A sketch story a day.

[lidless_i]

Huh... it's amazing how the most obvious things just slip through the cracks... Thanks for pointing that out.  

[lidless_i]

1-22-07 Monday.


A village high up on a mountain was preparing for the worst winter in recorded history. They had decided to leave and venture to the bottom of said mountain, where living conditions would be more livable. They consensus was that someone should stay behind to mind the upkeep of everyone else’s houses, but it had been publicly decided that no one should have to stay just for that.

A fellow who lived on the outskirts of the village lived a more isolated life than the rest of the people. He hunted his own food, got his own water, and lived without a family. It was a week before the planned time to move when he was approached by the village elder and told to visit a neighboring, less “in touch” village and warn them about the danger. He reluctantly agreed.

So this man, who’s only wish was to live a quiet, peaceful life found himself trudging wearily around the mountainside to reach the more isolated village. On the way there, he was sure that he was going to die, the conditions were that bad. On several occasions, he was sure that he would freeze to death.

He finally made it, however, and was alive at the end. Unfortunately, the village he was headed for was abandoned. They had apparently heard of the danger from another source. He looked all around, but all the doors were barred, all the windows were sealed off and there wasn’t a trace of life.

Feeling downcast and frustrated, the man began the trek back to his own village, and on the way got frostbite in his left foot. The conditions were worsening, and he very nearly froze to death just outside his home village. He did make it, however, and was very much looking forward to a fire and a warm meal, as you can imagine. However, the state of his own village shocked him.

He was alone.  

[lidless_i]

1-23-06 Tuesday


Sitting and thinking is just about all I can do here. The sky looks the same as the ground, black, and I don’t seem to require nourishment in this place. I’m not capable of sleeping here either. My body doesn’t respond when I try to make it do anything, either. I can’t hear, see, feel, smell, taste; oh god what I’d do just to feel some rocky road sliding down my throat again. So all I can do is think, and I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

I’ve noticed something interesting, maybe the underlying cause behind why humans are such social creatures. You see I’ve found that, with no one around, you tend to entertain the strangest thoughts, things you wouldn’t even dare to think around other people. I’m fairly certain that I know why, we know how crazy the thoughts are, so we are afraid of getting embarrassed by entertaining them around others. Alone however, we have no real reason to hold back our thoughts, feelings, and impulses.

I think that’s why people in solitary confinement go crazy. We are all inherently crazy, just being around others keeps it in line and our consciousness is allowed to remain in control. When you are alone for too long though, the inane, nonsensical things are allowed to slip through, until you can’t tell the difference between what you wouldn’t normally think and the things you would. Thinking strange things just kind of becomes second nature.

Unfortunately the “sweet release” of insanity won’t come to me here. No matter how strange the things I think are, my mentality seems to remain intact… Maybe I should rework my theory. Oh well, I’ve got time.

Well, maybe I don’t have time. Maybe this is what timelessness is and I’ve just somehow slipped between the cracks. Maybe this is what the world is like without any human illusions imprinted on it. Strange to think that, if that’s true, the closest we came to seeing the truth is when we had our eyes close; when we were sleeping that is.

Hmm, what’s a woodchuck? How much wood do you think it could chuck if it set out to? These puzzles are those of astronomical importance, I’m sure.

I wonder what Britney Spears is doing right now. Haven’t you ever
thought of that, what a celebrity is doing right at this moment? It’s easy to forget that they are real people sometimes. Well mostly real, the silicon and botox aren’t real. It makes you wonder what exactly a “real person” is. Is it the personality or the body? Because Elmer Fudd had a distinct personality, is he real? Maybe we have to have the mind and body… What if someone builds an Elmer Fudd Robot? Then they program it to act like him, is he real then? Well he would be real, a real robot. To make him a real person you would have to find someone who looked like him, hit him or her until they talk with a lisp, then brainwash them to act like him. Then they just have to get their name changed…or they could just get their name changed. Either way.

