Slice of Paper » stories

Slice of Refusal

terreh — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 01:22:02 +0000

I just don’t see anything in traveling. You go and look at things and then you’re done. What else are you to do? I’ve read logs and accounts of people traveling to random places and across the globe. What do they all have in common? “I saw the ____” and “The people there ____ _____ ____” I’m not interested in picking up on things that people round’ the world get the same effect from. Games are an interactive medium, giving people different experiences based on their interpretations. The people themselves are boring. They’re no different to me than any other person in the world, and there’s a lot to pick from when there’s about 6.7 billion people in the world. Their cultures and lives are of no interest to me either. I’m interested in their minds and problems.

There are two things people have plenty to tell. Their opinion, and their problems. Both of which interest me. First off, opinions can be very valuable or worthless depending on the situation, and knowing what people think of other people or think about things are powerful pieces of knowledge. Being able to predict such crucial information furthers the amount of value in that data.

Knowing people’s problems serve an alternate purpose. Problems require solutions, and someone will attempt to find one regardless of the situation. May it be a matter of something being far too complicated to handle (thus leading to the creation of GUIs for tools normally only accessed via command line) or mental problems like reoccurring nightmares.

Because of this, I often find very little value or point in traveling to other countries to simply view it’s treasures. I would rather create my own treasures, even if they are only valuable to me.

Slice of Happiness

terreh — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 19:20:12 +0000

The only things that make me happy are things I do myself. I haven’t found anyone with enough interests in common to share with. You, I don’t know what to say. I could say a lot of things. But I don’t know how I even feel about you besides the fact that I’m emotionally attached to you. In regards as to who you are to me, I really don’t know and can’t say anything without lying to you. In terms of everyone else, they’ve all got that certain little odd quirk that prevents me from sharing myself with them.

Since I’m really the only one that can make my face light up nowadays; I’m constantly searching for things that’ll make me feel like I’m worth something. I carry around this void inside of me as if I’m lacking something I can’t figure out.

At least you know what’ll make you happy. I don’t. I’ve been searching and searching for some time now, and no luck. It’s like looking for a book in a disorganized library. You know that somewhere, that something you’re looking for exists right there. But you don’t have a way to pull it out of the mess. There’s no Dewey Decimal System or directory. There’s only a list of what’s come and returned, and you’re sure that it’s here. With this in mind, you dig around for that special thing. Over time, you grow ever so increasingly desperate to find it as you slowly lose hope that it’s there. You start to look for alternatives, replacements, other ways to fill that void. But none could ever be as good as that one thing you tried to find. It’s like a toy I had when I was a little boy.

There were three shapes and three holes. You had to find the shape that fit and filled the right hole. If you tried to put a circle in the square, it wouldn’t fill up the entire square hole. There’s empty space left unfilled. The same applies here. Should I find myself unable to find that one idea that’ll make me perfectly happy, I’ll try to fill it with something else. But it’s never gonna be as good as the proper thing I need. The void will still exist. There’ll still be holes. Just like how the corners are left empty when you put a circle in a square hole. It might fit, but it won’t fill. If it doesn’t even fit inside at all, then it won’t even fill the void to any amount or degree.

What do you think I need to do?

Slice of Curiosity

terreh — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 19:34:15 +0000

Whatever will I do? It’s summer, and I haven’t a thing to do. I feel like I’m lacking something. Probably because of the same reason I always feel lacking. I wanna do something. But there’s so much I could do, but I can’t spend my time doing them all. I wanna commit to one project, but how?

There’s so much that could be done, but how am I to decide? Openness is the greatest thing in the world, yet with it comes the greatest troubles.

What am I to do now? Well I’ve got a blog, might as well use it right? I should post on that everyday, try to get some traction on subscriber count.

…Right. I can do this.

…Just think of something.

Something.

So there’s this thing?

terreh — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:39:08 +0000

So there’s this thing right? It’s blue, has a round body, and smells like poo. Do you know what that is? I sure don’t. Hey, hey, you know what’s fun? Swings! We should go swinging! Swinging is loads of fun! We can go- oh, sorry, I forgot. It’s okay, we can do something else! Like what? Um…do you have any ideas? Wait, no, it’s okay- I just know there’s something we can both do! I don’t have to run to have fun.

How about a board game? Yeah, I hear ya, boring. Maybe we could…really? You’d want to do that? I didn’t really..well, we could if you want to. I mean we don’t have to..oh stop! You’re making me blush!

Are you sure? I mean…this is…okay. Jeez, I didn’t really think you were bring this out. I’ve never seen one before…but it looks cute. Don’t get me wrong, but I just think Pokemon are cute- don’t rub it in. I mean I’m not a huge fan, no way! Anyway, let’s just play already!

Hm? Where’d you get that one? Never seen it before. Hey! Don’t hide the guide! Give me that! C’mon, you can’t hide! Alright, if I really have to chase after you for it! Heheh, you’re almost out of running space; where’re you going to go now- whoa, didn’t see that coming.

