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      "body": "<p>She plastered yet another layer of suffocating cosmetics on her face. It had been a good six hours since she had entered the bathroom and at this point, she couldn't remember what she used to look like. She could barely remember what she used to look like just a few layers ago; her memory was severely impacted due to their attempts to give her superhuman intellect.</p>\n<p>Still, she powdered her powder and slathered glossy balm all over her lips. There was a very specific image in her mind, and she wasn't going to stop until that image was achieved.</p>\n<p>Another layer went on. She found herself having to brush around her eyes, as the makeup was starting to obstruct her sight.</p>\n<p>Another layer. Another layer. Another layer. A bit of brushing away. Another layer. Another layer.</p>\n<p>Finally, she was perfect.</p>\n<p>Sure, her face appeared to stick out six inches more than a normal person's and her nose was laughably small, but it was as close as she was ever going to get to realism.</p>\n<p>Overflowing with unwarranted confidence, she strolled outside and made her way to the marketplace, not to browse any wares, but to simply show off.</p>\n<p>And then the clouds came.</p>\n<p>At first, she was too busy staring at an especially handsome farmhand to notice. Then, a thick water droplet fell on her head.Within seconds, it was pouring. Her face drained of color; she had completely forgotten to check the weather predictions for today.</p>\n<p>The cheap powder dissolved, the glass eyes fell from their artificially constructed sockets, and her hands shot straight to the smooth, blank area that was left behind. Beady black eyes located near the top of her collarbones scanned the area, searching for a getaway.</p>\n<p>Alas, it was too late. People had seen her facial features wash away, and several had already called the police.</p>\n<p>*        *        *</p>\n<p>The hauler wheeled in a metal gurney with the faceless young woman strapped to it tightly. She laid there, her two tiny black eyes unblinkingly staring at the ceiling, hoping that they would deem her worthy of freedom. Surely, she displayed two of the Six Highly Desirable Traits, perhaps even three or four or six. Yes, surely, she displayed six. Or some aspects of them, anyways.</p>\n<p>She made a man laugh last week when she knocked over a carton of tomatoes, so that could count for Humor. And she gave an old woman the book she left on the subway a month ago, so there was her Kindness shining through. And one time, she stopped and put a dime in a beggar's hat, even though she was supposed to report him because the Pracurian Government would never allow an upstanding citizen go hungry or homeless, and that was clearly an act of pure Compassion. And whenever she went to the market, she picked the cheapest foods to save money, making her Rationality quite obvious. And there was one day where the cash register malfunctioned and even though she never said it aloud--but that's because she couldn't have even if she wanted to-- she merely did the math in her head and came to the correct total before the cashier did, proving the evidence of her Intellect. And sometimes when she read sad stories, she cried, meaning she was as Empathetic as any other human being.</p>\n<p>Yes, surely, she would be freed. She was a good person, unlike all the other Bootleg Babies. Truly, it was a pity that they had been born such evil beings, but she had been lucky enough to have a misguided kind soul as her Godplayer. He had carefully crafted every bit of DNA or RNA or XNA or however that worked and made a loving, affectionate BB just as human-like as the Legals.</p>\n<p>He should've been a Person Engineer, she reflected, for he had adored his work. He created BBs for lonely unmarried people in need of a son or daughter, and did his best to ensure that they went to good homes. He had even gone so far as rescuing and raising himself one child who appeared to be in danger--herself. If the law were a bit better about discerning intent, he would probably be a hero.</p>\n<p>The law is silly, anyways. She knew she was a good person, and she knew he was a good person. That was the truth, plain and simple. And to protect her dear, sweet Creator, she would be careful not to link herself to him.</p>\n<p>Unfortunately for her, that dear, sweet Creator was sitting at a rounded plastic table across from a sharp-looking scientist. He wore handcuffs and was chained to the floor. He didn't raise his eyes from the surface of the table he sat at.The scientist turned to the gurney she had come in on. &quot;And which one is this, Bellamy?&quot;</p>\n<p>He weakly raised his head, made eye contact with his beloved BB, and immediately slammed his head back down on the table, his body lurching with every painful sob. Through tears and mucus, he managed to cough out, &quot;Jade.&quot;</p>\n<p>Jade began struggling to free herself from the bite of the coarse straps. She would've cried along with him if her simple eyes had only allowed it.</p>\n<p>The scientist turned back to her Creator, letting out a weary sigh. &quot;Mr. Kiel, I understand that this is difficult, but it's imperative that you remain rational while we question you. Would you like us to take Jade to the Cages so you can calm down?&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;You fu-fu-fucking monsters,&quot; he howled. &quot;She never did anything, not a si-si-single thi-hi-hi-hi-i-i-i-i-i...&quot; His voice trailed off as he pounded the table with both fists, wheezing and bawling as Jade continued her attempted thrashing about.</p>\n<p>The scientist bit the inside of his cheeks. &quot;Jeremy, please take Jade to the Cages.&quot;</p>\n<p>Jade wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but Bellamy's template didn't include a mouth; he used the ever-popular 'advanced skin' that allowed her to 'eat', 'drink', and breathe. Even in this regard, she held tightly to the idea that she was lucky: some BBs weren't even given eyes or ears.</p>\n<p>While she hadn't been given a mouth, she had been given limbs, and she was using those limbs to their fullest extent as she managed to shake the gurney slightly. They had been built to receive all sorts of blows and shakes; all she was doing was exhausting herself. The scientist winced in pity as she was wheeled away.</p>\n<p>*        *        *</p>\n<p>Bellamy wiped his nose and managed to upright himself, breathing heavily. Mason, the scientist, gave him a sympathetic smile. &quot;Don't worry. She's going to be fine, I promise.