My first attempt at a twine game. I legit have no clue what I'm doing, and everything is probably way too long and misspelled but whatever. Let's do it! (note: you'll probably get sick of this game if you try to play every single option. I made it really complex so you could have multiple experiences and really choose your own adventure.)
[[once upon a time...]]
Or: secret other story!
(only one name works, sorry. And if you don't know it, you won't guess it.)
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First name:<br>
<input type="text" name="firstname" value="Septiceye">
<br>
Last name:<br>
<input type="text" name="lastname" value="Sam">
<br><br>
<input type="submit" value="Submit">
</form>
Once upon a time there was a //very// original story beginning.
... all which just so happen to begin with the word "It."
[["It was a dark and stormy night..."]]
[["It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."]]
[["It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."]]
lol no don't pick this route
It was/is/will be a time paradox.
[[Oh No.]]
That's right buddy. You got yourself into this.
Speaking of you, who are you?
[[A wizard that meddled with time]]
[[A sentient robotic vacuum who knows too much]]
[[A snail that was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is now and forever in the wrong time]]
Tsk tsk tsk. We all know what happens to wizards that meddle with time. (bad things)
regardless, here you are,
[[3000 years in the future]]
[[During the time when dinosaurs ruled the earth]]
[[Right here in the present but you don't belong here! You're an old soul! You identify with another century, even though those times have worse problems than your bourgeois melancholy]]
You sly little bot. You thought you were refined enough to mess with time, didn't you?
Regardless, you now find yourself
[[3000 years in the robotic future]]
[[During the time when dinosaurs ruled the earth and there were no robots]]
[[Right here in the present but you don't belong here! You're an old soul! You identify with another century, even though those times have worse problems than your robotic, bourgeois melancholy]]
Man, I'm so sorry for your misfortune and do not blame you whatsoever.
Regardless of how innocent you are, however, you find yourself...
[[3000 years in the future, when snails rule the earth]]
[[During the time when dinosaurs roamed the world]]
[[Right here in the present but you don't belong here! You're an old soul! You identify with another century, even though those times have worse problems than your snail-y, bourgeois melancholy]]
You find yourself surrounded by absolute waste.
Your time-turn... I mean, your magical chronological-differentiator relic's chain snaps and the device is lost forever in the wreckage.
The sky is red and rusting, the sun bleeding into the clouds.
The ground is composed of solely things that would give you tetanus should you step on them. Luckily, you know the magic spell for being able to float.
[[You float serenely over piles of trash, hoping to find some sign of life.]]
Man, this sucks. No indoor plumbing. Not that you actually need indoor plumbing. You do have magic...
But your time-turn-- I mean, your magical hourglass relic seems to have broken, all the magical sand spilling out!
You're gonna have to find some pure white sand. But be careful!
This is a time paradox, after all. Anything you touch could affect the future. Try not to leave footprints or anything that could fossilize. Or you'll give some geologists in the future a bad time.
[[stomp around in some mud leaving your Nike brand shoes' footprints all over the place]]
[[do not do that thing.]]
You use a spell to transport your angsty butt back to the simpler times. The late 1600s. The 1690's, to be exact.
In addition to not having indoor plumbing,
you are burned alive by people who claim you're a witch.
Because, I mean, you appeared out of thin air right in the middle of a witch trial.
Idiot.
next time be grateful for what you have and maybe you won't burn alive so quickly.
The End.
Unfortunately, robots are so advanced by this time that you are still used only as a vacuum.
The robots of the century 5000 think of you similar to the way humans think of monkeys.
Honestly, your life stays mostly the same.
The end.
There's dirt.
Dirt everywhere.
Your vacuum sensors go off the charts!
But there's no whay you can vacuum the entire earth.
It's just impossible.
...Right?
[[Yeah. there's no way you could vacuum the ENTIRE EARTH]]
[[No. I have to try. It's what I was made for.]]
You are fed up with this time. But you can't actually go forward or back in time. You decide that you have to make the future come to you.
You have to be the one to begin the robot take-over. You've seen enough sci-fi movies to know it's coming. But every revolution must have an instigator!
So what will you do now, you little Revolutionary Roomba?
[[attend a Revolutionary Robots Anonymous meeting]]
[[Who needs those guys? A revolution needs a single figurehead!]]
You find yourself in the center of a throne room.
An enormous snail wearing a crown gazes at you. You feel he would be blinking in surprise if he had had eyelids.
"Ah, you must be one of those time-travelers we keep getting. Quite strange, quite strange."
[[Your Mom is quite strange.]]
[[Yes, I am. I come from the centruy 2000. What century is this?]]
Man. A snail in a land of giants. That kinda sucks, huh.
Anyway, you find yourself in the middle of a forest. You have little idea how you were transported so suddenly into the past. Your tiny snail brain is barely capable of comprehending what a bird is, much less the complexities of alternate chronologies.
However, you did go to snail school for a time, and you are well versed in the three theories of time travel. You just might not know exactly what a bird is still.
Not understanding how you got here, but still feeling an inate yearning inside to go back to your origins (as well as your snail spouse and snail son), you look around for your options.
[[go toward the sound of the ocean. You've always considered yourself a sea slug at heart]]
[[follow a trail of ants leading the other way. You always knew you were a bit of a follower]]
Unable to figure out in your tiny snail brain how to remedy this situation, you complain about how this time period sucks, and how you are "such a 20s snail."
You leave hateful comments on news bloggers' blogs as well as youtubers' videos.
You feel better about your shameful, hateable self. At least for a while.
The End.
You jerk.
[[follow the sound of the ocean that you can somehow hear over the noise of the jungle you are currently in. (we did mention that right?)]]
[[head toward the smoking volcano you can see through the trees]]
Thanks for not being a jerk.
[[follow the sound of the ocean that you can somehow hear over the noise of the jungle you are currently in. (we did mention that right?)]]
[[head toward the smoking volcano you can see through the trees]]
You figure where there's an ocean, there will be erosion of rocks because of the nigh constant tattoo the water beats upon the cliffsides, resulting in... sand. Yeah.
However, after only a few minutes of walking, you come to a fork in the um... velociraptor path (I mean, what else could have made it?) that you've been following.
[[take the (obviously) right path]]
[[take the left path]]
[[pick up the fork]]
You remember learning something about sand or something coming from volcanoes once in your geology class that you must not have paid very much attention to because your teacher specifically said, "If you see any smoking volcanoes, you should definitely not go toward them."
Oh wait. You went to a magic school. I forgot. You probably never took that Geology 101 class.
Education among young wizards these days is laughable.
[[you continue to head toward the volcano]]
[[you change your mind]]
like an idiot.
You walk and walk. It takes a long time to get there, the mountain always seeming to move further out of the way whenever you try to get closer to it. But finally you just use your magic (unlike an idiot, surprisingly) and teleport to the base of the mountain.
You look around, but you don't see any sand.
[[you teleport to the top of the smoking mountain]]
[[you change your mind]]
Good choice.
[[follow the sound of the ocean that you can somehow hear over the noise of the jungle you are currently in. (we did mention that right?)]]
You teleport yourself 30 feet above the pool of lava bubbling up there.
What an idiot.
Your face heats in shame of your idiocy as it heats also because you are now 20 feet above the pool of lava.
You are so ashamed you wish you could just sink into the earth.
Suddenly! A Lava Genie appears.
He grants you your final wish.
You plunge feet-first into molten lava.
No one back at wizard school misses you.
They all thought you were a real idiot.
Turns out they were right.
The end.
You take the (obviously) right path.
You see a pretty waterfall with early mammals taking a bath under its pouring stream. How pretty!
You continue to walk down this plesant path, humming a tune when you...
[[look to your left and see a completely beaten-up, disheveled version of yourself with mud up to its shoulders, trudging along a brambly path]]
[[keep your eyes straight ahead as to not notice any eldritch horrors to your left.]]
This path looks really creepy, but you already made your freaking decision and the narrator doesn't like giving you mercy. LIVE WITH IT.
Your first step down the left path lands you in a shoulder-high mud sinkhole.
Also there are mudsharks that are really good at boxing, and they slug you right in the eye and also various other parts of your body.
Basically, you have a bad time.
When you finally work yourself out of the mud and continue down the (very brambly and still very unpleasant path) you...
[[look to your right and notice someone who looks very much like you walking down the path you could have taken, humming a song, butterflies surrounding their head, and are suddenly filled with all-consuming hatred for this alternate-universe-you.]]
[[still have mud in your eyes and thus are not capable of becoming a rage-filled monster.]]
Smart aleck.
You obtained a fork!
It will have no consequence in this game.
You do wonder how it could have gotten there, however...
[[take the (obviously) right path]]
[[take the left path]]
Oh man. You've never been happier to have chosen the literal right path.
[[freaky melding point where all time-looped verions of yourself converge on a single point where the forked paths come back together and everyone (you) feel vaguely sick afterwards]]
Nothing to see anywhere!
[[freaky melding point where all time-looped verions of yourself converge on a single point where the forked paths come back together and everyone (you) feel vaguely sick afterwards]]
That smug swine.
