the-arraignment (joined about 10 years ago)


I needed to find food, quickly.

The warm summer breeze propelled me forward at a rate that almost made my flight uncontrollable. My wings beat hundreds of times per second, but at my size, it doesn't take much to send me reeling.

My eyes displayed the fractured landscape; grass, trees, houses. I was nearing a long strip of gray ground that was painted yellow and white in some places. Perhaps there would be food nearby? I descended to investigate, buzzing eagerly.

Another breeze sent me tumbling through the air, but I righted myself. The ground was getting nearer.

Suddenly, some...

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He sighed. It was an all-too-frequent result. Women never noticed him (here he paused to chastise himself for thinking that without providing any statistical evidence, and to suggest to himself that perhaps he had an availability bias), and he was lonely.

Why shouldn't he be able to give and receive love, like every other member of the human race (here, he noted that it was unethical to assume that any individual deserves the respect or love of another without earning it, and that he should avoid thinking of a romantic partner as an object that one acquires)?

It just wasn't...

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I don't allow booze in my brain
From tobacco and weed I abstain
But I can't get my fill
Of these ecstasy pills
And of heroin, crack and cocaine

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Upon my soft upholstered chair
I sat and spoke into the air
For they were listening, you see
The ones who come and sit with me

I cannot see them, though I try
Their form is but a wistful sigh
More solemn than a flow'ring tree
The ones who come and sit with me

I have no proof that they exist
But still my thoughts of them persist
A secret kept? A fantasy?
The ones who come and sit with me

My audience in silence waits
As softly I pass though their gates

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The dystopia is a genre of fiction designed to teach a lesson about society by imaging a future society warped in some terrible way. The interesting thing about dystopian novels is their reliance on a single, antagonistic character to provide a terrible monologue of exposition to the horrified protagonist, explaining just how and why society went bad, and why the system must persist.

George Orwell's 1984 has O'brien, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World has Mustafa Mond, and Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 has Captain Beatty, the remarkably well-read "fireman" who has turned his back on all that literature had to offer...

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There had been many changes since last year, I observed from the front steps of the building. But it was the fall that surprised me most.

The genie that came from the lamp that I found promised me that the summer would last forever. I was so absolutely certain that he had granted my wish; but when I noticed the orange and brown leaves floating to the earth I realized that he had lied.

In fact, I even think he wasn't a real genie at all. At least the lamp worked, though.

I sighed as I reluctantly trudged back into...

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It was full of bees! They emerged with a furious buzz, attacking her and stinging her ruthlessly. In a state of unreasoning terror, she fled, running up the stairs to the bedroom. She quickly locked the door behind her, isolating herself from the malevolent insects.

Left to their own devices, the bees zipped around the house, gathering any valuables they could find, and vandalizing everything else. They smashed dishes, burned furniture, stole silverware and broke windows. Laughing in their mysterious, buzzing tongue, they delivered a bee-related pun, and flew away, never to return.

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Dearest Sarah,

I hope that all is well with our family. Please send my love to little Joey and his sister Louise. By my calculations, the temperature back home should have dropped significantly due to our efforts; there may even be snow. They tell me that I'll be allowed shore leave in a month, perhaps two; I look forward to seeing you then.

The light plays tricks on one's mind; we cannot look at it, only observe it through our computers, making it all essentially invisible. It strikes me as ominous that our enemy is so powerful that it is...

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Excerpt from personal diary, Saturday, Sept. 23, 2010:

Experiments designed to give self artificial sexual fetish involving lamps have thus far resulted in failure. First attempted to insert lamp into arbitrary orifice; however this failed due to how cumbersome the lamp in question was. Perhaps there is a non-penetrative alternative?

Excerpt from personal diary, Saturday, Sept. 24, 2010:

Attempted masturbation while entertaining thoughts of the lamp. So far unable to sexualize the object itself, and thus unable to complete experiment. Will try again with different parameters tomorrow.

Excerpt from personal diary, Saturday, Sept. 25, 2010:

The lamp wouldn't turn on....

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Jolene woke slowly, feeling extremely cold and uncomfortable.

She was indoors, but lying on a cold, carpet-less floor. It was dark, save for a glimmer of light peeking through the outline of a door.

She couldn't remember how she came to be where she was. This realization frightened her; it was not her home, nor any place she knew. She got to her feet and tried to open the door.

It was locked.

A sound of sliding metal; light came through a grate near eye-level. "I see you're finally awake," she heard, in a voice so heavily distorted she couldn't...

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