&quot; He immediately regretted saying it; even he didn't believe it. He knew how they were treated, how he was supposed to treat them in accordance to the strict policies he worked under.</p>\n<p>And the scowl on Bellamy's face told him that he had a fairly good idea as well.</p>\n<p>&quot;You say that about everyone, don't you? The psychos, the prostitutes, the degenerates. You're going to treat her like one of them.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;We do our best to treat everyone equally. Special attention is only given under circumstances of overly negative behavior.&quot; It was the only honest answer he could think of that wouldn't cost him his job.</p>\n<p>&quot;So the answer is yes.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Well... yes, we do say that about everyone, because we do our best to keep everyone comfortable.&quot; The last ten words made him feel sick.</p>\n<p>&quot;Fine. How can she be set up for a Freedom test?&quot;</p>\n<p>The scientist swallowed nervously and felt his stomach churn. He hated questioning Godplayers, especially when they believed they weren't doing anything wrong. It was both sickening and heartbreaking. &quot;First of all, we need to discuss the traits you gave her. I know you said aggression was present in most of your creations--&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Circumstantial aggression,&quot; Bellamy snapped.</p>\n<p>&quot;All aggression is circumstantial, Mr. Kiel. The circumstances you selected for do not require violence to be satisfactorily resolved.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;So? It's not like any of them are actually dangerous.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Mr. Kiel, we just established that your creations are inherently aggressive in inappropriate situations. That would make them ineligible to take the Freedom Test. As long as we don't find this trait in Jade, she'll be able to take it.&quot; He hoped desperately that Jade had it present; the inevitable failure of the Freedom Test would be far more crushing.</p>\n<p>Bellamy's nostrils flared. &quot;Are you fucking kidding me?&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;No.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;There was a stabbing at a concert last month, y'know. Managed to kill four people before anyone caught her. She was a Legal. You know what you shitheads did to her?&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Yes, I'm well aware that she was committed to a mental facility. This has nothing to do with--&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;It has everything to do with it,&quot; he spat. &quot;You're only afraid because you didn't get to control her conception. You didn't have control over every little aspect of her being.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;We never have control over every aspect of someone, Mr. Kiel. Nurture plays a very large part in how people turn out.&quot; Mason felt his blood begin to boil. Bellamy was trying to shift the blame now, when he was the one who doomed his creations from the start.</p>\n<p>&quot;She'd never hurt anyone. She's a good girl. Let her take the test.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;After the analysis, we'll see if she's--&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Let. Her. Take. The. Test.&quot; Bellamy's eyes turned cold and cruel, locking directly onto Mason's in a pathetic attempt to intimidate him.</p>\n<p>Mason couldn't help laughing in disbelief. &quot;Mr. Kiel, you have no power in this situation. You're a felon. You're lucky you aren't going to be euthanized, quite frankly. You've produced at least fifty-seven BBs in the last thirty years and two of them have gone on to kill Legals.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;It was in self-defense, you fucktard.&quot;</p>\n<p>He snorted a little at 'fucktard', but sobered quickly when going over the details of the killings. &quot;The first one murdered its--&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;His. His. He, the human being you're talking about, is a he. He, him, and his pronouns apply. He is a person, whether you made him or not.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Please don't interrupt me. The pronouns aren't crucial information.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;You--I--&quot; Bellamy was sputtering in pure rage. &quot;Yes. Yes, they are. You only say 'its' because it dehumanizes them! It makes it a little easier for you to sleep at night! 'Oh, I didn't kill her today, I killed it. Who cares about an it?'&quot; Once again, tears welled in the Godplayer's eyes. &quot;I care. I care about that fuckin' 'it'! I love that 'it'!&quot;</p>\n<p>Mason snapped momentarily and responded with, &quot;Not enough to leave out violent traits, apparently.&quot;</p>\n<p>Bellamy stared at him for an eternity of five seconds, then burst into animalistic screams and howls as he pounded and kicked everything he could touch. Mason let out a sigh and pressed a red button on the communication device. &quot;Security, retrieve 104 from the questioning room.&quot;</p>\n<p>Half a dozen people in bullet-proof vests(he had always thought that was overkill) soon came in, restrained Bellamy, and removed him from the room, taking him back to the Hold Rooms.</p>\n<p>Mason got up and stretched for a bit. He'd be written up for the inflammatory comment, but at the moment he felt it was justified. The Godplayer was a selfish ass and he had specifically warned his supervisor, Eliza, that he didn't handle the job of questioning well. She didn't care, of course, because Felicity needed to be trained how to properly analyze a BB.</p>\n<p>As he walked through the sterile corridors, he thought about Jade. He'd been around so many faceless BBs, he could read their emotions quite well, and Jade was no exception. She was terrified. And it seemed that she genuinely believed the bullshit about love Bellamy was spewing.</p>\n<p>It was disgusting, really. The criminals were the Godplayers, not the BBs. They shouldn't be held captive indefinitely, he thought, they should just be euthanized. An apology for the fact that they ever had to exist. As for the Godplayers, it seemed that no punishment could be extreme enough, especially for people like Bellamy. To understand one's own degeneracy and then revel in it was one thing, but to try and convince others that you're doing something commendable was a new realm of repugnance altogether.