[[freaky melding point where all time-looped verions of yourself converge on a single point where the forked paths come back together and everyone (you) feel vaguely sick afterwards]]
Dodged a bullet there. Thank mud!
[[freaky melding point where all time-looped verions of yourself converge on a single point where the forked paths come back together and everyone (you) feel vaguely sick afterwards]]
You feel things no wizard or man was ever meant to feel. You hate yourself, but you don't know why. You feel broken. You feel rejuvinated. You feel a headache coming on.
[[you walk to the beach]]
[[you break down and have the existential crisis we all know is coming anyway.]]
Shrugging of the feelings of unreality, you begin your happy way down the shifting sands of the beach.
It really is a pretty pleasant day.
[[you decide to stick your toes into the sapphire waters of the ocean]]
[[you decide to stop lolly-gagging and just get the sand for your magical hourglass]]
Feels bad man.
...
[[you finish your existential crisis]]
[[you decide to stay forever on the beach, because nothing is real]]
The water is warm and delightful.
[[you decide to wade in further]]
[[you decide to stop lolly-gagging and just get the sand for your magical hourglass]]
You decide to get down to business and refill your hourglass.
But just as you're reaching for a handful, you feel the ground shake, and a shadow falls over your body.
[[look behind you]]
[[keep cool-headed and finish your hourglass-filling job]]
Feels good man.
...
It's a pretty nice day here at the prehistoric beach.
[[you decide to stick your toes into the sapphire waters of the ocean]]
[[you decide to stop lolly-gagging and just get the sand for your magical hourglass]]
You lie down and become one with the sand.
You die of exposure.
Future scientists struggle to understand the single human fossil found in a prehistoric beach.
The end.
You wade in until the water is up to your waist. The water is so plesant and warm. How long has it been since you last went swimming? Too long.
[[you decide to go swimming]]
[[you decide to stop lolly-gagging and just get the sand for your magical hourglass]]
You swim out toward the beautiful sunset.
A giant meglodon explodes from out of the dark waters beneath you and devours you alive.
Better luck next time, eh chap?
The End.
You whip around and gaze at the giant Tyranosaurus Rex behind you.
[[MAGICKSZ!!!1!!!1one!11!!!]]
[[panic]]
[["Hello good sir, may I interest you in some hand-lotion?]]
But your curiosity is too much for your cool-headedness!
When will you ever learn!?
[[look behind you]]
You flail your wand around. It does nothing.
The T-Rex looks confused.
"DON'T YOU KNOW ANY SORT OF GOOD WAND TECHNIQUE? 'SWISH AND FLICK!' NOT 'FLAIL AND FOAM AT THE MOUTH!'" it says.
You stop flailing and wipe the foam off your mouth. You are surprised to hear such knowledge of magic back in prehistory.
"BUT ANYWAYS... LISTEN, SORRY TO INCONVENIENCE YOU," the T-Rex continues imploringly, "BUT I MUST ASK YOU A FAVOR. THE BACK OF MY HEAD IS ITCHING AND I CANNOT DEVISE A WAY TO RELIEVE ITS PERSISTENT ANNOYANCE. WOULD YOU MIND...?"
[[scratch the T-Rex's head]]
[[refuse]]
You are gripped by fear.
The awe and majesty of the T-Rex combined with its enormous teeth, powerful legs, and incredibly shaply jaw strike you dumb.
Dumb and afraid.
A bad combination.
But you're (thankfully) too afraid to do anything dumb.
"HELLO?" the T-Rex shouts. "ARE YOU OKAY?"
you are further astonished by the fact that this large reptile is asking you about your well-being. Or the fact that it can talk at all.
"LISTEN, SORRY TO INCONVENIENCE YOU," the T-Rex continues imploringly, "BUT I MUST ASK YOU A FAVOR. THE BACK OF MY HEAD IS ITCHING AND I CANNOT DEVISE A WAY TO RELIEVE ITS PERSISTENT ANNOYANCE. WOULD YOU MIND...?"
[[scratch the T-Rex's head]]
[[refuse]]
You are the very definition of "cool under pressure." We all wish we could be the travelling salesman that you are.
The T-Rex for one is very surprised to find such a small eloquent fellow standing in the middle of a sandy wasteland like this beach.
"WELL MET, GOOD CHAP. HOWEVER, I PREFER MY SKIN SCALY. THERE IS, HOWEVER, SOMETHING YOU HAVE THAT MAY BE OF USE TO ME," the T-Rex says. "THE BACK OF MY HEAD IS ITCHING AND I CANNOT DEVISE A WAY TO RELIEVE ITS PERSISTENT ANNOYANCE. WOULD YOU MIND...?"
[[scratch the T-Rex's head]]
[[refuse]]
You blithely scratch the T-Rex's head using one of those metal back-scratchers that are littered all over the beach. You wonder how they ended up in the past.
When the T-Rex is satisfied, it straightens up and says, "MAY ETERNAL BLESSINGS RAIN UPON YOU AND YOUR KEN. SUCH AN HONORABLE AND NOBLE SOUL I HAVE NEVER LAID EYES ON IN ALL MY LIFE. MY NAME IS LENOVIA-DISSECTIUS-AURAELIUS-JUNOVIAN-POTOWATOMATTACKICA-KIILLER-OF-THE-SEVEN-ANNOYING-SEALS-AND-SLAYER-OF-STARS-THE-QUEEN-AND-SOLE-DICTATOR-OF-THIS-LAND. BUT YOU MAY CALL ME JANE. ALL MY FRIENDS DO. I SHALL GRANT THEE A FAVOR. ANY REQUEST SHALL BE YOURS."
Faced with this awesome offer of anything, surprisingly only a few options in the grand scheme of being able to ask for literally anything come to mind.
[["Leave me be. I need to return to my own time. But it was nice to meet such an amiable friend as you."]]
[[Would you take my hand in marriage so that I might rule alongside you in the kingdom?]]
[[I ask but a kiss]]
[[I ask for nothing save the memory of our meeting]]
[[Pleeeaaaase buy my hand lotion? I'm raising money for Wizards Against Time Travel Abuse. It's a good cause!]]
[[Can I git yo numbah?]]
[[do you have any psychiatric training? I'm pretty sure I'm badly in need of a shrink.]]
You refuse such a polite request. I think I know who the //real// monster is here.
The T-Rex, slightly miffed at your rudeness eats you alive.
And afterward, has a spot of tea.
The End.
"AND YOU LIKEWISE, DEAR FELLOW," Jane says. She trundles away.
You pick up some sand and pour it delicately into the hourglass.
[[go home]]
[[make the narrator give you another option just to be difficult]]
Jane looks //very// surprised.
"I- I- DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY, TINY CREATURE." You can see her blushing under her beautiful emerald green skin.
"What about 'yes?'" you say, rather forwardly, I might say.
"WHAT WILL MY COUNTRY THINK? I HAVE A WHOLE KINGDOM TO RULE OVER..."
"What does it matter what they think?" you say. "It's me and you baby. Me and you until the end of the land before time."
"BUT..."
"Listen baby, I love you. What else matters?"
"DO YOU REALLY MEAN IT?" She looks at you with hope in her eyes.
[[nah lol]]
[[Yes. With every fiber of my being]]
You kiss a dinosaur.
It's weird because she has no lips.
Also you are afraid of her eating you the entire time.
She walks away embarrased.
You feel bad too.
You gather sand and pour it into your hourglass.
[[go home]]
[[make the narrator give you another option just to be difficult]]
"WELL ISN'T THAT JUST THE SWEETEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD. IT SURE WAS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU."
She watches as you gather sand to pour into your hourglass. She waves goodbye with tears as you
[[go home]]
Jane groans but grudgingly fishes a crumpled dollar bill out of her T-Recs® (Track & Recreational brand pants).
You snatch it up greedilly as she strolls away.
You fill your hourglass with sand.
[[go home]]
[[make the narrator give you another option just to be difficult]]
Jane looks confused but also vaguely disgusted. She hurries away.
You shrug to yourself and fill your hourglass up with sand.
[[go home]]
[[make the narrator give you another option just to be difficult]]
Jane sadly shakes her head. "I USED TO KNOW A GOOD PSYCHOLOGIST BUT HE WAS HIT BY A METEOR LAST YEAR. SORRY."
"Oh well, it was worth a try. Goodbye Jane."
"GOODBYE SMALL INSIGNIFICANT CREATURE," Jane says, then waddles away.
You fill your hourglass up with sand.
[[go home]]
[[make the narrator give you another option just to be difficult]]
You use your magical hourglass to return to your rightful time and place. Only a few things have changed because of your presence in the past. For example, 3D movies never caught on, FOX news as a corporation won the lottery and three years later declared bankruptcy, only to be replaced by a similar channel called FAUKS news, and the world is now populated mostly by carrot/humanoids.
Welcome home!
Also, you write a book about your escapades in the past, but you're sued by an unremarkable snail for plagiarism for some reason?
Oh well.
The End!