***

Alright, I went through mud and dirt for this guide. Hand it over! C’mon, quit whining, I don’t wanna hear it…huh? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to get you hurt! I thought it was just a game..well I’ll take care of it when we get back up! Sound good? But please, I really- oh okay…

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Oh rub that smirk off your face! I’m only doing this because I feel sorry for you! Jeez! How much do you weigh? You’re like a million pounds or something- and I have to carry you! Ugh, you’re dead after this. So how’re you feeling? Good? Bad? Uh huh. Well, I guess you’ll feel better after I get that bandaged up.

Better now? Good!…wait, what? Well why? What’s wrong?…oh, y-you do? I’m sorry! Q-quit grinning! Quit it! Oh forget you! I know I’m blushing, shut up!

A Slice of Meaning

terreh — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 02:35:16 +0000

What is life without meaning? What are words without meaning? Nothing, isn’t it? I mean, what is the point of a word when it doesn’t mean anything? What is the point of a word without purpose? Nothing! For something to be valuable, it needs meaning and purpose, but it only requires one or the other to exist. Things can exist without meaning or purpose because only one is necessary.

Pencil’s Hurt

It sucks to be a pencil. Easily replaced, we’re just an insignificant thing to everyone. I mean, it’s no problem if no one loses me, right? Not like anyone cares about some worn out old pencil. I’m just another two sticks of wood with a stick of graphite wedged in between, nothing special compared to the rest. I mean, yeah, I’m a pencil; people use pencils to write and draw things. But do I mean anything to anyone more than just a tool? No! The only reason why anyone would spend time with me is to rub my graphite hair against some rough paper while they grip my yellow sides.

I just wish someone would care about a pencil for once. Just once, is that too much to ask for? Not like a lover but something that someone would mind losing, and not just because they lost another writing utensil.

Oh great, here comes some kid. I bet he’s just gonna lose me in a few days. You know, I hate going through the sharpener. It doesn’t sharpen the pencil, the sharpener just painfully scrapes away at the sides until there’s a point. Heck, sometimes, it even breaks off the point and you get a dull pencil. I guess, in a sense, it does sharpen dull pencils, but it doesn’t make the writer any better.

A Slice of Posts!

terreh — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 05:17:09 +0000

Ever had one of those moments where you had a good idea, but didn’t write it down because you’re with friends? That happens to me so often, it kills the development of posts for this blog. Which also explains the lack of stories on this blog. But I guess I have to face it and get on with my life huh?

Where would we be without a way to post things? Posts are so versatile and friendly. I can’t imagine life without them. Have you ever really taken the time to think? I mean, think about all the posts in the world!

There’s post boxes, blog posts, military posts, forum post, Corinthian, power-on self-tests, Post cereals, New York Post, The Washington Post, The Christian Post, The Jerusalem Post, The Sunday Post, National Post, The Sunday Business Post, Australasian Post, and even a Post Magazine! Heck, this in itself is a post! So many things in the world use the word, “post”!

Just imagine a world without a postal service. We’d collapse as a system! Where are we without our communications systems? Where would we keep all the post service workers? Would they go…postal? Haha, no. It’s quite hard to imagine a world without the postal service ever existing. Many of our communications systems are based on the very foundations of the postal system, and without it, communications over long distances would be hard. Think of the people!

He Went Postal

“Honey, have you heard from Bob? Ever since our mailbox disappeared, we haven’t any letters.” , asked Jim. His melancholic wife, Cassidy, turned towards hopeful Jim, and shattered his dreams by telling him, “No…Jim…Bob is dead. He’s gone!” Jim looked down, his heart pulling him closer and closer to the ground. “This…this cannot be! When?” questioned Jim. Cassidy cast her view across the room and out the window, trying to get out of Jim’s cross hairs.

“Months ago…we lost our box the day we lost him,” remarked Cassidy. Jim voice began to crack as he asked, “How…how could this happen?” Cassidy looked out the window with a stark look on her face. Shadows from the window frame rested on her face.

“He was murdered. We found Kim next to his body…” Jim was now silent as stone. Mind and body stricken with mournful feelings, Jim was at a complete loss. Tears flooded the room with sadness as rain fell from his eyes. Cassidy looked at Jim with sympathy, and comforted him. But comfort wasn’t what Jim was looking for. Comfort wasn’t what he needed. He needed to send revenge towards those responsible.

The next day, Jim left early before his wife had gotten up. A post-it note reading, “Won’t be catching you around. Love, Jim” was left on the counter alongside a cold plate of breakfast. Cassidy never heard from Jim again, not until that final day where he waved good bye from the depths of the ground.

A Slice of Manufacturers

terreh — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 08:34:09 +0000

A pink factory huffs and puffs in the distance. It’s smoke stack are overflowing with smoke black as night. The work whistle blows once more and little workers shuffle inside to dig away at humanity’s cost. Smog lounges around, high up in our air where it shows no signs of worry. Sludge pours out and into a river black with our unused potential we’ve cast aside as trash. “Clang! Clang! Clang!” “Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!” “Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.” The factory roars a cacophony of deafening sounds. Howling wind flies by the factory, tossing the fast food wrapper across the barren landscape. The factory has people in it working all day long with little breaks to stave off the people’s ever growing disapproving dissent to meet the audience’s wild demands. In such a depressing world, everyone is desperate for some source of happiness; maybe it be love or sex or mischief or trickery, the veil hiding the silent tears of those longing a sense of self fulfillment keeps the masses shut away from the sadness of lesser known people. These lesser known people often are the very men and women that you pass by on the streets.