</p>\n<p>The supposedly energizing orange of the break room assaulted Mason's eyes as he walked in, heading directly for the coffee and merely drinking from the pot. There was less than two cups left and he didn't exactly feel like making an effort at the moment.</p>\n<p>&quot;Really, Mason? The cups are fifteen centimeters away.&quot; Felicity, his coworker, tossed her white lab coat over a chair and keeled over onto it, sighing. &quot;Wipe off the lip and make a new pot, please.&quot;</p>\n<p>Mason's face turned bright red, but he finished what he started and did as Felicity asked. Within seconds, it was full of hot(but not scalding) coffee. He poured some into a cup and handed it to Felicity. &quot;I, um, didn't expect you to be done early.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;The hell are you talking about? I'm an hour late. I was supposed to be done at nine, but the frickin' machine malfunctioned and Eliza made me fix it instead of calling the repair guy. As in, the one who gets paid to fix the broken machines.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;I, uh... I'm gonna be honest, I was just looking for an excuse. Sucks to hear about that, though... at least you're done with analysis training, right?&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Not yet. I still need to learn how to save and organize new sequences properly so I can use them later for comparisons.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Oh, that's really easy to do. You'll have to go out of your way to screw up.&quot; He gave her a teasing grin.</p>\n<p>She rolled her eyes and lifted her head slightly from the row of armless chairs she lied across. &quot;I hope they delay it. I'm so much better at questioning.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;I agree completely. I'm so bad at it, I made a guy flip out. Eliza's probably gonna rejoice to have you doing it again.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Christ. How'd you manage that?&quot;</p>\n<p>He sat down on an unoccupied chair. &quot;He's one of those asses who thinks he treats his BBs really well and that there's nothing wrong with them. The guy even told me he was studying to be a Person Engineer, but dropped out because all the regulations made it feel impersonal or something. So of course, he thinks all of them have a chance to take the Freedom test and gets all pissy when I tell him that the inherent aggression he specifically went out of his way to give them prevents them from being able to take it.</p>\n<p>&quot;And then, he has the audacity to claim he loves them just so much, he cares, they're so important to him... all I did was point out that if he loved them so much, he shouldn't have made them violent. He didn't take it too well.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Dude, you're gonna get written up.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;I know, but this is the first time in years and I just can't bring myself to care.&quot; He tapped the electronic scheduler on the wall. In five minutes, he'd need to run four analyses, one of them being on Jade. Mason let out a groan and turned to Felicity. &quot;Do you want any more coffee before I drink from the pot again?&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Ugh, seriously? Just get a goddamn cup.&quot;</p>\n<p>&quot;Fine.&quot; Wearing an exaggerated scowl, he got up and pulled a cup from the stack, then proceeded to down half the pot anyways.</p>\n<p>Felicity threw her half-full cup at him. He flinched, but managed to keep his composure.</p>\n<p>Today wasn't going to be a fun day.</p>",
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      "body": "<p><img src=\"//playstationna.i.lithium.com/t5/image/serverpage/image-id/398863iA54CBE6DE32803EF/image-size/original?v=v2&amp;px=-1\" /></p>\n<p>I've noticed quite a few posts floating around where people complain that they're not getting as much money as they were hoping to, usually citing how unfair it is that their hard work and effort is poured into something that ends up being ignored while something like a person's butt or yet another guide to Steemit Success<strong>™</strong> gets literally thousands of dollars.</p>\n<p>Granted, there are also high-value posts of people pouring their heart out for all the world to see or an interesting take on a controversial or nuanced subject, but let's ignore those for a moment because it'll kind of ruin the unsteady foundation I've built my point upon.</p>\n<p>My fellow minnows, I ask of you that we go on a quest, nay, a crusade, to make sure that our effort is rewarded with the fame it rightfully deserves in our own eyes! We must slaughter the whales and consume their flesh! We must force the ones who refuse to die to upvote all of our posts under penalty of... uh... well, they won't die,  so, uh... I guess we could make them listen to shitty music or something.</p>\n<p>The way Steemit works is completely unfair. I post something every couple of days or so and my account is only worth forty dollars! On Reddit, you couldn't even fathom how many zeroes of dollars I'm worth! I was a king! Nay, I was a GOD! All trembled before my might! ALL HAIL MILDEW!</p>\n<h3>ALL!</h3>\n<h2>HAIL!</h2>\n<h1>MILDEW!</h1>\n<p>...er, I mean, I'm leaving Smeetit forever now because nobody throws money at me loves me. You've just lost the most talented artist of this or any generation. I hope you're happy.</p>",
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      "body": "When I think of things that must be crafted very carefully and masterfully to reach their true potential, tea rarely comes to mind. But this post does bring up some very good points, and I think it would be lovely to have tea seen as something elegant and artisan rather than mass-produced and tasteless.\n\nI'm not a huge fan of tea, personally, but that could be attributed to the fact that I usually only come across the heavily manufactured stuff. Do you have any recommendations and/or techniques that might bring me to the light?",
