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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2197203
A glimpse inside a floating mind. SCREAMS!!! Entry ~606 Words.
Thick cosmic cobwebs bind the hot moonlight before it hits us.

We won't land soon.

Did they not think we'd notice that something was afoot when that soggy darkness came?

He died, and we skipped through concrete fields as though nothing had happened because nothing did.

Not really.

Although they reported on his death, and we all watched his funeral on our televisions, he never died.

They tried to make us all feel crazy after a while, but I know the truth.

I was there.

Well, I wasn't in South Africa, but I watched the broadcasts.

All of them.

I saw the big scary looking guards carry Mandela's broken body from his cell, and load him into a dusty hearse outside, and I definitively remember his poor wife crying over his plain white casket.

Why are our governments changing small details from our history?

And why too is it never anything substantial?

It's always trivial things like changing the date of a celebrity's death, or a classic film line, or a line from a pop song.

What good does any of it serve?

Serve, like a waiter serves people.

Oh my god, they've devised a code.

Maybe if I can decipher it, I can find out why they're changing everything.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, a waiter serves people; a waiter works in a restaurant.

Hmm, but what restaurant?

It's called the Mandela Effect, Mandela's first name was Nelson; who's another Nelson?

Willy, how could I forget about Willy Nelson?

What's another word for Willy?

Weiner, hot dog; hot dogs are famously American, and what is the most famous American restaurant chain?

Mcdonalds, but wasn't it once spelled Macdonalds?

It's another name they've changed; their influence has spread everywhere.

Hmm, Mcdonald's is known for hamburgers and their mascot, Ronald.

Ronald is a clown, another clown is Pennywise, who is from the Stephen King novel It.

What does Stephen King have to do with all of this?

Shoot, my arm is bleeding badly.

How did that happen?

Where am I?

I'm on a bridge, though I don't live near any bodies of water.

How the hell did I get here?

Oh well, that doesn't matter, where was I?

That's right, Stephen King.

His debut novel Carrie became a movie starring Sissy Spacek, John Travolta, and P.J. Soles; Soles like the bottom of my feet.

My feet are killing me.

Wait, am I holding a pistol?

That's strange.

Anyway, I wear shoes on my feet, and shoes have soles too.

Most shoes have rubber soles.

Rubber was the old nickname for erasers.

They're erasing names to do something, but what is that something?

Oh wait, that's what I'm trying to figure out.

There are pencils with pink erasers attached.

Pencils contain lead, just like bullets do.

Bullets go in guns, and guns are weapons.

Weapons hurt people and-


Hey, my gun went off!

A stranger falls over in front of me.

His forehead crashes down atop my shoes, spattering them with his blood.

That was too strange to just be a coincidence; the breadcrumbs led me to the word gun just as the gun I was holding fired.

I've been set up by those in charge.

Could this be the Mandela Effect's purpose?

Woah, I'm a Manchurian Candidate.

I wouldn't have done this.

They made me a killer.

You know me, don't you?

All of you know me because I am all of you.

Heck, we're the last clue, the only clue.

We are all conditioned to act without thinking.

Maybe we're not all programmed to kill, but we are all programmed.

Every last one of us.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2197203