Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Satire · #1367911
I tend to make little blurbs of text. Read if you dare.
I know you--you are just like everyone else. Since you came  from your mother's womb, you wondered what made you different from anybody else. Sitting here, you've been thinking and thinking. Your television runs from one program to the next in front of you, maybe some never ending romance story on Grey's Anatomy with a backdrop of the fact that these people are actually doctors, or possibly some filthy looking beings fighting for one million dollars after weeks of little food and necessities on Surivivor. The fan twirls quietly above you, sending down it's God-sent breeze in spite of the new found summer heat. Your cell phone is calling, calling, calling. Text messages and voicemails leave this little life saver vibrating till the end of time. Maybe your dog or cat or hedgehog or cute slave animal is staring at you, expecting something. Food sits over on the table across the room, beckoning your appetite. Every object demands your attention, and how could it not?

Basically, what needs to be done here is that we need to eradicate all this honkey-dorey business. All the fluff. Yeah, yeah, that's right. Get yourself off the couch and
take a walk. Please don't drive in your car, we don't need that unenvironmentally sound gas guzzling machine. Humans were made to walk, right? Then you shall.
Time to start looking at a place where you (the dummy) might begin to understand your identity. Staring at your face in the mirror is completely overstated, so much better can be done. If you are in a city, good luck. You are going to need to find some sort of open field, something where nothing is around, low on animal visitation, and has no roads around it. Found it? Good. Quickly now, throw out
what is little left of your surroundings. Do not concetrate on the trees or the grass crushed under your feet. Free your mind...still. Maybe an open field has the wrong connotations, maybe you personally think that the wind indicates you are to be a free spirit,or the birds chirping give some kind of pleasant happiness.
No, this isn't what we want, let's move on.
Now maybe you are in luck if you're from the city. Find something abandoned, forgotten. Warehouses, subways, anything. Find the absolute darkest place in said abandoned building, and take a seat. Much better now, isn't it? Instead of an open field you have nothing to look at, no breeze to lift you spirits and make you think of rainbows. Now, in this darkness, with no trace of living society, take a moment to...

Well, wait. This really can't be how to do it. This place makes you feel like the building itself, this lonely, abismal place. The walls seem to press in on you, and a slight tint of fear has aroused itself in your heart. Now you're wondering if some hobo is hiding in the corner, ready to fight for his turf. Shoot.
Think, think hard. Who says you need to leave your home? Get a box, put yourself in it. I suppose,if you have any, you'll need a friend for this, or possibly just pay the
hobo you found in the abandoned building. Tape the outside and let no light in, absolutely none. It might be good to sound-proof your box, make it like the abandoned building without the context. Excellent, now all is quiet and you might possibly get a good chance to figure out who you are.
There's just one thing. One minor thing. Cursed five senses. The box still smells, the sides give that unrelenting cardboard-y feel, and you still can taste the musty air. You're going to have to acquire a decent amount of novacane to knock out some of these things, and then maybe you won't need to worry. Bring in the needles, maybe the hobo has some of these things too.
All right.
Currently, you can't feel, smell, taste, or see anything. The walls are sound-proof. Nothing to give you bias when you make your judgment. Still, there's just one more thing. Definitely miniscule, but still there. Damn humans, they have this thing called memory. And consequentially, you are beginning to remember everything you once were. You remember when you could feel, the abandoned warehouse, the open field, even watching survivor. You knew these things once, and even now, when you've rid yourself of any influence, these memories do almost the same job as reality.For the last time.You are going to need that hobo, and hope he knows how to brainwash people. And let's just say the hobo does actually brainwash you, and you are just a human drone thing.

And so, staring bleakly, still messed up from rediculous
amounts of novacane, stuck in a sound-proof cardboard box.

...this is you. No fluff, no honkey-dorey.
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