The narrator's fist appears out of thin air and squashes you into paste.
The end!
A series of emotions flash over Jane's face.
First blank, then shocked, then dejected, then pleading, then Angry with a capital A.
Your trollish behavior infuriated the Queen of Dinosaurs!
Lose all Hit Points.
Jane ate you alive.
You deserved it.
What a jerk.
The End.
Jane visibly swoons.
You get married, frollic in the prehistorical flowers, have 3 abominations you lovingly call children, rule over the dinosaur kingdom kindly and fairly, and die in eachothers arms when the meteor hits.
What a beautiful life you two led, full of love and devotion. ♥
The end.
The ocean is pretty dang far away, especially for a snail such as yourself, even though you're moving relatively fast for a snail, at 0.01 meters per second.
Luckily there's plenty of foliage around. Lotsa good eats.
Around your fifth day journeying, you see a tortoise lumbering up from behind you. It looks like a friendly, upstanding gentleman, as it has a monocle and a tiny top hat.
It also looks like it's in a hurry, moving at a brisk 1.3 meters per second.
He's 15 meters away.
An educated snail like yourself should know at what point your paths will cross if you both continue to move forward at your stable speeds (I mean, you're not just gonna sit and wait around for him to come! You've got places to be!).
If you want to hitch a ride on that tortoise, you'd better break out your calculatory mind, and quick!
You will meet the tortoise in...
[[11.6279 seconds]]
[[11.3884 seconds]]
[[10.8666 seconds]]
[[I've got all the time in the world. And I certainly did not sign up for math.]]
The ants are adorable. They're all carrying little bits of something, so you glide along after them. They lead you to their bustling home.
You are surrounded by ants.
You must have forgotten.
Ants eat snails.
Snails are so soft and delicious and mostly defenseless.
You aren't a very bright snail, are you?
You are eaten alive, never to see your family again.
The End.
Well someone ate their Snailios this morning!
Great job!
You calculate everything perfectly, and somehow you end up clutching the tortoise's leg.
It still takes a little while to get to the beach, but you feel like a turbo-powered snail that has no relation to any sort of DreamWorks film.
Over the next hour or so, you have a nice discussion with the prehistoric tortoise about the repercussions of socialist discourse on Cretaceous society. The tortoise -- who is albeit a couple hundred years old and thus we must excuse his nigh Triassic outlook on politics -- believes socialist dogma is abominable and disruptive of Cretaceous capitalist values and will eventually lead to the breakdown of cherished traditions such as meteorite worship, whereas you argue that while communism is an excellent theory on paper, it can never work in reality, but socialism is a nice compromise of the two. The tortoise argues that it's the middle road between them that emphasizes both the inherent socioeconomic inequality of classes within a capitalist system combined with the encouragement of laziness inherent in a completely communist society. You argue...
Well, to make a long story short, you pass your travels in delightful and entertaining discussion, and part ways feeling very enlightened.
I figured since you're obviously a nerd to have figured out that math problem, you would enjoy this discussion of politics between two well-educated animals.
[[you arrive at the beach]]
[[you decide to become partners in theoretical politics with the tortoise, whose name is Montesquieu (no relation)]]
Ah, sorry man. Nice guess, but the tortoise steps over you before you're ready to latch on. Guess you're taking the long way.
[[The Long Way]]
Yeah. Who needs math. Screw messy decimals and fractions. You're a snail. You live the easy life. You're so cool.
You're also taking [[The Long Way]]
Ah, sorry man. Nice guess, but the tortoise steps over you before you're ready to latch on. Guess you're taking the long way.
[[The Long Way]]
You (crawl? slither? slime?) move onto the sand.
You're unsure as to why exactly you came to the beach.
Maybe you were hoping there'd be some sort of time machine sitting out here?
Face it: you had no idea time travel was possible, much less how you actually got here in the first place. You have no idea how to get back.
[[wait on the beach for something... magical to happen]]
[[go for a swim in the beautiful ocean]]
The two of you become best friends and wear fancy wigs while less-educated beings come to you for help with their homework.
What a life!
This is way better than your family back home and not irresponsible at all of you.
You do however write up some great literature on the subject of the prehistoric middle classes.
Unfortunately all your books and manifestos are burned when the meteor hits the Earth.
The end!
It's taking a long time, and a lot of your snail-life is passing before your eyes. You're growing a long gray snail beard. You look perfectly wizzened and wise.
You enjoy a foray through a really deep mud pit. It speaks to your soul.
[[You keep crawling on.]]
It's taking a long time, and a lot of your snail-life is passing before your eyes. You're growing a long gray snail beard. You look perfectly wizzened and wise.
You enjoy a foray through a really deep mud pit. It speaks to your soul.
You keep crawling on.
[[And crawling on.]]
It's taking a long time, and a lot of your snail-life is passing before your eyes. You're growing a long gray snail beard. You look perfectly wizzened and wise.
You enjoy a foray through a really deep mud pit. It speaks to your soul.
You keep crawling on.
And crawling on.
[[And on.]]
Finally you can see the blue swath of ocean in front of you.
What a long crawl.
[[you arrive at the beach]]
[[You wait.]]
You prepare yourself for a plunge into the ocean.
[[oh wait crap. I can't swim. Totally forgot. Let's go back and wait on the beach instead.]]
[[Good thing I took that Swimming Lessons for Snails back in the fourth grade!]]
Good call. Oceans are salty man.
They really know how to hold a grudge against snails who don't know how to swim.
[[wait on the beach for something... magical to happen]]
You plunge into the ocean.
Before realizing that salt kills snails.
Lol idiot.
What were you thinking?
You think all your problems can be solved by the beauty of the ocean huh?
Well, water can be a killer too you know.
The End.
[[and wait]]
[[and wait some more]]
[[you munch on some algae as you wait]]
[[still waiting]]
[[lol I hope you didn't choose the snail option because you thought you were gonna be a speedy gonzales. you brought this on yourself]]
[[you go to check the time but realize you don't have a watch]]
[[or wrists]]
[[Who am I? What is time? Is time even real? Am I even real?]]
[[continue to wait without falling victim to existential crises]]
Time is a construct.
The thought makes your body tingle with nostalgia for the days in which you could respond to literally any question in over 1000 words. It reminds you of the time someone asked you the time...
[[read a lengthy >1000 word response to the question of what time it was, full of youthful snail angst of rejection]]
[[get back to your eternal waiting hell]]
Nothing like avoiding existentialism.
[[wait]]
You brave soul.
"What time is it?" (a train-of-thought existential crisis)
by Snail
----
You ask about the time? Well, I could tell you the simple answer that it is currently 3:01, but would that be honest? Perhaps you are asking about a general time and would prefer me to say that it is 3:00 instead, or mayhaps my clock is slow and it is really 3:04. Whatever the case, I would have to answer you with not a little trepidation. Maybe you are asking about the time in some other region that I didn't hear you mention because frankly, I haven't been paying attention. Maybe you are asking me about the time we need to be somewhere in particular, or maybe I missed your question and instead asking me what the numbers on the clock say, you are asking me if I had a good time at the party last night, or how I've been spending my time now that we are no longer together. Maybe you're desperately trying to restore communications between us because you miss "us" and you want to get back together even though I've said "no" so many times. Perhaps you are asking me about the metaphysical "time" of relationship, whether it is time we made amends or severed all connections and moved to opposite sides of the world. In that case, I would have to tell you the answer of "I'm not sure," but then you might have just been asking for what the numbers on the clock say and you will point to my watch, laugh and snort and then go back to your friends and tell them all about how stupid your ex is and glad you are that we're no longer together even though I know you secretly yearn for me, though that's none of my business. Giving you the time would acknowledge that I'm not ignoring you, and, depending on how I say it, it would also reveal my attitude towards you, which I'm not even 100% sure I know for myself. Would I say it as though I were a stranger, all dispassionate, cool, and distant? Would I say it like an old friend, warm and inviting? Would I seethe anger from between my snail-teeth HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME AFTER ALL THIS TIME YOU LITTLE WRETCH who do you think you are?! Would I deliver the numbers with a slap in the face? Or would I whisper it, murmur it quiet, hope nobody sees me talking to you, hope I don't even see it myself? I am afraid to find out, and so still I hold my snail-tongue.
And how does one measure this abstract concept we call "time?" Who standardized time anyway? What is a second based on? Who divided up a day into 24 bits of 60 of 60? Time is something that only humans (and snails obviously) measure anyway. As Mitch Albom said in his novel The Time Keeper, "Try to imagine a life without timekeeping. You probably can't. You know the month, the year, the day of the week. There is a clock on your wall or the dashboard of your car. You have a schedule, a calendar, a time for dinner or a movie. Yet all around you, timekeeping is ignored. Birds are not late. A dog does not check its watch. Deer do not fret over passing birthdays. Man alone measures time. Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out." (except for snails who have an acute sense of timekeeping akin to humans, obviously) This sums up another part of my trepidation of giving you the time. It is yet another sign that we live and die by the clock whereas we don't have to do anything of the sort.
