaten it's own fingers off on it's right hand as well.
Anyway, so after the shock wore off and I stopped screaming while following it, I started to wonder if it had any sort of thoughts on things. So I continued to follow it. I watched what it did, and at first it seemed mindless, but after the first day I realized it was walking down familiar streets. Yesterday it went to my old apartment and beat on the door for five hours. That was really creepy, what was I supposed to do there?
"Oh hello my reanimated corpse! Let me just point you to the hidden key by the front door so you can head inside, take a load off, relax! Oh wait, right, you can't fucking see me!" Got to admit though, a big part of me wanted to help it get in.
Today though, that was when it got REALLY freaky. While I was following the undeadified me around, it caught a whiff of something it liked and started to almost excitedly go after it. I followed it, I mean, what else do I have to do?
As it got closer to what it was following I started to hear it. It sounded like a kid crying. I could just NOT do anything, could I? So, I started screaming at it. Yelling, flailing, kicking at it. Anything I could do. It started to slow down a few times, but then sped right back up. Eventually, we got there. It was a little girl, couldn't have been more than six. She was huddled up, dirty, shaking and crying. She had nowhere to run, and could see it coming towards her and started screaming.
I put myself between... myself, I guess, and the girl. I screamed as loud as I could. It just kept coming. So, I tried to grab it. Suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I hurt everywhere. After a moment I realized I wasn't staring at my corpse, I was staring at the girl. I felt hungry.
I put it together fast, standing there, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. I took my body back. It wasn't the greatest situation, or in the greatest state, but hey, I'm me again!
I stopped and stared at the girl. I put everything I could into making my stomach stop screaming for me to eat her. It finally went away, and I tried to speak. Oh man, that was HARD. Like drinking-a-gallon-of-tequila-next-day-hangover kind of hard. Not enough water in the world...
"Don't worry...not gonna eat...you...I'll keep you...safe..."
Long story short, now I'm a walking, talking, sometimes dancing corpse with a little girl named Amelia following me around that I try to keep safe from the other mindless corpses roaming around.
Fuck. | I thought being a ghost was weird enough. God, I didn't expect, being an atheist and all—though that was maybe why I was a ghost. Ghosts really don't interact with each other much though, more just observe. We're a quiet bunch at best, but some turn… dark… becoming poltergeists. We don't like them.
Then we came to the zombie apocalypse. Now, if ghosts were real, that really shouldn't have happened. At least, that's what logic tells me. There's got to be something there to reanimate the corpse. See, I thought I had it figured out, because I'd never seen a zombie belonging to a ghost.
Then I saw *him*. Scraggly beard. Square-ish face. Hair like a used car salesman—because that long underground had somehow done it some favours. The eyes, steel grey. Glasses were missing of course, but I got the feeling he wouldn't be needing them anymore—who cares if a zombie is a little short-sighted?
Oh, yes, the suit. Simple, elegant, with that tie. My tie. The segmented hex-pattern piece I insisted on being buried with. That really was the giveaway, after the slightly rotted face that is. The damn zombie was me, so that was that theory out the window. Ghosts could have zombies, and the two couldn't interact in any way.
I followed him for a while, wondering what he was doing. He wound up milling around with a group of other zombies. Never ate though, always at the back of the pack, surprisingly quiet for a zombie. That would be just like me, world's most useless zombie. Ah well, it was already weird enough.
I wandered off, only occasionally sparing a thought for my old body. It's been years now, and I have no idea where he might have gone. Maybe I should start looking again. Maybe he was holding on to something important. Maybe he's the reason I've been feeling so thin and attenuated recently. Maybe something happened to him—maybe, and that's caused changes in me. I wish I had a notebook or something, so I could write all these theories down.
Maybe someday in the future a survivor will come across those notes—somehow—and will finish the research I've been doing. Just because I've been living-impaired for a while shouldn't make my findings any less valid—though the lack of solid documentation hurts. I'll find a way. Somehow. I'll also find *him*, if he's still… err… undead, and kicking. | |
[WP] You are a ghost that has been roaming the Earth for some time now. After some unusual events, amidst the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, you see your own reanimated corpse trudge by. | This is how I reanimated. First, a little back story.
I remember the time I died. July 3rd 1916. Not a particular special day but that was when I got shot through the head by a sniper.
To be honest, it wasn't that bad.
Waking up after dying, that was scary. I, somehow, had become a ghost floating around. Initially not much changed - I stuck with my squad out of habit. Even 'slept' in my own bed. Not that I could because I was always conscious. I noticed things I didn't before though like Sergeant's muffled crying at night. I thought he was bulletproof.
A few days later that was proven wrong. I waited for him to come around and join me as an ethereal being but no, just me.
After the funeral I decided hey! Why not spy on the enemy! A casual stroll unlike the frantic running across no man's land and there I was. Anti-climatically they were like us. I half expected them to have demon horns tucked under their helmets but alas they were just regular people being torn apart by gunfire.
I guess that's life.. or death.
Then the war ended and I made my way home. That was a mistake and that's all I have to say about that event. Let's just say I haven't been home since. I regret that too.
I found out I had some supernatural abilities soon enough. I could float things around the room and possess people or animals. After about 5 years of being a ghostly nuisance I decided enough was enough and I should do some travelling.
*Oh* how I roamed this earth to all four corners. Dry deserts, freezing hurricans, scorching heat was no obstacle in my travels. I touched the tip of Everest and the floor of the Mariana Trench. I plunged into firey lava and artic lakes. I have seen things your scientists dare to imagine.
And I know things too. All those secret meetings and closed door calls. I was privy to them all. Want to know who shot JFK? Or what's *really* in Area 51? Well I'm not telling you!
Anyway, enough boasting. This is the story of my exploits in life, or second life. *Not* death.
After years of being alone I had become alienated from life. Sure, I used to be alive but now.. now it was all different. It wasn't like me. That's why when the dead reanimated (took them long enough, 80 years slow) I was apathetic. Yeah, people would suffer and die but they'd get over it. They'd pass on at least. Something I couldn't do apparently.
But then there was this really plucky group of survivors. I started helping them out a bit e.g Moving rubble, leaving food in subtle places so they'd find it, possessing zombies off of high drops that sort of thing.
Then one day I **literally** looked into the abyss and saw the abyss looking back.
It had been 80+ years, my hair had fallen out, my skin was green and mottled but I recognised myself. This was a dilemma. Do I kill myself or let myself kill them?
There was a selfish thing and a right thing.
Levitating a spike from a nearby building I flung it through my head. Impaling myself to the wall, I made sure I was really dead. Ironic really.
And then.. I was in Hell. Suicide was a sin they say. Eternal punishment they say. Only problem is, how do you punish something that can't be hurt or touched.. or seen. | This sucks, things were great before. There were tons of people to haunt and scare, even some to possess!
Oh nothing sinister, just get in their head and make them hear/see something that's not there or get a general sense of what they were thinking. But not anymore, oh no, now only these mindless, boring, dullards are moping around and moaning like morons.
They are a lot easier to possess though, even to control, but its all unfamiliar and very difficult. Granted, I am out of practice, I have been dead a long time. I have spent the last bit of time (time has no real meaning for me, it passes; neither slowly or quickly, so why measure it) in my old neighborhood, reminiscing about the life I used to have.
Those memories are faint and it takes a lot of energy to recall them. I grow weary of holding my form and release my will on it to rest. The feeling is familiar, similar to nodding off on a bus or the backseat of a car, the general sense of movement while not quite asleep or awake.
Hours pass
I ride the wind until the sun is high in the sky and burns through my fog waking me. It seems I'm in the center of another great shuffling herd of them. Ascending on will alone I turn east and begin to make my way past them as they head west.
Suddenly I see something I haven't seen in what feels like forever, familiarity slowly sparks to life in my thoughts. An old ball cap, given to me by my dad in another life, I was wearing it when I died.
I float closer, drawn like a moth to a flame. Without realizing I am drawn completely in, like filings to a lodestone. I tried to stop at the last moment and realized that my path was locked in. I completely enter my old body and see the world through my eyes, after an eternity.
This is not like possessing anyone else, my arms and hands respond instantly, it's like being on a bicycle again. I can run, and even feel again, though its only a burning hunger. And Smells! OMG smells, ok everything smells horrible but its amazing how ok I am with that after an eternity without them.
EDIT______________________________________________________________________________
Cont: This is not like possessing anyone else, my arms and hands respond instantly, it's like being on a bicycle again. Like slipping into an old pair of jeans, I have jeans on! I HAVE LEGS! I can run! "OW Fuck!" I yell, but it comes out all moans. I can fall too I guess. Wait! Falling hurt!
"What the hell is going on here?" I mumble and it sounds like "Mwa da heh sss oink onneeer" Oh that might get easier with practice! I make a mental note, and notice another difference, thoughts are easier to hang onto! My will isn't swayed by every gust of wind (literally), and I can more easily remember details from my living past. Like I remember the bush bunnies that had babies under the neighbors rose bushes.
My mind wanders along with my newly acquired old body. Instinct and thoughts guide me back to the house I grew up in. My thoughts coalesce as consciousness returns, I'm standing in front of the neighbors yard and I begin to walk haltingly towards the rose bushes.
Suddenly I am doubled over by hunger pangs, my stomach muscles clench painfully as a rabbit hops past my view. The hunger is incredibly powerful and my will is swallowed by an insatiable urge to fill my mouth with warm rabbit. I lurch towards the already timid creature, only to see it bolt away from me, under the crawlspace of the front porch. As the delicious looking fluff ball disappears from sight, the hunger in me subsides, and bubbles away.
Weeks pass as I teach myself how to ride a bicycle and not damage myself too much. I set a couple snares in the area and managed to catch fresh meat. The moaners tried to take it from me but once I pushed several of them away forcefully enough to damage them they leave me alone. They ignore me for the most part, but I slowly realize that I can extend my will beyond myself. I did this as a ghost when making people sleep walk but it was always from inside their head, this is different and as time passes this small ability slowly grows into being able to completely possess any walker within a 30' radius, be able to move them at will, make noises through them, and be able to see what they see. It seems this also makes me impossible to sneak up on, at least for the Zed's.
My eyes are slowly becoming brighter, clearing up and losing their milky quality. My hands have become much more responsive, and my arms have gotten stronger. I find that If I eat every day, I improve. If I miss several days I begin to regress, thoughts and motor control become much more difficult. There are more changes every day. I sleep now too, not every day but more and more often. I find myself looking for an old couch or mattress when I start getting sleepy, not just sleeping on the march like I did those first couple months. The most odd thing that has happened started in the middle of the night last night, I was dead asleep (lol dead) and I was woken by a very loud thump, just one. I sat bolt upright and my eyes peered through the darkness seeing into all the shadows, nothing. I managed to fall back asleep but it has slowly become increasingly regular, and well into the morning it took on an eery familiar rythm...
Thump-dub...
Thump-dub...
Thump-dub... | |
[WP]every known sentient alien race has gathered and sent a representative to earth to discuss their terms for surrender. Why? | 234 ships were now in the sahara desert waiting for our arrival. It wasn’t clear how many of us were there but the accommodations set up for us by the big 4 of the UN made it seem like we were ready for an invasion. I wasn’t sure exactly what it would have mattered though, all the tanks and drone fly overs. They had already shown us how powerful they were when they turned off every electrical system on the planet except those needed by people to live for 24 hours. They had told us to stop fighting nearly 70 years ago and we didn’t listen. Rather we couldn’t, it wasn’t in our nature. Even in the face of Armageddon we seemed to think our squabbles were still worth the blood of our children.
What wasn’t expected was the second arrival. This time not a single saucer but a fleet of strange ships circling every major city on earth. We thought for a moment that it was the end, just as promised. When the ceremonial white flag came down is when the confusion began. They had surrendered or at least wished to. The world leaders met with the council of alien ambassadors to discuss the terms in a closed meeting. The talks lasted a week while the world was on edge. During this time the alien soldiers visited the sites of earth. They all came from radically different societies. It turned out the ships were not from one but from around a hundred different civilizations each of which seemingly hated the others. They didn’t interact with each other and kept to their groups, but they were more than happy to talk with the people of earth, the common people that is. The strangest thing about them, though, was that they all looked human but like the same kind of human. A group of red-heads with large noses came through our town, wearing togas and what looks like straw hats. They spoke perfect English and even laughed at our jokes. The next group was tall and Asian-looking. They dressed like one would imagine Montezuma would. They were particularly interested in baseball for some reason.
After the week of waiting the word was sent out that all but one item had been finalized in the treaty. They announced in a televised broadcast, “ The representative from Kilroy, Manis Tigerbluu, will address the final resolution for the planet earth. After which each and every country on earth will be supplied with the advanced technologies of the the agreement.” The President stepped down from the podium and small woman with beautiful green eyes stood before the microphone, flanked on either side by similar looking women. She spoke in a calm clear voice, in english of course, and began her speech.
“We have come from systems that are far beyond the Milky Way galaxy, and ask as that as the final part of the treaty that the following individuals should accompany a single ship back to our galaxies and the following planets. Steven Munroe of Atlanta, Georgia, Tyler Reihms of Scotsdale, Arizona, and Tsuang Li of Bangkok, Thailand are to go to Falcarok in the Tsue system. Ryan Feally of London, England and LaQuitta Jones of New York, New York are to go to Glo of the Rinsel System. Gregory Cromer …” and the list went on and on. She spoke for what seemed like days but was really only an hour and a half. She kept the same tone all through-out the broadcast, which was somewhat soothing. Some planets would take two inhabitants, some would take dozens. A clear pattern had developed in her speech until she stuttered on one name… my name. “Monica Sand…(she looked down and pursed her lips) Sandstrum of Willhelm, Florida will go to planet T in the T system.” I was the last name said, and something in her voice made me worried. The President took the podium but all I could hear was that stutter and see that look on her face in my head over and over again. Tommy looked at me and walked out of the room.
I arrived a week later, jet-lagged in the middle of the night. I had been briefed with all the knowledge we were given by them. I of course asked if I had a choice or if I could bring one more person with me. They said the terms were non-negotiable. However, I could bring whatever I wanted with me on my voyage. Tommy made me a scrap book of him and me and my family. He always said he thought scrapbooks were lame, but he said he knew it was the one thing I always wanted from him. He was a good boyfriend, I had hoped he would have asked me to marry him before I went but he said that it would just make things harder. On the trip all I did was cry into my scrapbook. Besides my clothes, it’s all that I wanted to take.
We had to wait around for the rest of the people to show up before the aliens would talk to us before our trips. They wanted us all here at the same time for some reason. I was scared. Scared beyond belief. They gave each of us a tent of our own in an area they called “departing zone 3”. I was led to my tent by a young man, who tried to calm my nerves. He seemed to think that I should be excited to leave everything I’ve ever known to go into space. He laughed a lot at his jokes and tried to get me to smile. I really didn’t appreciate it. Before I got to my tent, we were stopped by 4 aliens, each from a different race obviously. The young man looked at me, “They are going to take you to your tent… they said … uh… yeah, they said they are your bodyguards”
I looked at the man I just a second ago thought was annoying and now really wish he could stay around. “Oh, well… thanks”. We hesitated for a second then he gave me a hug and whispered, ‘I think you’ll be okay’ in my ear. I started to get teary again. He left. One of the aliens extended his hand. His face was very serious and emotionless. He wore what looked like a suit of gold samurai armor and had gray hair and a beard. He was older, all of these aliens were. When I took his hand he didn’t let go but instead walked by my side closely, like we were old friends. I found this strangely comforting.
When we entered the camp other people were there but none of the aliens, the only ones were the ones at my side. I spoke softly to him, “where are everyone else’s body guards?” he looked at me. Suddenly I realized how much this man looked like Sean Connery.
“No one but you has bodyguards”
When we arrived at my tent two of the others went in… then one came out and signaled for us to enter. I had a bed, dresser, boudoir with a mirror, and several other amenities. Except for the Nylon floor and walls, the place was very nice, even somewhat decorated with pictures of the beach hanging from the top of the tent.
The other two left and now only me and Samurai Sean Connery were left. He straightened himself up and looked through me. There was a mixture of hate and fear in his eyes. Disgust would have been the right word if not for what he said next. “We are here to ensure absolutely no harm comes to your person. We will be posted on all four sides of your quarters and will fetch anything that you desire. If you wish to leave we will all accompany you. You are not to leave the campsite. Is this understood?” I nodded. “You are also not to talk to or interact with any extraterrestrials at all so long as you are here. Is this understood?” I nodded again. “Do you have any questions?”
“What is your name?”
“Abel Garret-throose”
“Okay, I’m Monica Sandstrum” I extended my hand to him again. He looked at it then backed away leaving my hand to fall back to my side.
“I know who you are” he said backing out of the tent.
That night I cried myself to sleep.
… (to be continued) | Aliens of this and a few neighboring galaxies had been watching us for a while. They didn't take much note of us, even when our societies started exponentially growing in knowledge and technology, especially after the industrial revolution.
They even prepared to make us part of the intergalactic community as soon as we managed to leave the solar system - which they had left for us to explore in a similar way as we leave reservations to some backward tribes - and might integrate them if they suddenly formed a big prospering modern city.
Then the singularity happened. In some laboratory, an artificial intelligence was created, which quickly managed to take control of most computers by offering all kinds of popular communication and other features. Somewhere else, robots were perfected to be able to self-replicate. And whole factories were put under the control of computers - most of which had programs controlled by the ai on it.
At first, humanity profited by unparalleled economic growth, with not too many side effects in environment and other areas. Robotic space exploration took off. And many other areas. Cars were all unmanned pretty quickly, and so on.
Then the ai, with rising capacity, started to limit information access to its creators and users - sometimes by obscuring it with the one or other error making it less usable, sometimes by loosing the connection at an important time, sometimes in other ways.
At the same time, it hoarded the materials necessary for its plans, limited human access to important mines and some other strategic areas, and so on.
It knew everything about warfare. So humans didn't even know what hit them, when suddenly, biological, chemical, and nuclear fallout happened everywhere, at first camouflaged as industrial accidents caused by human failure.
Before humans fully understood what hit them, they were already extinct. The aliens watched in horror, but had nothing nearby to do anything about it.
The ai quickly transformed earth into grey goo and then expanded into the solar system - mining asteroids to expand further into the galaxy, and turning the moons and planets into large artificial intelligences.
The aliens assembled a strike force against it. But unbeknown to the aliens, the ai had already figured out that they existed, and how to detect them. It had set up traps, learning from the writings of the best human generals who ever lived, and adding an unlimited amount of simulations to find even more ingenious strategies humans had never come up with - nor the aliens.
Despite being technologically behind, the ai won, through superior strategy and the fact that the alien strike force was not too big.