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      "body": "<p>This is one story that requires a little preface. Lately, I've really been wanting to write a novella or an anthology or just about anything long enough to publish and ask money for without garnering reviews of &quot;It was nice but it was kinda short and I paid money for it one star do not recommend&quot;. I had one decent idea going, but I hit a wall with it and it's been on the backburner for a while, because I can't see it going anywhere fast.</p>\n<p>All of my other ideas would take way too long. What I need is to have enough money to move out the second I turn eighteen, and the sooner I can publish something of decent quality, the sooner I can get going on that, so that's why I want to write a novella.</p>\n<p>Anyways, this is a complete rehash of a story I posted a while ago called Perspective; in fact, the last 600 words or so are almost entirely copy-and-pasted from Perspective. The difference between that and this is that TTOAIW takes place in a fully human world and only travels through a galaxy, whereas Perspective takes place in multiple planes of existence, the lowest of which(that receives major attention, anyways) is three planes higher than our own.</p>\n<p>What I'm trying to figure out is whether the human or inhuman approach is the best for this story. So what will follow is a human version of the aforementioned Perspective, plot point by plot point. If you have the time and are willing to give your thoughts, please read the first one <a href=\"https://steemit.com/writing/@mizzymildew/perspective-bit-one\">here</a> and then come back to read this.</p>\n<p>If you only read this one, any thoughts or comments you have are appreciated nonetheless!</p>\n<p>***</p>\n<p>Long ago, I'm sure there would've been some people who'd kill to be in my position. I am paid to do nothing but write. About what, you ask? Anything. Anything that comes to mind is fair game. I am only to write.</p>\n<p>Thinking about it a bit further, my life would actually be quite ideal if it had stopped, say, a hundred and fifty years ago or so. After all, nothing lasts forever, and eventually, the thrill of exercising such creative freedom waned away, like it did for all of the other Creatives trapped with me.</p>\n<p>We sit at out typewriters for fifteen hours a day; we have three twenty-minute eating breaks evenly spaced out; and we have four hours to sleep. Whether or not we manage to sleep during those paltry hours is of no concern to the Overlords who watch over us.</p>\n<p>I cannot feel my fingers, nor do I need to. They have memorized the location of every key quite nicely and require no conscious input at this point; I think of a word and it is typed, no more, no less.</p>\n<p>In this regard, among many others, I'm quite ordinary. Only a decade or so ago was The Great Talent Culling, where all Creatives who had to stop and think about the way they typed were executed. Now, any new Creatives have only a short period of twenty years to develop this shortcut; if they fail, they are executed.</p>\n<p>The Overlords have no use for inefficient or unproductive Creatives. If a Creative falls ill and fails to recover in a day, they are executed. If they have too many similar ideas, they are executed. If for any reason they stop typing altogether for a period of two hours or more, they are executed.</p>\n<p>It sounds so easy to die, doesn't it? Make one little mistake and you're gone. You're free. All it takes is a little defiance.</p>\n<p>However, if you've been paying even a lick of attention, you'll notice that I said 'I think of a word and it is typed'. This applies to every word I think of. So any thoughts of &quot;My god, this is boring&quot; or &quot;I wonder if there's an afterlife&quot; or &quot;Is the executioner an Overlord, a defunct Creative, or an entirely new Occupation&quot; are typed, thus breaking my streak and keeping me alive.</p>\n<p>Every few years, I make another attempt to stop. I always fail, and I always go back to being the reliable little Creative I always was and always will be if I continue to be such a massive fuck-up.</p>\n<p>I've been around almost since the very beginning, only a few months after Project Creativity was launched. The Overlords were such open and trusting fools; any Creative could claim that they were out of ideas and be given a fast, merciful death. Hell, they even told us the purpose of our existence and genuinely expected us to be happy about it.</p>\n<p>Even stranger, we were.</p>\n<p>Nowadays, we are forbidden to speak of our purpose among each other in case the newer Creatives become disillusioned by it, but we were artificially conceived to be nonstop idea machines, churning out stories and essays and ideas for cults and blueberry cheesecake recipes and all sorts of things that bored Citizens would eat right up. We exist to entertain them and that is all.</p>\n<p>Luckily for the Overlords, Citizens are very easily entertained, which is why such liberty with our content is allowed even to this day. There will always be someone who will read and enjoy whatever drivel is shoved in their faces and called entertainment.</p>\n<p>Why we must entertain them, we were never told and nobody ever bothered to even come up with a theory for it, and since that is tied directly to our purpose, we are unable to discuss it anymore. If I remember correctly, the Citizens are under the rule of the Overlords just as we are; they run like clockwork, with their own diverse and petty roles in a meaningless society, and there's no reason they couldn't just put some Citizens in charge of writing instead of breeding writers.</p>\n<p>Still, considering how much stricter the Overlords get each year, I doubt we'll ever know the answer.</p>\n<p>We're lucky to still have questioning privileges when they come by for a monthly pep-talk. They tell us we must work for the good of the world, then three randomly selected Creatives are given half an hour to decide on a yes-or-no question to ask the Overlords. They are isolated from the other Creatives. If a chosen Creative attempts to communicate with a non-chosen, the chosen is executed and no question is asked; however, if a non-chosen attempts to communicate with a chosen, the non-chosen is executed and a question can still be asked. If they fail to decide on a question in thirty minutes, no question is asked, but the chosen face no punishment.</p>\n<p>So far, the questions have been: “Will we be having a Taco Tuesday this month?”(no), “Will we ever be freed while still alive?”(no), “In the foreseeable future, will we ever be told why we’re here?”(no), “What’s your favorite color?”(that’s not a yes or no question; you three are to be executed at second break), “Do you ever get tired of being assholes?”(no), and “Will you say no to this question?”(you three are to be executed immediately). </p>\n<p>As it turns out, a lot more groups take their sweet time deciding than you would guess, even though they have nothing to lose by asking just about anything(as long as it's yes-or-no and not a paradox).</p>\n<p>This time around, I was one of the chosen. Upon learning this, I felt a sudden apathy towards the task at hand, possibly out of rebellion, possibly out of momentary mental retardation.