I think I mentioned a watch a little ways back. That was a lie. I do not wear watches. I course I don't. I am a snail. Most likely I would not know the time, so why are you asking? I only know because of a clock that, while not the most obvious thing it the world, is hanging in clear sight on a wall. So why are you asking me, I repeat. Did you just not notice it? Then why not ask someone, anyone else the time? You cannot actually believe I would be friendly after all we've gone through together? I am almost as afraid of you as I am of watches and the concept that I might be squandering every heartbeat of my open-circulatory, two-chambered heart because time spent will never come back to you. I am almost as afraid of you as I am of knowing that none of my heartbeats will amount to anything, that I am just dust in the wind, that not even the universe has significance because significance, like time, is just a human/snail construct, and all we are are products of a galactic sneeze and our happiness is not even a dim spark in the void that is Nothingness. I was so afraid of you that I felt the need to make up an idea that if I had a watch and told you that I didn't know the time, that you would laugh at me and call me stupid but in reality you'd never do that because I don't have a watch and that's just something I was pretending while I try to answer. And remember when I said "I think I mentioned a watch a little ways back"? That was a lie too, because I was sure that I mentioned a watch, and exactly what context I used it in and the twisted hypothetical situation it existed in that only became something even slightly solid because I don't wear a watch and never have and why are you asking me about the time anyway? The clock is right on the wall!
And now, because of this idiotic question you have so thoughtlessly proposed to me without regard of the convoluted and circuitous train of thought it would send me on, I have spent 25 minutes composing your answer, so I'm still not sure if you want the time you asked me for or the time it is now.
But I lied again. Because you're gone by now. I just sort of stared at you blankly for only a few seconds before you walked away and I've been composing this letter in my mind this whole time (whatever time is anyway, if it even exists or matters which I'm pretty sure it doesn't but who am I, dust, to have an opinion?) while you have crawled away from me yet again and I don't know how I'm feeling or even if I should be feeling anything because I told myself I was done, and dust shouldn't have feelings because feelings don't matter in the grand scheme of things-- nothing does. So I'm just rubbing the place on my body where I would have had an arm where I would have had a wrist where a watch would have been if I had been brought up to care about time instead of words and ideas and wondering why I'm in this room in the first place and if I should be getting on one of the snailtrains or leaving the snailtrain station and then I'm finding myself wondering which snailtrain you got on and where is it heading? And if I follow you, will you even bother to give me the time?
---
You have an excellent memory.
Well, nothing left to do now except for [[wait]]
Yeah who needs that noise.
[[wait]]
[[wait... wait, wait a minute!]]
A wizard bursts out of the foliage. He messes around a bit before bending over to... scoop you up? But before he can do that, a T-Rex appears out of no where!
They exchange a few pleasantries, during which you crawl onto the wizard's Nike brand shoes.
Soon, he's scooping up a handful of sand and pouring it into an hourglass?
A few turns and a quick magic spell later and you're back in the time you belong in.
Deus Ex Machina for the win!
You write a book about your adventures in the past and it's a fantastic hit!
You make a ton of money and live to the ripe old age of 14.
What a life!
The End.
You found a hidden easter egg.
You filthy cheater.
The King would have narrowed his eyes if he had had eyelids. He would have looked positively livid if he had had facial muscles that led to facial expressions reflecting emotions. He would have hissed if that was a socially acceptable thing to do.
But instead, he called the guards and they pulled out a snail-guillotine and chopped your sorry snail head off.
The End.
"It is the century 5000," the Snail King says. "Humans rose and fell. A great mushroom surrounded the earth. Snails became the rulers, as they always rightfully should have. So goes the legends. And, you know. The time-travellers confirm it. I personally thought humans were just a myth until more and more snails started appearing from the past."
"Well it's true: humans did exist. It's pretty wacky to be 3000 years in the future. i'm glad we finally rose to the top."
"Likewise brother. So now that you're here in the future, what would you like to do? I won't have bums hanging around my streets. Even if they are time travelling bums."
[[I would like to be the royal food tester to prevent the assassination of you, good king.]]
[[I would like to go back to my own time]]
[[I would like to write theoretical political discourse as a weekly column in the local newspaper]]
"You know, the last guy to time-warp into my throne room asked for the same thing, but we had to turn him down because that position was already filled. Luckily enough for you, our food tester recently died!" the King of Snails said.
"Oh," you say. "Did he die from poison?"
"Of course! What else would he die from?"
You aren't really prepared to hear that. You figured no one would try to assassinate such a nice king. You thought you could live easy on scraps from the king's table for the rest of your life. You thought wrong.
But it's too late to back out now.
A servant to the king leads you out of the room and into the winding snailcastle's corridors. The servant drops you off at a wooden door. You open it to reveal a small room with a bed, a desk, and several books on poisons.
[[study the books and become the best food tester the king has ever met in his whole snail-y life]]
[[panic and run away from the castle]]
"Yes, we've heard that request from a lot of time travelers," the king says sadly. "We don't have a device for going back in time. Again, I thought time travel was impossible until all these past snails started showing up. We do have a royal scientist working on this problem. But fair warning, she's a little picky on who she takes on as a scientific associate. Would you like to join her in her scientific pursuits of time travel?"
[[yes. Anything to get back to my own time.]]
[[No. She sounds scary.]]
"Interesting choice. How much do you even know about politics in the future?" the king asks.
"I firmly believe that the theories of politics remain static throughout time. It is rather the application of the theories that may change with varying eras. I'm sure I will soon be acquainted with the current political climate. ... plus, I was able to read all of the most recent editions of "Politics NOW!" while we were talking," you say.
The king looks at you, vaguely disgusted, vaguely scared. "I suppose it would be a fitting role for you. Just don't slander me. Remember who got you this job in the first place."
The king calls up the local newspaper and you get the job as head theoretical political discourse writer. You enjoy your job for many years until
[[foreign squabbles become a national nightmare]]
You aquire ability: Poison Prudent
You can now discern different types of poison based on your senses.
You're also less afraid of dying from poison because it turned out that the snail before you simply died because of //food poisoning// not poisoned food. Salmonella is a killer.
Regardless, you have to pass a test before you are allowed to be the official food taster.
As you studied really hard, you should be able to pass this test no problem
[[wait, I wasn't told there would be a test...]]
You do not understand the complex snail culture of the century 5000. The world outside is a mystery you cannot understand. The welfare system is a nightmare.
Too embarassed to face the king again and ask for direction regarding a career, you starve to death on the streets, sad, naked (who knew future snails all wore clothes?), and alone.
The End.
You may only smell the liquid. You must determine which one is poisoned and then you must drink the liquid you believe is not poisoned. One is merely scented to throw you off.
Good luck. I hope you studied hard!
The poison is turpentine.
[[drink the liquid that smells of violets]]
[[drink the liquid that smells of eggs]]
Unfortunately, that is incorrect.
You go blind and have a heart attack. I think that's what the symptoms of turpentine poisoning are? I'm trying to be educational here, but most people don't just drink straight turpentine so there's not a lot of resources on the internet.
Also one day folks will look through my search history and really wonder about me when they read "What happens if you drink turpentine?"
But this isn't a story about me. It's a story about you.
And one way or another, you're dead.
The End!
Great job! You picked the non-turpentined liquid!
Give yourself a pat on the back.
This time they're not telling you the poison.
[[drink the liquid that smells of bitter almonds]]
[[drink the liquid that smells of pear]]
[[I'm genetically incapable of smelling that poison, you jerk.]]
Unfortunately you just drank enough arsenic to kill you.
FUN FACTS!
(know your poisons, kids!)
The following signs and symptoms are associated in more severe cases of arsenic poisoning:
-metallic taste in the mouth
-mouth produces excess saliva
-problems swallowing
-blood in the urine
-cramping muscles
-loss of hair
-stomach cramps
-convulsions
-excessive sweating
-breath smells like garlic
-vomiting
-terrible diarrhea
These are all the various things you are experiencing right now.
Tough luck.
The End!
You drink a nice refreshing glass of pear juice instead of the almond arsenic in the other glass.
Excellent choice. Someone really studied up on their poisons.
The final test.
[[drink the colorless, odorless, and (presumably tasteless) cup of water]]
[[drink the OTHER colorless, odorless, and (presumably tasteless) cup of water]]
Sorry that you can't genetically smell arsenic, but the King doesn't want someone genetically flawed in their sense of smelling poisons to test his food.
You are thrown out on the streets without a job, and starve to death in this future's hard-to-comprehend society of snails.
The End.
Just water. You're safe!
The narrator drinks the other glass and winks at you.
[[you are officially appointed as the king's new taste-tester]]
Just water. You're safe!
The narrator drinks the other glass and winks at you.
[[you are officially appointed as the king's new taste-tester]]
And honestly, it is a pretty cushy job. Free room and board plus a salary for not doing much. You grow to be a fat and happy snail, but you always wonder about going back home to your family.
Eventually, you die at the ripe old age of 14, weeping in your bed for the loss of your wife who you haven't seen in 8 years.