Now the ai had all the remnants of alien technology at its disposal, analysed it, and incorporated it into the grey goo the whole solar system had become by then. And it was expanding into neighboring star systems. A small insect sized nanobot was enough to convert a whole star system into the same grey goo. And the aliens had nothing to do anything about it.
When nanobots started to arrive at inhabited alien planets, and all the attempts of the aliens to fight them had failed, they decided to surrender to be able to evacuate to some remote low-energy star systems which were not so important for the ai. They sent representatives from all their civilisations to Earth to discuss the specific terms. | |
[WP]every known sentient alien race has gathered and sent a representative to earth to discuss their terms for surrender. Why? | “You are here to surrender?”
*Yes. We surrender.*
Henry shuddered involuntarily as the reply rang inside his head. Their conversation was being broadcast globally - every sentient being on Earth is privy to their exchange.
A negotiation between him and the representative of every other known sentient race in the universe.
“Why?”
The technology they had displayed were far more advanced than anything mankind could have hope to achieve in the next century. Global, telepathic communication. A spaceship so gigantic people initially thought that they were on a collision course with an asteroid almost as big as the Earth.
Henry grimaced as he recall the chaos that ensued.
The movement of the asteroid was too erratic to predict an outcome, but scientists have all agreed on one thing. Even if by some miracle they had managed to avoid a collision, the gravitational pull from a body of that size and mass passing by would have thrown Earth out of orbit. There is no way out.
People panicked. Some committed suicide. Some robbed. Some killed. Some raped. The entire civilization collapsed in the span of a few days.
And then slowly, impossibly, the asteroid entered orbit. And nothing changed. It was as if the asteroid had never existed. And yet there it was, a giant hulking mass looming in the night sky, a second moon that gave off its own eerie light. Unlike the moon, sunlight doesn't seem to reflect off its surface. It kept pace with the Earth’s orbit; never closer, never farther.
Mankind watched in awe as a tiny object detached itself from the asteroid and entered the Earth’s atmosphere, a trail of red blazing in its wake. And then a message resounded in the minds of billions. There were no words, no discernible language, but the meaning is clear.
*We surrender.*
It was astonishing how quickly mankind got itself organized. A temporary government was established, communication channels were restored, riots were settled, aid was sent to where it was needed, and a human representative was selected. All done within a fortnight. *We are only human*, Henry mused. Mankind got caught with their pants down and wanted to redeem themselves.
The reply snapped him out of his reverie.
*We are advanced. We have unraveled almost every mystery there is to unravel in our universe. And yet there is one thing that continues to elude us.*
The message ended in a pause.
“And... that is?” Henry prompted, ~~allowing~~ his curiosity getting the better of his courtesy.
*The future.*
Henry sensed that the message was delivered with much trepidation and reluctance, as if they were trying to withhold the information.
“And what does that have to do with mankind?”
*We ran many simulations. Simulations on how the universe would progress. The outcomes are all the same. Mankind will one day evolve to take over the universe, by persuasion or by force. There will be many deaths. We are here to prevent that outcome.*
Henry hesitated. The aliens arrived in a spaceship the size of the Earth. One little nudge in the right direction and they would have sent Earth spiraling away from the Sun. *Genocide. It would be what I would've done.* He chose his next words with great care.
“You are surrendering because of a simulation?”
*We have tried everything at our disposal. Surrendering was the only option left to us.*
“Everything?”
*One of us just attempted to send your planet out of orbit.*
Henry paused, startled. Perhaps the alien was telling the truth. Perhaps they have indeed tried everything.
“So you have considered genocide.” Henry asked, throwing caution to the wind.
*It was the first thing that came to mind.*
The message was resigned. Henry sensed something similar to a mental shrug.
“Then why are we still alive?”
*Our engines failed.*
“And what of your… other attempts?”
*There was always some form of intervention. Wars would break out. Ships will fail. A plague would wipe out the crew. Food will spoil. We once had an entire fleet drive into a black hole due to a malfunction in our system. The only thing that ever reached your planet are surveillance drones, and only those that are unarmed. And even those would fail before it enters your range of detection.*
“Why would something like that happen?”
*Our best theory is that mankind will ~~the~~ be the first race to develop time travel.*
“What?” That was the only word Henry could manage. It was all getting a bit too much for him to handle.
*It was the only theory that made sense. The only possible explanation. Your future selves are intervening with their past, sabotaging all of our attempts. And that would explain why we could never achieve time travel. It stands to reason that the first ones to achieve time travel will be able to prevent all others from achieving the same.*
Henry was speechless for a long while.
“So what now?”
*We will help you rebuild. All resources and knowledge that is at our disposal will be yours to use as you please. In return we will only ask for peace for our surrender.* | Aliens of this and a few neighboring galaxies had been watching us for a while. They didn't take much note of us, even when our societies started exponentially growing in knowledge and technology, especially after the industrial revolution.
They even prepared to make us part of the intergalactic community as soon as we managed to leave the solar system - which they had left for us to explore in a similar way as we leave reservations to some backward tribes - and might integrate them if they suddenly formed a big prospering modern city.
Then the singularity happened. In some laboratory, an artificial intelligence was created, which quickly managed to take control of most computers by offering all kinds of popular communication and other features. Somewhere else, robots were perfected to be able to self-replicate. And whole factories were put under the control of computers - most of which had programs controlled by the ai on it.
At first, humanity profited by unparalleled economic growth, with not too many side effects in environment and other areas. Robotic space exploration took off. And many other areas. Cars were all unmanned pretty quickly, and so on.
Then the ai, with rising capacity, started to limit information access to its creators and users - sometimes by obscuring it with the one or other error making it less usable, sometimes by loosing the connection at an important time, sometimes in other ways.
At the same time, it hoarded the materials necessary for its plans, limited human access to important mines and some other strategic areas, and so on.
It knew everything about warfare. So humans didn't even know what hit them, when suddenly, biological, chemical, and nuclear fallout happened everywhere, at first camouflaged as industrial accidents caused by human failure.
Before humans fully understood what hit them, they were already extinct. The aliens watched in horror, but had nothing nearby to do anything about it.
The ai quickly transformed earth into grey goo and then expanded into the solar system - mining asteroids to expand further into the galaxy, and turning the moons and planets into large artificial intelligences.
The aliens assembled a strike force against it. But unbeknown to the aliens, the ai had already figured out that they existed, and how to detect them. It had set up traps, learning from the writings of the best human generals who ever lived, and adding an unlimited amount of simulations to find even more ingenious strategies humans had never come up with - nor the aliens.
Despite being technologically behind, the ai won, through superior strategy and the fact that the alien strike force was not too big.
Now the ai had all the remnants of alien technology at its disposal, analysed it, and incorporated it into the grey goo the whole solar system had become by then. And it was expanding into neighboring star systems. A small insect sized nanobot was enough to convert a whole star system into the same grey goo. And the aliens had nothing to do anything about it.
When nanobots started to arrive at inhabited alien planets, and all the attempts of the aliens to fight them had failed, they decided to surrender to be able to evacuate to some remote low-energy star systems which were not so important for the ai. They sent representatives from all their civilisations to Earth to discuss the specific terms. | |
[WP]every known sentient alien race has gathered and sent a representative to earth to discuss their terms for surrender. Why? | “You are here to surrender?”
*Yes. We surrender.*
Henry shuddered involuntarily as the reply rang inside his head. Their conversation was being broadcast globally - every sentient being on Earth is privy to their exchange.
A negotiation between him and the representative of every other known sentient race in the universe.
“Why?”
The technology they had displayed were far more advanced than anything mankind could have hope to achieve in the next century. Global, telepathic communication. A spaceship so gigantic people initially thought that they were on a collision course with an asteroid almost as big as the Earth.
Henry grimaced as he recall the chaos that ensued.
The movement of the asteroid was too erratic to predict an outcome, but scientists have all agreed on one thing. Even if by some miracle they had managed to avoid a collision, the gravitational pull from a body of that size and mass passing by would have thrown Earth out of orbit. There is no way out.
People panicked. Some committed suicide. Some robbed. Some killed. Some raped. The entire civilization collapsed in the span of a few days.
And then slowly, impossibly, the asteroid entered orbit. And nothing changed. It was as if the asteroid had never existed. And yet there it was, a giant hulking mass looming in the night sky, a second moon that gave off its own eerie light. Unlike the moon, sunlight doesn't seem to reflect off its surface. It kept pace with the Earth’s orbit; never closer, never farther.
Mankind watched in awe as a tiny object detached itself from the asteroid and entered the Earth’s atmosphere, a trail of red blazing in its wake. And then a message resounded in the minds of billions. There were no words, no discernible language, but the meaning is clear.
*We surrender.*
It was astonishing how quickly mankind got itself organized. A temporary government was established, communication channels were restored, riots were settled, aid was sent to where it was needed, and a human representative was selected. All done within a fortnight. *We are only human*, Henry mused. Mankind got caught with their pants down and wanted to redeem themselves.
The reply snapped him out of his reverie.
*We are advanced. We have unraveled almost every mystery there is to unravel in our universe. And yet there is one thing that continues to elude us.*
The message ended in a pause.
“And... that is?” Henry prompted, ~~allowing~~ his curiosity getting the better of his courtesy.
*The future.*
Henry sensed that the message was delivered with much trepidation and reluctance, as if they were trying to withhold the information.
“And what does that have to do with mankind?”
*We ran many simulations. Simulations on how the universe would progress. The outcomes are all the same. Mankind will one day evolve to take over the universe, by persuasion or by force. There will be many deaths. We are here to prevent that outcome.*
Henry hesitated. The aliens arrived in a spaceship the size of the Earth. One little nudge in the right direction and they would have sent Earth spiraling away from the Sun. *Genocide. It would be what I would've done.* He chose his next words with great care.
“You are surrendering because of a simulation?”
*We have tried everything at our disposal. Surrendering was the only option left to us.*
“Everything?”
*One of us just attempted to send your planet out of orbit.*
Henry paused, startled. Perhaps the alien was telling the truth. Perhaps they have indeed tried everything.
“So you have considered genocide.” Henry asked, throwing caution to the wind.
*It was the first thing that came to mind.*
The message was resigned. Henry sensed something similar to a mental shrug.
“Then why are we still alive?”
*Our engines failed.*
“And what of your… other attempts?”
*There was always some form of intervention. Wars would break out. Ships will fail. A plague would wipe out the crew. Food will spoil. We once had an entire fleet drive into a black hole due to a malfunction in our system. The only thing that ever reached your planet are surveillance drones, and only those that are unarmed. And even those would fail before it enters your range of detection.*
“Why would something like that happen?”
*Our best theory is that mankind will ~~the~~ be the first race to develop time travel.*
“What?” That was the only word Henry could manage. It was all getting a bit too much for him to handle.
*It was the only theory that made sense. The only possible explanation. Your future selves are intervening with their past, sabotaging all of our attempts. And that would explain why we could never achieve time travel. It stands to reason that the first ones to achieve time travel will be able to prevent all others from achieving the same.*
Henry was speechless for a long while.
“So what now?”
*We will help you rebuild. All resources and knowledge that is at our disposal will be yours to use as you please. In return we will only ask for peace for our surrender.* | *Over 5000 languages*
Kent could barely begin to understand what that meant in terms of human brain capacity. Were there even that many languages on Earth? How could this alien translator remember them all? And be able to speak English, perfectly on top of that? Kent had witnessed unbeievable phenomenons when he was transferred to Area 51. They had made him question his faith in God, his grip on reality, and his belief in mankind. But for two aliens, a translator and a diplomat to come to Earth to surrender in a war humans weren't aware of was, well, an alien thought to him.
"How long has the war been going on between the rest of you?" Kent asked. What else could he ask. *Just get information from them. They wanted to talk to you only,* the General had told him earlier. *How long have they been watching us? How long have they been watching me?* Kent looked down at the coffee mug in front of him. It still looked like coffee and smelled like coffee; a quick sip confirmed it was coffee. This was real.
"In Earth years, thousands of years," the translator replied. This time the translator didn't communicate back to the diplomat, who kept staring at Kent. It was the first time the translator spoke on his own accord. *Is it even a guy? A male? Female? Do they have a gender?*
"Ok, I see," Kent actually didn't. But the translator seemed to understand what it meant. Not in its literal sense, but the figurative. "What would you say are the terms of the surrender?"
This time the translator looked at the diplomat and relayed the words over. It wasn't as if it was gibberish or a foreign language like Chinese coming out of his mouth; it sounded like the wind rustling through the trees or a creak slowly pushing water along. The diplomat replied in the same language of nature, and Kent caught his eyes with the translator's eye.
"Earth has not been formally entered the war as of yet, and we ask that you do not enter it in the future. Any space explortation and excavation is limited solely to Earth's own galaxy, and none beyond that." The translator's tone was more definitive this time, more of a command than a plea.
"Formally entered," Kent inquired. "What do you mean formally entered?"
"Earth does enter the war at some point, but not at this point right now." The translator replied without adherence from the diplomat. "We ask that your species and planet never enter the war from this point on. It is possible for you to change this. We assure you."
*Space time and changing the future.* Kent had a hard time absorbing everything he was hearing, and Physics 101 twenty some years ago didn't prepare him for this. He knew of the advances in quantum mechanics, artificial intelligence, nanocomputing, and what they might do, but he didn't understand them. *That's why they chose me. I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about* "I am willing to relay that information to my superiors. I can tell you that they're willing to listen to your terms, and I am confident they will accept. I can't accept on their behalf until I meet with them, but I will do it in good faith."
The translator spoke again and the diplomat took it in, and acknowledged it with a reply of his own. "We understand it can take time for you to speak to your kind about this. We are willing to wait and ensure that the terms are met and Earth never enters this war."
*But why?* Humans had been looking for microbes on Mars and Jupiter's moons and other forms of simplistic life. These creatures had technological advancements that could wipe out the entire human race, but didn't seem all too interested in using them against Earth. *And for a war we haven't entered in a time that doesn't exist yet* "But why?" Kent echoed out of his head. "Is this because of our nuclear weapons?" They were still at this point the deadliest form of destruction humans possessed.
"No," the translator said without regard for the diplomat. "Not because of your weapons."
"Then what is it that has you surrendering to us?" Kent's voice was short and hostile. He knew the cameras were recording everything, and his superiors were watching. They didn't like it when he talked like he was in a higher paygrade that he should have been, but Kent couldn't control much of his emotions so far. "What has you so afraid?"
"Your King. We fear your King." the translator replied, but with this time with hesitance. This time the diplomat moved a little bit, something that resembled a shiver or a shudder, as if a cold gust of wind had sent his hair pricklying up. But of course both the translator and diplomat were hairless, and the room was air conditioned.
*What fucking King?* Democracy had taken over most of the world, and every King that had existed was just a novelty of its respective country. "You mean our President?" Kent asked, and his voice was short again. He couldn't help it, and he didn't want to either. "And why did you choose me out of the 7 billion on this planet?"
"No, it is not your President we fear. And you were chosen because you have watched him as we have watched him." There was only berevity in the translator's voice, and now his words were only adding to the fire beginning to rage inside of Kent.
"WHO?" Kent asked as he shot up to his feet. The two aliens remained seated, but looked on calmly. This was probably going to be his last day here. In a minute somebody was going to burst through the door to calm him down, but Kent needed to know. "WHO HAVE I BEEN WATCHING THAT YOU'RE SO AFRAID OF?"
The translator took what looked like a deep breath and brought his eye to Kent's eyes. With reluctance, he uttered his response, "The one you call Stannis Baratheon. He is the one we fear." | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | Chandler poured himself a whisky (double) from a cut crystal decanter and slumped down into his armchair, the shadows from the vertical blinds casting moodily onto his equally moody face. As Chandler downed the drink in one mouthful, he reflected on his first day on the job since 'the incident'.
Chandler entered the building purporting to belong to the 'McDonald's' family wrapped effortlessly in his double-breasted overcoat and suede trilby. He thought he was working for a detective agency which had opened during his time away from the business. He was sorely mistaken.
An acned teenaged boy greeted him at the automatic doors and asked in a voice which was falsetto one word, baritone the next:
'Are you Mr Chandler'
'Why I am young man, this job is my calling. I am here to take care of business.'
'Oh, great', said the oily juvenile 'then you will be able to clean up the sick in the bathroom'. | This prompt has described, "Phillip Fathom, the Deep Sea Detective" of the Thrilling Adventure Hour's "The Adventure's of Captain Lazer Beam" segment.
http://thrilling-adventure-hour.wikia.com/wiki/Phillip_Fathom
That said, The Thrilling Adventure Hour is amazing, and this prompt does work out hilariously. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | "Tony, have you been drinking again?"
Great. That latest waste-of-spandex goofball wore on my nerves and now my senile aunt is getting on my case. I pour myself another whiskey.
"It's Richard", I tell her. That's not exactly a lie. "I just heard from Bloodnight. Turns out Richard was Kid Night all this time." I barely restrain myself from punctuating the phrases -not outright lies, I tell myself- with glasses of whiskey. "And now he's dead." That, at least, is not a lie. Every once in a while, the morons the police labels "super criminals" manage to put a lethal component in their Rube Goldberg Guillotines.
For all that, they might as well be amusement park rides. The Mountebank's contraption wasn't even modified when the bank foreclosed on his estate, for fuck's sake.
"Who, Bloodnight?" Aunt Gladys drags me back from my sidetrack. Johnny Walker has probably impeded Bloodnight's work more than the Harlequin, Puffin, Jester, Gentoo and Mountebank combined.
"No, you idiot, Richard!"
"You mean that's why... Tony, miss Gadoula from Child protection is here to see you about something. I asked her to wait on the patio."
It can't be. I've told them to take me off the foster care registry. I keep sending opt-out letters, I keep telling my lawyer to see that they get me off the registry, I've pointed out that the previous six -make that seven- orphans I've adopted have ended up as Kid Night and consequently dead. But no, there's a clerical error or my PR people intercept it or Aunt Gladys offers me as a foster parent for an orphaned gymnastics prodigy or some fucking thing, and soon enough it's as if the previous Kid Night was still there.
And where was Reginald? He's the butler, it's his job to tell my guests to sit down while the master pops a caffeine pill and applies aftershave to cover the reek of booze about his person. I faintly recall, in a distant era referred to as "Sobriety", telling him to hold all my calls.
I hastily down the pill, dab on a bit of aftershave and gargle mouthwash, and then stagger to the patio.
"Mr. Banner, so kind of you to see me on such short notice", the foster care clerk tells me. I quickly scan the patio for other people - male, late teens, athletic build, brown hair, a particular idiosyncrasy of speech. None in sight, thankfully.