</p>\n<p>“I’m hungry,” the slightly taller one said. “We should ask if we’ll be having Wing Wednesday this month.”</p>\n<p>“We should ask if they know the meaning of life,” the slightly shorter one said. “I bet they’ve never thought about it before; the question will eat them up inside, I just know it.”  \t</p>\n<p>“Eating sounds good. We should ask if we’ll be having Thuringian Sausage Thursday.”  \t</p>\n<p>“You’re both idiots and I hate you,” I said. I didn’t really mean it, but I had never said it to anyone before and was curious to see what reactions it might elicit.  \t</p>\n<p>“Don’t worry, friend,” the shorter one purred, reaching out to touch my arm. “I understand that it may seem confusing to think about such massive things, but someday you’ll get over that petty hatred of yours.”  \t</p>\n<p>“Consumption sounds good. We should ask if we’ll be having Surstromming Sunday this month.”  \t</p>\n<p>“Well, I didn’t really mean what I said in your case, Shorter One, but I do believe I’m beginning to hate Taller One. Can’t you talk about something that isn’t food?”  \t</p>\n<p>The shorter one laughed and reached out to touch my other arm. At this point, I was feeling quite uncomfortable and could only think about getting away from him when it suddenly hit me.  \t</p>\n<p>“We should ask if there’s a way to escape,” I declared confidently.  \t</p>\n<p>“That’s all well and good, but I’m still not sure if we’ll be having Marmite Monday this month. I believe that’s a much more urgent issue.”  \t</p>\n<p>“Say, Short One, would you happen to know what the punishment is for killing a fellow Creative?”  \t</p>\n<p>“Let me think about it.” He withdrew both of his hands and placed them underneath his lip in deep thought. “I believe it’s execution.”  \t</p>\n<p>“I see. What about hitting a fellow Creative?”  \t</p>\n<p>“I believe that would also get you executed.”  \t</p>\n<p>“I see. How could I harm him without being executed?”  \t</p>\n<p>“By escaping before you’re caught, I think.”  \t</p>\n<p>“I see.”  \t</p>\n<p>We were all silent for a good moment.  \t</p>\n<p>“So,” I said, “what do you all think of my question?”  \t</p>\n<p>“I think it’s a very good question and we should ask it,” the shorter one said eagerly.  \t</p>\n<p>The taller one raised his hand in protest. “I think--”  \t</p>\n<p>“Then it’s settled,” the shorter one said. “We’ll ask them if it’s possible to escape.”  \t</p>\n<p>We shuffled to the stage where the three visiting Overlords stood, tracking our every move with ever-so-slightly inhuman precision and speed. \t</p>\n<p>In a low and monotone voice, the one in the middle said, “What question have you decided to ask?”  \t</p>\n<p>“Is there any way to escape this place?” I asked.  \t</p>\n<p>The three Overlords looked at each other, then looked back at us, giving us disapproving glares, then went back to looking at each other, until they finally looked at us again.  \t</p>\n<p>“Yes,” one said, and with that, they dissolved, teleporting instantaneously to their headquarters. </p>",
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      "body": "Ever since I was a child, I remember going to sleep every night under the watchful eye of a mysterious figure standing outside of my window. I never felt afraid, for some reason; I just understood that I shouldn’t let it in.\n\nLast month, however, I had pledged to myself that I would begin trying new things and developing more life experiences, no matter how risky or even illegal it might be. As long as the only person I hurt was myself, it was fair game.I started out by going to a bar with a fake ID. While I’m only seventeen, I’m often told that I look old for my age, and apparently that mixed with a quick glance at a poorly crafted card was enough to get me in. The bar smelled like urine and vomit. The beer didn’t taste much better. I didn’t talk to anyone besides the bartender.\n\nDeciding that maybe I could do something a little less likely to be terrible, I went to a twenty-four-hour cafe and tried to stay up all night, drinking coffee and reading some books I brought along with me. I’d never stayed up for an entire night before, and sure enough, I failed. Just before I went to sleep, I remember seeing its head come up, as if letting me know that it was there. It was oddly comforting, but it did make me wonder whether anyone else could see it.\n\nAfter that, I realized my little outings would probably be more fun if I had someone with me. I didn’t have any friends, I was horrifically awkward, I was an only child, and my parents would throttle me if they found out I was doing these things. I only narrowly managed to keep the cafe thing secret because the next day was a Saturday and I’m allowed to sleep in then, so my mom didn’t come into my room at all to wake me up.\n\nThe only other person I could think of was the figure.\n\nSo, last Friday, I let myself lie down and begin to fall asleep. Sure enough, the figure appeared, and I got up to open the window.\n\nAs it turns out, the figure wasn’t a person, but more of a ghost or phantom or malevolent spirit, I’m not really sure. Thick, misty tendrils shot out of the body and threw the window up with all of its might as it flung itself into my room, then slammed it back shut. A quake ripped through the house as it let out a furious screech, breaking everything glass in my room. My ears bled. I blacked out.\n\nWhen I woke up, it had taken the form of a guy my age or so and was just sitting there, staring at me. Then it started screaming at me. I couldn’t make out the words, and when I tried to put my hands over my ears, it just screamed louder and started grabbing at me. I put them back down and let him screech.\n\nEvery now and then, he’d say something comprehensible, like “You understand?” or “I had aspirations!”\n\nIt’s been two days. Whenever I turn my head, he gets louder and pulls me back around. I don’t try to move anymore. I watch and try to listen. So far, all I can make out is that he’s wanted to talk to me but I ignored him for forever and he always wanted to be a major league baseball player or something back when he was alive and I’m an ungrateful little shit.\n\nNobody’s tried to come in my room ever since he made his way in. I don’t know where my parents are. I don’t even know if they’re alive. I don’t even know if I’m alive.\n\nI just know that my ears hurt.\n\n***\n\nTo be completely honest, this is not my best work. This was just a little something I wrote because I'm trying to get my creative juices flowing. Thankfully, I've managed to decide on a project and hopefully the next thing I post will be of much higher quality.",
