Genre: Aliens, Existential, Psychological
5 minute read | SciFi Short Stories | Quick Fiction | By: Atman Brahman
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*Caution: All italic text generated by A.I. at: CyberneticSemantics.com
A Strange Bedtime Story
A short static blip in the broadcast signal impulses through a re-simulation processor like a cloud momentarily blocking out a sunny day before crystal clarity resumes. Like a quick jolt, nearly unnoticeable, it reminds the family of demi-aliens lost in its entertainment and informative indulgence, that this construct was not an actual experience, but a virtual encounter with a reality that once was. Residing in a far off nether-regional void of a long extinct galaxy, a family of demi-aliens toy with one of their obsolete but nostalgic virtual reality consoles, to enlighten themselves on the undertakings and underpinnings of an unknown-to-them, enigma of a species. Within the re-simulation a narrator quietly describes in the background, like a nature special; whispering as if to not disturb the scene unfolding; a monologue to these purposeless acts unfolding. The experience-sequence is as follows:
[A fat, bald, slob of a human man, in a predatory state, pursuing food or enacting mimicry of pursuing food as a mere hobby and escape from his hard reality-that-is, stands on the side of a bridge. He puts small, strange, stupidly-robotic living being onto a sharp metal object attached to a string and flings the contraption as far as he can into a swampy, smelly, cesspool, littered with the predatory species’ own feces and countless remnants of its dumbly overlooked and overused application of “packaging”; hoping that the being the man wishes to possess, also in its predatory state, will bite the now dead thing on a hook, so the man can then pull in the string, to predatorily dominate. The thing silently screams a blood-curdling, soul-piercing, digital-noise as it falls into the cold, murky water. It’s squirms are met with satisfaction and approval from the man as he stands, laughing to himself.]
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The family of demi-aliens are both horrified and amused by what they are witnessing. They are unsure of whether to be more disturbed by the act itself or by the fact that this is considered entertainment by the species. Regardless, they continue to watch, captivated by the cruelty of it all. The scene changes, and the family is transported to a different time and place, nearby.
[They find themselves in a large room filled with what appears to be thousands of the same small, stupidly-robotic living beings. They are all lined up in rows upon rows, each in their own little glass cage. A voice booms over a loudspeaker, announcing that it is “feeding time”. The family watches in horror as a conveyor belt begins to move, slowly feeding each of the little creatures into a large machine. The machine grinds them up and spits them out into a giant vat. The vat is then heated and the resulting “soup” is fed to the man from the previous scene. He slurps it up greedily, smacking his lips in satisfaction.]
The scene quickly darts back to the bridge:
[The man stands dumbly, holding the stick with a string, dangling it into a filthy cesspool of his own mutated creation. The man boringly takes a swig of a strange liquid “tea” of a sort, concocted from a rotted, decomposed mash of plants that were otherwise good for the species to consume. The “rotting” of the “tea” was due to a strange microscopic organism within it that consumed the plant matter and filled the liquid with its own farts and feces, which were, for some reason, desired by the man. The side of the package in which the man drank read, “Pudweiser”, in a deceivingly dazzling, elegant, cursive calligraphy. The slightly poisoning cocktail didn’t result in immediate death, usually, but the cold beverage, for the time being, altered the man’s mental state in which he thought he desired. After slugging down the last few gulps of his tenth brew, the man contributes another of the artistic, elegant packaging into the cesspool.
A close up of the man’s face is shown as he stares off into space, drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth. His eyes are glassy and his pupils are dilated. He appears to be in a trance-like state. Suddenly, he snaps out of it and looks around, as if he has just realized where he is. He looks down at the stick in his hand and then back out over the edge of the bridge. He seems to be debating something in his mind. After a few moments, he makes up his mind and steps back off the edge of the bridge. As he steps back onto the functional section of the bridge, he is reminded jarringly that the bridge is not meant for what he is doing, but instead devised for fast moving transport machines in which others of his species commute. A quick flash of clairvoyance struck harshly through the mans hazy mind; helping him realize the stupidity of his robot-like actions and the stupidity in which he chose this location to conduct them, right before an accelerating commuter machine, using the bridge for its intent and purpose, collides with his flabby, gelatin-like, lumpy, cellulite-laden, unnatural body; launching him airborne for a few moments, as shockwaves can be seen rippling and resonating through his pudginess.
As the man’s body comes crashing back down, semi-conscious, against the far side of the bridge, his head smashes and is split down the middle thoroughly over a steel girder. A corrupting glitch of static and blur mixed together with loud, high pitched, offensive nothingness rings omnipresent through what is left of his entire perception; all that he is and was, mixed and mashed in nonsensical overload, all at once. Blood spraying, spurting, and splattering, gushes down the girder while his body continues on momentarily without his commanding brains intactness. His organs act un-accordingly for a few lasting moments as his heart pumps out its red, energy-delivering, oxygen-laden liquid for its last, stressed pumps before seizing and ceasing.]
The family of demi-aliens calmly stop the semi-educational and disturbingly entertaining re-simulation before going back to their own odd and discombobulated lives.
*Disclaimer: Some of this Article was generated through use of AI. All italic text was created by the AI Writer.
**Featured image was created by AI, titled: idiot fishing