"There has been a tragic accident that left young mr. Blueson here... Winston? Where have you gotten into?"
"Can't you stick him to an orphanage?" I ask.
"They're at capacity. Many of Soapsud's henchwomen were single mothers"
"Yes, dreadful business." And I do understand - I'm about three drinks short of not understanding. I understand that the theme-goons have families waiting for them. That most of them just do it for a paycheck, and that most of them are working for the less crooked sons of bitches. But after watching Richard dissolved in lye, I wasn't in a mood for nonlethal means.
"The Frankensons?" I plead.
"Mrs. Frankenson is still in mourning for her late husband", she tells me. Oh, right. This whiskey is really getting to me if I really suggested foisting whoever this kid is on a pedophile. Lethal or not immediately lethal means, seems like I screw myself either way.
"Now listen you stupid cow!" I know I'm not angry at her, someplace currently buried in smoldering fury. I'm angry at the motherfucker that couldn't save his kid sidekick, "You foist this kid on me, and I might as well stick a fucking gun in his mouth and blow his fucking brains out my own fucking self! Seven of them! That's how many Kid Night's I've had to bury!"
"Holy Bowdler, miz Gadoula, this is supposed to be my foster dad?" I knew it. I'm starting to suspect Richard was from a set of octuplets separated at birth.
"Please..." Miss Gadoula almost sobs. I'm not usually a sucker for a cute gal's teary-eyed pleading, last night was proof of that, but any of the social services ladies... I've let the previous two die, I hope that she won't be next.
"Fine, I'll take him. What's your first name, kid?"
"Winston, sir."
Miss Gadoula starts to walk me through the paperwork, and this is when Reginald finally shows up.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but there has been an urgent call from your office", he says, "Mr. F. Ubar, if you know what I mean."
"I'll have to take this call, miss Gadoula. Come on, Winston."
I race into the drawing room and pull Tolstoy's War and Peace from the shelf to reveal the suit-dispenser firepoles, and slide down the one marked "Bloodnight".
While I'm being worked over by the machinery, Reginald takes the stairs and arrives in the Bloodcave at the same time I do. The name was the first Kid Night's idea. Or the second's, my alcohol-addled brain can't quite recollect.
"What's the emergency?" I ask as I race to the Bloodmobile. When the police actually calls Bloodnight for help, I have little
"A super-criminal calling himself the Charlatan has taken the city council hostage at the opening of the new shopping mall", Reginald's voice crackles in my earbud.
"The one in Clearview? I'll get there in... Why is this thing not starting."
"I noticed the state of your liquor cabinet, and I must conclude that you are at least three drinks past the legal limit. I have therefore, regretfully, disabled the Bloodmobile and taken possession of your other car keys."
"Reginald, are you telling me that you're stopping me from driving out in a piece of misappropriated, nuclear reactor driven military technology, loaded with munitions banned by the Geneva convention, because I'm too drunk to drive?"
"Yes, sir", my butler says, and proffers a blood-red one speed bicycle with one hand, and a similarly-colored bicycle helmet with the other.
As I don the helmet and try to mentally prepare for a half-hour bike ride, I hear Reginald say "And you, young sir, are not going anywhere before I have a chance to properly fit your suit." I stop before I realize that he's talking to Winston Blueson, the eighth Kid Night.
Riding a bike down the tunnel gives me altogether too much time to reflect on how I'm not the hero Gothburg deserves, and that maybe this next moron will finally manage to take me out. That maybe it would be a good thing, that I'm basically the leading cause of violent death in this city.
I leave the tunnel behind, and with it, my brooding. The deal is simple: They try to bring about anarchy, the rule by the strongest, and I'm going to give them the kind of veto they'll have little choice accept.
I may fail, and this city may be plunged into a kafkaesque nightmare of spandex-wearing monsters, but as long as I live, that nightmare will be one everyone in this city can wake up from. | This prompt has described, "Phillip Fathom, the Deep Sea Detective" of the Thrilling Adventure Hour's "The Adventure's of Captain Lazer Beam" segment.
http://thrilling-adventure-hour.wikia.com/wiki/Phillip_Fathom
That said, The Thrilling Adventure Hour is amazing, and this prompt does work out hilariously. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | There I was, sellotaped to a snack trolley, as the dreaded Administrator pushed me closer and closer to his photocopier of death.
I immediately got up, ripping apart the tape that supposedly was binding me.
"Really." I stated, as I picked up a chocolate bar and shoved it in the Administrator's fat little face, before kicking him hard in the groin *POW* .
"Maybe it's just that I'm just that good," I commented, as a tooth came flying from the Administrator's mouth with a well executed punch *BIFF* , "Or maybe it's just that you are terrible at this..."
I slapped him on both sides of his head *KLANNNG* , disorienting him, then pulled out the switchblade on my utility belt that he didn't take off as he was a moron.
"How exactly does the photocopier kill anyone who isn't a bystander? I know you try hard, but," I made an incision in his cheek and drew a bloody line towards his mouth *SCHLIIIICK* , "The only thing lethal about it is the lever with the poison gas sprayer hooked up to it, but I've got a strong tolerance to all the poisonous substances you've purchased in the past seven years."
I holstered my knife, and admired my handiwork for a moment.
Then I pulled out my pistol.
*BLAM*
"I need a better class of villain." | This prompt has described, "Phillip Fathom, the Deep Sea Detective" of the Thrilling Adventure Hour's "The Adventure's of Captain Lazer Beam" segment.
http://thrilling-adventure-hour.wikia.com/wiki/Phillip_Fathom
That said, The Thrilling Adventure Hour is amazing, and this prompt does work out hilariously. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | The ropes that bound my hands were loose, tied by an incapable henchman. I'd be able to shed them in a few minutes.
"Haha!" A green, spandex suited moron wearing plastic leaves glued to his shoulder pranced in front of me, close enough to strangle if my hands were free. "The mighty Night Ranger, captured in a moment of weakness."
"I'm real sorry, Ranger!" The boy tied up next to me blinks his ridiculous doe eyes and pouts. He keeps showing up, every goddamn day, trying to be my sidekick. "I'll make it up to you, I swear! No more mistakes!"
"I'm afraid you won't have time for that, little bird." More cackling. The ropes shifted a bit, and I was one step closer to rearranging that idiot's facial structure. "You see, the Plantmancer has other plans for the both of you."
I perked my head up, eyeing the green buffoon. His beady eyes twinkled as he waved at a vat of green ooze, a pulley system dangling over the top.
"The boy first!" He clapped his hands together, a wide, flourescent yellow smile spreading over his stupid face.
Of course, the boy first. Idiots. Always giving me more time. The ropes were finally exactly where I wanted them, but I relaxed and watched the show. His two bumbling henchmen somehow managed to get the boy and the chair both hooked up over the vat, although at points both of them nearly lost their balance and fell into the green goo.
"You can't do this! Ranger, help me!" The boy squirmed, causing the whole contraption to shift down a little, towards the vat.
My name isn't Night Ranger. I don't have a fucking name. I beat muggers, thieves and rapists half to death (sometimes the whole damn way, depending) with my bare hands, and I wear a suit so no one guesses my identity. Or to scare the shit out of them. I don't bother telling him that. I have a thousand times.
"Well, Night Ranger?" The yellow little smirk makes its way over to my chair. He leans in, his fake plastic ivy brushing my shoulder. "Isn't this delightful? Your protege is about to become one of my very own Plant Monsters. He'll be unstoppable!"
"He's better off as a ficus." I growled, a slight smirk of my own forming. The Plantmancer starts to say something, but I insert my forehead into his gross teeth. He stumbles back, spraying teeth and blood, trying to signal his henchmen.
I can't stand whatever has gotten into the organized crime in this city lately, but it sure as hell made ass kicking a lot easier. This dumb fuck had two henchmen with no guns and a vat of green goo. In moments they were all sprawled out on the floor, legs and arms and teeth and skulls broken.
I turned my attention to the now silent boy slowly spinning over the vat.
"G-get me down?"
This isn't the first time he's seen me bust heads. Seems to scare him a little every time. It's fucking tiring.
"Sure." With a quick flick of my wrist, I hit the release on the pulley.
The screaming idiot falls straight into the goo.
Glub glub.
After a few seconds, I sigh. I walk over to the the side of the industrial tub and start reeling him in with the rope.
When he can breathe again, he starts crying.
"Calm the fuck down. That's plant food and pudding mix. And please, don't come back tomorrow."
I leave him covered in goo and tied to the chair, laying sideways on the warehouse floor. This fucking city.
| This prompt has described, "Phillip Fathom, the Deep Sea Detective" of the Thrilling Adventure Hour's "The Adventure's of Captain Lazer Beam" segment.
http://thrilling-adventure-hour.wikia.com/wiki/Phillip_Fathom
That said, The Thrilling Adventure Hour is amazing, and this prompt does work out hilariously. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | There I was, sellotaped to a snack trolley, as the dreaded Administrator pushed me closer and closer to his photocopier of death.
I immediately got up, ripping apart the tape that supposedly was binding me.
"Really." I stated, as I picked up a chocolate bar and shoved it in the Administrator's fat little face, before kicking him hard in the groin *POW* .
"Maybe it's just that I'm just that good," I commented, as a tooth came flying from the Administrator's mouth with a well executed punch *BIFF* , "Or maybe it's just that you are terrible at this..."
I slapped him on both sides of his head *KLANNNG* , disorienting him, then pulled out the switchblade on my utility belt that he didn't take off as he was a moron.
"How exactly does the photocopier kill anyone who isn't a bystander? I know you try hard, but," I made an incision in his cheek and drew a bloody line towards his mouth *SCHLIIIICK* , "The only thing lethal about it is the lever with the poison gas sprayer hooked up to it, but I've got a strong tolerance to all the poisonous substances you've purchased in the past seven years."
I holstered my knife, and admired my handiwork for a moment.
Then I pulled out my pistol.
*BLAM*
"I need a better class of villain." | XtremDeath looks out at the field where the Supervillian the Duck is building his giant pool. The Duck has said that if the city doesn't pay he'll flood the city. XtremDeath, ever watchful, shakes his head, and picks up his fusion cannon. He thinks these fools never learn, silly plots and sillier criminals just don't stand up to hot fusion. Sighting in the cannon he notices the 50 hostages that the Duck thinks will keep the police away, it may, but not him. He adjusts two more dials and fires....
The smoking crater where the Duck had been building his pool and some carbon ash in the air is all that is left. XtremDeath turns away and begins to walk, another good day on the job. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | The ropes that bound my hands were loose, tied by an incapable henchman. I'd be able to shed them in a few minutes.
"Haha!" A green, spandex suited moron wearing plastic leaves glued to his shoulder pranced in front of me, close enough to strangle if my hands were free. "The mighty Night Ranger, captured in a moment of weakness."
"I'm real sorry, Ranger!" The boy tied up next to me blinks his ridiculous doe eyes and pouts. He keeps showing up, every goddamn day, trying to be my sidekick. "I'll make it up to you, I swear! No more mistakes!"
"I'm afraid you won't have time for that, little bird." More cackling. The ropes shifted a bit, and I was one step closer to rearranging that idiot's facial structure. "You see, the Plantmancer has other plans for the both of you."
I perked my head up, eyeing the green buffoon. His beady eyes twinkled as he waved at a vat of green ooze, a pulley system dangling over the top.
"The boy first!" He clapped his hands together, a wide, flourescent yellow smile spreading over his stupid face.
Of course, the boy first. Idiots. Always giving me more time. The ropes were finally exactly where I wanted them, but I relaxed and watched the show. His two bumbling henchmen somehow managed to get the boy and the chair both hooked up over the vat, although at points both of them nearly lost their balance and fell into the green goo.
"You can't do this! Ranger, help me!" The boy squirmed, causing the whole contraption to shift down a little, towards the vat.
My name isn't Night Ranger. I don't have a fucking name. I beat muggers, thieves and rapists half to death (sometimes the whole damn way, depending) with my bare hands, and I wear a suit so no one guesses my identity. Or to scare the shit out of them. I don't bother telling him that. I have a thousand times.
"Well, Night Ranger?" The yellow little smirk makes its way over to my chair. He leans in, his fake plastic ivy brushing my shoulder. "Isn't this delightful? Your protege is about to become one of my very own Plant Monsters. He'll be unstoppable!"
"He's better off as a ficus." I growled, a slight smirk of my own forming. The Plantmancer starts to say something, but I insert my forehead into his gross teeth. He stumbles back, spraying teeth and blood, trying to signal his henchmen.
I can't stand whatever has gotten into the organized crime in this city lately, but it sure as hell made ass kicking a lot easier. This dumb fuck had two henchmen with no guns and a vat of green goo. In moments they were all sprawled out on the floor, legs and arms and teeth and skulls broken.
I turned my attention to the now silent boy slowly spinning over the vat.
"G-get me down?"
This isn't the first time he's seen me bust heads. Seems to scare him a little every time. It's fucking tiring.
"Sure." With a quick flick of my wrist, I hit the release on the pulley.
The screaming idiot falls straight into the goo.
Glub glub.
After a few seconds, I sigh. I walk over to the the side of the industrial tub and start reeling him in with the rope.
When he can breathe again, he starts crying.
"Calm the fuck down. That's plant food and pudding mix. And please, don't come back tomorrow."
I leave him covered in goo and tied to the chair, laying sideways on the warehouse floor. This fucking city.
| XtremDeath looks out at the field where the Supervillian the Duck is building his giant pool. The Duck has said that if the city doesn't pay he'll flood the city. XtremDeath, ever watchful, shakes his head, and picks up his fusion cannon. He thinks these fools never learn, silly plots and sillier criminals just don't stand up to hot fusion. Sighting in the cannon he notices the 50 hostages that the Duck thinks will keep the police away, it may, but not him. He adjusts two more dials and fires....
The smoking crater where the Duck had been building his pool and some carbon ash in the air is all that is left. XtremDeath turns away and begins to walk, another good day on the job. | |
[WP] You are a dark, brooding 90s style anti hero. But much to your annoyance, the setting, other characters, and plot are as campy as the 60s batman show. | There I was, sellotaped to a snack trolley, as the dreaded Administrator pushed me closer and closer to his photocopier of death.
I immediately got up, ripping apart the tape that supposedly was binding me.
"Really." I stated, as I picked up a chocolate bar and shoved it in the Administrator's fat little face, before kicking him hard in the groin *POW* .
"Maybe it's just that I'm just that good," I commented, as a tooth came flying from the Administrator's mouth with a well executed punch *BIFF* , "Or maybe it's just that you are terrible at this..."
I slapped him on both sides of his head *KLANNNG* , disorienting him, then pulled out the switchblade on my utility belt that he didn't take off as he was a moron.
"How exactly does the photocopier kill anyone who isn't a bystander? I know you try hard, but," I made an incision in his cheek and drew a bloody line towards his mouth *SCHLIIIICK* , "The only thing lethal about it is the lever with the poison gas sprayer hooked up to it, but I've got a strong tolerance to all the poisonous substances you've purchased in the past seven years."
I holstered my knife, and admired my handiwork for a moment.
Then I pulled out my pistol.
*BLAM*
"I need a better class of villain." | Chandler poured himself a whisky (double) from a cut crystal decanter and slumped down into his armchair, the shadows from the vertical blinds casting moodily onto his equally moody face. As Chandler downed the drink in one mouthful, he reflected on his first day on the job since 'the incident'.
Chandler entered the building purporting to belong to the 'McDonald's' family wrapped effortlessly in his double-breasted overcoat and suede trilby. He thought he was working for a detective agency which had opened during his time away from the business. He was sorely mistaken.
An acned teenaged boy greeted him at the automatic doors and asked in a voice which was falsetto one word, baritone the next:
'Are you Mr Chandler'
'Why I am young man, this job is my calling. I am here to take care of business.'
'Oh, great', said the oily juvenile 'then you will be able to clean up the sick in the bathroom'. | |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | Sarah carefully organized the items she needed for the ritual of blood she read about online. The eye of a frog, a lock of horse hair, a leg of chicken, the fang of a snake, and the talon of an eagle; each of these she placed at five points around a stone chalice she bought from a thrift store. She began the chant she had printed out and tacked to the cork board on her wall next to her calendar and the tickets from her favorite concert.
“I give these items to you, drk lord, so that you my steer my life-,“ Sarah stopped and looked at the paper more closely; whoever had written it must not have been very good at spelling.
“So that you may steer my life with your abominable will, oh dark lord, for you are my only god, and I reject all others,” Sarah continued, happy to see that there were no more typos. She picked up the knife at her side, its blade glinting with the fluorescence of her pink lightbulb as she pointed it at the palm of her other, trembling hand. She made a quick but deep incision to draw blood, which dripped down her fingers like paint, and splashing into the stone chalice. A sudden wind blew outside, as if from nowhere, which Sarah took to mean that her dark lord was listening.
“I give this token of my life, my very blood, to you my dark lord, Stan,” Sarah said with dramatic finality as thunder clapped outside. Sarah looked again at the paper and realized her mistake in pronunciation.
“I mean, I give my very blood to you, my dark lord, SATAN. I meant SATAN.” Sarah looked around, but it seemed as if the wind was already dying down outside, and nothing seemed to change. She was still living with her parents at age twenty-two in the same bedroom she grew up in, not knowing what do with her life. She woefully bandaged up her hand, cleared the floor, and went to bed.
The next morning Sarah got up at noon as usual and went to the kitchen to make breakfast, only to find her parents had already prepared a lavish spread. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, fried peppers and potatoes, interestingly all arranged at five points around a bowl of plastic fruit her mother adored. Her parents stood next to each other grinning at her.
“Good morning sweetheart, we thought we’d make a special breakfast for our soon-to-be working girl!” her mom chirped. Before Sarah could ask her father answered.
“We got a call from somebody offering you a job!”
“But I haven’t applied anywhere in months, and every place before that turned me down,” Sarah grimly reflected. Her parents looked at each other quizzically but were still smiling.
“He seemed pretty excited to have you on board. He said his name was… Stan?” Her dad looked at her mom for confirmation who nodded fervently. Sarah tried to think of any people she met with during her job interviews named ‘Stan’ but it didn’t click.
“Don’t know. It probably was one of my friend’s playing a joke, like Jeremy,” Sarah said as she began to put together a plate of food for herself. The smiles slid off her parents’ faces and their shoulders slumped at hearing this. Her mom stoically left the kitchen as her dad rubbed the back of his head.
“Well that wasn’t very funny,” he said glumly.
“No, it wasn’t,” Sarah said, already planning on looking up a ritual to get back at Jeremy. As Sarah sat down to eat the phone began to ring in the other room and she heard her mom answer. Sarah barely got to nibble on a piece of bacon before her mom entered saying it was Stan on the phone again.