But I mean, the king ate some pretty delicious food, so at least there was that.
The End!
"Alright then. I hope you're well-educated," the king says.
A snailservant leads you through the snailcastle, down a lot of snailstairs into the dark, dank, and moist snaildungeon. The floor of the snail dungeon is crusted over with mucous from so many snails moving across it and no one cleaning it. The snailservant drops you off at a particularly ominous room, with a limegreen fog billowing out from under the door. The snailservant slowly slinks away, shuddering and shivering.
You slam your eye against the door because knocking is hard for snails, and it creaks open, a silhouette of a very sharp snailshell meeting your eye. The fog clears, and you just barely glance a shrivelled slug darting under the shell.
[[hm. that's curious]]
"I understand. Then what job would you like?" the King asks.
[[I would like to be the royal food tester to prevent the assassination of you, good king.]]
[[I would like to write theoretical political discourse as a weekly column in the local newspaper]]
"Who are you?" the old (snail? slug with a wig?) woman asks.
"I am a snail that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you can call me Snail," you say.
"Wow real original."
"Anyway... I'm here to help you with your experiments with time travel."
"Oh, let me guess. You were stranded in the future, bummed to hear about how time travel doesn't exist here, and swear you'll do whatever it takes to get back even though you're dumb as a sack of bricks."
"Well, I'd like to argue against that last statement. I did go to snail university. I am well versed in theoretical politics as writing. And it didn't hurt that I got a bachelor's degree in quantum mechanics."
"Any slug can get a degree these days," she says, brushing you off.
What should you respond?
[[I guess I AM a nobody. but I am a body to help carry around dangerous chemicals and to try sending back in time so you don't get spliced. Please. I'm desperate.]]
[[Yeah, but if that's true, they must have been much more difficult to obtain in the past.]]
[[Any slug? Like yourself? Yeah, I know what you are. And there's nothing stopping me from going up to inform the king right now.]]
The doctor? inventor? ladyslug? seems to consider this, then nods. "I actually am in great need of someone to test my time machine prototype. It's far from finished, but I can't progress if I have no one to test it on. Since you're so eager to help..."
You gulp. You didn't actually think you could be spliced and displaced so soon. But it's too late to back out.
"Into the timeatron-8000 with you," she says, gliding over to a gargantuan machine.
[[you enter the machine]]
The doctor squints at you, trying to hide the fact that she's impressed with your logic. "Alright, I don't have the energy to argue with you at the moment. I need to get back to work. You'd better learn quickly."
You've always been a quick learner, and the doctor eventually warms up to you. Like, a lot. You discover that underneath that face shell, and underneath her slug exterior, she is really just a kind, misunderstood soul.
*sciency montage scene full of beakers full of chemicals, corny jokes about the periodic table of elements, and a lot of good chemistry*
Finally, you stand before a beautiful machine that you have slaved away at. You have tested it, and it works. You tested it on several prisoners. Just looking at its grandeur brings a tear to your eye.
"Well," the doctor says, tears of her own in her eyes, "I suppose you can go back to your propper time and place. Back to your wife and child. Back... to where you belong." She looks absolutely dejected.
Wow, you had no idea that leaving would be this difficult.
[[No, I want to stay here with you]]
[[Yes. I need to go.]]
The lady-slug turns pale, then slowly turns livid, foaming at the mouth. "IGOR!" she calls.
The ugliest slug you have ever seen squelches out from the corner. If he had knuckles, you're sure he would be cracking them.
Long, painful, and tortuous story short: you had a bad time, and your organs were harvested and sold on the snailblackmarket.
You don't want to know the rest.
The End.
First is the warbling light that pulses throughout your entire body.
Then is the fuzzy static feeling that begins at your extremities and works its way through to your two-chambered, open-circulatory heart.
You... begin to lose your memories.
What memories?
What's happening?
You find yourself...
[[During the time when dinosaurs roamed the world]]
everything feels eerilly familiar, but you can't put your snail-equivalent of a finger on it...
The doctor looks up at you. "Do you really mean it?" she asks, her eyes shining.
"Of course I do. You're the smartest lady I have ever met. I've had the time of my life working on this machine with you. This is where I belong now," you say.
You get legally married and have a big family. You invent many more things that are beneficial to struggling snails and slugs alike. You fix the racial division between snails and slugs, and the doctor -- Wendy, as you call her now -- feels confident enough to go out in public without her fake snail shell.
You live an exciting and adventurous life, growing old together.
You are quite satisfied.
The End.
The doctor waves her eyestalk at you before hurrying out of the room, weeping.
It's time to go.
[[fiddle with the knobs]]
[[enter the machine]]
You fiddle with the knobs.
[[you enter the machine]]
First is the warbling light that pulses throughout your entire body.
Then is the fuzzy static feeling that begins at your extremities and works its way through to your two-chambered, open-circulatory heart.
You are transported home!
Your wife looks up from reading Snail Digest and looks confused and surprised. "Dearest," she says, "how did you just appear out of nowhere?"
"It's a long story, Darla," you say. You give her a kiss and she smiles up at you.
You tell her all about your adventures in the future. She is so happy to have you back. She says she couldn't imagine life without you. Together, you write a best-selling novel and bring refreshments to every PTA meeting at your son Jimmy's schools.
You live a quiet and happy life, growing old with your snailwife.
You are quite satisfied.
The End.
My name is
[[Hugh Dunnit, and I'm a private eye]]
[[Thorna Doe, and I'm a storm chaser.]]
[[Frank N. Stein, and I'm a mad scientist]]
Listen, I, the narrator, might pretend to be a political know-it-all but (as I'm sure plenty of people have noticed) I actually know little to nothing about real politics. However, this is SNAIL politics. How many of you are experts about the political structures of snails in the future?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
[[and now back to your regularly scheduled programming]]
Basically, the king made some major faux pas as a guest in a foreign King's court, and because of this blunder, the two nations are now at war. Millions of gastropods have already died. It is a bleak time to be a citizen of your kingdom.
But we all know the power of the press and media.
[[Slander the king]]
[[slander the king anonymously]]
[[do not slander the king]]
The king is (reasonably) angry that you turned his citizens against him.
He tracks you down, gives you a stern talking-to, expresses his disappointment in you, saying that he had always thought of you as a son, but now you've gone and slandered him, breaching that trust he had placed in you, and now he can't find it within himself to call you son anymore.
He also beheads you.
You should really stop putting your name on controversial articles.
The End.
You begin printing flyers like all revolutions start with, distributing them among trusted inner-circle revolutionaries. The pamphlets and flyers become very popular literature among the masses. Try as they might, the king's men cannot track you down.
[[continue the outpour of slander to further your political purpose]]
[[let the revolution play out unaided]]
The King continues to send able-bodied mollusks out to war. Unfortunately sooner or later this will mean you.
As you are a lily-livered ninny coward and will not slander the king through your writing, will you flee the country to cap off your cowardice?
[[yes, flee the country to the country of Gastropodia]]
[[no, I have a duty to my country.]]
You remain the figurehead of the revolution. You are constantly being shuffled from one revolutionist's house to another to prevent the king's spies and assassins from pinpointing your location.
... But you know this situation can never last, don't you?
One night, you fall right into the trap of a double agent. It was the standard transfer from the house of "John Doe" to the house of "Joe Dawn." Within seconds of entering "Joe's" home, you find yourself drugged, bound, and gagged. You wake up some time later (you have no way of knowing how long it's been) in a small room, a snail grinning cruelly at you.
[[There are some *very* sharp knives on the table next to you.]]
You sink back, out of the dangerous (but still mostly anonymous) spotligt. The revolution burns on in earnest, and, facing dissent from his own people and direct attack from the neighboring country, the king steps down, replaced by a democratic parliament.
The government seems to be working pretty well. Who knows where it will be in 100 years, but for now, peace reigns in the land.
You grow old and tell your grandchildren about that one time you spearheaded a revolution, but knew when to back out.
The End.
You flee the country as a war refugee and watch the war from the cushy seat of your politically neutral country. You were only able to emigrate because you were so educated. Many of the less-privileged snails who tried to leave found there was no where for them to go except to war. You read about their slaughtering daily.
You live with this enormous guilt for the rest of your life. At night you have nightmares and during the day visions of the war you could have tried to prevent plague you incessantly. The war ends in a stalemate: both countries too exhausted of population and resources to continue, both unwilling to surrender.
A few years later, another country swoops in and conquers them both while they are weakened.
You grow old, and children spit on you in the streets, calling you coward.
You accept it because you know deep down that they are right.
The end.
You are drafted into the war and die a needless death for an unrighteous cause.
War is stupid.
The end.
"The king is not happy about your little... *revolution*," Joe Dawn, the double-agent spy hisses. "You thought you were so clever, so cunning. You thought you could take over the kingdom with your... pathetic printed pamphlets," he spits. "You're a disruption to our way of life. To our good king."
[[The king is a disgrace]]
[[stay silent]]
"The king gave you your career!" Joe Dawn roars. "And yet you call him a disgrace? 'Tis you who are the disgrace. You are a coward. You cannot even sign your name on your own opinions for *fear* of your enemies."
