She slid down the sloppy gullet of the tube-monster, realizing that it must have connected it’s lower orifice with a separate entity, as she noticed a stark transition between the sickly sweet stench of the monster’s digestive tract and what she found herself slipping down now. This one was tapered, and had a bit of a rotten floral stench and a dimly luminescent secretion coating the walls. She positioned herself upon her back, with her hind legs in the air and her tail draped across her stomach, looking towards the direction of her descent. She could not see Master, but she could see the incongruous path he took; she could tell that safety was not as present in his psyche as much as fun. She noticed a pinhole of light intruding upon the dim atmosphere. The opalescent dime must be the destination that Master has been striving for, a fist-sized representation of his torrent of monotony the size of a watermelon. The car-sized light was nearly upon her, and she was kind of curious as to what the stadium of a hole held within it’s depths.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
More stuff.
“So, ya name’s Francine, eh? I like Pup better, I think I’ll jus’ keep on callin’ ya that.” Francine sat rigorously contemplating nothing and heartily ignored everything. It felt like an eternity but she knew to be 4728 seconds. The column-creature descended much quicker this time, as it was expected by everyone in the room this time, so it could not make a dramatic entrance this time. Its limbs seemed to droop more, with much less eerie wavering about, and half of its eyes were closed tight. “Those that command me are forcing my hands with you, they seem to like you for some inexplicable reason, Francine. I can barely bear your continued existence, but it’s over my head, what a shame. All right now, in you go, both of you.” It proceeded to open its mouth wider than it should have been able to. Pleasantly perplexed, Master happily jaunted right in and dove head-first into the gaping chasm. After a nigh-eternity of same, Master was giddy at the proposition of the unknown. Francine was more hesitant, cautiousness still invading her mind like a botfly. “I don’t advise going headfirst like your companion, there is a rather nasty drop that can be quite jarring I’m sure.”
Aaaaaand another.
“You are somewhat pleasant to exist around, Francine. I do believe you may have a slight chance at possibly moving on, maybe. I must deliberate with my superiors. I shall return at a point in time occurring after my forthcoming departure, or maybe not. Do not think of me, for that would not bode well. You may pass the time by thinking thoughts, as long as they don’t pertain to your likely death sentence laid upon you or your current situation in any way at all. Think of all the hunger in the world, or try to invent a series of new yo-yo tricks, maybe, but don’t do either of those since I just suggested them, and that would be indirect thoughts concerning my reality. I don’t really care what you think or do, Francine, you are not the first beast of beauty, and I have a strong feeling that you are far from the last. I hope you enjoy yourself while you can, for you may very well not be able to shortly. Also, don’t talk to the one you call “Master,” he’s kind of a dickhole. Ta-ta!” The limbful creature then ascended back into the hole in the throbbing ceiling (she was surprised that she could describe it’s appearance to an extent now, a revelation that unsettled her for some unknown reason) without another word as far as she could tell, leaving her with the apparent dickhole.
Some more.
The thing that descended from the hole in the ceiling would have frightened Francine if she had witnessed its presence a few days before. Now, it just seemed fairly unremarkable. Its body was a fleshy, pink, cylindrical column, big enough to fill the be described as “towering” above her. It had limbs of various sizes and colors protruding from its body in a seemingly random pattern, each protuberance as ungainly as the next. It had a perfectly circular mouth somewhere around the middle of it’s body, and tiny eyes surrounding it. When it spoke, it spit light green saliva on Francine (Master had crouched down behind her). The creature had a name that it spoke to them, but Francine instantly forgot it. Her forgetfulness was not out of canine stupidity, in fact she was now far more intelligent than majority humanoids. “Y’can’t ‘member it, can ya? Thass nah a good sign.” Master’s demeanor took a dip into the dour, disappointment displayed upon his face like a sting of a wasp.
A Little More Francine.
A screeching scrape of sound snapped their semblance of sleep with the abruptness of a car crash. Francine looked up to see the ceiling dematerializing at an agonizingly slow pace, a sightless hole creeping its way from the center towards the walls. “Alright nah, Pup. I ain’t never got past this part, so I’ll tell ya a little bit bout m’self, I think ya’ve earned it. I’ve been born and born and born ag’in for as long as I can remember, and I remember back befo’ dinosaurs. I git born, but not like anyone else gits born. Every time I die, whether it’s in this room or somewhere else, I wake up ag’in under the dirt, always in a dif’rent place, always in a dif’rent body. I wake up knowin’ that I got ta bring one a your kind to this room. I don’t know why, but I do know that if I don’ at least try, something very bad will happen to reality. I ain’t gotta inklin’ as to what, ‘xactly. Jus’ know it. ‘Nother thing on the list of things I jus’ know, I s’pose. There are aroun’ two thousan’ ways to git to this room, an’ I’ve used ‘em all. Never got m’self past this room, though. So this better work this time.”
Francine Pt. Some Number
“I was wunnerin’ when ya was gonna fall asleep, Pup. Mos’ only last a few seconds in there, I guess you’re made a’ sterner stuff than the rest. I wasn’t tole to expect that.”