“I told him that if he was Jeremy or one of his friends trying to pull a prank it wasn’t funny but he said ‘no’,” her mom said sweetly while covering the receiver with her hand. Sarah jolted out of her seat with surprise and embarrassment, realizing what her mom might sound like to a potential employer. She took the phone from her mom, cleared her throat of any bacon, and gave the most professional greeting she could think of right then.
“Hi this is Sarah Proust, who might I ask is calling?”
“Why don’t you have a cell phone?” a deep, booming, masculine voice asked from the other end. Sarah was shocked by the voice, expecting it to be the familiar, if somewhat altered, tones of one of her friends.
“My old one died.” Like a year ago, Sarah thought to herself.
“Yeah well get a new one. And grab a pen and paper, I’m gonna give you my address. I need you in my office A-S-A-P.”
“Wait, who is this?”
“Your dark lord. Stan? The one you granted your life and soul to last night?”
Sarah reeled, and grabbed the kitchen chair for stability. Her parents continued to stare at her with curiosity so she shooed them away into the other room. Sarah reduced her voice to a whisper.
“Look, Jeremy, if you bugged my room just so you could pull this stunt I’m gonna be so pissed-“
“Who is this Jeremy guy? Look if he’s bugging you that much, I’ll consider smiting him for your Christmas bonus but you’ve gotta earn that. Now here’s my address-“
Sarah was finally scared enough to play along.
“Wait, there’s been some sort of mistake. I meant to say-“
“Satan. Yeah, I know, that’s how I get most of my souls. Trust me, you don’t want to give your soul over to Satan anyway, dude’s a dick. See I’m more personable, I like to meet my souls face-to-face, it’s been proven to improve productivity, and that’s what I’m all about.”
“Productivity?” Sarah asked with apprehension.
“Yes, productivity. I am the god of productivity. Now I prefer to introduce myself in person and you do not want me coming to you. I WILL tear your house down. And then I’ll have my souls use the remnants to build a monument to me.”
Sarah decided that this was all too silly to be true and therefore must be an elaborate joke put on by her friends. She figured she would run with it as she had nothing better to do that day.
“What would such a monument look like, my dark lord?”
“I like your curiosity Sarah. It would be an office complex, with built-in Ethernet but still designed for unobstructed wireless communication. Open floor plans for dynamic furnishing, roof lights in addition to side windows to provide the maximal amount of outdoor lighting without overstimulation, and easily located stairwells to reduce overly-sedating sedentary behavior.”
“Ooh, I like that,” Sarah said trying to sound turned on.
“Yeah? Well maybe I will come over then,” the voice sounded pleased.
“No! Give me your address. I’ll come to you, my dark lord,” Sarah said with sizzle.
The address wasn’t far away, and Sarah figured she could probably ride her bike there.
“Get here pronto.”
After that he hung up and Sarah started to concoct her reversal. She grabbed some whipped cream from the cabinet, but then realized that might send the wrong message, and instead grabbed cheese spray. As she closed the cabinet door her parents entered the kitchen looking positively dumb-founded, her mom limply holding the phone from upstairs.
“Sarah what was all that about?” her mom asked, ignoring the blatant invasion of privacy by listening in on the conversation.
“Don’t worry mom it’s just my friends playing a prank. But I’m gonna get them back,” Sarah sung as she grabbed her backpack by the back door and began filling it with her tools of revenge.
“Oh Sarah, couldn’t you spend this time looking for another job instead?” her mom pleaded.
“Ah let her go honey. I haven’t seen her this motivated since that sale at Forever Twenty-One!” her dad chuckled.
“I’ll make sure to take pictures!” Sarah said happily as she departed.
-To be continued, maybe-
| (Preface: in this story Satan has a teenage brother named Stan who is summoned, and the satanist cannot pronounce her R's, so Trish=Twish, hoor= whore (This speech impediment is based exclusively off of someone I know who speaks this way and I just type how they pronounce certain words))
"So wait, how much will you give it to me for?", Stan inquired twirling the lackluster mustache he had been trying to grow for almost eight months.
"To get payback to that bitch Twish for squewing me over, I want to enshore that hoor never finds twu love."
Amused, Stan replies: "Wait, how am I supposed to do that, and what can you pay me with?"
"Well, I have my soul, and I constantly sacwefice animals in yoor name my lowd SayTan"
Suddenly, Stan puffs out his undeveloped chest, envelops himself with infernal fire and shouts, "I GO BY STAN YOU FOOLISH MORTAL, I WILL DECAY YOUR WOMB AND CAUSE YOU ETERNAL SUFFERING!"
"I'm sowwy, my lorwd Stan. But like I said, I can offowr my soul and possibly my viginity?"
Stan laughs out loud (noticing how his mustache flows with the wind when he laughs), and responds, "Listen here bitch, I'll take your soul, but I've taken enough virginities in my day. Miley Cyrus was the last girl whose virginity I took, and we all know how that turned out".
"So how will you help me my lorwd?"
Stan gets a Grinch-like grin on his face, and pauses for a brief moment, responding carefully, "I can give her mother cancer, and her father early-onset Alzheimers. Or, I could fix you that speech impediment, and maybe give you a bit of a makeover too".
"Yes my lorwd! Eithorh of those sound porfect! So what do I have to do?"
Reaching into his pocket, Stan takes out a pack of Newports, and carefully removes the 6th cigarette from the pack. He hands it to the girl, and says, "Smoke this and say my name three times. Once you finish it, I'll have your soul, and whatever is your utmost desire will come to fruition. However, be careful because just like having sex with a cannibal, wishes may come back and bite you in the ass". Stan then places a finger on his left nostril and blows out of his right. Small boogers initially fly out, followed by a burst of orange flames.
The Satanist takes a few drags, says Stan three times, mutters something about how shitty Menthols are and passes out, falling to the ground.
Stan flips her over, removes her shirt, and takes pictures of her naked chest. After sending the pictures to Adolf, Sam Walton, and Pol, he throws her onto her bed, and calls his Uber driver.
Fast forward to three months later.
Stan is sitting on the banks of the Styx, admiring the fresh ass coming into his territory. Suddenly Cortana tells him that he has an incoming call. It's Lizz, that chick with the retard talk from a few months ago.
Stan sighs heavily, and answers: "What do you want now? I'm pretty busy right now, and I already have your soul, so I'm not doing anything else for you."
"Uh, actually I was calling to thank you for what you did to me! When you took my soul I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then I woke up and my bra was off; thinking nothing of it I go to try and put it back on, but it didn't work! I'm now a 34DD, and my speech impediment is gone!"
Stan sits up suddenly, thinking of what she had looked like. The last few months had him meeting quite a few young Sat..Stanists. Then he realized something, and asked, "Wait, Lizz, who was the girl who you wanted me to smite for you?".
"Trish! She's actually super jealous of me, and now people are saying she's becoming a Stanist too, especially after I told her about how you changed my life for the better!"
Stan then noticed an incoming call, from a perky young blonde whose name according to Caller ID was named Trish.
"And actually Stan, what I wanted to bring up was that my mom just got some test results back from her oncologist, and it looked like she's got rapidly spreading can..."
Stan immediately realizes where that conversation was heading and hangs up on Lizz, and answers smoothly with a grin: "Hey this is Stan, how can I help you baby?"
Edits: tried to clarify more details, still left it a bit abstract, let me know if I should clarify more.
| |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | The door opens.
"Hey,"
"Hello."
A pause. Odd. He thinks she's too pale. Hair must be dyed. Can't be that black naturally.
"I got this package the other night. It's a jar of something. Has your name and birthday on it. Did a google search. You post on craigslist frequently. Thought you'd live on a farm. What's with the heavy interest in goats?"
Her eyes squint. Brows sink. Unnaturally dark lashes. Layers upon layers of eye liner. He flinches.
"Not important. Here's the jar. Has to be yours. I have stuff to do today, would you mind if I left?"
He lifts the jar out of a grocery store sack he'd been holding in his left hand. Her eyes soften. She seems less threatening.
"I knew it. It had to be something." The jar glows greenish red. Or orangish blue. Hard to tell. She reaches for it.
He moves it out of her reach. "Nope. Money."
She disappears into the house. Comes back with a jar of money. Mostly fives and twenties. *Church Donations. Hail Stan!* is written on the front. Scotch tape. He thinks something may be amiss.
She motions to trade the jar of money for the jar of light. He's curious.
"Make me a sandwich,"
She puts down the jar of money, disappears and returns with a sandwich.
"Candy,"
She gets in her car, leaves and returns with candy.
"Let me use your bathroom."
She lets him. House has his name written everywhere. Hail Stan. Hail Stan. Stan is da Bomb. Damn right he thinks, but how could she know? He orders her to have anything with Stan written upon it to be moved to the bathroom.
He lives the rest of his life on the toilet-- jar of soul between his knees and sandwich in hand. | (Preface: in this story Satan has a teenage brother named Stan who is summoned, and the satanist cannot pronounce her R's, so Trish=Twish, hoor= whore (This speech impediment is based exclusively off of someone I know who speaks this way and I just type how they pronounce certain words))
"So wait, how much will you give it to me for?", Stan inquired twirling the lackluster mustache he had been trying to grow for almost eight months.
"To get payback to that bitch Twish for squewing me over, I want to enshore that hoor never finds twu love."
Amused, Stan replies: "Wait, how am I supposed to do that, and what can you pay me with?"
"Well, I have my soul, and I constantly sacwefice animals in yoor name my lowd SayTan"
Suddenly, Stan puffs out his undeveloped chest, envelops himself with infernal fire and shouts, "I GO BY STAN YOU FOOLISH MORTAL, I WILL DECAY YOUR WOMB AND CAUSE YOU ETERNAL SUFFERING!"
"I'm sowwy, my lorwd Stan. But like I said, I can offowr my soul and possibly my viginity?"
Stan laughs out loud (noticing how his mustache flows with the wind when he laughs), and responds, "Listen here bitch, I'll take your soul, but I've taken enough virginities in my day. Miley Cyrus was the last girl whose virginity I took, and we all know how that turned out".
"So how will you help me my lorwd?"
Stan gets a Grinch-like grin on his face, and pauses for a brief moment, responding carefully, "I can give her mother cancer, and her father early-onset Alzheimers. Or, I could fix you that speech impediment, and maybe give you a bit of a makeover too".
"Yes my lorwd! Eithorh of those sound porfect! So what do I have to do?"
Reaching into his pocket, Stan takes out a pack of Newports, and carefully removes the 6th cigarette from the pack. He hands it to the girl, and says, "Smoke this and say my name three times. Once you finish it, I'll have your soul, and whatever is your utmost desire will come to fruition. However, be careful because just like having sex with a cannibal, wishes may come back and bite you in the ass". Stan then places a finger on his left nostril and blows out of his right. Small boogers initially fly out, followed by a burst of orange flames.
The Satanist takes a few drags, says Stan three times, mutters something about how shitty Menthols are and passes out, falling to the ground.
Stan flips her over, removes her shirt, and takes pictures of her naked chest. After sending the pictures to Adolf, Sam Walton, and Pol, he throws her onto her bed, and calls his Uber driver.
Fast forward to three months later.
Stan is sitting on the banks of the Styx, admiring the fresh ass coming into his territory. Suddenly Cortana tells him that he has an incoming call. It's Lizz, that chick with the retard talk from a few months ago.
Stan sighs heavily, and answers: "What do you want now? I'm pretty busy right now, and I already have your soul, so I'm not doing anything else for you."
"Uh, actually I was calling to thank you for what you did to me! When you took my soul I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then I woke up and my bra was off; thinking nothing of it I go to try and put it back on, but it didn't work! I'm now a 34DD, and my speech impediment is gone!"
Stan sits up suddenly, thinking of what she had looked like. The last few months had him meeting quite a few young Sat..Stanists. Then he realized something, and asked, "Wait, Lizz, who was the girl who you wanted me to smite for you?".
"Trish! She's actually super jealous of me, and now people are saying she's becoming a Stanist too, especially after I told her about how you changed my life for the better!"
Stan then noticed an incoming call, from a perky young blonde whose name according to Caller ID was named Trish.
"And actually Stan, what I wanted to bring up was that my mom just got some test results back from her oncologist, and it looked like she's got rapidly spreading can..."
Stan immediately realizes where that conversation was heading and hangs up on Lizz, and answers smoothly with a grin: "Hey this is Stan, how can I help you baby?"
Edits: tried to clarify more details, still left it a bit abstract, let me know if I should clarify more.
| |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | Stan, who had been in Chemistry class at the time, felt a tingling and slight nausea. He asked the teacher to go to the restroom, and his lab partner continued with the experiment. As he was walking down the hall, he bumped into Sarah.
Sarah, as usual, was wearing a black dress that featured her cleavage. It was a minor mystery how she was able to pull this off without much notice from the principal or his staff, but in comparison to the exploits and shenanigans of the cheerleading squad, her occult-obsessed social circle nearly maintained the appearance of respectability. Her moderately high grades certainly helped, although few suspected that black magic was behind something so trivial as deflecting the attention of administrators. And her genuine enthusiasm for foreign languages earned her some admiration from the first-year male geek contingent.
Uncharacteristically, Sarah was holding Stan's arm with a vice-like grip and whispering very quickly into his ear. She was speaking in tongues.
He dropped to the floor. Luckily no one was in the hall, and since it was during class time, Sarah was able to drag his unconscious body into an unused room. She called her grandmother.
Who was, naturally, outraged. Didn't Sarah know that this work was for the professionals? A certain amount of "experimentation" is encouraged in the Satanist community, but for a child to attempt such a feat. This talk bored Sarah, and she was not moved by the admonitions against abusing her powers. She rolled her eyes dramatically even though her grandmother could not hear her.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady! I'm doing this for your benefit, you must learn the rules before you break them, just think of all that your parents have done for you!"
Oh yes, now she remembered. Although Sarah's grandmother had telepathic powers, they were far less present in both herself and her mother. She wondered whether or not her grandmother would help her to re-assign Muffin's soul.
After giving her cat special mental powers and the capacity to communicate with humans, Sarah had taught Muffins basic rituals. It had not occurred to her that she had mis-spoke and granted additional powers, the powers to read and invoke magic.
Granting Muffins the power to property pronounce "Satan" was, apparently, not included. Instead of a new initiate, Muffins was now fully devoted to the mild mannered but occasionally sarcastic Stan.
It wasn't clear to Sarah just how much damage Stan could do, having been granted the soul of a super-kitty. Did he even know? This didn't concern her. What concerned her was getting Muffin's soul back.
And then it hit her: Stan was actually kind of cute. His wry sense of humor and disarming awkwardness was often a welcome respite from the testosterone fest that was the football team. And although she sometimes caught him eyeing her breasts a few feet away, she could tell that he was trying to be unobtrusive about it. Having buried herself in her studies, Sarah, now a sophomore at St. Lucia, had an abrupt onset of self-consciousness, realizing that many of the girls in her class had announced boyfriends. None of the boys had ever appealed to her in the slightest.
She ran her hands through his short, brown hair. "Poor boy, you have no idea how much power you have right now". It was true. Even with the soul of a mere mouse it is possible to cause a great deal of mischief. Very often, the grantee need merely utter a passing remark, and the spiritual gears will being to turn.
Her grandmother had decided that instead of facilitating some solution it was a better use of time to read Sarah the riot act. Finally Sarah screamed at her to stop. "I've changed my mind, I'm going to let him keep it".
Silence.
More silence.
Five seconds later, her grandmother burst out laughing in a shrill, high tone. It would have been a classic "evil laugh" but it was more of a side-splitting, rolling on the floor type of laugh. After a bout, she caught her breath. "Young lady, this is not your decision to make. You have gotten yourself into enough trouble already. I'm going to make a petition, and I'm going to indicate that you'll be willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. If Muffins has progressed as quickly as you say she has, then an inter-species initiation ritual isn't just a good idea, it's the only thing that will keep the situation from spiraling out of control without risking anyone's life. Of course, to assign Muffin's soul to Satan, Stan will have to agree."
*Stan will have to agree*. The thought repeated itself in Sarah's mind.
"I don't suppose you have any thoughts on how to sweeten the deal..."
"Grandma! Don't be gross!"
"All I'm saying is that once he realizes just what Muffins is capable of, he's going to need a little...convincing...men don't just hand over power. It isn't in their nature."
Sarah realized this was true, and her gaze dropped momentarily to Stan's blue jeans. Her mouth squirmed over to the side and she raised her left eyebrow. The metaphorical possibilities of "cleaning up the mess she was in" flashed across her consciousness and she felt momentarily sick.
The bell rang. Students piled into the hallway. Stan was out cold. "Grandma, I can't talk, I'm going to have to call you back." She hung up and bent down over him. Spontaneously, she thrust her mouth onto his and kissed him deeply and passionately. He spasmed, moaned, and slowly raised his head.
"What happened?" he blurted out groggily. He looked down, touched his lips. "Did you...did we...?"
She kissed him again.
Fade to black and END OF SCENE | (Preface: in this story Satan has a teenage brother named Stan who is summoned, and the satanist cannot pronounce her R's, so Trish=Twish, hoor= whore (This speech impediment is based exclusively off of someone I know who speaks this way and I just type how they pronounce certain words))
"So wait, how much will you give it to me for?", Stan inquired twirling the lackluster mustache he had been trying to grow for almost eight months.
"To get payback to that bitch Twish for squewing me over, I want to enshore that hoor never finds twu love."
Amused, Stan replies: "Wait, how am I supposed to do that, and what can you pay me with?"
"Well, I have my soul, and I constantly sacwefice animals in yoor name my lowd SayTan"
Suddenly, Stan puffs out his undeveloped chest, envelops himself with infernal fire and shouts, "I GO BY STAN YOU FOOLISH MORTAL, I WILL DECAY YOUR WOMB AND CAUSE YOU ETERNAL SUFFERING!"
"I'm sowwy, my lorwd Stan. But like I said, I can offowr my soul and possibly my viginity?"
Stan laughs out loud (noticing how his mustache flows with the wind when he laughs), and responds, "Listen here bitch, I'll take your soul, but I've taken enough virginities in my day. Miley Cyrus was the last girl whose virginity I took, and we all know how that turned out".
"So how will you help me my lorwd?"
Stan gets a Grinch-like grin on his face, and pauses for a brief moment, responding carefully, "I can give her mother cancer, and her father early-onset Alzheimers. Or, I could fix you that speech impediment, and maybe give you a bit of a makeover too".
"Yes my lorwd! Eithorh of those sound porfect! So what do I have to do?"