What would chairs look like if our knees bent the other way? Or what if one bent one way and the other in the other. Then we would walk in a sort of circular limping motion…weird.  

[lidless_i]

1-24-07 Wednesday


Let us now venture to examine a scenario in which a child is born a whore’s b*****d. This child would appear unaffected by this; after all he doesn’t learn just what it means until years later. However, a deep psychological malcontent brews within his mind, something that he can’t quite put his finger on, at least not at first.

He has been in some sort of therapy as long as he can remember. The earliest occurrence of this happened when he was five. His mother feared that he had a learning disability because he wouldn’t talk like a normal child of his age; in stead he used “me” instead of “I” and improper verb tense. In truth he was completely capable of ordinary speech, he just wouldn’t until his therapist, who had become like a close friend, sternly told him to.

Later on, he was sent to the school therapist because of his inability to pronounce the “S” sound properly. It took about a year of the speech therapist reprimanding him before it became habit to pronounce it normally.

A short time after that, he was sent to occupational therapy, but wasn’t told specifically why. He didn’t really care why; it got him out of class. The only downside was that in the last year he had to spend taking occupational therapy classes, his most hated nemesis, who had convinced himself that the two were best friends, started taking the class as well. So now he had to spend an hour each Monday with the guy.

Each year after he got out of the fifth grade he was sent to the councilors office to be tested for depression, the test never came back saying that he was. This pattern continued until he was assigned to have family counseling done for a bad relationship with his sister and his sisters’ with their mother.

A few months after the family counseling ended, a caseworker was assigned to him on the basis that he was “too pessimistic”. Time was taken out of his sixth period, ninth grade class every Tuesday to go to the councilor’s office and have a short awkward conversation about his life and the problems therein.

Around the time he had been in the seventh grade, he had developed severe anger problems, which he suppressed by the halfway point of the eighth. It was around this time that he developed a cold, unchanging demeanor and learned to suppress any real reaction to any situation. Taking things in stride was just about all he did any more. His grades fell to near failing level, but he didn’t care. If he made a big deal out of anything like that he would be have another nameless “expert” on the subject staring down their nose at him and pretending to care about his problems.

One day, near the end of the ninth grade however, he grabbed a dull butcher’s knife that looked like a mini-machete from the kitchen and hid it in his backpack on his way to school. He didn’t feel angry or any different than normal; he just decided that today was a good day to have a knife.

So, it was in third period that he was proven right. Right in the middle of the Social Study teacher’s lecture he grabbed the knife out of his backpack, lunged at the person in the desk in front of him and stabbed viciously downward. Our protagonist could almost see all his stress disappearing down the knife blade and into the back of the other kid. This seemed fitting, after all that students mother wasn’t a prostitute and no one had been there telling that kid how everything he was doing didn’t “fit with the norm” his entire life. Why shouldn’t the problems be equally spread out? It was only fair.

So it was that, with an expressionless face that was on the verge of breaking out into a huge smile, he pulled the knife out and jumped over his desk at the next person. That student got away, though. The screams from the first student warned everyone so he didn’t get to spread the problems out any more. The class was empty within a matter of second, the teacher included.

“Remember what just happened, they left you behind,” He said blankly to the immobile student who, by now, was saturated in his own blood. With that, the protagonist ran out into the hallway wielding a bloody knife, a grin that he didn’t notice until it his chapped lips were starting to split from the strain of it, and blurred vision as he began to cry.

He didn’t get hurt anyone else though. The grizzled old sheriff turned security guard took him down with his can of mace and held him down until the authorities showed up. Not even three days before the unfortunate main character of this little tale found himself in an institute for housing the criminally insane. He is still there today, freedom less and doped up to his eyeballs. Through the haze of drugs he is aware that he is back in therapy.  

