Slice of Paper » waitwhat

I change more than Obama does in a day.

terreh — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 02:34:51 +0000

I’m sorry, but we’re closing. It’s time to leave. You can’t stay here any longer. If you want, we can give you a moment to checkout a quick thing. Look, I told you, it’s time. We all need our breaks and this is mine. I gotta lock up and get going.

You still here? You gotta get going. I can’t lock you in here. Wait, where are you going? This?

What are you gonna do with this? But whatever, the sooner this is over, the better. So that’ll be 99 cents. Where’re you gonna go? Home? There isn’t a single car out there. There? Why there? Why on earth would you go there?

Well have a nice day. I have to sit here all day.

A Slice of-

terreh — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 02:06:23 +0000

Writer’s block is horrible.

So get this, I’m sitting here, and it’s 3AM, and I still haven’t gotten anything done. I’m a horrible wreck; my life feels like it could only go downhill from there. But you know what? If that’s the worst I’ve felt so far, then life couldn’t be that bad for me. I mean sure, I have issues. Maybe I’ve written sadistic stories involving burning people, and maybe I’ve been referred to a doctor, but what difference does that make?

I’m a guy, like any other guy, that wants to do something. But the difference is, I want to achieve something. But I’m still sitting there, wondering what to do with my life. I’m wondering, “What am I supposed to do? What do I want to do with my life?” Not that I’m looking for a job, I just wanted something that made me stand out from everyone. Once I hit high school, I was the same as everyone else, so I needed something else, something besides my cheery personality.

But what? What could a 14-year-old do? They can barely make money. They can barely get a job. No one is going to take them seriously. At that point, I realized that the internet was perfect! What better place to do something, young or old, than the internet? You’re just a name, and you don’t have to provide your age. So I decided to go with a blog.

But hey, what can I say? Things are turning out pretty good. So here I am, typing away at my keyboard. I still play games though, which is what most of my time is spent doing. Not that I’m not writing for Slice of Paper. It’s just I feel inadequate now, to run this blog.

Am I quitting? No.

Is a real story coming soon? Yes.

Serious? Yes.

Lies? No.

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.