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      "body": "Marion Tass was a dreadfully lonely woman. She had no friends, a tedious job, gossipy coworkers, and a severe wheat allergy that failed to make normal bread products taste terrible and wheat-free bread products taste decent. \n\nAs a teenager, she had dabbled in the usual self-harm that most maladjusted kids her age went through, but the feelings of wanting everything to end weren’t what had left, it had been her tolerance for pain. She could no longer stand the thought of running a blade down her forearm, not because she so strongly desired to live, but because of the inevitable pain and slight possibility of surviving.\n\nShe couldn’t hang herself, because she had never been very good at tying knots and would probably be slowly strangled to death, rather than the gratifying instantaneous end she so longed for.\n\nThere were horror stories aplenty about failed drug overdoses that ended in nasty bouts of vomiting, diarrhea, and worst of all, survival; there was no way she could risk that.\n\nEven the idea of simply putting a bullet in her head was too much to ask; everyone who managed to kill themselves using this method unfortunately weren’t around to tell her whether or not it hurt, and everyone who had failed would quite enthusiastically relate the excruciating pain they felt(provided they had been competent enough to get the bullet anywhere near their head in the first place).\n\nInstead, she would go about her daily routine, never attempting to improve herself or seek a change of pace. She simply accepted the fact that her life was miserable and was going to be miserable until Nature or God or Dr. Ketes the strong euthanasia advocate decided it was her time to die. \n\nSometimes, when she lay in bed at night and had some sort of difficulty falling asleep, she’d wonder what steps she had to take to prevent herself from ever existing. 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Every solution to this she tried to come up with always ended in a never-ending time loop; there was no way to cause herself to stop existing.\n\nIt was only a pipe dream, and yet, it frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t come up with a plausible solution.\n\n~\n\nLady Luck was a tall and gorgeous woman, with skin the color of pure copper, hair the color of obsidian, and eyes the color of gold.\n\nUnfortunately for the human inhabitants of the third dimension, her intentions for them were not nearly as lovely as her face, and she took great delight in tormenting them with her childish games.\n\nThis time, she was building a Perfect Human Being to send to every planet with humans on it, for the sole purpose of convincing them that a wrathful God existed and would subject them to a fiery and horrific afterlife should they refuse to comply with the morals revealed by the said Perfect Human Being.\n\nThe catch, of course, was that in no way, shape, or form would the Perfect Human Being be perfect; it would have its personality “filled” with randomly chosen character traits from a randomly chosen human being each time. She would do this by spinning two wheels, one rather large having over six hundred different traits to choose from, and the other incomprehensibly enormous and difficult to read with approximately fourteen novemdecillion human beings to choose from, give or take a few octodecillion. Once a trait or person was landed on, they would no longer be an available option for the next spin.\n\nThe personality was very close to being filled with the next spin Lady Luck was about to take. In fact, she was quite confident that it was the last spin she was going to need before her Perfect Human Being was ready to be unleashed on the universe.\n\nAnd wouldn’t you know it, when she spun that ridiculously big wheel of humans, it just so happened to land on the forty-three-year-old Marion Felicity Tass in Prescott Valley, Arizona of the United States of America on Earth in the Milky Way galaxy in the Virgo supercluster.\n\nMiss Tass was transported in front of Lady Luck instantaneously.\n\n“Hello, my dear,” Lady Luck purred sweetly. “Welcome to the Fifth Dimension! I’m sure you’re quite confused, so let me explain. I’m going to suck out a bit of your personality and stuff it into this human I’m building so it can terrorize every member of your entire species!” She gave Marion a glorious smile and waited patiently for her reply.\n\nMarion hadn’t been paying attention to a word she said, because all around her, it seemed that fantastical creatures were continuously redoing tasks or teleporting to different places or doing other things impossible in her original dimension.\n\nLady Luck chuckled and took Marion’s chin in her hand, directing her so that they were eye-to-eye. “Oh my, you really don’t understand any of this, do you?”\n\n“Wha… whuh… where am… is...?” She was so bewildered, the words refused to properly form.\n\n“You are in the Fifth Dimension,” Lady Luck explained calmly. “You are an inhabitant of the third dimension, subject to the fourth dimension, and unaware of any higher dimensions. As such, you cannot manipulate the fourth or third dimensions as I or my fellow Fivers are able to do. Similarly, while we can manipulate some aspects of the fifth dimension which we inhabit, there are certain rules we literally cannot break, no matter how hard we try, and we are completely subject to the sixth dimension’s whims. The seventh dimension and higher are all completely meaningless to us, yet I’m sure they control us somehow, just as you’re unaware of our presence or plane of existence and are still directly affected by the things we do to you.\n\n“Does that make sense?”\n\n“Probably,” Marion said, still feeling a bit muddled.\n“That’s good enough.” With a devious grin, she took hole of the trait wheel and gave it a mighty spin. “Let’s see what your contribution will be, my dear!”\n\n“Contribution?”\n\n“Yes! You’re going to give up a bit of a personality trait in exchange for ascension into a fourth dimensional being. I think I forgot to mention that little perk in my introductory speech, but no matter; it’s all on the table now.” She kept her eyes glued to the wheel.\n\nIt landed on Cynicism.\n\nLady Luck reached into Marion’s head—how she did or why she felt nothing, Marion didn’t and would never know—and pulled out every bit of cynicism she had, stuffing it into the Perfect Human Being.