[lidless_i]

1-25-07 Thursday


It was in June of 2019 that the final decision in the ongoing debate on whether or not a child was their parent’s property was reached. It was officially decided that, in accordance with the emancipation proclamation (revised in 2007) that no human could own another, regardless of age, race, ect. So, what would be referred to in the years following as “That s**t That Went Down in ‘19”, thousands of teenagers spontaneously began to ignore their parents, police officers, and all other authority figures. Due to another bill passed in 2015, anyone under the legal age of adulthood (moved to twenty five in 2011) could not be held liable for his or her actions; their guardians would receive the punishment that the offender normally would have.

The loophole created by the most recent bill went unnoticed by anyone for about thirty minutes, which are typically regarded as the last thirty minutes of peace for the next five years. People between the ages of twelve and nineteen saw the opening and began to ignore the law, because they were completely exempt. Any attempt to stop anything that they could do would be regarded as attempted child molestation according to the Childhood Mentality Preservation Act of 2013, which stated that any physical contact with a minor had to be “clear and obvious to any neutral viewers that the action was nonviolent and did not ‘hinder the child’s creativity’”. According to the Revised Freedom of Expression Act, any action that could be reasonably convincing as being some form of expression was exempt from legal action. This meant that an intelligent debater could kill the president and walk.

So back to the catastrophe at hand; the number of would-be anarchist teenagers by that time was up to 43%. Due to their constant defending of their beliefs the majority of them had developed charisma and speaking skills beyond and above that of an ordinary human. Due to this the anarchists teenagers convinced all the others to side with them within the week and the movement known as “Humanity for Freedom”, which was comprised of teenagers that held their beliefs above all else and adults that were probably just bored or something, was begun.

Riots in the streets were the first phase of the movement. Examples of civil disobedience ranging from staying up all night playing house music, covering themselves in glow sticks, and dancing/drinking until the authorities had to be called to break up the riot with bear mace and rubber bullets, to going into stores and taking stuff that looked cool. It was around this time that their self appointed leader stepped up. He redirected their efforts at destroying the established government before they could rectify the mistake in the laws and take away their newfound freedom.

So, the entirety of the population of young people loaded up into trucks, motor homes, run down Hondas and skateboards tied to the back of said Hondas began the journey across the states to destroy the Whitehouse. Along the way, they took their selection of weapons from stores and by the time they furthest ones reached their goal, they had enough firepower to hold their own against the U.S. military (as of 2016, all branches of the military were made up of citizens from Texas, and illegal immigrants).

The attack likely would have been successful if not for President Jordan’s quick thinking. He loaded up all official documents of law and fled to undisclosed location. Nevertheless, the teens destroyed the capital and the morale of the American people reached an all time low. Well it would have if it could have gotten any lower, after the Survival Instincts Act, passed in 2017, anything consisting of something not directly related to what needed to be done to stay alive (the bill included holding a job in this, and it was briefly considered to make holding a job mandatory), would be punishable by law if another person decided to press charges; this included, laughing, smiling, looking at someone the wrong way ect.

So, after hearing the news of the attack on the capitol city and the disappearance of the president, the American people sighed, but not loud enough to be heard, and went back to work.

The teenagers, however, continued to frolic and enjoy their freedom until they turned twenty-five, at which point they were apprehended by police officers and forced to obey the law. The rebellion from this was short lived, simply because when one reaches the legal age of maturity, it’s expected of them to abandon the will to live and forgo any dreams of anything beyond the world they are presented with. A bill was moved for this to be a written law, but it didn’t pass. In stead it became a sort of unspoken law that was still often enforced legally.  

[lidless_i]

1-26-07 Friday


It’s not a fanfic; it’s a parody… probably…
Frank Thompson was walking home from work when he was rendered unconscious by a chloroform handkerchief. He woke up, feeling dazed, on the inside of a water tower. He stood up, and found himself suspended in a cage. There was another cage in the tower and, after staring at it for a second, he recognized the shape of a person laying in it. He noticed a tape recorder in his pocket, pulled it out, and pressed play.

“Hello, Frank. Your entire life you have used and lied to others to achieve your own ends. Well the time to answer for your actions has come. In the cage adjacent to yours, lies your best friend, Tom. There are two switches located near the door of your cage. One will cause you to fall into acidic solution contained below you, and the other will do the same for your friend. The one who doesn’t fall goes free.”