One day, all of their voices were heard by the masses. Their hardships and suffering were to be forever known to the world at one point, however, forever gone the next. In this, a figure would rise to the top through the manipulation of mankind’s emotions. His plan was simple, “Sell something that appeals to the people, and they will buy it.” Through this, he toppled local practices and traditions with his power and washed everything away in one destructive wave. In place, restructuring began as he built his land. The incentive was happiness and prosperity in exchange for hard work put into restoring the land as he saw fit. He removed the game pieces he saw unneeded and added his own in place. What was once the people’s was now his. But this god-like power wasn’t simply obtained through forceful means but by the people. He became the figure that people now accepted as leader. His power would guide and rule the world to obtain required materials.

Soon after the promotion, people began to think once more. In a land ruled by one, what about the wants and needs of the people? The ruler simply ignored any forms of public disapproval, despite the severity of the action he’s taken. His worst and yet best moment in time lies after the pure carnage of nature became apparent. He told everyone to remain calm and that all would be fine for he had a new, marvelous, and amazing idea that would cure everyone of their disease. Depression and suicide would become a thing of the past. People were approving of the idea and his stall opened the very next day. It sold as fast as the factory could produce it. No longer would people face the effects of heavy thoughts. He had found the answer. With this, they flourished. But what was the cost? Little. What was the benefit? Enormous. His success drove him the the top of the world. The idea would have to be replenished over and over, thus leading to increased profit and production. Eventually, production rates over took demand and the price fell. But now everyone was happy. No one was sad. After all, why would you stay sad when happiness and prosperity was a $1.99 away?

A Slice of Pinball People

terreh — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 08:37:40 +0000

Who likes a good game of pinball? A lot of people would say yes to that. Pinball’s been around for at least a century! People loved it then and still do now! But imagine a world of pinball people. I mean, you’d have to have some outside entity launch you where you would want to go! Must be hard to live life as a pinball. What if everyone turned into a pinball all of a sudden? Everyday life would have to be completely redesigned!

Paul the Pinman

A shiny silver ball drops from the sky. Spinning and confused, it tries to grasp it’s bearings. A seemingly endless swirl pulls back and the ball follows suit. Where am I? What’s going on? Questions race through it’s tiny little steel mind. A voice calls out, “Ready? Let’s go!” Suddenly, the pinball is blasted forward with blinding speed! “You’re ready for prime time kid! C’mon, show me the money!” shouts the voice.

***

“Hey, honey, need anything at Pinget?” shouts Paul. Flying from bumper to bumper, Pail gets a response from Paula, “Yeah! Some pelatin!” Before Paul can even A-OK it, he flies up a ramp and hits a jackpot tunnel! “We’re rich! Oh my pinpins, we’re rich!” Oh, oops, sorry, you only won two pollars. “Gosh darn it,” said Paul. “Do I get anything else?” asked Paul. The skies glowed and a big bag fell from the heavens above. “Oh Pally! Thank the heavens!” praised Paul. But Paul, things aren’t going to be that easy. When Paul opened the bag, a pillar of fire burst out from the bag. “Gosh darns! Now I’m all charred up and lost my sheen!” exclaimed Paul. You know you can’t win Paul. Give up already! “Why are you doing this to me?!” asked Paul. “I’ll just go to Pinget and get my gosh darned carp,” grumbled Paul. Then don’t forget the pelatin!

Pelatin fell from the sky in jiggling little cubes, splattering when they hit the ground. Splat, splat, splat, went the pelatin. Paul screamed in joy and his happiness could be known all over the world! Rejoice Paul! “Oh finally! Parma has rewarded me!” screamed Paul in cheerful bliss! His cold steel heart melted and he began to reshape! Sparkling with molten metal, he turned into a mushed up pile of metal. He looked up, muttering “Ah gosh.” between sighs. At least you got the pelatin you wanted. “Well, not like this.” Why? “I don’t want to be mush.” I can change that. “Oh really? Into what? Pinpoo?” No. You’ll be a pinman. “What’s a pinman?” This. At the snap of my fingers, he was reformed! “Woah. I have stubs! Long stubs! This is amazing!” Now go run home pinman, run home! “Thank you strange voice!” Don’t thank me, thank the heavens.

With his newfound abilities, Paul the Pinman picked up tons and tons of pelatin and brought it home. However, his wife refused to accept his redesigned body and reported him to the police where he was subsequently arrested and cremated to be part of Mother Pearth’s soil. He is currently raising some flowers.

R.I.P. Paul the Pinman

Poctober 17, 2009-Poctober 18, 2009

Author’s Notes

I’m sorry. Slice of Paper’s been on a three week hiatus, and all I have to show for is a short messy story. But I’ve finally started properly writing down my ideas and I’ve recently bought a new notebook, so here’s to another couple blog posts of stories! Thanks for you continued support. I love you guys.