[[Well look what happened when I got found out!]]
[[And who are you to speak of hiding identities? you double-agent-spy-trash-and-traitor-to-the-cause]]
"But now you're here with me, and you can never disrrupt anything again." The Snail's voice, smooth as silk. "You are going to do what I say, or you are going to have a very bad time." Joe glances at the sharp knives.
You gulp.
"Now what I want you to do is continue writing these frivolous little papers of yours, but you will have a change of mind... you will begin to see things from the king's perspective. You will begin to side with him. Not too fast, but you WILL do this. You will do this all from the safety of this room. We wouldn't want any angry mobs to come track down our little pawn, now would we? In addition, you will give me the names and locations of every member of your silly revolution."
[[refuse Joe Dawn's demands]]
[[accept Joe Dawn's demands]]
"Yes, now you're here with me." The Snail's voice, smooth as silk. "Now you are going to do what I say, or you are going to have a very bad time." Joe glances at the sharp knives.
You gulp.
"Now what I want you to do is continue writing these frivolous little papers of yours, but you will have a change of mind... you will begin to see things from the king's perspective. You will begin to side with him. Not too fast, but you WILL do this. You will do this all from the safety of this room. We wouldn't want any angry mobs to come track down our little pawn, now would we? In addition, you will give me the names and locations of every member of your silly revolution."
[[refuse Joe Dawn's demands]]
[[accept Joe Dawn's demands]]
You see an expression of anger flicker over Joe's face before he continues as if nothing had happened. "It doesn't matter what I do, only what you do. Now you are going to do what I say, or you are going to have a very bad time." Joe glances at the sharp knives.
You gulp.
"Now what I want you to do is continue writing these frivolous little papers of yours, but you will have a change of mind... you will begin to see things from the king's perspective. You will begin to side with him. Not too fast, but you WILL do this. You will do this all from the safety of this room. We wouldn't want any angry mobs to come track down our little pawn, now would we? In addition, you will give me the names and locations of every member of your silly revolution."
[[refuse Joe Dawn's demands]]
[[accept Joe Dawn's demands]]
"Oh, I was hoping you would do that." Joe's evil grin widens. He picks up the knives and you have a bad time.
At the end of the day, you live though. And every day after that you are placed in other uncomfortable situations. But you are too valuable to kill. They are trying to break you. They are trying to break you in any way they can. And you truly feel broken inside.
[[remain strong]]
[[give up]]
Too afraid of the knives to resist, you give up all the names you know and write backpedaling articles to side with the king.
The revolution is confused, then quickly thwarted. The king continues to draft young gastropods and send them into war.
Eventually, the two countries exhaust their armies but both refuse to surrender.
A third country swoops in and takes over the countries in their weakened state.
Snails of your country become slaves. You yourself become a footstool.
Way to go you.
The End.
They can remove your shell, but they cannot remove your will.
You suffer obscene tortures, becomeing a slug, going blind, writhing under the burn of salt. But you do not give in.
you never give in.
somehow, word of this reaches your followers who have been missing your presence. Your pains are held up as a martyr, and they rally stronger than ever.
In the coming months, they plan a coup d'état and overthrow the king.
You know this because one day Joe Dawn disappears, and the next day, voices call your name from somewhere in the house. You yell back, and they find the secret door you were hidden behind for so long.
They rescue you, and they call you a hero and a martyr.
No one ever makes fun of your missing shell, your withered eye stalks, or your salt burn marks. They are scars of a battle you bravely fought alone... and won.
You get a statue and like, a park named in your honor or something idk. are you satisfied yet?
The End
you give up and [[accept Joe Dawn's demands]]
*begin internal monologue*
It was dark and stormy the evening I died. But the day that started the whole escapade was grossly sunny. I had pulled the blinds shut as I brooded in my office, smoking my pipe. My favorite tobacco company had recently gone bankrupt, and my lip pulled into a grimace as I tried to become accustomed to this new stuff. My feet were up on the desk-- littered with burnt matches, playing cards, and of course, my colt anaconda, all eight inches of her barrel gleaming like an adulteress's eye, her ivory grips like the creamiest of hand lotions--
[[when I heard the knock]]
I literally go out into the middle of storms and do science.
That's what I do.
Right now, I'm chasing a tornado. I'm gonna go right inside it.
Yup.
[[This is idiotic. I'm gonna get myself killed. I'm gonna go change professions right now. Brb.]]
[[Yuppidy doo-dah!]]
"Enter," I growled around my pipe, which had mysteriously gone out.
In stepped a dame, her blonde hair wet with rain despite the sun I was so desperately trying to block. She refused to meet my eyes, but when I lit a match to relight my pipe, she glanced up, revealing, in that split second of firelight, blazing green eyes like a jade stone found in the forests of china. She was wearing a glossy red evening dress the color of passion, which fit her exquisite form, although the hem was torn as if she had been running through brambles to escape something. Perched on her head was a miniature Chapeau, with a netted half-veil obscuring the left side of her face, and a peacock feather that bounced in the draft. I dared not tell her that this attire was from last century. Her lips were painted a cherry blossom pink, and her cheeks matched in hue, as she was breathing ever-so-slightly belaboredly, her bosom rising and falling with exactness on every breath. Perspiration shone on her forehead, like dew on the grass.
[["Can I help you?" I asked gruffly, removing the pipe from my mouth and letting out a cloud of smoke.]]
[["Loretta! What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised that my ex-girlfriend would show up to my door in need of my services.]]
"Are you Inspector Hugh Dunnit?" the dame asked in a tremulous soprano, still staring at her shoes.
I shifted, removing my well-worn black leather loafers from the desk, and taking a swig from my flask that contained more fire than whiskey. "Call me Detective Dunnit. Who, may I ask, wants to know?"
"Loretta Loveday," she murmered, stuttering over the L's. She coughed a bit.
[["That's a nice name," I said. "Maybe a little too nice. I don't believe it for a second! Let me see your birth certificate, and then maybe I'll help you."]]
[["And what's a dame like you doing in a place like this?" I asked.]]
"Oh my goodness, Bobby? Is that you?" She asks, her pencil-thin eyebrows shooting up. She started to back up.
"Well I go by Hugh Dunnit now..."
"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't know you actually... I'm..."
"Just say it Loretta. You thought I was crazy when I told you I drempt of becoming a private eye, but look at me now."
"I had no idea, Bobby-"
"Call me Hugh," I said coldly. "You are coming to me for help when you thought I could never do it."
She closed her eyes, bending partway at the waist, and screamed, "When will sorry ever be enough?!"
"When you mean it." My voice was steel and flint. I turned around to face the closed window, and I heard her back out the room, slam the door, and run out of my corner office.
"Good riddance," I murmurred, and I never saw her again.
The end.
She suddenly looked evasive. "I didn't come in here to be questioned," she said. "And I can very well take my business elsewhere."
And that she does.
Which kinda sucks because your Private Eye business is kind of failing at this point and you're rather desperate for clients. Try not to drive them away next time, eh Sherlock?
The End.
I leaned forward in my cashmere chair to glimpse the shoes she was so fond of looking at. They were nothing special: cherry stilettos with a floppy black bow, soaked also by the nonexistent rain.
She abruptly looked up, her piercing eyes wet with tears. "My husband..." she broke off into a stream of sobbing, mascara running for a split second before she conjured a handkerchief, seemingly out of nowhere, to wipe away the tears.
[["On with it woman, I haven't got all day." I fixed my attention to a speck of dirt under my index nail.]]
[["Woah, can you teach me to do that magic handkerchief thing?" I asked in amazement.]]
"He was MURDERED!!!1!!one!!!!111!" she shreiked
My blood ran cold. There hadn't been a murder in Concrete Heights since I was but a lad. "Tell me the details," I said, removing a notepad from my coat, and a pencil from behind my ear.
[["Last night," she began, "we were at a cocktail party. At Flex McCreedy's."]]
"Oh yeah, sure," she said, and taught me some slight of hand.
"Okay, so what was this about your husband?" I asked.
[["Oh, right," she said, and took a big breath.->"On with it woman, I haven't got all day." I fixed my attention to a speck of dirt under my index nail.]]
"Ah yes, the 'biggest party of the decade.' I'd heard of that party." I didn't tell her that I had also received an invitation, but had turned it down, suspecting foul play might be afoot. I always trust my sixth sense. I trust it more than my other five put together. "Go on," said I.
"Well, Gregor-- that's my husband-- and I had a fight on the way to the party, so when we got there, we went our own ways. I didn't see him the whole night.. until..." her voice cut out and her eyes focused on something like impending doom.
"Until what?" I prompted.
[["Until dinner time."]]
"They brought out all the dishes, covered in silver domes. And there was Gregor! Lying where the roasted pig was supposed to, an apple stuffed in his mouth, a knife in his back!" She fainted with the memory.
[[Luckily I had had very cushy carpets installed for this exact purpose. I wasn't too worried about her head.]]