There was more to the tape, but it wasn’t played. Frank hit the switch marked as his friend’s and the bottom of it fell out. Following the splash there was a loud hissing noise and Frank’s cage opened.

“Tom was an a*****e anyway,” Frank said to himself as he grabbed hold of a rope ladder that dropped down from the ceiling. Upon reaching the top, he opened the hatch and climbed out. There was a tape taped to the inside of the hatch, he noticed this and put it into the tape recorder.

“Congratulations, you have-“ He pushed stop and threw the tape recorder down into the acid, mumbling to himself about how stupid the whole thing was.

The one who had organized the fiasco had been watching the whole thing from a small hole in the wall.

“s**t…” He pulled out a tape recorder “Note to self. Don’t try and cure sociopaths…. Also use cheaper tape recorders, as they always seem to get busted.…”  

[lidless_i]

1-30-07 Tuesday

I found myself in a dark, red room. There was no floor, ceiling, or walls, only the color.
“You have died,” A voice proclaimed. I found that I couldn’t respond. “You lived a good, long time. Do you feel satisfied with the results of your life? Can you look back and say that you are happy with the way things turned out?”
A series of images from my life and the years following it flashed in front of my vision, and I found that I wasn’t satisfied with the results at all. I attempted to express my displeasure, but found that it wasn’t necessary.
“You aren’t alright with it are you? The wasted years, the never-ending cycle of work and payment that let you go on a few more weeks just so you could work some more. You would like a second chance wouldn’t you?”
Once again I couldn’t and didn’t have to respond.
“I’m sorry, there are no second chances. Your body has perished and there is no longer a vessel to house your soul, so I can’t send you back. All I can do is offer you a choice. You can exist in the place you see before you for eternity, or I can erase your consciousness right now and you will cease to exist.”
I thought on it for a long time. In the end I decided to take the second option for reasons of my own. At the moment I decided, nothing.  

[lidless_i]

1-31-07


It was way back in 1997 when the bacon factory exploded, covering the town in greasy death. I’ll never forget that day, it was the day that I lost my right arm in a completely unrelated incident involving a roaming pack of pit bulls and a bucket of BBQ sauce. Who fills a bucket with BBQ sauce? What purpose could it possibly serve?

Anyway, yeah, the town was coated in bacon grease and pieces of pig, causing an outbreak of pimples unlike anything you have ever seen before. The sheer amount of oil stuck under the skin of some people was enough to cause spontaneous combustion. It was so bad that some people contracted eye pimples. Have you ever seen an eye pimple? It’s just about the worst kind there is, next to liver and kidney zits.

This massive outbreak of screaming, inflamed boils, there was an increase in the market for cream to remove them. This led to everyone and their mother trying to get in on the action, which meant solutions consisting of about fifty percent Elmers Glue, five percent fine grain sand to give it a textured feel, twenty percent unfiltered water, and twenty five percent foot cream to give it a medicine-like smell were being sold by the million as having been “clinically proven” to cure pimples. The previously mentioned mixture became the number one brand of pimple-be-gone and was marketed under the name “a mixture of mostly useless s**t sold to dumbasses that lack the funds to feed their screaming, starving, beaten children, but can somehow still afford to give into the latest fashion craze and worry about their appearance.” Apparently the company wasn’t going for subtlety.

After the pimple outbreak subsided, life returned to normal in this little, bacon factory ruled town. All except for Jim, who had brain pimples. Jim would later go on to cure cancer with his magic brain pimple liquid… that’s the name it was sold under. Unfortunately, upon learning where the cure came from, cancer patients vomited until they died. It was later discovered that the vomiting was caused by a violent reaction between the cancer cells, which hadn’t been cured, and the brain pimple liquid. It turned out that the original guy that was cured by the liquid was a hypochondriac. Who the hell were the doctors working that day? Seriously how do these things happen? ********…