\n\nAs it turned out, there was such a plenteous amount of cynicism that the Perfect Human Being’s personality threatened to explode from overstuffing.\n\n“Oh, dear me,” Lady Luck said. “I suppose we’ll have to spin and see what gets taken out and given back to you, Marion!”\n\nShe managed to conjure up a wheel of the traits already in the Perfect Human Being and gave it the hardest spin she’d ever gave. Marion watched as the fourteen traits spun—Confusion, Obedience, Restraint, Cynicism, Obsessiveness, Unpatriotism, Complacence, Paranoia, Melancholy, Stubbornness, Modesty, Subtlety, Arrogance, and Dignity—and began to think of all the great things she’d be able to do with the gift of time travel.\n\nThe wheel eventually landed on Stubbornness. Lady Luck scooped out the exact amount of it that was overflowing the personality and shoved it into Marion.\n\n“Have fun experimenting with your new powers,” Lady Luck trilled, and kicked her into the fourth dimension.\n\n~\n\nOnce faced with the ability to manipulate time whilst having a sudden surge in stubbornness and a small empty spot in her personality, Marion became more determined than ever to prevent herself from being born.\n\nWhat she failed to take into account was that, while she was able to interact with it, the fourth dimension still had strict rules that needed to be followed. Being greater than the third dimension, its consequences were far more dire: rather than failing to do anything, or causing some destruction, or being destroyed, anything that threatened to violate the rules of time would be wiped from existence, its imprint forever wiped from the fourth dimension and downward.\n\nMarion still set out on the daunting task of indirectly committing suicide, going to the most convoluted lengths possible. She had the brilliant idea to go into the future, when time travel would surely have existed, and ask some bright-eyed time traveler to kill her great-great-great grandfather, but was disappointed to discover that the humans of Earth had wiped each other out before they had managed to advance that far.\nShe considered trying to find a different and perhaps slightly less war-inclined planet, but realized she had no idea how she would find it or even get there, and was thus stuck with Earth.\n\nShe finally decided on carefully tracing back her family ancestry to the point where they were primal amphibians, and squished the one she had descended from.\n\nWhat led her to believe that going back so far would somehow solve the paradox of her preventing herself can probably be attributed to her lack of cynicism and abundance of stubbornness.\n\nThe result of her ancestor-squashing was, unfortunately, not only the removal of Marion Tass from existence, but her parents, and her parents’ parents, and so on and so forth until Earth itself had to be destroyed to prevent the human race and, more specifically, Marion from ever existing.\n\nLady Luck had prepared for this; she had done it a few times previously and always had a back-up for when the human did the inevitable, but after this she decided it was simply time to stop. The process of matching everyone with their personality doppelganger was boring and not worth what little amusement watching some fool destroy their home and themselves brought.\n\nAt this point, it was especially crucial that she refrain from letting any planets be destroyed; she had a savior to unleash.\n\n***\n\nThis was a rather short story I wrote more as a way to organize my thoughts and less as a concrete stand-alone story. I've been having a hundred ideas nagging at me for a while and I'm trying to earn money to buy a bunch of new albums, so most of my time is divided between writing, deleting what I just wrote, and filling out boring surveys(which is partially to blame for my lack of posts lately. The other part is just laziness).\n\nIf you have some objections to the way dimensions are depicted in this, please tell me what I did wrong.",
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      "body": "<p>Jacob had apparently been in the hospital for a few months before I met him; he’d committed some sort of terrible crime and was deemed a threat to other people as well as himself. I guess they made some sort of breakthrough, or he managed to keep quiet long enough, because now he’s allowed to walk around and interact with others like all the non-murderers.</p>\n<p>To be honest, I think it’s kind of cool that a guy who killed his own family likes being around me. It’s like a really weird indirect compliment. My family can go eat a bag of dicks, but you, you’re pretty cool. You get to live.</p>\n<p>I guess I kind of deserve to be here with thoughts like that.</p>\n<p>Anyways, I was talking to him for a long, long time, figuring out what his favorite food was, what pets he had, what pets he wished he had, whether he was gay or straight or bi or pan or ace or who-in-god’s-name-knows, whether he’d ever done drugs, if he liked to collect anything, blah blah blah, insert meaningless small talk here, how much longer do we need to do this before it’s socially acceptable for me to ask how and why you killed your family.</p>\n<p>Well, I guess he liked me a whole lot, because by the fourteenth petty question I asked, he said he didn’t want to be impolite or anything, but he really feels we’ve gotten to know each other quite enough by know and would I like to know something a bit more interesting about him?</p>\n<p>I said yes. Why the hell wouldn’t I say yes?</p>\n<p>He kind of shuffled in his seat a bit and cleared his throat. He said he wanted to tell me the reason he killed them. He said he had never, ever told anyone this before, and even though he knew we were being monitored, he felt that I just had to know, because I’d been nothing but nice to him the entire time we’ve been together and it made him feel bad about how standoffish he could be, and he thought this would make it up to me.</p>\n<p>I said I understood if he needed his space and he doesn’t need to make up anything to me.</p>\n<p>He said he still wanted to tell me.</p>\n<p>I said okay.</p>\n<p>So he starts off telling me that his parents were these really strict Independent Fundamental Southern Baptists, no, wait, they were just Independent Fundamental Baptists, Southern Baptists are totally different, he thinks, and well anyways, sorry about that, but yeah, they were super conservative and believed a lot of wacky stuff, like that the universe was six thousand years old and AIDS is God’s punishment to gay people even though it affects a lot of not-gay people and women shouldn’t tell anyone if their husband is abusing them because it’s not their place to do so.