Reaching into his pocket, Stan takes out a pack of Newports, and carefully removes the 6th cigarette from the pack. He hands it to the girl, and says, "Smoke this and say my name three times. Once you finish it, I'll have your soul, and whatever is your utmost desire will come to fruition. However, be careful because just like having sex with a cannibal, wishes may come back and bite you in the ass". Stan then places a finger on his left nostril and blows out of his right. Small boogers initially fly out, followed by a burst of orange flames.
The Satanist takes a few drags, says Stan three times, mutters something about how shitty Menthols are and passes out, falling to the ground.
Stan flips her over, removes her shirt, and takes pictures of her naked chest. After sending the pictures to Adolf, Sam Walton, and Pol, he throws her onto her bed, and calls his Uber driver.
Fast forward to three months later.
Stan is sitting on the banks of the Styx, admiring the fresh ass coming into his territory. Suddenly Cortana tells him that he has an incoming call. It's Lizz, that chick with the retard talk from a few months ago.
Stan sighs heavily, and answers: "What do you want now? I'm pretty busy right now, and I already have your soul, so I'm not doing anything else for you."
"Uh, actually I was calling to thank you for what you did to me! When you took my soul I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then I woke up and my bra was off; thinking nothing of it I go to try and put it back on, but it didn't work! I'm now a 34DD, and my speech impediment is gone!"
Stan sits up suddenly, thinking of what she had looked like. The last few months had him meeting quite a few young Sat..Stanists. Then he realized something, and asked, "Wait, Lizz, who was the girl who you wanted me to smite for you?".
"Trish! She's actually super jealous of me, and now people are saying she's becoming a Stanist too, especially after I told her about how you changed my life for the better!"
Stan then noticed an incoming call, from a perky young blonde whose name according to Caller ID was named Trish.
"And actually Stan, what I wanted to bring up was that my mom just got some test results back from her oncologist, and it looked like she's got rapidly spreading can..."
Stan immediately realizes where that conversation was heading and hangs up on Lizz, and answers smoothly with a grin: "Hey this is Stan, how can I help you baby?"
Edits: tried to clarify more details, still left it a bit abstract, let me know if I should clarify more.
| |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | The door opens.
"Hey,"
"Hello."
A pause. Odd. He thinks she's too pale. Hair must be dyed. Can't be that black naturally.
"I got this package the other night. It's a jar of something. Has your name and birthday on it. Did a google search. You post on craigslist frequently. Thought you'd live on a farm. What's with the heavy interest in goats?"
Her eyes squint. Brows sink. Unnaturally dark lashes. Layers upon layers of eye liner. He flinches.
"Not important. Here's the jar. Has to be yours. I have stuff to do today, would you mind if I left?"
He lifts the jar out of a grocery store sack he'd been holding in his left hand. Her eyes soften. She seems less threatening.
"I knew it. It had to be something." The jar glows greenish red. Or orangish blue. Hard to tell. She reaches for it.
He moves it out of her reach. "Nope. Money."
She disappears into the house. Comes back with a jar of money. Mostly fives and twenties. *Church Donations. Hail Stan!* is written on the front. Scotch tape. He thinks something may be amiss.
She motions to trade the jar of money for the jar of light. He's curious.
"Make me a sandwich,"
She puts down the jar of money, disappears and returns with a sandwich.
"Candy,"
She gets in her car, leaves and returns with candy.
"Let me use your bathroom."
She lets him. House has his name written everywhere. Hail Stan. Hail Stan. Stan is da Bomb. Damn right he thinks, but how could she know? He orders her to have anything with Stan written upon it to be moved to the bathroom.
He lives the rest of his life on the toilet-- jar of soul between his knees and sandwich in hand. | "I-I know t-this is out of the b-blue, but I n-need to ask you for so-something."
Stan looked at her funny as they walked down the hall. Around them the chaos of high-school raged: children slamming lockers, cussing, yelling. "Well, you gonna ask me or are you just not gonna talk?"
Stan really didn't like Harvey. I mean, what kind of name was that anyway? What kind of parent names their *daughter* Harvey? The kind who wants their kid to grow up to be a satanist, that's who. She was literally a freshman with a half of her hair chopped off and the other half painted black. Satan. Satan. Satan. It's all he heard about before. He just wanted to shake her and be like, 'You realize you're fourteen!?'
Plus she was *so* slow to have a conversation with. It was always so t-t-t-t-t-time-consuming with her d-d-d-d-d-damn stutter.
"W-well, the t-thing is. I m-may or m-may not have g-g-given you my soul."
"What?"
"I-I meant Satan and I said S-stan."
And Stan realized how stupid of a situation she was in. He looked down at her and suddenly understood the look of fear running amok through her face. "Jesus Christ," he said.
"D-don't you b-bring him into this."
Stan put his head in his hands as they walked. "You think I have your soul? Or something? Sometimes I don't think I have a soul of my own!" He meant it as a clever little joke but she gave him this terrified look. "I'm kidding Harvey."
"I t-think th-there might be a way to t-transfer s-souls back."
"I don't want to hear about it." They mounted the base of the stairs. Stan noted how fat Harvey was. She had a hard time jiggling up each step.
"Y-you'd n-need to g-give my soul to Satan."
"I'm not giving anything to Satan. I don't believe in Satan. I'm an atheist. So..."
At the top of the stairs she was breathing hard, so she stopped and held onto the banister. "Th-there's gotta be s-something we can do."
"No, there's not." Little quakes of anger shook through him. He was tired of her.
"T-there has to be."
And before he knew what he was doing he shoved down the stairs saying, "No there's not!"
All the high-schoolers watched her roll to a stop at the bottom and no-one seemed to help. She just laid there, like a turtle on its back, trying to get up.
Stan hurried away, keeping his head low. He felt like the kids didn't care though. As he left, they all gave him a little salute. He saluted back.
Stan went into his classroom, hoping the principals and teachers didn't find out, if they did he'd be *so* screwed. He cleared the whiteboard from last period and got the projector running.
Ugh... he had to teach in ten minutes.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn't have a soul... | |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | Stan, who had been in Chemistry class at the time, felt a tingling and slight nausea. He asked the teacher to go to the restroom, and his lab partner continued with the experiment. As he was walking down the hall, he bumped into Sarah.
Sarah, as usual, was wearing a black dress that featured her cleavage. It was a minor mystery how she was able to pull this off without much notice from the principal or his staff, but in comparison to the exploits and shenanigans of the cheerleading squad, her occult-obsessed social circle nearly maintained the appearance of respectability. Her moderately high grades certainly helped, although few suspected that black magic was behind something so trivial as deflecting the attention of administrators. And her genuine enthusiasm for foreign languages earned her some admiration from the first-year male geek contingent.
Uncharacteristically, Sarah was holding Stan's arm with a vice-like grip and whispering very quickly into his ear. She was speaking in tongues.
He dropped to the floor. Luckily no one was in the hall, and since it was during class time, Sarah was able to drag his unconscious body into an unused room. She called her grandmother.
Who was, naturally, outraged. Didn't Sarah know that this work was for the professionals? A certain amount of "experimentation" is encouraged in the Satanist community, but for a child to attempt such a feat. This talk bored Sarah, and she was not moved by the admonitions against abusing her powers. She rolled her eyes dramatically even though her grandmother could not hear her.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady! I'm doing this for your benefit, you must learn the rules before you break them, just think of all that your parents have done for you!"
Oh yes, now she remembered. Although Sarah's grandmother had telepathic powers, they were far less present in both herself and her mother. She wondered whether or not her grandmother would help her to re-assign Muffin's soul.
After giving her cat special mental powers and the capacity to communicate with humans, Sarah had taught Muffins basic rituals. It had not occurred to her that she had mis-spoke and granted additional powers, the powers to read and invoke magic.
Granting Muffins the power to property pronounce "Satan" was, apparently, not included. Instead of a new initiate, Muffins was now fully devoted to the mild mannered but occasionally sarcastic Stan.
It wasn't clear to Sarah just how much damage Stan could do, having been granted the soul of a super-kitty. Did he even know? This didn't concern her. What concerned her was getting Muffin's soul back.
And then it hit her: Stan was actually kind of cute. His wry sense of humor and disarming awkwardness was often a welcome respite from the testosterone fest that was the football team. And although she sometimes caught him eyeing her breasts a few feet away, she could tell that he was trying to be unobtrusive about it. Having buried herself in her studies, Sarah, now a sophomore at St. Lucia, had an abrupt onset of self-consciousness, realizing that many of the girls in her class had announced boyfriends. None of the boys had ever appealed to her in the slightest.
She ran her hands through his short, brown hair. "Poor boy, you have no idea how much power you have right now". It was true. Even with the soul of a mere mouse it is possible to cause a great deal of mischief. Very often, the grantee need merely utter a passing remark, and the spiritual gears will being to turn.
Her grandmother had decided that instead of facilitating some solution it was a better use of time to read Sarah the riot act. Finally Sarah screamed at her to stop. "I've changed my mind, I'm going to let him keep it".
Silence.
More silence.
Five seconds later, her grandmother burst out laughing in a shrill, high tone. It would have been a classic "evil laugh" but it was more of a side-splitting, rolling on the floor type of laugh. After a bout, she caught her breath. "Young lady, this is not your decision to make. You have gotten yourself into enough trouble already. I'm going to make a petition, and I'm going to indicate that you'll be willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. If Muffins has progressed as quickly as you say she has, then an inter-species initiation ritual isn't just a good idea, it's the only thing that will keep the situation from spiraling out of control without risking anyone's life. Of course, to assign Muffin's soul to Satan, Stan will have to agree."
*Stan will have to agree*. The thought repeated itself in Sarah's mind.
"I don't suppose you have any thoughts on how to sweeten the deal..."
"Grandma! Don't be gross!"
"All I'm saying is that once he realizes just what Muffins is capable of, he's going to need a little...convincing...men don't just hand over power. It isn't in their nature."
Sarah realized this was true, and her gaze dropped momentarily to Stan's blue jeans. Her mouth squirmed over to the side and she raised her left eyebrow. The metaphorical possibilities of "cleaning up the mess she was in" flashed across her consciousness and she felt momentarily sick.
The bell rang. Students piled into the hallway. Stan was out cold. "Grandma, I can't talk, I'm going to have to call you back." She hung up and bent down over him. Spontaneously, she thrust her mouth onto his and kissed him deeply and passionately. He spasmed, moaned, and slowly raised his head.
"What happened?" he blurted out groggily. He looked down, touched his lips. "Did you...did we...?"
She kissed him again.
Fade to black and END OF SCENE | "I-I know t-this is out of the b-blue, but I n-need to ask you for so-something."
Stan looked at her funny as they walked down the hall. Around them the chaos of high-school raged: children slamming lockers, cussing, yelling. "Well, you gonna ask me or are you just not gonna talk?"
Stan really didn't like Harvey. I mean, what kind of name was that anyway? What kind of parent names their *daughter* Harvey? The kind who wants their kid to grow up to be a satanist, that's who. She was literally a freshman with a half of her hair chopped off and the other half painted black. Satan. Satan. Satan. It's all he heard about before. He just wanted to shake her and be like, 'You realize you're fourteen!?'
Plus she was *so* slow to have a conversation with. It was always so t-t-t-t-t-time-consuming with her d-d-d-d-d-damn stutter.
"W-well, the t-thing is. I m-may or m-may not have g-g-given you my soul."
"What?"
"I-I meant Satan and I said S-stan."
And Stan realized how stupid of a situation she was in. He looked down at her and suddenly understood the look of fear running amok through her face. "Jesus Christ," he said.
"D-don't you b-bring him into this."
Stan put his head in his hands as they walked. "You think I have your soul? Or something? Sometimes I don't think I have a soul of my own!" He meant it as a clever little joke but she gave him this terrified look. "I'm kidding Harvey."
"I t-think th-there might be a way to t-transfer s-souls back."
"I don't want to hear about it." They mounted the base of the stairs. Stan noted how fat Harvey was. She had a hard time jiggling up each step.
"Y-you'd n-need to g-give my soul to Satan."
"I'm not giving anything to Satan. I don't believe in Satan. I'm an atheist. So..."
At the top of the stairs she was breathing hard, so she stopped and held onto the banister. "Th-there's gotta be s-something we can do."
"No, there's not." Little quakes of anger shook through him. He was tired of her.
"T-there has to be."
And before he knew what he was doing he shoved down the stairs saying, "No there's not!"
All the high-schoolers watched her roll to a stop at the bottom and no-one seemed to help. She just laid there, like a turtle on its back, trying to get up.
Stan hurried away, keeping his head low. He felt like the kids didn't care though. As he left, they all gave him a little salute. He saluted back.
Stan went into his classroom, hoping the principals and teachers didn't find out, if they did he'd be *so* screwed. He cleared the whiteboard from last period and got the projector running.
Ugh... he had to teach in ten minutes.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn't have a soul... | |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | "Francine? Roger?" Stan yelled from the front door.
"You don't have to yell, I'm sitting right here, you know." Roger replied, taking a chug of wine.
"Get my wallet. It's girl scouts, I want to buy some cookies." Stan said, smiling politely at the well-dressed girls in front of him. "So what are they teaching you in girl scouts these days? Blanket quilting? Shoe sewing? Ah, you're just happy to be part of something."
"We're not girl scouts, Stan." The taller of the two girls spoke with an unnaturally deep male voice. "This is Patricia. She's promised her soul to you."
Stan stared at them for a long moment. Then he frowned. "So...no cookies?" | "I-I know t-this is out of the b-blue, but I n-need to ask you for so-something."
Stan looked at her funny as they walked down the hall. Around them the chaos of high-school raged: children slamming lockers, cussing, yelling. "Well, you gonna ask me or are you just not gonna talk?"
Stan really didn't like Harvey. I mean, what kind of name was that anyway? What kind of parent names their *daughter* Harvey? The kind who wants their kid to grow up to be a satanist, that's who. She was literally a freshman with a half of her hair chopped off and the other half painted black. Satan. Satan. Satan. It's all he heard about before. He just wanted to shake her and be like, 'You realize you're fourteen!?'
Plus she was *so* slow to have a conversation with. It was always so t-t-t-t-t-time-consuming with her d-d-d-d-d-damn stutter.
"W-well, the t-thing is. I m-may or m-may not have g-g-given you my soul."
"What?"
"I-I meant Satan and I said S-stan."
And Stan realized how stupid of a situation she was in. He looked down at her and suddenly understood the look of fear running amok through her face. "Jesus Christ," he said.
"D-don't you b-bring him into this."
Stan put his head in his hands as they walked. "You think I have your soul? Or something? Sometimes I don't think I have a soul of my own!" He meant it as a clever little joke but she gave him this terrified look. "I'm kidding Harvey."
"I t-think th-there might be a way to t-transfer s-souls back."
"I don't want to hear about it." They mounted the base of the stairs. Stan noted how fat Harvey was. She had a hard time jiggling up each step.
"Y-you'd n-need to g-give my soul to Satan."
"I'm not giving anything to Satan. I don't believe in Satan. I'm an atheist. So..."
At the top of the stairs she was breathing hard, so she stopped and held onto the banister. "Th-there's gotta be s-something we can do."
"No, there's not." Little quakes of anger shook through him. He was tired of her.
"T-there has to be."
And before he knew what he was doing he shoved down the stairs saying, "No there's not!"
All the high-schoolers watched her roll to a stop at the bottom and no-one seemed to help. She just laid there, like a turtle on its back, trying to get up.
Stan hurried away, keeping his head low. He felt like the kids didn't care though. As he left, they all gave him a little salute. He saluted back.
Stan went into his classroom, hoping the principals and teachers didn't find out, if they did he'd be *so* screwed. He cleared the whiteboard from last period and got the projector running.
Ugh... he had to teach in ten minutes.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn't have a soul... | |
[WP]: due to an unfortunate speech impediment, a young satanist accidentally grants her soul to Stan | Stan, who had been in Chemistry class at the time, felt a tingling and slight nausea. He asked the teacher to go to the restroom, and his lab partner continued with the experiment. As he was walking down the hall, he bumped into Sarah.
Sarah, as usual, was wearing a black dress that featured her cleavage. It was a minor mystery how she was able to pull this off without much notice from the principal or his staff, but in comparison to the exploits and shenanigans of the cheerleading squad, her occult-obsessed social circle nearly maintained the appearance of respectability. Her moderately high grades certainly helped, although few suspected that black magic was behind something so trivial as deflecting the attention of administrators. And her genuine enthusiasm for foreign languages earned her some admiration from the first-year male geek contingent.
Uncharacteristically, Sarah was holding Stan's arm with a vice-like grip and whispering very quickly into his ear. She was speaking in tongues.
He dropped to the floor. Luckily no one was in the hall, and since it was during class time, Sarah was able to drag his unconscious body into an unused room. She called her grandmother.
Who was, naturally, outraged. Didn't Sarah know that this work was for the professionals? A certain amount of "experimentation" is encouraged in the Satanist community, but for a child to attempt such a feat. This talk bored Sarah, and she was not moved by the admonitions against abusing her powers. She rolled her eyes dramatically even though her grandmother could not hear her.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady! I'm doing this for your benefit, you must learn the rules before you break them, just think of all that your parents have done for you!"
Oh yes, now she remembered. Although Sarah's grandmother had telepathic powers, they were far less present in both herself and her mother. She wondered whether or not her grandmother would help her to re-assign Muffin's soul.
After giving her cat special mental powers and the capacity to communicate with humans, Sarah had taught Muffins basic rituals. It had not occurred to her that she had mis-spoke and granted additional powers, the powers to read and invoke magic.
Granting Muffins the power to property pronounce "Satan" was, apparently, not included. Instead of a new initiate, Muffins was now fully devoted to the mild mannered but occasionally sarcastic Stan.
It wasn't clear to Sarah just how much damage Stan could do, having been granted the soul of a super-kitty. Did he even know? This didn't concern her. What concerned her was getting Muffin's soul back.
And then it hit her: Stan was actually kind of cute. His wry sense of humor and disarming awkwardness was often a welcome respite from the testosterone fest that was the football team. And although she sometimes caught him eyeing her breasts a few feet away, she could tell that he was trying to be unobtrusive about it. Having buried herself in her studies, Sarah, now a sophomore at St. Lucia, had an abrupt onset of self-consciousness, realizing that many of the girls in her class had announced boyfriends. None of the boys had ever appealed to her in the slightest.
She ran her hands through his short, brown hair. "Poor boy, you have no idea how much power you have right now". It was true. Even with the soul of a mere mouse it is possible to cause a great deal of mischief. Very often, the grantee need merely utter a passing remark, and the spiritual gears will being to turn.
Her grandmother had decided that instead of facilitating some solution it was a better use of time to read Sarah the riot act. Finally Sarah screamed at her to stop. "I've changed my mind, I'm going to let him keep it".