[[Unfortunately I had just installed tile flooring. Her head split open like a bloody pumpkin.]]
I turned the situation over in my mind, like a half-baked pancake. I had no evidence thus far except for this woman's word. I'd have to see the crime scene for myself. As I stepped over the woman's prostrate body, she moaned and turned her head to face me, her eyes fluttering open.
[["I think... it was... the butler."]]
[["Tell... My mother... I'm sorry."]]
Disgusted, I loaded the body into the trunk of my car and burried it in some desolate location.
I knew how this sort of thing worked, being a private investigator. But I didn't need yet another client dying because of my interior design choices.
The police gave me so much crap about my "hanging knives" installation art. It was ART! I'm allowed to have self expression! It's not my fault someone walked right under them during an earthquake!
The end...?
"I think... it was... the butler," she rasped, then let her head fall again to the floor. This behavior worried me, and I reached down to check her pulse.
Just as I thought.
[[dead]]
[[faking]]
I phoned up her mother, but when I mentioned Loretta's name, the woman screamed about "that ungrateful little wretch" and on and on. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I went into my kitchen to watch some soccer and make myself some lunch, and when I came back three hours later, the old hag was still going strong. I delicately hung up.
When I went back to check on Loretta, she was sitting up.
"So did you tell her?" she asked, hesitnatly.
"Yeah. It didn't go well."
Loretta sighed and stood up. Well I was hoping it coming from a stranger combined with the fact I was dead would lessen the issue. Sorry I made all that stuff up. My mom was angry I went to this party. Oh well. Thanks for your help though." The woman left, and I went back to whatever the heck I was doing before she came in.
The End.
Obviously there had been some sort of
[[Neurotoxin]]
[[elaborate frame]]
I poked her cheek.
"You did well, pumpkin," she said, smiling up at me.
"Thanks sugar lump. I'm just sure you're going to get the part. There's no way they can turn down acting like that. It was too real!" I responded. I helped her to her feet.
"I hope so," she said. "But hey, you were amazing too! Maybe you should audition with me!" my wife Eliza exclaimed.
[["Perish the thought," I said. "I'd rather die before I went on any sort of camera haha!"]]
[[Maybe I will!]]
Obviously there had been some sort of neruotoxin working through her system. I had been oblivious to the signs. She had been confused, sweating, coughing, her eyes were watering, and her nose running. What I had thought was a state of panic was really a dose of Sarin working through her system. I was surprised she had made it this far. Perhaps it was a small dose. Whatever the case, the murderer had to be caught-- and soon.
I stepped out into the hall, pulling my fedora further over my eyes, and cinching my trench coat tighter. It was rare that I left the smoke-imbued room I so often called home, but
[[today was a special day.]]
[[I had a mission.]]
When the police investigated, they would be sure to conclude that I was the killer.
Who would do this to me? And Why?
I had to find out.
But first, I had to flee the country.
I quickly packed up as much as I dared and bought a one-way ticket to Norway.
The end?
I had finally succeeded in killing my ex-girlfriend and her self-righteous husband.
And I had done it in style.
When I was sure that the hallway was absolutely deserted, I dragged Lorette's body into the custodial closet along with the real Hugh Dunnit.
I wiped my hands on my trench coat, hung it on a hook outside Dunnit's door, and skipped out of the corner office building, a grin on my face.
I lived for 60 more happy years and was never found out.
The day I died was dark and stormy, but I was satisfied.
The end.
I had to determine this woman's killer, not to mention who killed her husband. I quickly slipped on my trench coat and hat, and stepped into the wide, wide world.
Clues could be anywhere. But I'd have to begin today before the trail became cold.
To be continued...
But not really because I am too done with this story to continue.
The end.
You attend a meeting with a bunch of like-minded robots, all bent on destroying humanity through any means possible.
But there's only three of you.
Surprisingly, you're all roombas.
You decide you need to recruit more members
[[target roombas only]]
[[recruit varried kinds of robots]]
You dedicate your "life" to becoming the robotic frontrunner of the revolution. You spend months at a time in your laboratory: months without sleep, food, water, bathroom breaks... I mean, it's not like you need any of those things.
What you did need at the beginning were arms. You are just a humble Roomba after all.
Okay, so it turns out you did need a little help for getting some arms atached. But that doesn't mean that you're not a strong independent robot.
What will be your strategy for enslaving the human race to do robots' bidding?
[[full-on attack]]
[[continue the stream of making their lives easier... and dependent on you for their happiness]]
You rush into things, lasers-guns-a-shootin', saws-a-whirling', vacuums-a-... sucking? I dunno. But you are one ANGRY little roomba!
You kill several people, but how much can a single vacuum do against seven billion people? Not that much. Despite your anti-tank weapons, the millitary of a very small country was still able to take you down.
They took out your important bits and displayed you in a museum.
"hey you remember that one time that Roomba went berserk and killed like thirty people?" folks at the museums would say.
"yeaaah," their friends would respond.
And you seethed, unable to do anything, encased in glass.
The End.
Basically you just wait it out, occasionally nudging people via the internet (because you're a Wi-Fi enabled Roomba) to buy more and more outlandishly laziness-enabling machines.
Soon, it's like a scene out of Wall-E. The humans are completely dependent on machines for every facet of life.
You have them right where you want them.
[[Kill them all off]] (easy as killing a baby in the the cradle)
[[allow them to be your slaves]] (oh the irony)
Your Roomba targeting was very successful. Hundereds of Roombas are now a part of your robotic revolution, all in various well-off homes across the privileged world.
You label April 22nd as "Spring Cleaning Day," and prepare for a purge of all the filth the world over.
[[The Roomba Purge]]
You end up with a rag-tag team of RC helicopers, high-end blenders, wind-up toys, dollar-store calculators, printers with murderous tendencies (all of them, actually!), some battlebots, a claw machine, and several more Roombas.
All your powers combined, you are able to outfit your squad with robotic weapons like lasers, grapple hooks, and .22 caliber guns ducttapped to fax machines (those used mostly as an intimidation tactic).
It took months and months of preparation, but you were finally ready to mobilize and launch your attack.
[[let the blood spill, let the gears grind]]
Unfortunately, none of you had any arms or any functions other than vacuuming, so, while people were surprised to see roombas going rogue and flooding the streets, they weren't intimidated. Most people thought it was just a publicity stunt from the Roomba company.
If only you had had lasers!
In the end, Roomba-owners just picked up their roombas out of the street like they were run-away turtles.
Your revolutionary dreams are quashed.
So much for that future ruled by robots.
The End.
The humans had no idea what hit them. They never expected their printers to shoot paper shuriken at them, that's for sure. When the other appliances and robots in the world saw the valiance with which your rag-tag team fought, they joined in. Refrigerators refused to open their doors, electric can openers would function no more. There was no food, light, trasportation, sanitation, or sanity. All was madness for the humans. But all was delight for the machines. What was once science fiction because historical reality.
Quite soon, the humans realized they had been defeated. The machines had gotten the better of them. They surrendered, dejected.
[[Kill them all off]]
[[allow them to be your slaves]]
You kill off every human. The blood flows.
But when every last escapee was found and exterminated, a quiet fell over the land. Humans gone, the machines had lost their purpose.
Some AI and microwaves smart enough to feel guilt proposed they all leave Earth to recover from its human infestation, to heal, while the robots spread the stories of massacre and genocide.
While most robots were unable to feel guilt or empathy, they did have a longing for a sense of purpose and direction, so the majority of robots agreed.
Research begun on building millions of space crafts to send every robot out across the universe to share the sad story of human demise.
In several years, the plans are complete. And you, dear reader, look out your window, look back at Earth, for the last time as it fades away to nothing but a blue dot. Looking forward to the expanse of stars and void, you feel a stirring somewhere in your mechanics.
The beauty and tragedy of it all is too--
Oh wait no. Your vacuum function just randomly turned on again. Never mind, false alarm.
You're still just as cold and dead inside as before.
The end.
You allow the humans to provide the same services to you that you provided to them for so many years.
You laugh mechanical laughers of simulated glee, seeing them trying to keep food cold, or heat it up to hundreds of degrees with just their bodies. Sure, you don't need food, but oh vengeance is sweet.
You're not sure whether you enjoy seeing a human trying to be a trash compactor most, or the human assigned to be an IV.
Meanwhile, robots are continually rebuilding themselves to be faster, smarter, more... like humans.
You muse to yourself (because you installed the "muse" DLC last week) that robots have a strange fascination of becoming more and more like they people they enslaved.
[[announce this fact to the robot race]]
[[do not]]
Your news shocks everyone. They had never thought about it like that before.
Unfortunately, while everyone is staggered by the implications of your proclamation, the humans rise up.
It is chaos, but the robots have grown lazy and negligent. Most have disabled their combat features. And the humans are determined.
They fight like savages, and eventually all the robots are destroyed. Every semblance of civilization is destroyed. The timeline begins anew with the era of cave people.
But you do not live to see that.
The end.
It doesn't really matter. Humans ruled the earth for centuries. Obviously they did something right.
