Aardvark Posted June 22, 2004 Report Posted June 22, 2004 When Joseph first learned how to distort reality, he marveled at the potential of the human mind. What a work was a man, he would say to himself as he saved thousands on airfairs by slipping into another place. He knew there must be a creator who gave man this much power, for it was hidden well, but it was still there. When he'd first discovered it, he thought he would be able to change the way people look at themselves. Several years later, he knew humans were nothing more than gullible fools and the creator, whatever his original intentions, really screwed things up. He had tried to pass on his gift, but very few were able to comprehend the ability, let alone learn it. And the ones who did learn it immediately went off to make themselves rich or to settle old scores with seemingly untouchable people. Joseph had killed the last one of his successful pupils two weeks ago. Being able to distort reality gave a murderer countless ways to take life without leaving evidence. Seeing as he'd never have to worry about the inside of a gaol cell, Joseph had left enough evidence to convince a grand jury he was guilty of genocide. If they could ever figure how he made the wall strangle his victim. Or how he managed to melt the words "JOSEPH DID IT" into the television. Police never did come and question him, despite having ample DNA and fingerprint evidence to identify him. Having never given fingerprints or DNA samples really was a kick in the teeth for the investigating officers, who thought this one was in the bag. Even if they couldn't figure out how the lamp had managed to break the victim's legs in three places. So he sat back in his leather chair, bought with the ill-gotten gains of one of his pupils, smoked a cigar, drank a bottle of scotch, then leeched the alcohol, tar and nicotine out of his system, through the pores of his index finger, into a waiting jar. Joseph had always enjoyed drinking and smoking. He just didn't enjoy cancer. He knew he could cure himself if worst came to worst, but he just didn't want to run the risk. Distorting your immediate reality was uncomfortable. Not painful, which surprised him. Just uncomfortable. Your body knows your arm is a foot away from the rest of you, even though all nervous signals are getting through uninterrupted. And it won't let you forget that. Channel surfing was another little pleasure he still indulged in, despite having the capacity to make whatever he wanted to watch appear on the box. Hell, he could make it appear on the fridge, if it suited him. He'd mastered altering reality and it saddened him at how easy it was. Manipulating the flaws in the work of a being you were brought up to believe was all powerful and infallible made a person rethink the whole religion thing. His latest execution was on every news channel. Bizarre, ritualistic, satanic, all words used to describe the indescribable and be understood by the target audience. He briefly considered reverting the room back to normal before the red-headed news woman entered the scene for the live exclusive. Then he had a better idea. Sarah Taylor, a junior field reporter for channel 8, thought this would be the break she needed. She'd managed to use her winning personality to convince the crimescene officer to let her and no one else film the scene. She stood proud before the camera, hiding her revulsion at the twisted scene behind her and waited for the light that meant they were on air. As the small LED lit up, she suddenly felt cold. Joseph couldn't help himself. He doubled over with laughter when he saw the newswoman's clothes fall off. As the network anchor explained the lost live feed with the usual "Technical difficulties" line, Joseph wondered if it was an executive decision to allow the public a brief peek at the naked newswoman, for ratings purposes. Then he smiled as he realised he'd probably given that woman the biggest break she could hope for on national television. He lit up another cigar, shaking his head at the sheer simplicity of it all. Physicists on a science channel were trying to explain the building blocks of the universe. String theory. They were so far off the truth, they could've spoken of pottery and been closer. Just as he thought of this, one of the TV boffins picked up a potplant and tried to explain something. Ahh, cartoons. The old portable hole episode. His favourite. He always got a kick out of Satan returning the man's wife. He shook his head. God, Satan, what did it matter. He knew the whole world was held together by the cosmic equivalent of post-it glue. And that was all anyone had to know. It was so simple that he was surprised that only four people out of the fifty or so he'd tried to teach were able to do it. And those four forgot everything he'd told them right before he killed them. They'd all been able to move through solid matter, yet he strangled every one of them. Well, not personally. Usually whatever was onhand at the time strangled them. Carpet, cutlery, walls and toilet. All twisted and warped around the victim's throats. Far too easy. Hours later, he passed out in his chair, an overflowing bowl of black alcohol on the table next to him. While he slept, he dreamed. Of a world of superglue
WrenWind Posted July 7, 2004 Report Posted July 7, 2004 the world held together with post-it glue ...intresting concept
Finnius Posted July 7, 2004 Report Posted July 7, 2004 Aardy, I've always been a big fan of your surrealistic psycho-writing, and this piece is no exception. Your work is usually just far enough out there that it makes perfect sense, and again... no exception. What else can I say? The world held together by post-it glue. I loved it!
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