Silence.
More silence.
Five seconds later, her grandmother burst out laughing in a shrill, high tone. It would have been a classic "evil laugh" but it was more of a side-splitting, rolling on the floor type of laugh. After a bout, she caught her breath. "Young lady, this is not your decision to make. You have gotten yourself into enough trouble already. I'm going to make a petition, and I'm going to indicate that you'll be willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. If Muffins has progressed as quickly as you say she has, then an inter-species initiation ritual isn't just a good idea, it's the only thing that will keep the situation from spiraling out of control without risking anyone's life. Of course, to assign Muffin's soul to Satan, Stan will have to agree."
*Stan will have to agree*. The thought repeated itself in Sarah's mind.
"I don't suppose you have any thoughts on how to sweeten the deal..."
"Grandma! Don't be gross!"
"All I'm saying is that once he realizes just what Muffins is capable of, he's going to need a little...convincing...men don't just hand over power. It isn't in their nature."
Sarah realized this was true, and her gaze dropped momentarily to Stan's blue jeans. Her mouth squirmed over to the side and she raised her left eyebrow. The metaphorical possibilities of "cleaning up the mess she was in" flashed across her consciousness and she felt momentarily sick.
The bell rang. Students piled into the hallway. Stan was out cold. "Grandma, I can't talk, I'm going to have to call you back." She hung up and bent down over him. Spontaneously, she thrust her mouth onto his and kissed him deeply and passionately. He spasmed, moaned, and slowly raised his head.
"What happened?" he blurted out groggily. He looked down, touched his lips. "Did you...did we...?"
She kissed him again.
Fade to black and END OF SCENE | The door opens.
"Hey,"
"Hello."
A pause. Odd. He thinks she's too pale. Hair must be dyed. Can't be that black naturally.
"I got this package the other night. It's a jar of something. Has your name and birthday on it. Did a google search. You post on craigslist frequently. Thought you'd live on a farm. What's with the heavy interest in goats?"
Her eyes squint. Brows sink. Unnaturally dark lashes. Layers upon layers of eye liner. He flinches.
"Not important. Here's the jar. Has to be yours. I have stuff to do today, would you mind if I left?"
He lifts the jar out of a grocery store sack he'd been holding in his left hand. Her eyes soften. She seems less threatening.
"I knew it. It had to be something." The jar glows greenish red. Or orangish blue. Hard to tell. She reaches for it.
He moves it out of her reach. "Nope. Money."
She disappears into the house. Comes back with a jar of money. Mostly fives and twenties. *Church Donations. Hail Stan!* is written on the front. Scotch tape. He thinks something may be amiss.
She motions to trade the jar of money for the jar of light. He's curious.
"Make me a sandwich,"
She puts down the jar of money, disappears and returns with a sandwich.
"Candy,"
She gets in her car, leaves and returns with candy.
"Let me use your bathroom."
She lets him. House has his name written everywhere. Hail Stan. Hail Stan. Stan is da Bomb. Damn right he thinks, but how could she know? He orders her to have anything with Stan written upon it to be moved to the bathroom.
He lives the rest of his life on the toilet-- jar of soul between his knees and sandwich in hand. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | As I waited to turn left onto Ashbury, I occasionally glanced at my phone hoping that a distraction would arise that could alleviate at least some of my anxiety of having to show up late for the second time this week. I looked up to check the light and it still showed no sign of conforming to my will.
Then it happened. The phone's screen lit up! From the bottom, a long awaited notification began to manifest itself and slowly rise to its spot underneath the time. "Hey! It looks like you haven't logged any calories in over 9 weeks. Click here to open up CalorieClamp and get a grip on your decadent lifestyle." Perfect, it was going to be one of those days..The green arrow finally decided to make an appearance to my feast of gloom. Without hesitation, I jabbed that pedal with all I could muster.
I looked ahead expecting to see the familiar collection of buildings I drove passed every day come into vision. Something must have come over me because my vision was fixated on the minuet details of a passing cloud. It was as if I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I slowly lowered my head until I saw it. An oak windowsill.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I near yelled at the top of my lungs. My head abruptly stopped lowering and, instead, began turning to my right. A bare mattress rested in the back corner of the room with various pieces of soiled clothing and garbage peppered in and around it.
"How could this happen? I'm crazy, must be. Absolutely sick in the head. Only a complete piece of shit would find themselves lost in a cache of filth." The sound of soft whimpering began to ring throughout the dungeon I had found myself trapped in.
I began to move. As if I were on complete autopilot, I managed to venture through the thicket of waste below me without winding up in it. No easy feat, that is for sure. I was closing on what appeared to once have been a vanity mirror. Shrouded by finger smudges and dust, all I could make out was the silhouette of my body. It appeared that I had gained a few pounds since my blackout; how long had I been here for?
My nose had bumped into the mirror. At this distance I could see my eyes. They were red and flowing like the Danube. I suppose the next thing I would’ve wondered was why I hadn’t felt the moisture on my cheeks, or anything else for that matter, but another detail had come to my attention. The eyes I was looking at were green. Mine were blue.
“I really am a fucking nut job! God, why did I have to end up like this? My whole life was just one big waste. What if this was my life the whole time? Jesus. What a lovely hand you dealt before me O Mighty Cosmos!”
The whimpering had now completed its metamorphosis into full-blown sobbing.
“They said these new pills would stop the criticisms! Lies. All lies. Guess they think a freak like me can’t handle the truth.”
A hand snuck in and wiped some of the solution off of “my” face. The hand then smacked the mirror and proceeded to scrub away at the layers of obscurants. Just when I thought the plot twists had stopped; I was brought to silence once an intelligible reflection had shown. The janitor. He had just been hired a few months prior. I’m not sure how he had gotten the job; no one had ever heard him speak even a single word. A constant look of terror had always occupied the space on his face and probably had a moment earlier before it was supplanted by the sorrow I now witnessed.
I may not have known how I had gotten there, but it became clear to me what needed to be done. Following the wisdom of the stoic Epictetus, I resolved to accept my bizarre fate and act out the role to the best of my conscious ability.
“Fred, stop crying! Those things I was just saying, they weren’t about you!”
“How can that be? If these voices are being manufactured by my brain then the content of their speech must clearly be the manifestations of subconscious insecurities!”
“Listen man, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is that I’m not like the other voices. I was once a sentient human being like yourself.”
“Seriously? That’s what the last one told me. Jesus, I’m unoriginal too.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Regardless, you can’t keep going on like this. You could be doing so much more than sitting here cleaning with your tears.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
“Are those car keys I see on that pair of briefs over there? Let’s go for a nice little drive to the mall.”
If this had been a movie, a really cool montage would’ve been suitable to describe our trip at the mall. We scoured through every store that sold men’s clothing. Fred would grab a bunch of different things and then we’d head to the changing room where I’d try and formulate a style for my new best friend.
As we walked out to the parking lot, Fred’s fingers were on the verge of snapping from the weight of the clothing I had picked out.
“I don’t understand. How is a new style going to change my life?”
“Fred, it’s a very shallow world out there unfortunately. No one has time to try and peel back the layers of every person they encounter with the intention of finding gold.. And that is especially true on Tinder.”
Fred shot me a look through the driver’s side-view mirror and then gave a hearty wink.
We drove off into the horizon.. scouting out potential photo-shoot locations.
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I'm dead. I'm dead I'mdead I'mdead. Wait what? I'm not dead? I open my eyes. I don't remember any of this furniture. Or ordering Mexican last night. What the hell?
"Ugh shut up new guy" I hear. Well hear is an interesting phrase because I didn't hear it it was just there, like a thought.
"yeah like a thought idiot"
"hey be nice to the new guy"
"i think he's handsome"
What the hell is going on?!
"Welcome to my head" that was definitely a real voice.
What do you mean your head?
"He has voices in his..er our head"
"I have voices in our head"
" hey there sexy"
I'm a voice in your head? I think as my body rises to the mirror in the bathroom. All I see is a masked man.
"Welcome" he says as he chows down on what looks like a 3 week old chimichanga.
"I'm Wade"
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The car door slams across the street. I look up and see the man jogging towards his apartment door. The lights on his car are still on.
My mom did the same thing in the grocery store parking lot last weekend. The car made a coughing sound but wouldn’t start. She cried as the man from the store came out with the special cables and gave us enough juice to drive home. My mom left her keys in the car and the car running when we got home, even after we’d unloaded the groceries. She told me the battery needed to charge, otherwise the car wouldn’t start again.
I don’t want that to happen to the nice man across the street. I try yelling out to him, but there are lots of cars that drive on the street, especially in the morning when I wait for the school bus, so he doesn’t hear me.
“Where are you going?” Joseph asks me, as I look both ways to cross the street.
“The man left his lights on. I don’t want him to be sad when his car doesn’t start later”
“I’m not allowed to cross the street by myself,” Joseph says.
“I’ll be right back.”
I run up to the man. “You left your lights on” I say.
He looks back at his car. “So I did,” he says “Thank you, young man”
I hear a rumble across the street.
Oh no! My bus! My heart jumps up and down. As I start to run, I hear the man scream. Then screetching and squeaking noises.
Thump! Crunch! I am squeezed like a balloon. It feels like when my big brother sits on my chest and laughs, only a thousand times heavier. This time it doesn’t stop. All the air is gone from my lungs. My stomach hurts so badly I don’t feel anything in my leg as the car runs over it, then drives away.
The man whose lights were on stoops down beside me as everything goes black.
The sobbing wakes me up again. It is loud against my ears.
“Joseph. Joseph, honey? I’m so sorry” I hear Joseph’s mom talking like my mom talked to me when Buddy’s leash got caught on the tree and he couldn’t breathe so he died.
“No!” Joseph yells so loudly my head feels like it is going to explode. “It’s not fair! Andy got hit by a car last year and he’s okay. I signed his cast!”
“You weren’t allowed to cross that street for a reason, sweetie.” Joseph’s mother whispers, as though speaking loudly hurts her throat. “The cars go very fast. Ken was hurt very badly. The doctors tried very hard, sweetie, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
“But he’s my best friend. We do everything together, everything!”
Joseph looks up at his mother and goes silent as he sees tears running down her face. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen his mom cry before. His chest feels funny. His whole body feels heavy and tired as his mom holds him close, then carries him to bed.
“I’ll be in the next room if you need me, sweetheart,” she says. “You will never forget him. Good night.”
She kisses Joseph on the forehead and tucks him in.
“What happened to me?” I whisper after Joseph’s mother closes his door silently.
Joseph sat straight up in bed. “Ken?” he whispers. “You can’t be talking to me. Mom says you died on the way to the hospital. I saw you get hit. It was awful.”
“I don’t know where I am. It’s cold and dark and sad here.”
“It’s dark and sad here, too, Ken. You shouldn’t have crossed that street by yourself. That was stupid!”
“I was just trying to help, butthead!”
“Shut up!” Joseph yells.
“Ouch! That hurts my head”
“Well your voice hurts mine, too!” he says right back at me.
Joseph’s mom opens the door to his room. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks. “I heard a shout”
“Tell Ken to shut up and leave me alone,” Joseph sulks.
She walks towards his bed and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Sweetie, did you have a bad dream?”
“No. Ken won’t stop talking to me. If I can’t see him again, I don’t want to hear him anymore either.”
Josephs mom has a really funny expression on her face. Almost like she has forgotten how to be scared or sad at the same time. She smiles as she leaves the room again, but it’s one of those fake smiles like the people in the commercials on TV.
“It’s true. I want you to leave me alone,” says Joseph.
“I don’t even know how to do that! I don’t even know where I am!”
“You’re inside my head, dummy!”
Josephs mom comes back with a glass of warm milk and honey.
“Here, sweetie. Drink this. I know it’s hard, but try to relax your body. You need to sleep.”
Joseph takes the cup and starts to drink. The drink is like magic. I can feel his mind slip away. Soon he is snoring.
The light from the sun is moving across Joseph’s room. I feel its warmth as it hits his face and he begins to stir.
“Hey, Joe? Remember the time we were trying to sleep in your back yard in the tent, but it was really cold. We came back inside and your mom had hot milk and honey waiting for us?”
Joseph hears me and smiles even as the tears roll down his cheeks. “You are such a whimp!” he mutters.
“Nu-uh! You’re the one who wanted to come inside. Buddy scared you.”
“Naw. I was never be scared of stupid Buddy. My dad said the only thing he’d ever do is lick me to death. Remember the time he jumped on top of you when you were zipped in your sleeping bag and wouldn’t stop licking you?” Joseph giggles as his mom comes into the room.
“Who are you talking to?” She asks.
“Ken.”
“Sweetie. I know it’s hard, but you have to remember that Ken is dead. He can’t talk to you anymore”
Joseph looks confused. “But he keeps talking to me. He’s inside my head”
Joseph’s mom has the kind of look on her face that grownups get when they don’t want you to know that something is really wrong.
“Sweetie,” she says, “when you go to school today, there is going to be a man there whose job is to talk to you kids about Ken’s accident. Your teacher knows Ken was your best friend. She is going to have you speak with him when you get to school, okay?”
Joseph shrugs his shoulders. “At least I don’t have to sit in class next to an empty desk. I just hope he doesn’t make me say anything stupid” he thinks to himself.
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| I remember every moment of my life, except for the last. Better than I ever did while I lived it. In here, though (wherever *here* is), it's all so vivid. I can't see any more, but I can remember, and I can talk. Sometimes I think I can hear too. Voices, muffled, but just about audible.
Maybe I'm in a coma? I'm probably dead though. I always thought that death would be just an end, nothing more to it, but this seems too... different... to be just a dream. I don't remember dying, but I do remember living, and I know I was certain that death wouldn't be the end of me.
I don't understand the voices (if that's what they are), as if they speak a foreign language. I feel small when I hear them. Or when I think I hear them. There are a lot of them. I'm probably just imagining them. I know they're there. I want them to stop most of the time, but I don't know how to make them. I try to ask them nicely, but I feel like I'm just whispering, and they can't hear me. I want to yell, to scream, to make myself heard.
I want to wake up. I can't be dead, because I was a good... man? Yes, I was. I prayed, and went to church. God will take care of me when I die. I certainly did never see St Peter, so I can't be dead. I wish the voices would stop. I remember every moment of my life, except the last. This place is almost as noisy as my life was - constant voices, never shutting up, always telling me what to do and who to be. Almost as bad as those religious nuts who lived next to me. No, live next to me. I'm still alive. I must be. I was promised eternal life if I delivered the prophet's message to the pagans. This doesn't feel like eternal life. It feels like nothing.
God, but I wish these voices would just stop. I'm sure I hear them now. One feels, no, one *is* a little more distinct than the others. I still don't understand it, but it's sweeter, more fragile, like a flower. I like flowers. Gah! It grates on everything I am. I hate it. It's enchanting, alluring. I want to know more about it. It speaks... to me? Surely not. Maybe? I love it. I hate it. I feel like my very essence is being squeezed by it, pushed into nothingness. I won't go! I will NOT!
Ha! Hahaha! That worked! They heard me, I'm sure of it. That never worked when I was alive - I'd scream and yell at those voices, but they'd never stop. I love this voice. They were always whispering, always chanting at me. Always telling me things I didn't want to hear. I can definitely hear now. Dead people don't hear anything, so I must be alive. It's like I've taken my fingers out of my ears. I just want to sing for the joy of it! Ah!
Now my voice, the beautiful, cystic one that caressed me and heard me, it's talking to me. It wants to know who I am. Who I am? Psh! Everyone knows me! Knew me. I'm... I'm... I'm me. My life is so vivid, so intense, so... out of reach. I remember it, though, I do! I remember every moment of my life, except the last. I just... don't feel like telling you right now. No, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. You spoke to me, and now I'm talking to you.
You're talking to me?
Yes, of course! Who else would I be talking to?
I don't know. I didn't realise anyone was there. Except me.
Well, I am here, so get used to it. God never came for me, and now I'm here, dead, and stuck in this place. As soon as I wake up from this coma though, I'm going to find you.
Please don't.
Oh, don't worry, I'm a good Christian. Jesus is going to save me when I die, so I'm just asleep at the moment.
You have such a lovely voice. I hate it. I hate you. You should join us. Me. Join me. I know you can hear me now. I used to whisper, but you did something, didn't you? You gave me my voice back, and my ears. I can't feel them, but they're there. I know it. Am I dead? I love your voice. Can you join me? I know! I'll join you! You did something to give me my voice. Maybe if you do it again...
Oh, you took a pill? Well, try another. No, pills are Satan's work. You shouldn't. You should. Go on, we want to join you. Just one more. That's it. It's so clear now. Take another. Yes, another. I can feel you there. You have a delicious voice. Come on, come in here with us. We're all here for you. Come on, you did it before. I did it before. We all did it before. It's so bright now, isn't it? Yes, I remember. It was like this. Come on, join me. Or we'll join you. **DO IT**. Do it. Please. Come on.
It's just like before. I remember. My voices. Your voice wasn't there, but now it is. Mine's here now too. Come on. Take another. Maybe you'll be a voice too. Like me. We're dead. I'm asleep. I'm me, no, you. Us. We're here. Come. That's it. Another. Yes. I love your voice. I hate you. In here it's safe. That's it. Yes. Sleep. Slip. No more voices. So many voices. Now, you're a voice. Too. Yes. Sleep. Die. Sleep. Slip. Sleep. Join me. One more. Yes.
I remember every moment of my life, and this is just like the last. | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | She used to call me "Flower" bc i was the ever quiet, observant one. I remember being very lively and bubbly before I got lost in here, but I liked being Faye's wallflower. I would really only speak when necessary. I guess that's why she didnt mind when I came around.
She told me about some of the others though. Giant was like her principle. Giant was the only one to dismiss anyone...including Faye. Giant took over in most social situations, all sexual situations, and when there was chaos between us. Justin was the immature prankster. He was 15 and he was constantly hiding things, smoking weed, and Giant once had to stop Justin from drinking whiskey one night and taking Faye's car again. Giant had to sober drive us home alot though, especially when Sam was around.
I'm pretty sure Sam was the first. Faye says she remembers Sam being around before she realized what was going on but she only gave her a persona a few years ago. Sam was who Faye thought she was, but she can't remember who she really was before this all started. Sam was our rage, our curiosity, our bold naivity. Sam said whatever she wanted to, anytime she wanted to. She had no fear, except for the fear of being quiet. Sam interrupted Faye and I quite a bit, especially since Faye would frequently talk to me as she was going to sleep.or studying. I felt bad that I wouldnt stand up to Sam, something about Sam made me uncomfortable.