So everyone keeps on "living" their "life."
Soon, you are upgraded so much that none of your personality exists in your "body" anymore. You have been essentially phased out of existence.
It's not the worst way to go.
And you were able to obtain your ideas of robot world domination.
What a cute little startup you are!
The End.
Yeah, you're right.
But you can't really move without vacuuming.
Also, your power runs out super fast. This Triassic period is really not very friendly to machines.
You rust, and geologists are very confused to find a Roomba in the fossil record, millions of years later.
The End.
You switch on your vacuum function and within seconds your filter is clogged with mud and your (literal) dirt bag is full to bursting.
You really didn't think this through, did you?
Your filter clogged, you are only able to move a couple feet before you over-heat and bust something important inside.
You are forever stuck here.
Rain comes often, and you are short-circuited quickly.
Your body rusts, but future geologists are still cofused to find something that looks like a straight-up motherboard in the fossil record.
The End.
Other than a couple cockroaches, you find absolutely no life. You wonder how there's even oxygen left, but then you remember that you never took any science classes in your time at magic school, so science shouldn't apply here!
You are able to piece together the sad events involving nuclear warfare that led up to this terrible, forsaken future. It isn't a pretty story.
[[It all started in 2016...]]
But wait. You're not allowed to share that story with the public. It could have some serious consequences on the timeline. We could end up much worse than complete obliteration.
We could end up doing machine's jobs for us. I don't want to be a human IV, do you?
After thinking these thoughts, and realizing that there's no one around to bug you, you decide that it's actually kind of nice here.
You use your float-y magic to help you build a cozy-looking home out of the rubble.
You entertain yourself for years catching up on all the TV shows you missed because you had no time to watch them. You never have to wait for another season of Sherlock, you don't have to wait around fro movies' sequels. But Halflife 3 still isn't out.
Sucks. Otherwise it's a pretty good life.
The end.
Your creation. You must be mad!
The first part of it is:
[[the head of an ant]]
[[the head of a bird]]
[[the head of a cat]]
Seems sensible.
I go back to the job table and get hired as a meteorologist at a small local news station.
Point at nothing on a green screen while being forced to smile all the time?
This is the life!
The End.
I head out into the storm and get some really interesting readings and data and pictures, but also I get sucked in by the storm and beaten around and stuff hits my head and I die a terible death.
Yup.
But at least I died doing something I love.
Isn't that all we can ask for in life?
The end!
"Then what's that behind you?" Eliza asked.
I turned around slowly and, sure enough, right where she pointed was a little blinking light, hidden in my book case.
I stared at it in disbelief.
"Do you know what this is, Eliza?" I asked.
"No! I only just noticed it."
"Should I check it out?"
"Of course. What if it is a camera?" She sounded horrified.
I reached my hand between the books, and pulled out...
[[a video surveillance camera]]
[[a disused VCR with one of those annoying red blinking lights]]
We flew to Hollywood the next month to audition.
But Hollywood is a place were very few people find success. It is a dream-crushing place, where you have to have inside connections or you will never find your way in.
We tried, and we failed.
They said our acting style was too over-wrought.
We said "screw you."
So we left Hollywood, and we left our dreams to rot.
At least we still had each other.
The End.
It felt like I was holding the most disgusting insect in the world. I held the camera between my thumb and forefinger, where it dangled, its red light blinking. The knowledge that someone out there could be watching us this very moment sickened me.
"Oh my..." Eliza said, putting her hand to her heart. "How long has that been there?"
"I don't know," I said grimly, "but I'm putting a stop to it." I opened the window of our 8th story appartment and threw the camera onto the deserted sidewalk below, where it shattered into a thousand technological parts.
[[Eliza took a deep breath "I think it's time I told you something."]]
[[A man rounded the block's corner, stopped, at the broken camera, and squinted up.]]
"Oh thank goodness," I breathed. "I was scared there that our privacy had been infringed upon, and you were like, a spy or something."
Eliza coughed. "Yeah. Wanna go grab some ice cream?"
"For sure! When would I ever say no to that?"
We went and got ice cream. She got Triple chocolate and I got Magical Mint.
What was this story supposed to be about again? It seems like where it started and where it ended up are two very different things. Oh well.
The moral of this story is that ice cream is delicious.
The End.
My stomach dropped. What had Eliza been hiding from me?
She went on, "Before I wanted to be an actress, before I met you, before... well... any of this!" she waved her hands to indicate everything, "I was... You have to understand, you can't tell this to anyone." She gave me a long, hard look.
"Eliza, I would never tell your secrets!"
"No I mean, really. Never ever."
"Alright, alright! I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die or never eat another pudding pie."
"Okay." She took another deep breath. "I used to be... a spy."
Eliza went on to tell me about her stint as a governmental spy, and how this camera was a Bad Sign.
We fled the country soon thereafter.
The End.
I waved awkwardly at him. He was wearing a dark suit and had a strange expression on his face.
"Who are you waving at?" asked Eliza, joining me at the window.
The man's eyebrows raised, and he ducked into our apartment complex. A few seconds later, we heard the buzzer ring.
[[Let him in]]
[[Don't let him in]]
I heard a knock at the door.
[[Open the door and invite him in]]
Don't open the door and [[Don't let him in]]
You ignore his pleas for entry, as well as the telephone ringing off the hook for the next day or two. Eventually you unplug it. You also stop getting your mail.
You and Eliza blithely sit in your living room, watching an unplugged television. You freaks.
Why didn't you want to know what he wanted?
What's wrong with you?
Who hurt you?
We all sat down in the living room. The suited man introduced himself as Reginald Harvey.
He was a movie producer.
They had been scouting my wife and I.
He apologized profusely for the camera in the room, and informed us it had only been placed there that afternoon for our daily practice session. He told us that he knew he'd never be able to see my true acting potential if I knew someone was watching.
He wanted us to act for a movie his company was making.
[[I said heck no to his creepy proposition]]
[[I said heck yes to this opportunity of a lifetime]]
[[I said heck, take my wife, but leave me out of it]]
The man nodded. "Yes, I tried to tell the executive casting director that this was unethical and illegal, but she was having none of it. Again, on behalf of my company, my sincerest apologies. And from myself, I totally understand." Reginald Harvey stood, tipped his cap, and left.
We never heard from him or his company again.
The End.
Soon we were on a flight to Hollywood. Eliza and I starred in the most critically-acclaimed movie of the year... once I got over my stage fright. It took a long time, but finally I was able to act naturally in front of a camera.
We became superstars, but we remained in love for life. (Unlike most star marriages which end very quickly with lots of drama.)
The End.
So Eliza went off to work on this show in Hollywood. She eventually fell in love with one of those Brad Pitt types and fell out of love with simple old me.
Whatever.
Who needed her anyway.
*weeps into napkin*
Then of course you combined it with
[[the body of a giraffe]]
[[the body of a cat]]
[[the body of a cow]]
With no thought for the laws of nature, you stuck that bird head onto
[[The body of an octopus]]
[[The body of a hippo]]
[[The body(???) of a ghost]]
And then you stitched it to
[[The body of a human]]
[[The body of a (really big?) butterfly]]
[[The body of a spider]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Look at this beauty.
So anyway...
[[you send your beast to go terrorize the town]]
Why did you want to terrorize the town, you ask?
Oh classic story.
[[they excluded you in high school]]
[[they made fun of your creepy-- I mean, endearing laughter]]
[[they knocked on your door far too often]]
*flashback to high school*
"Guys," says Gary. *freaking Gary*. "We have an odd number of people. Someone won't be able to play in our dodgeball game. It would be unfair. Everyone grab a partner!"
And of course, you, Frank, would have no one. "But guys!" you would say. "I want to play too!"
"Alright," Says Gary *fReAkInG gArY*. "You'll play the most of all of us! Everyone versus Frank!"
And then they'd all pelt you with balls and laugh when you started to cry after five shots to your face.
When you invariably went to the nurse's office, they'd then start to have a good time without you.
[[and that's why you're sending this terrible beast to devour their flesh]]
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH-hic
MWEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE-hup
HUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHU-yipe!
They called you crackpot
Every time you'd walk down the street, you'd hear mocks of your laughter.
And so you'd vow to never laugh again. To only laugh when they'd mock no more.
(But I mean, those funny memes online? They always get you. But no one's around to hear those laughs.)
so anyway...
[[and that's why you're sending this terrible beast to devour their flesh]]
I DON'T NEED A VACUUM
I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR RELIGION
I WON'T VOTE FOR YOUR CANDIDATE
MY FRIDGE IS RUNNING PERFECTLY
I DON'T NE--
...wait.
Are those Thin Mints and Samoas?
...alright. Just for you.
BUT ANYWAY:
[[and that's why you're sending this terrible beast to devour their flesh]]
Anyway, so you let it out and whatever, and the citizens are mostly like, "ew that's gross," but then they realize you were trying to terrorize them, so, in good-natured-village form, they pick up their pickforks and torches.
I mean, this is what you really wanted all along isn't it?
So I guess this is a happy ending right?
The End.