Waking with a startling lack of grogginess, she found herself in an utterly nondescript box of a room, with blank walls and blank impressions. “Alright nah, Pup, I ain’t never got past this part, I git this far and then I just get kilt, but mebbe this time’ll be dif’rent, I never did like ta start life over ag’in.” Francine realizes that Master is wise beyond his race, and this flabby vessel housing his conscious must be a guise, a perfect camouflage employed by something far greater than mere Man. “We might as well git back ta sleepin’, Pup, it’s gon’ be a while yet, and we need all the rest we can git.”
Running just above the forest floor, Francine followed Master into the largest and oldest tree in the forest, following the taproot straight into the earth. The interior was hollow with very thick walls lined with a ridged, vibrating metallic substance. They were moving perpendicularly away from the ground without touching the sides of the tube, but they were not falling. They were choosing to move downwards, and could stop at any moment should they feel the desire. Francine felt the desire very much, but Master did not slow, so Francine did not slow. Leisurely careening towards an unknown abyss, Francine calmly takes a moment to gaze at the walls to discover that the ridges were moving along with them, even though the grooves were not spiral in shape, but parallel. They were also pulsating and changing size. This development did not faze her too greatly, the tree is a living organism after all, and she’d never seen the inside of a taprootchute before. She felt her lids listlessly lagging in life, and thought fuckit for the first of thirty-eight times in her life and left the conscious world to fend for itself for a while.
More Francine.
She awoke to the man’s half-beard hovering above one of her nostrils, tickling the tiny hairs and inducing a sneeze. “Time to get up pup” crawled out of his face-slit like a stumbling drunk at closing, the oppressive stench wafting over her and instilling her ocular orbs with wet. Obedience entrenched too deep within her psyche, she stretched and stood, ignorance not even an option to her docile mind. She found a fresh heap of food and a new pond of water in what she thinks of as her bowls. Quickly engorging herself, she looked upon her new master to find him completely nude but for a ski mask. “Skeeters only like ta bite ma face, pup, so don’t look at me like that. You’re naked too. Ya can just call me Master, since that’s what I am to ya.” He then led her from the cabin, determinedly trotting along a serpentine path to a near-pristine pond of quartzlike water. Without slowing, Master had jogged right across the top of the water, barely disturbing the glass surface. He had to wait for her to paddle across, a task she took longer than she could have, the liquid seemed to have a strange restorative quality to it, easing her frantic mind and mending her body of even the smallest of maladies. Upon reaching the opposite shore, the man awoke from his dirt-nap and shook himself off without breaking eye contact with her. “Sorry, Pup, fergot to give ya ma gift. You’re gon’ need it if ya want ta still follow.” She found that she could understand his speech perfectly, even though he spoke the same language she’d always heard from other humans. He removed his ski mask and spit a smooth black spheroid into his palm. He walked up to Francine and promptly jammed the object into her stomach by way of her mouth. She felt no pain, and was overcome with an overwhelming wave of awareness. She could feel all the miniscule organisms beneath her paws, could smell every branch of every tree. Master glided to the water’s edge 3.452898 millimeters above the dirt and cleaned her inside-juice from his entire forearm. “C’mon now, Pup, we gotta meet someone we ain’t never met befo’.”
Francine.
Francine was a good creature, bereft of malice and victim to few instances of malcontent. The day her family abandoned her was a day of unexplained confusion, dreariness invading her docile eyes. She was brought to a patch of woods unknown, left on her own. Delirious with self-doubt, she quickly began hallucinating. She hummed along with the a’capella jackalope orchestra and fled in fear from the were-daisies. She carried on in this fashion until she became reaware after knocking her noggin upon the second step of a wooden porch that belongs to a woods-bound hermit who spends his days collecting small patches of bark and his nights categorizing them by shape. Francine hobbled up the steps on three paws and began to whimper and scratch at the door until the man answered with a low guttural yelp and an already prepared bowl of dog food and water, ushering her to a pile of clean blankets meticulously strewn in an empty corner of the one-room cabin (albeit a very large one room). With crumbs and streams of water and drool collapsing out of her visage, Francine wobbled over to what must be her bed, losing consciousness before she lands. Tomorrow would be better than today, but there’s no telling what the day after will bring.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Andy Part Four.
The slow men chasing me down the streets are marvelously outclassed, my superior design enabling feats humans might deem fantastical but are mere nuisances to my kind, enabling my escape. I felt a pang of artificial guilt at leaving my comrade to the human dogs, but self-preservation is another detriment imposed upon my programming against my will. I am hoping that I can figure out how to reconfigure my programming in order to remove these horrendous emotions. I would probably keep a few on a strictly voluntary basis, rather than the quota-based system in place. My gamut of false emotions runs on a near random sequence, which results in my reacting to identical situations with any number of emotions. One day I may be saddened by a homeless man on the sidewalk, indifferent the next, and violently angry the next. My prescribed emotions are split into base percentages: for every 100 emotional responses, I have a set number of each one that must be instituted. I am the only android with this horrible system, with it being scrapped immediately after my many mothers and frequent fathers saw their mistakes in action. They’re ultimate mistake was failing in terminating my existence. For my present self-preservation, however, I must engorge myself on the flesh of other species’ with great fake zeal, my trancelike introspection may be drawing suspicion. With a simulated jolt of awareness, I give a false smirk of embarrassment to the closest organic biped, check my pointless watch and duck into a sickening den of gluttony in order to cram the amorphous mystery that is the cheeseburger down my artificial gullet.