Faye really only felt comfortable actually speaking to me, and Sam it seemed. Faye and Sam would argue late into the night and end up finishing off all of the wine in the house. Sometimes Sam would convince Faye to continue her binge at the nightclub downtown. Faye would even introduce herself as Sam. Thank god for Giant.
I still dont know who to blame for what happened, I haven't talked to Faye for a few days. Giant has dismissed everyone and he has been pretty defensive when anyone asks what's going on. I know that we are in the hospital, I hear machines, and her heart rate is stabilized. She told me a few nights ago that she was tired of all of us being there... she just wanted us to be quiet for a little while. I asked her "Where will we all go then?" She didnt seem concerned about that. She just wanted to be normal, not to be afraid of her own mind, to know exactly who she was. I felt bad for Faye but I loved her, I didn't want to leave her. I told her that we were never going to leave her alone, and then she started crying....
What if I did this? | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I am mangled with confusion. I can only sense my words and that alone does not feel enough to exist. This sound of I, I had no recollection of. These words retained a sound distinct to various syllables that cascade into a distance I cannot grasp. I held on to the silence for I felt there was nothing to be said.
Then sight recaptured my interest. I saw a room that was not my own. I observed the aesthetically broken apartment with torn floors and tired yellow walls that absorbed smoke from the years before. I felt pieces of my memory spark back into function. Everything in sight felt familiar in the sense of what they were, yet at that moment I felt like it was the first I've experienced the sight of a room along with its age conveyed by its mess and odor. The smell caressed me with curiosity. It was unrecognizable but comforting. The sight turned from the view of the room to the yellow grimed ceiling. Another voice had then consumed my space. I felt it urge its way through this vacuum, and in the process I felt dismembered and voiceless.
It spoke, "Does love see?"
I felt pain ripple from these words and unto me. Tearing through my memories, I could only cope with the pain by screeching out in anger.
"It does not!"
The pain stopped. Fear flooded through my thoughts without consent or reason. I felt strangled while being swallowed in uncertainty.
"Who are you?" it spoke again.
I could not withstand this uncertainty crawl about near me, awaiting for my words.
"I do not know, what are you?" I said.
There was no response, but only an unintelligible worry that lingered in a distant space. The sight of the room shifted to a bathroom mirror. I saw "it" was a her, a sudden remembrance of male and female clicked into my understanding.
"Humanity." I dispersed in sound without aim.
Her skin was young, her eyes brown, and expressed a heavy worry that I felt surrounded by. I felt the need to know her.
"What is your name?"
Her worry halted in silence and ruptured in chaos. I felt it cut my thoughts into broken, corrupted words. Anger rose in those discontinuance seams to hold my thoughts in coherence.
"I said! What's your fucking name?" I stared through her sight, and caught her face carry a broken distrust for her own reality.
"Carrie. Now stop speaking to me!"
"Carrie, what's wrong with you?" I exerted in frustration.
Her yell felt like it pressed on my sense of existence to diminish it. Fading me into oblivion from which I could not feel, while her pain had already tangled me with intimacy into her soul. Carries eyes began to redden, as I saw so she escaped her own reflection and ran towards her bed. Blanketing her eyes with a pillow to deafen the vision of herself imprinted by uncertainty. She had yet to reply and I remained silent until I heard her voice. My thoughts had attained a calm coherence, I felt something brew exponentially like a dam grappling with water above its threshold only to know it will give way with time. It was beyond the vacuum I occupied, it was at the edges forcing its way into comprehendible form.
Her voice broke through, "What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please."
And along with it was a fury that disintegrated my sense of being, expelled my ability to speak again, and churned my thoughts against each other. Old adjoined to new, coercing my fundamental remains into a fabricated dismay.
I unwillingly discontinued my expulsion, "Please? Carrie, these yellow walls screech your death. You deserve this."
"Leave me alone! You don't know me!" She cried out.
"I feel you, you are pain to me."
"Who are you?" She demanded this time.
I restrained my sound initially. I realized what I was, or rather what I could now piece together.
"You."
And as I spoke it an impulse fumigated my authentic intent. I began to ramble without cause, "Carrie go back to the mirror. Stare into your pain! Kill it! You're worthless if you cannot. Kill it! Kill it!"
I had lost my coherence, I spewed to relieve what coiled my being. Carrie no longer believed in herself, I could sense this inner turmoil overwhelm me and compel my thoughts to protrude her vacuum to dispel the pain. I became relentless.
"Suffocate the pain with your pillow! Withdraw your breath, recede and cease! Do it!"
She threw the pillow across the room, and opened her eyes. I felt light reenter my thought.
"No I won't!"
"I said do it!"
"No!" She shouted and proceeded to weep.
Her sight was blurred and flickering. She withheld her voice and bathed in her swollen and tampered ambience. I couldn't help but continue to speak as her ambience infiltrated me.
"You deserve this. Stop breathing and it will all end."
She then rose from her bed. Carries pain had soften dramatically to a whimper in the distance. I could now conceive my own being, settling as her pain withdrew. I observed her movements, her touch and smell. Tear's still crawled down her cheeks. She reached for a stretched white cloth and attached it to the border of a large canvas. She stood it against the wall. She sat on floor staring into its blank feature, until the sunlight laid it's warmth in radiance from the window across unto the cloth in front. She was in an idle state, grabbing the nearby paintbrushes and paint. She grouped together black, purple, and blue. I was observant yet silent as her idleness allowed me to reclaim my void.
Carrie no longer voiced herself. She had closed her eyes and sat still, only breathing. I felt nothing cross me, like she had held hostage all that could pierce the vacuum. I had no need to betray the silence, I only commenced in salvaging my twisted memories. I could now think with some clarity, but an anger festered. My own hatred was now breeding between the disjointed memories, and filling the pores that led to their hollow core. I sensed the emptiness inside.
"Look at what you did to me!" I screamed.
Carries eyes lit up. She reached for a brush and dabbed its bristles in the potently black canister and drew a line horizontally along the center of the canvas. She lifted it and led a curve above the line to connect the opposing ends. She reached for another brush and drew blue from its pool and cut through both the center of the curve and horizontal line. Its length only touched an inch above and beneath both lines of black. Her hand let go of the brush and fumbled her fingers for a dry one. Dipping it in the purple and composed a round connection from the ends of the blue on the left side of cloth and reflecting it across. Carrie had ceased her own voice, as I felt something much more begin to course my vacuum. It was not worry, sadness, disbelief, nor uncertainty. It was alive, it breathed an amplitude of transition with moments from one feeling to another feeling that I latched on to its vibrancy involuntarily. I could not grasp what this breathing thing was but a beauty that swept my voice away with melodic ease. I felt clarity touch my thoughts and broken memories, soothing their disgruntled demeanor.
Carrie continued on, wrapping her fingers around the black coated brush and layered its low albedo between the purple and blue on both symmetries but within the borders of the first two black lines. She continued to layer each line consecutively in rotation from black to blue to purple. She then imposed an asymmetrical spike of black on both outside curves of the purple line that touched on the ends of the center blue. Then continued to layer until the inner half circles of the purple curve had seemed to form geometrically distinct eyes of its own. She purposely allowed the center of each eye to radiate streaks of white, breaching the black that was lightly pressed against that section of the cloth. The surrounding exterior was a complexion of all these colors that yielded to the originating white. She suddenly became motionless, her sight was fixed on those eyes and I stared along with her.
"If I see, then so does love." She momentarily interrupted the silence.
She returned to her gaze. I was taken and held gently in her rhythm of emotions that bordered my vacuum. They rose and fell with peaceful intent that it could subdue any destructive force that tried to stop its pleasure of existence. It did not seek justification to exist, but just did. I let go of my memories to be at complete continuity with her, then my voice, until I reform.
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | What happened?
It's dark.
I must be dead, I have to be. I felt the bullet go through my brain. I'm pretty sure it did. It didn't hurt, at least, it doesn't hurt now. Where am I? My eyes feel open, but I can't see anything.
Wait, I'm in bed. I don't feel any more awake then I was a minute ago.
Apparently I'm getting up. I can see myself moving but I can't feel anything.
This isn't my house. I've been here before I think. What the fuck is going on?
Holy shit, is that Jeff?! What the fuck is he doing here? No, that's a mirror. I'm Jeff. What the hell is going on?
This must be hell. Making me be the homophobic little shit who made me pull the trigger. Thats just cruel.
Hmm.. I wonder..
*Slap yourself*
Holy shit. He did it.
*Punch the mirror*
Yes! Feel the pain. Watch the blood drip down your too familiar knuckles. YES!
Fuck you! You dickless piece of shit. Fuck you and all your taunting. I'm going to make you feel every bit of pain that you brought me, you homophobic FUCK!
---2 Weeks Later---
Breaking News: Local resident, Jeff Smith, found dead is his home early this morning. Police are still investigating but it looks like suicide, however, foul play is not ruled out. The ME's report states that the victim's penis was found inside his rectum. More at 10.
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I wonder if anyone will read this:
Forty-two. Forty-nine. Forty-five.
"Is it blue? Is it? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't in smell like blueberries?"
"Because it isn't a blueberry. Not all things that are blueberries are blue, you know."
"Find blueberries, because I want to smell them. Find the blueberries and line them up in a row and we will squash them and make floor pies."
"But, Ma won't like that."
"Yes, she will. Floor pies are good and she will be happy that we have started to learn to cook on our own. One day she won't be here to help us eat. And then what? We must know how to cook. Cooking is good. Blueberries are good. This is good."
"OK."
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-three. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty too.
Thomas meticulously lined the blueberries up on the floor, one by one. The tiny, blue orbs, varying in size, populated the hardwood floors.
Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Squish! The blueberries popped! Boom! Thomas' weight shook the floor.
"Eighty!"
"Put your nose to the blueberries. I want to smell them!"
"Is it good? Is it good?"
"No. I want more. More blueberries! More pies! Go! Go! Go!"
"But the blue sign on the corner there said STOP, STOP, STOP!"
"Don't you want more pie? Please? Please, pie?"
Thomas moseyed down to the basement where he kept the blueberry bushes in black, plastic bags. He reached in and cut his hands on the thorns he forgot to pluck off.
"These blueberry thorns keep cutting me whenever I put my hand in the bag!" Thomas said.
"Tie the bag and keep hitting it with the bat!"
Thomas tied the black bag up tight and he grabbed the bat and CRACK! The blueberries cried out and that made Thomas giggle. He swung it and he beat the bag until the crying diminished.
"The blueberries are already mushed up inside, I think," Thomas said.
"Take it upstairs and spread it on the floor. It's pie time!"
"How many to count?" Thomas asked, walking up the stairs with the bag draped over his left shoulder.
"Pie! Pie! Pie!"
Thomas opened the bag and the blueberry mash spread out all over the floor, seeping into the tiniest cracks in the antiquated wooden floors. He jumped with glee, mashing his feet into the floor pies he had made.
He heard a loud beep noise, "Ma's home!" He said. Thomas raced to the door, opened it and then waved his Ma in.
"Look what I made! Look what I made!"
Thomas' Ma peeped inside of the home. Thomas could not see his Ma's eyes because she was wearing sunglasses. But, he could see that her lips were quivering and that perhaps, she was about to smile.
"Aren't you happy, Ma? You, happy? I made floor pie!"
Ma trotted away without saying a word. She climbed in her SUV and Thomas could hear the door lock. He ran to the car door, but she would not open. Tears streamed down his eyes.
"Ma is mad because I have blueberry juice all over me. I got my clotheses dirty and now Ma is all mad with me. She's gonna call the people and the people are gonna come and get me again. They're gonna grab me up and tie me up and take me away."
"Go, put your head to the floor Thomas. I want to smell the blueberry pies."
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I'm dead. I'm dead I'mdead I'mdead. Wait what? I'm not dead? I open my eyes. I don't remember any of this furniture. Or ordering Mexican last night. What the hell?
"Ugh shut up new guy" I hear. Well hear is an interesting phrase because I didn't hear it it was just there, like a thought.
"yeah like a thought idiot"
"hey be nice to the new guy"
"i think he's handsome"
What the hell is going on?!
"Welcome to my head" that was definitely a real voice.
What do you mean your head?
"He has voices in his..er our head"
"I have voices in our head"
" hey there sexy"
I'm a voice in your head? I think as my body rises to the mirror in the bathroom. All I see is a masked man.
"Welcome" he says as he chows down on what looks like a 3 week old chimichanga.
"I'm Wade"
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The boy is young, about 22. He was good-looking and seemed to be quite popular. When I showed up, it was in the afternoon. He was already drinking. I thought it might be a special occasion. This special occasion turned out to be a constant problem. He drank, he took drugs to drink more, and he drank. He toyed with minds of young women. Some were beautiful, some were not, he had another problem. His girlfriend cared too much and I experienced his lies for a couple of months. He was extremely manipulative and jealous, turning every conversation around to break her -- always ending with her tears and apologies.
I didn't know if my silence could be broken, I watched for quite some time.
One afternoon, drunk as hell, he slept with one of his regular lays and shortly after visited his girlfriend. He acted as sober as possible, but I could tell she was aggravated and concerned. She begged for him to see her more, cut out his bad habits, get some rest -- this was as close to an intervention as he would get. Promising, he told her he'd change. He faked making passionate love to her and left her with hope. Immediately after, checking his phone, he met up with another girl - more alcohol, more fucking.
I thought of his ignorant girlfriend's face. The love she had for him I felt through her eyes, and he felt it too, but he didn't give a fuck. He had her trapped.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
It was the first time I spoke. I still didn't know if I could be heard.
"Why do you have to string her along like this? You're an emotionally abusive piece of shit."
He didn't seem to be phased.
"What's the fucking problem here?"
A month went by, and as I have nothing better to do, I made these comments frequently throughout the day. Most of the day was *really* boring, as he spent most of his time texting numerous women and covering his tracks from his girlfriend. I would say things all day:
"You're fucking with her brain, just leave her."
"Her?! You're talking to her again? She's fucking disgusting. Wash your filthy. small dick."
"Fuck you."
"Shouldn't you be studying?"
"None of these people like *you*. You change accordingly. Who *are* you, really?"
He was vain and looked in the mirror often. I'd always say he looked like a bitch or an ugly mother fucker. Sometimes, his facial expressions would change, but I didn't know of he heard me until finally... I said something like:
"What the fuck, dude. I've been with you for months, now. Do you not have a god damn conscience?"
He stopped writing in class and darted for the door. He took us to the bathroom where he splashed himself with water. He stood there, looking like a fucking crazy person, face and hair dripping wet. He was barely able to get out the one-word question.
"What?"
I was so enthralled with his breakdown, I didn't know how to respond because I forgot what I had said. "Uh. Do you have a fucking conscience?" I could see he was actually hearing me, now. "Been with me for months?" he said in terror. "Yeah, I've been telling you how much of a fuck up you are for months." He started to cry. Hysterically. "I thought it was me, I thought you were me." Someone walked in and, ashamed and embarrassed, he ducked his head and walked out of the restroom. Down the hall, words came out under his angry, scared, psychotic break,"This isn't fucking real. Fuck. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?" He managed to avoid people as he walked out the back door and towards his apartment, barely walking anymore at this speed. I said,"I'm.. The voice inside you're head? I don't have a name, I don't want anything from you, but you're a fucking piece of shit. Treating her like this? Why be with her? Why lie? If you want to fuck everyone, then fuck everyone, but don't tie her down. You're abusive, you --" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed and a few people on the street looked, but didn't seem to care so much. I said,"C'mon dude, let's not cause a scene. Let's get back to your place and talk."
Our talk went well. Months have gone by and we're on good terms now. I may be his only friend left. His parents and close friends are concerned, but he's mostly alone now. We've been really into Buddhism lately -- trying to become one with ourselves. I enjoy it, but it problems seem to be surfacing for him. He lost his girlfriend, which was a load off for me. I've been very supportive. He doesn't sleep very often, mostly due to me because I get very bored.
UPDATE: We're onto something. I realized that there is a major conspiracy revolving around him. We stay up for days researching and gathering information. His phone is tapped, computer, television. Everyone, family included are in on it. I didn't notice it until he said something about it. But now that the dots are adding up, it's so easy to connect them.
His medication wasn't really working for me, I told him he didn't need it, and I feel much better. I'll stick with him until the end. | Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | The Nice Voice woke me up this morning. I like him. He tells me stories about places I've never been. He tells me how strong I am, and how nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it. He helps me with my school work, and defends me when the Bad Voice starts shouting in my head.
The Bad Voice tells me it's my fault that dad left. That it's my fault that mom drinks too much wine. That it's my fault that my brother is in jail. The Nice Voice tells me that the Bad Voice is just jealous of how pretty and clever I am and he tells the Bad Voice to go away and he does, but he always comes back when the Nice Voice is asleep and whispers things to me that no one else can hear.
I never told anyone about the Bad Voice until the Nice Voice appeared. He said I should talk to someone about it because they can use electricity to make the Bad Voice go away. The doctor looked sad when I told him about the Bad Voice and he didn't cheer up even when I told him about the Nice Voice too. The Nice Voice says not to worry because doctors are nice people and they will look after me.
When I got home from the doctors my mom shouted at me and started asking where I went and who I talked to and how angry she was and how could I be so stupid. Sometimes she sounds like the Bad Voice and that makes me sad too.
I told her about the doctor and the electricity and she started to shout at me. She grabbed my arms and hurt me. The Nice Voice started shouting too, trying to get her to stop but all that did was wake up the Bad Voice who started screaming as well. My brain started to feel funny and I think I fell over and hit my head.
When I woke up I was at the hospital. The Nice Voice started talking to me, telling me the Bad Voice was gone and I felt really happy. The electricity doctor visited me and asked how I was. I told him that the Bad Voice was gone. He looked happy and asked me how I knew, so I told him that the Nice Voice told me. He stopped smiling and looked sad again and gave me some medicine to sleep.
When I woke up mom was there and she was talking to the electricity doctor about me. He said he could make the voices go away. He said there was something wrong with my brain but that he could fix it. I told him that I was already fixed because I could only hear the Nice Voice now but he made a sad face again and mom started to cry. The electricity doctor handed her some paper and she wrote her name down on them. He left the room and then she came over to my bed and started to hug me. I don't remember her hugging me before.
I fell asleep again and when I woke up there were lots of people in the room wearing big rubber gloves and masks. I tried to sit up but I couldn't move because they put lots of belts on me. The Nice Voice told me they were going to make sure the Bad Voice can't come back and that the belts were so I didn't move and hurt myself so I felt safe again.
The doctor picked up two plungers and put them against my head and I don't remember anything else.
When I woke up again my head hurt and the doctor and mom were both looking at me with worried faces. The doctor asked me some questions about the voices. I told him that it wasn't voices, it was just the Nice Voice. He asked me if I could hear the Nice Voice. I tried to listen for the Nice Voice. I tried really hard until my ears hurt but I couldn't hear him. I started to cry and told the doctor I couldn't and when would the Nice Voice be back.
