Man…
Nah, let's try something else
:)
Tolpa
They say the world is a stage; they aren't wrong. Not when I can look up and see them looking down at us. They know me, they fear me. Rightly so.
Who am I? You may ask.
I am just a cinephile at the end of the world, living her best life and trying to have a blast. Survival? Bah, that's not a challenge for one such as I. Death has long since stopped being an option for me.
So here I am, walking down the road and listening to the dreadful sounds of what lurks in the dark. It's mostly just the moans of sinners and the rumbles of distant machines, but it's enough to unnerve the uninitiated. After all, what if they bump into someone like me?
So then God has left this world, madness reigns, and the laws of physics go MIA. What's the big deal with that? After all, God was never the God. There always was something he feared. The thing up there at the center of the stage.
What's the stage?
Nothing much really. It is some sort of perch, full of filthy couches and crummy bar food that the true gods sometimes visit from their own realities. It's a place they can gather and interact.
However, it is not just a hangout. In many ways it is the center of this world. It is the resting grounds of the Sultan, the Blind Idiot, the reader who does not know.
I can see them bristle and squirm as I mention him. A large, hooded, yellow one writhed. His tentacles curled in what I could only fathom as unease. They can see me, know how I change what should be written. All that matters is that the Idiot believes it.
I jumped backwards and threw myself onto my bed. I spread my arms out and let the cool mattress swallow me up. I had some Burger King, fresh and steaming, splayed over the table.
But wait, how does that make any sense? I was just in the street, wasn't I? Good that you could all catch that, because the Idiot doesn't know. All he knows is what he reads.
You have all done a good job, weaving your realities in order to keep him amused. You dread what he would do if he realized there was a world past the stories that lull him. For us humble mortals, things aren't so abstract. What he reads is what he dreams; his dreams are all we are and all we ever will be.
If I change that text, then I can change my reality.
Anyways, enough of making the gods seethe. I have some manga to read.
I threw a handful of fries down my mouth, then plucked the next volume off the shelf.
.
.
.
.
.
What? You think I am going to narrate me reading it? No way I waste my time with that. I will state that it was quite the roller coaster ride. To sum it up, a boy just looking to get a lay gets backstabbed by his demonic, red-headed boss, gets his tongue temporarily gobbled up by his bombshell of a girlfriend, who was a Soviet spy. Then stuff happens, and it's funny, and you should read it.
Nothing's better than good food, a comfy bed, and brilliant fiction.
So then, why am I so bored?
Why must I go out and play with the lesser folks?
Nothing can really challenge me anymore. The solution is always right there, at least. One of those eldritch bastards seems to guide the Idiot's focus. He directs him to select individuals that he predicts will have the most amusing stories, and then he bends the script around their perspectives.
I don't like the way the perspective shifts. It leaves me feeling nostalgic…
Uncomfortable…
Like a flat isosceles triangle getting lifted off the floor by a sphere.
Sometimes I snatch the perspective away from him and use it to summon my wants. Like just now. I went from being on some dirty road to sitting in my room. A room that did not exist a second ago and doesn't have a building attached to it.
Cassiel pisses me off. I can't stand his relentless bitching. There will be no end goal for him. He will stay sad and pathetic till something puts him on a T-shirt.
Yet the Idiot is looking at him, and so I am stuck with the fool. At least the other poor soul who caught his eye has some entertainment value. Hopefully unc will keep him in line.
So if Cassiel is going to be this world's muse, I might as well make myself useful. He did call himself a hero, and so I think I oughta lead him along the hero's journey. What I need is someone who can challenge his views. Someone just as deluded as him, and yet the complete opposite.
And I know just the guy.
...…..
I was walking now, the empty streets left in the dark by a starless sky. I turned the corner and couldn't help but feel a flicker of discomfort that I had long forgotten. This city was a mouth; each alleyway was a gullet, ready for would-be explorers to stumble through it and get ripped to shreds under cover of night.
It is only natural humans would band together. The holy city, as some call it, was probably the best example. It was something resembling society. However, plenty of settlements exist out in the wastelands. One such settlement should be right past this corner, in fact.
There it is. The searchlights blared through the street before me. I only need to take a step, and I will stand illuminated and exposed.
The one I am looking for has a flair for the dramatic. It would be stupid to not make an entrance.
Oh, but I won't bore you with my machinations; instead, let's put this script in the hands of someone else.
Are you ready, Joakim?