Short stories

"Doctor, please help me, I can't stand it anymore!" "What is the matter, do you need more medicine?" "No, it didn't work, I'm still thinking! I can't stand this! Isn't there anything else we can do!?" "I'm afraid we've exhausted all our options... Unless..." "Please, tell me! I would do anything!" "Hmm, very well... Follow me. From now on, you will never have to think again."

971/46/78/ I sold my brain to the doctor, he said it was the only way. But don't worry, I won't die. My brain's going to be a processor, finally, it'll get all the use it deserved. In a calculator doing good to society, not rotting away in my noggin. I'll finally be free from my unhappy thoughts.

Screaming, so much screaming everywhere. I promise you wouldn't like it if you were in my shoes; if you could hear what I have to hear.

It's a shame really, all these people rotting away that could have been the next important figure, wasted on becoming a beanbag creature.

I mean really, are they even alive anymore? Most of their human parts have been removed and they're essentially piles of meat sitting in a jar, watching TV all day. Don't they know they're just draining their savings by even keeping their consciousness? Just so they can continue watching their shows twenty-thousand times a second for the rest of their lives.

In the end, once their savings run out, they'll be forced to sell their brains to the calculation farm. Finally a good use for whatever's left of those bogged neural networks, if there's even anything left to salvage.

Ah well, they wouldn't even realize that they'd just be recalibrated to fit the computer's needs. And if they've regressed into a tunicate, might as well throw their meat away into the nutrient processor. Isn't that what they're planning to do now? Sounds disgusting if you ask me, I wouldn't eat a couch potato if my life depended on it, too flabby. I prefer them free-range, too bad we're seeing less and less of them these days.

Don't say that; it isn't all bad--

C'mon, really? Look around, the world's crumbling around us! We're just fuel to the Machine.

Don't say the Machine hasn't done good to anyone. It's given us all these tools and entertainment that have helped improve our well-being.

Maybe for some of us. The rest of everyone can't afford to live a better life, instead, now we just give them free space in exchange for their consumption. And if they're lucky, they get to keep on living, at least those who can keep up with the popularity contest.

You ever peeked into one of their containers?

Ugh, no, I live to avoid them as much as possible. I don't even wanna know what they've turned into, festering away in that vat. Honestly, how can anyone agree to become something like that?

I dunno, people would do anything.

I swear, we're slowly chipping away their freedom and their ability to rationalize, just so we can get away with it while still technically being done with their consent.

You're lucky the recorder's still broken.

Heh, my funeral, eh? So be it, I'm just speaking my mind. And if I get taken away just for that, it's better than not trying.

It's not that I want to ███, it's just that I can't stand being conscious. I distance myself from any reminder of this body I reside in just to get as close to █████ as I possibly can without actually █████. Of course, if you try to ████ me, this body will instinctively attempt to preserve itself despite what I say. The body is never aligned with what it truly believes in, thus I can never intentionally ████ █████████.

Often, I'm afraid of inducing it for I tend to not function properly in that state of mind. However, there are cases when I simply don't mind being alive. Those are the best and only moments I ever get to experience anymore.