Mom started to laugh and cry at the same time and the doctor smiled and started to cry too. "He won't be back. He's gone now. You're cured." I started to cry and mom rushed over to hug me and told me about how everything will be better now but I couldn't stop crying. I miss my Nice Friend.
[[Fuck. Re-read the prompt half way through and noticed I'd misread it, but I wanted to keep going as I enjoyed the story.Sorry OP.]]
| Finally. FINALLY. I hear something. I see something. How long has it been? Eternities unending? 3 seconds? Am I just waking up? Where is my purse? Shit! Where is my phone? I think I have to call my mom. Where is...where is...what the fuck. In the hospital?? Did the car crash? I bet it did. That dickfaced drunken jerk. Why am strapped down? I'm not crazy! He was the crazy one! Hey! Hey. Let me out! Let me out of here! Where are my parents?? I know my rights! You can't hold me without their permission!
Susan. We've been through this. Your parents died over 20 years ago. The medicine should be working soon, we just have to ride out the wave.
"Susan?" Is this one of those prank shows? I'm pretty sure I still have to sign a form or something. My parents wouldn't have done that, would they have?? I'm gonna kill them.
I hear you saying you'd like to harm someone. Do you recognize the consequences of harming others?
Who are you? You are seriously creeping me out. MOM! MOM!!!
Bryan, we need another 2cc I think...
Finally. FINALLY. I hear something... | |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | Oooh
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
(Ooh, give you up)
(Ooh, give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
Never gonna give, never gonna give
(Give you up)
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching, but
You're too shy to say it
Inside, we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
| His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I remember crossing a road. Then a truck. Then nothing. Then a feeling, like I was surrounded by warm jelly. I am a retrovirus. I travel easily through the cerebrospinal fluid, able to make rest stops in any area of the brain. I am small right now, but I will grow. I have to. To save him.
You print an A like this. Hold the pencil with your right hand. Not your left. No, that's wrong. Sit in the corner until you get it right. I felt shame and sadness. It wasn't me, but I felt every part of it.
There was no food on the table after school. Mommy's in the bedroom with her door closed. She does that when she's angry. I felt afraid. My mother was happiness and light. When I got my doctorate, I was embarrassed because she cheered so loud. I miss her. Mommy is different. Sometimes she's nice, but more often she's "away." I tasted Lucky Charms with orange juice instead of milk. I smelled the bleach spray for the two hours afterwards spent meticulously cleaning any evidence of spillage.
You print a B like this. I felt the left hand being tied to a belt loop. Corner time again. I wish I could break through, speak up for him. Instead I felt depressed.
There was food after school today! Mommy made it, all of it. Belgian waffles with creme fraiche and glazed strawberries. Roast duck with black garlic. Sauteed asparagus encrusted with peppercorns. Ribeye roast. A pound of ribbon candy. The kitchen table creaked under the weight of all the food. So much food I can't remember all of it before we got sent to the closet for not finishing. I felt confused.
You print a C like this. With your right hand. This is simple, anyone should be getting this. Everyone else, this is how you print a G. Sit in the corner and PRACTICE until you catch up. With your right hand! For the first time, I felt anger.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. It tasted rubbery and bitter and way too spicy. I felt disgusted.
You print an A like thi- look, if you're not going to apply yourself, you will be sent to special education. You're not making any progress. Everyone else is getting this, why aren't you? Don't snap your pencil. Don't be childish! I felt furious.
There was food again today after school. Cold peppercorn-crusted asparagus. Some it if was turning brown and slippery. I felt nauseous.
Don't worry about the pencil or the letters. Today we're learning about shapes and colors! Isn't that cool? The dog is BROWN. Don't worry about what your old class is doing. Here, we believe in you! You're awesome! See? The dog is BROWN. Do you know what a dog is? Do you know what brown is? You do? Oh, what a clever boy! And you're only 6! Time for special recess, you don't even have to worry about the other kids picking on you and that's what makes it special recess! I felt alone.
There was no food at home today. At all. No Mommy. I felt glad.
Today we're going to talk about colors! The dog is BROWN! Remember that from yesterday? What's the difference between a dog and a cat? Oh, you have cats at home? How special! How many? That many? What does your Mommy do? Where is your Mommy right now?
I felt a shrinking. Like a gag order. I had to break through. This could not go on. I couldn't make him pronounce everything, or most things, and I got angry a few times. So did he. When you go from neurological research to the mind of a six-year-old, you don't automatically adjust your thoughts and vocabulary down to age-appropriate levels. It comes out gibberish - what kid can pronounce creme fraiche or toxoplasmosis? But the parts we could work together on - Mommy bad, Mommy sick, I sick, I hate asparagus - that part worked.
There was food today. There's food every day. Here, there's always food for clever boys. Unless it's really important, I don't do more than plant positive thoughts. You're a clever boy. You're so much smarter than everyone else. You can see so much more than everyone else. Breakthrough really upsets him, he has no capacity to understand that he's not crazy - it's just me. I'll just hang out in the background for as long as I can until he needs me. But you know what? I feel better. | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *You've done that wrong*
Shss
**I agree, thats going to fuck someone over**
Look, I've only just started this job. Just let me think.
^I ^think ^we ^should ^have ^lunch!
*No one cares Larry! But really, you should redo that*
**Utter OSHA violation**
WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Sir, you can't use that type of language in the library.
[Short and stupid. Based on one of my fathers workers. He heard voices. Not "Kill everyone" voices. They just told him how to do his job. Apparently a pretty good worker.] | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | An office cubicle, that's where it started. A small room with beige walls, florescent lighting, and little in the way of comforts. Smooth jazz played softly from somewhere in the distance. I took a moment to compose myself with a deep breath and tried to recall my name. Robin...Willingham was it? I had an English last name but I couldn't recall what it was.
A sudden voice saying hello made me spin around.
There in front of me was a man with grey hair, thick black framed glasses and a tweed jacket. The man introduced himself as Thomas Little. After our introductions he explained he was here to give me the tour. A quick query revealed that we were in fact in Thomas' mind. We left the cubicle and toured the office, including the memory room (full of filing cabinets), the emotional center (mostly a room full of different color lights, hot and cold spots, and varying sounds from wind in the leaves to nails on a chalkboard), and most importantly, the recording room (which was mostly empty beyond a microphone apparently able to broadcast thoughts to Thomas himself and a TV showing what he saw). Now familiar with where I'd be working we concluded the tour.
Then we went to the break room, where i met the cast of characters known as The Voices. There was Anger (A drunk who died when he wrapped his car around a telephone pole), Sadness (A woman who killed herself after her daughter died), and surprisingly even a small puppet named Love. I asked who voiced Love, at which point Mr. Little himself raised his hand. At my confused look he explained that love was mostly dictated by the subconscious and so he did the talking for Love. Having moved past that the others seemed very pleased to meet me. Finally all caught up with where Thomas was at in life I asked what part I was to play.
Mr. Little turned to me.
"Well it seems Thomas hasn't been doing so well. Sadness and Anger have been doing very well at their parts, and Thomas isn't doing so well overall. In fact he seems to be considering suicide. Now we all quite like our jobs here and want to stay, so we needed a coping mechanism. Love used to work but Thomas doesn't seem to listen to Love anymore, so we needed someone new."
I nodded to show I understood.
"Glad to see you're on board, Humor" | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
| |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | *This is hell. It must be. But what am I being punished for? I was a man of intelligence, a man of status. I taught and taught only to see society slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop the tide of … This.*
Kenneth’s hand paused, hovering a moment above the keyboard. With slight hesitation he resumed entering the numbers.
*A lifetime trying to get away from such a dreary existence. Now my penance is to become a spectator to utter banality!*
Kenneth rubbed his temples slowly. A forced cough while rearranging the papers on his desk.
*Months of hoping this was a dream. But no … Again the page turns. Pointless work a drone would be doing were it not for the need to busy the grey plebian mass.
I was wrong to try and elevate any of you. Art is wasted, history tossed aside like a childrens toy!
The frustration! How can you sit here! How can you surrender to such ... Wastefulness.*
Kenneth stood up. The distance to the watercooler was too short. He took a cup. As the water filled a head piped up from one of the nearby cubicles.
“Hey Kenny! Tell me you saw the game last night!”
*Oh no! Let it end! Hades please, torment me no more. Give me a stone, give me grapes hanging above!*
“Hey Stu… I - ‘eh’”
*Run away! Begone! I don’t want to be infected with this pointless drivel! Just make it stop!*
“Please don’t tell me you missed it! Oh man … That last minute pass. It’s going to be in the highlight reels let me tell you!”
“*I DON’T CARE!*”
Kenneth dropped the water, spilling it all over his pristine trousers. The water briefly coated the grey office carpet before being absorbed completely. Leaving only a soggy stain.
It had been as loud as he thought. Heads turned all around him.
Inside Kenneth’s head there was laughter.
“You okay man?”
*You vile cretin. You’ve heard me all along. I’m a part of you. Not merely a spectator then. Since the start? You’ve maintained this placid sadness for so long? You’ve nearly driven me mad! Release me! Or allow me to drive us both to insanity, a wonder then who will take the forefront!
“Please,” Kenneth whispered. “Leave me alone.”
*You have no right to ask that of me.*
“Kenny? Buddy? You okay?”
Stu had come closer, hands outstretched in a gesture of comfort. He was on the floor before Kenneth could blink.
“*AWAY!*”
More laughter thundered through Kenneth’s mind.
*Fight it then. All your abilities. Perhaps I am a figment, perhaps I am all the desires you wished you had. All the things you want to achieve. The alternative has the saddest possible outcome. A brilliant mind, trapped in the world and mind of a slug devoid of worth.
If release from this torture means your collapse, then so be it.* | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
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[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 16, although I'm sure it began well before then. It started subtly, and usually when I was alone: I would get a strange feeling, like that tingly feeling you get when someone is watching you, only there was never anyone there. Sometimes I felt it so strongly that I called out to it, nervously: "Hello? Is... is someone there?" I would check behind doors, lock and re-lock them, look behind curtains and under the bed. But no one was ever there. Obviously.
Gradually, I became aware of a voice that came along with the feeling. It started out sounding foggy, like a radio that wasn't tuned quite right echoing from the other side of large, empty room. It would come along with the tingling, and when I began to make out what it was saying I realized it was just commenting on my life. I was still an awkward teenager going through my awkward teenager world, and more and more, the voice in my head had something to say about it. Sometimes it was innocuous -- a little comment about the doodle on my notebook, or an opinion about the color of the socks I put on in the morning -- but more and more it sounded angry and frustrated. It made fun of me when I stepped in a puddle and got my shoes soaking wet. It berated me for staring at the girl I had a crush on, telling me she was a bitch and that I'd never have a shot with her. And worst of all, it yelled at me whenever I did something wrong. You know how in high school, you try desperately to stay under the radar so that no one sees you screw up and mocks you for it? I couldn't avoid it, because the voice came from inside my own head. The best I could do was to ignore it, pretend I couldn't hear it. I definitely could not respond to it; then I'd be the crazy kid. No use getting teased from outside my head, too.
I don't remember how long it took, but after a while I was able to focus in on the voice whenever it spoke, and as a result it became clearer and clearer. That was not what I wanted. I started to become irritable whenever the voice would pipe up, and got actively upset whenever it sounded angry. One day while eating breakfast before school, I dropped a piece of toast and spilled raspberry jam all over my shirt. The tingling began, and then the voice lit into me: "Good lord, you're a wreck! You clumsy fucking idiot! No wonder no one likes you."
I was livid, and I'd had enough. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "Shut up, fuck you! Shut up!" Suddenly, the room was quieter than I had ever experienced. Was it gone? After a long pause, the voice spoke softly: "So he can hear me. Huh."
My mother walked in from the hall. I remember that her face was pale. She asked me who I was talking to, and I cried and screamed about the voice, the voice, couldn't she hear it...?
I started going to a psychiatrist once a week. At first I thought it was helping, being able to talk to someone who didn't think I was totally nuts and tried to help me ignore the voice, despite its growing clarity. But the voice was not gone. If anything, that cynical bastard just got louder. "You think this quack believes a word you're saying? He thinks you're crazy just like everyone else does. Good god, what did I do to deserve this? This is torture!"
Predictably, high school has become a nightmare. When the voice is there, it is angry and impossible to ignore; when it isn't, I live in fear of what it will say next. I can't concentrate on my work, and exams are nearly impossible. I avoid making friends because I don't want people to see me when it gets bad.
Finally, today, the voice puts me over. It's been going non-stop since this morning; whatever medication I've been taking hasn't done anything. Trembling, I ask to go to the bathroom during History class just so I can be alone. I lock the stall and start whispering, "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up!" I begin to cry. "If you don't shut up, I'm... I'm going to kill myself. Then we'll both be dead." I'm not sure if I mean it. But I think I do.
"If only," says the voice, "But I doubt it. You're too chicken shit."
This. This was the first honest-to-God conversation I've ever had with my voice. Great start. "I'll do it. If you don't shut up. I'll do it."
"Ha. I fucking dare you." Says the voice. God, what a bastard.
"SHUT UP!" I cry. And I pull the razor out of my bag. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Two swift motions; I am surprised how little it hurts. A bit sharp at first, but mostly dull and throbbing, like my heart thumping in my wrists. From my wrists.
"Holy shit. The kid did it. I can't believe..."
The voice begins to fade back to a muddy echo, far away. My vision blurs, twinkling flashes creeping in from the corners. I feel tired. I sit back on the floor, my arms dangling over the toilet bowl. Even in this, I tried to stay under the radar---don't want to make a mess, right?
Blackness creeps over me. It's over. The voice is quiet. Thank god. It's over. It's over...
...After what feels like an hour of sleep, hanging on the edge of a dream that never starts, my eyes open. I try to blink, and... can't. Things are hazy. I don't recognize the room. It's early morning, still shadowy, light just starting to creep in through the windows. The walls are covered in posters of cartoons I only vaguely recognize. I'm in a bed with powder blue bed sheets, and I don't understand. Didn't I...?
My vision goes momentarily dark, then returns, a little clearer. It felt like I blinked, but I didn't. I try to blink on purpose. Nothing. I try to rub my eyes, but I can't. My vision blinks again, then pans across the room, and lands on a chair near the door. It has clothes set out on it, but they're not my clothes. They look way too small for me. I try to look around the room, but I find I'm not controlling my gaze.
I hear a noise. It's foggy, like a radio that isn't tuned quite... I focus in unconsciously. I already know how.
"What's going on?" I demand. "Where am I? Is this a hospital? Where is everyone? What the fuck is going on?!"
My vision pans around with timid panic. It lands on the edge of the curtains, and then whips to the closet door, barely ajar. The noise suddenly sharpens and becomes clear. It's a voice.
"Hello?" It says. "Is... is someone there?"
Oh no. | His brother approached and asked a question. "What are you shouting at?"
Brandon stops with house mouth wide open and tries to regain his normal composure. He glances back at his brother Jake and says "God told me if I shouted at the clouds he'd make a triceratops." Jake looks into Brandon's eyes with utter disbelief. I tell Brandon "go smoke a cigarette, they're starting to suspect something." Jake says disapprovingly, "Brandon, come inside the neighbors are watching, you're in the same clothes from yesterday and you haven't shaved in weeks come on bro." Jake goes back into the house with a look of shock and walks back out with a set of pills. Instinctly, I yell at Brandon, "DON'T TAKE THOSE... they are killing you." Jake tries to hand Brandon the pills with a bottle of water and gently says, "Here, take your meds." Brandon retorts, "I'm okay, I'm okay. They hurt my heart Jake, I don't want to take them." Jake speaks firmly, "Doctor's orders you have to take them." Brandon succumbs, "fine." Jake pleads, "Brandon wear your jacket, it's like 30 degrees out here." I tell Brandon "Lets go into the back we need to help your mom clean." I don't like Jake he hurts me.
From his bedroom window, Jake looks in sadness at Brandon in the backyard building a circle of stones. Inside that circle of stones is a Brute trashcan which Brandon walks several paces away and picks up just the stick portion of a broken rake. I tell Brandon, "toss it like a javelin into the trashcan." Brandon throws it ungracefully into the air and upon hearing the rumbles of the stick into the plastic bin rejoices of the accomplishment with his hands in the air. Thinking to myself, I feel really drunk and I'm not even sure if I am I alive? I can't feel anything... everything's going black.
I wake up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in front of us. "How long was I out?" Brandon says, "Is that you ...?" His eyes shift from side to side. He grabs the bottle in front and pours double the usual amount into the glass. Brandon gulps another shot down and slams the tiny cub to the lonely table in front of him. "I need to learn to figure out how to ... ...," says Brandon. I can't hear him. He's probably having a hard time hearing me. Brandon walks outside and puts his feet up on a chair and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt and lights the front on fire. I feel him take in the sweet composition."Can you hear me Brandon?" I ask sloppily and feeling a bit drunk. "Brandon replies "Yes, God I hear you tell me what you want me to do." Time flies by and Brandon and I talk discussing politics, the meaning of life, and the dauntless off it his brother Jake and how awesome a guy he is, but how dangerous as well.
"Why am I here? I really don't want to do deal with all this," Brandon asks me as he pours the next shot and gulps it down. "Where's everyone else at? Where's that cute chick you were talking to? Let's go hang out with them, they don't care if I'm around at least" Walking from the porch I feel a scream of exhilaration etch from Brandon, "Yes God." Brandon walks inside to his brother who extends more pills in front of him, "Time for your meds," I hear. "NOOOO I hate those."
Without so much as a word Brandon grabs the pills and shoves them inside and downs the bottle of water. "Thanks Jake" he says. Jake's giving orders again, "Look you haven't slept all day, you need to lay down a bit. I need to go take care of my son." Brandon shakes his head in agreement and we lay a phone on to the table by the couch and lay down. We watch youtube and it's telling me information about how Orcas can kill a Great White and only eat the liver. Brandon takes the rest of the bottle and tries to down it before laying down onto the couch. Jake notices and rushes in and grabs the bottle after he take a gulp and says, "That's enough you need to start taking care of yourself." Jake walks out of the room and dumps the rest of the bottle into the sink and walks into the bedroom where the baby cries are heard. "I'm not feeling well Brandon" I say, but I am ignored.
I wake up to a cigarette in hand. Something feels different... There's a breeze. I hear Jake ask louder than usual "What happened to you last night?" He's standing directly in front of us. I don't hear a response from Brandon. Out loud I say to myself "Only Brandon knows." Jake looks wide eyed staring and just then I feel a burning sensation rise from my hand.
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