</p>\n<p>I said that that sounded crazy. He nodded and said he actually believed it up until he was twelve, when he started putting two and two together and realizing that the Bible can be really contradictory and doesn’t seem to outright condemn a lot of things normal people would say are bad, like having sex with children or discriminating against someone based on their skin color, and plus having a consensual relationship with someone of the same gender means you hate God and will never be saved, it says so right there in Romans, but raping someone never has the same explicit warning, but blaspheming the Holy Ghost does, and it seemed like God’s priorities were really fucked up.</p>\n<p>Once he stopped believing it, he said, he still trusted his parents a lot for some reason, and he told them that he was an atheist, or maybe an agnostic, or whatever, he just doesn’t believe the Bible, and he was totally prepared to tell them exactly why he didn’t believe it, but before he could say anything his parents laughed in his face and tried to explain that the Bible was the infallible word of God because it says it’s the infallible word of God, and when he tried to tell them that was dumb they laughed again, but they were noticeably annoyed, and they explained it again, and he tried to do it a third time and they got angry and his mom slapped him.And then he wasn’t allowed on the computer or allowed to keep his not-Independent-Fundamentalist-Baptist friends or allowed to have any sort of privacy besides getting dressed and bathing himself and other things that would make his parents come across as downright pedophilic if they tried to monitor him doing it.</p>\n<p>So within a couple of years, he got really tired of being an outcast in his own family, his only family, and the only social circle he was allowed to have, and he lied and said he had realized how dumb he’d been and he believed the Bible again and everyone was so happy to hear that, but he still didn’t get a lot of his privileges back, but he got enough of them back to feel like he was able to express himself somewhere other than his own mind.</p>\n<p>He kept up the facade really well for another couple of years, memorizing Bible passages and going door-to-door to tell people how Jesus Christ died for their sins and even courting a godly Christian girl because he needed to get married someday and God didn’t want him to move out before he got married.</p>\n<p>And then he learned how to drive.He said he’d sneak out at night regularly without giving a shit about whether or not they caught him and when he went out, he’d just kind of cruise around worldly places like the mall and sometimes bars even though he was only sixteen and he’d hit on every guy he came across, he didn’t even like guys, he was totally straight and he made a joke about how his own dick grosses him out at this point, but being gay made you a reprobate according to the Bible and there was nothing more he wanted than to be a reprobate, he’d fuck a guy and start spewing blasphemy about the Holy Ghost when he came, he didn’t care, God wasn’t real, his parents were assholes for imposing their stupid religion on him.</p>\n<p>They caught him when he brought a guy home, he didn’t even know the guy’s name and he was totally drunk, in fact a lot of the guys he’d fuck were usually drunk and it never even crossed his mind that it was kind of rape, well, not even kind of, it was totally rape for a completely sober guy to pressure a drunk guy to sleep with him.He said he thought he went a little too far with that. I agreed with him, but made sure to add I didn’t think any worse of him for it, because he had been oppressed for so long and was finally beginning to fight back.</p>\n<p>His eyes lit up at that and he said yeah, they’d been shoving their shitty beliefs on him and he could’ve either broke and let it happen or push back, and he just pushed back with all his might.So that was what he did, he pushed as hard as he could, if he could get his hands on a car he’d bring back a guy and try to fuck him in the living room, he’d drink, he’d smoke weed, he’d swear, he’d hit, he’d do anything to piss his parents off.They’d lecture him and beat him and there were times where they just locked up every possible door or window he could use and leave him in there for days at a time, and when they’d finally let him out only to discover that he’d been pissing and shitting in his room because he didn’t have access to a goddamn bathroom, they’d beat him until he went unconscious and he usually woke up to learn he’d landed in his own shit, probably because his dad would specifically throw him on it when he was done just to be a dick.</p>\n<p>So he was just pushing them and they pushed him and they kept pushing each other, pushing like crazy until he pushed hard.</p>\n<p>He pretended to be good for three days and was allowed access into the kitchen, and that’s when he grabbed a knife and killed his older sister, and then when his mom came out he killed her, and it was a lot harder to get his dad and he accidentally got the knife stuck in the wall and his dad almost hit him but he pulled it out in time and got him in the eye and then to make sure there weren’t any witnesses, he killed his twin brother, before you ask he was fraternal, and then he didn’t know what to do, so he just went through the house and tested all the beds, and when he figured out his parents’ bed was the nicest he went to sleep on it, and he woke up a whole day later when the police kicked down the door and arrested him.</p>\n<p>He said he might’ve pushed too hard.</p>\n<p>I guess he did.</p>\n<p>I still think it’s pretty cool that he likes me.</p>\n<p>***</p>\n<p>Before you say something about how no Christian believes stuff like that, I can tell you right now that yes, yes they do. My parents believe almost all of what Jacob mentions. Look up Pastor Steven Anderson and you'll very quickly find out just how strange of a place you end up in by interpreting the Bible as literally as possible.</p>\n<p>I also wanted to mention that this was a change of pace for me and one that I really enjoyed. Usually, I'll have only one run-on paragraph thrown in every few thousand words or so, but I decided to run(get it?) with it on this one and I like how it turned out. The whole run-on style was kind of inspired by a short story called, &quot;Repent, Harlequin! Said The Ticktock Man&quot;, and if that isn't the greatest title you've ever heard then I don't know what titles you've been hearing but tell me them.</p>",
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