Switching Gears! Let Me Present One of My Very First “Fictional Short Stories” Ever.
I’d always been told I should write stories but every time I would make an attempt at doing so it just always felt very belabored and forced. But somehow that all changed when I tapped into the cool, dark, deep reserves of my “creative juices”, like wine aged in oak barrels. I pulled this little story out of the air, as though fresh off the etheric vines of a lucid dream. It reads a bit more like a script/screenplay but nevertheless, here you go!


“Mr. Obama here is all the rest of the data that you ‘technically’ could not collect on your citizens without committing sweeping constitutional transgressions as well as human rights violations which would certainly have caused open revolt had you ever actually collected such data on your own people and it been made known, but that’s okay since your government and military didn’t collect it.”

Mark does a very not-so-subtle wink and tosses Obama a flash drive that he catches suddenly with cat like reflexes, his fist opening and closing faster than a lightning strike, like a shark lunging at its prey or a Venus flytrap swallowing its lunch.

Obama glances down at the plain and unassuming flash drive with a solemn look of tired determination and a softly glowing ember in his eye that had already long since begun fading and dimming out, seems now it feels like it’s been burning out a little bit more each day.

Still, it’s been rumored that those beautiful embers, those sparks of such a special kind of Revolutionary Gnosis, can still be seen if only very seldom and only when the light falls across his stately countenance in just such a way.

This, my friends, just so happens to be such a one of those magical, rare moments when the  flames of hope and change raging in Barack’s heart could be seen radiating through his cool, collected stare.

A bald eagle comes swooping down majestically  as though it were an inter dimensional shape shifting traveler from a long lost American lucid dream, landing regally on Obama’s shoulders, craning its neck to look Mark square in the eyes. The winged bald visitor lets out a single but mighty squak, as if to impart a commemoration of honor to Mark, proclaiming telepathically,

“Thank you for this noble thing that you’ve done today for the great of our country and for the might of its military industrial complex and strength of its national security. I salute you and our country salutes you.”

Joe Biden, wearing full military drum corps attire and regalia, as well as a life alert necklace seen dangling from his neck, plays out a somber and haunting beat on a vintage civil war era snare drum.

Obama puts the drive in his stylish coat pocket, beams a kind, inviting smile to Mark, and casually commands the conversation.

“Its been a real pleasure Mark and thank you again for your great service to our country. Too bad you will never know the magnitude of what you have accomplished for us.”

He makes a concerned and forlorn expression and pulls out a small remote control device from the other pocket on his very stylish coat and looks over at Mark.

As he pushes the button he lets out a polite laugh, as if to make light of a heavy situation in that personable active listening sort of way that any MasterClass NLP practitioner would know to execute, chuckling to himself and shaking his head he continues,

“That’s because you won’t be around to remember it.”

Mark very suddenly goes into a violent seizure only to stop, freezing up as quickly as the episode began and his catatonic body, now like a mannequin sprawled about upon the hot cement, ejects a MicroSD card from a slot that appears on his forehead.

Obama casually walks over to retrieve it and replaces it with another MicroSd card that appears identical to any untrained eye.

Mark comes to in the shake of a lambs tail, assuming normal motor functions and with not a single noticeable cognitive impairment.

Obama reaches out his hand to help Mark up off of the ground and laughs heartily smiling a fatherly laugh and jests,

“Bravo Mark! Here let me help you up! That was one heck of a tuck and roll you demonstrated for us there.”

He assists Mark to his feet and dusts him off, like they’re old best friends and pats him on the chest and adds assuringly,

“Mark, I believe whole heartedly that after seeing that demonstration back there I can say with utmost certainty that Facebook is meeting all of the safety regulations that our government requires its partners in the communications industries to uphold.

I will be awarding you the Congressional Medal of Honor at tonight’s private Gala we will be hosting with you as the White House’s esteemed guest of honor.

Now here’s a list of all the QAnon supporters and Insurrectionists and all the data on them which our finest and brightest collected for us.

I want you to hang onto to that for us now and we’ll be in touch. Wait for us to give you the command at which point you will use your system, which our brightest and finest has made just a few slight modifications, and when you receive the signal you will see to it that your systems are locked and loaded to brand these, and others, as extremists.

It’s a critically important job that I knew right away could only have been meant for the one and only Mr. Mark “Zucker?-I barely-knew-her!” Zuckerberg himself! You’re going big places, Kid.”

Mark’s eyes light up like a little boy at Christmas getting his very first cricket rifle and gleefully exclaims,

“Gee Thanks, Mister Obama! Now can we get back home I need to get on my charging station, I mean..??my human bed where I recharge my human lithium ion batteries.”

[laugh track audience, extended drawn out laughing, clapping some with sympathetic sighing  as if feeling affectionate concern for Mark’s plight as a synth trying to interact with humans in a human world.]

“They’ll be coming for you shortly, Marky boy.”

With a dazzling wink and a smile as bright as heavens gates, he waves goodbye and meanders off into the shadows followed by Faithful Joe, marching proudly and never missing a beat, playing a dignified and almost old world sounding patriotic tune that carried with it the Spirit of 1776, the very same spirit that spurned great men to revolution in the name of Freedom, Equality, Justice and other idealogical fairytales.

Mark watches from a distance, the setting sun casting a marvelous array of varying shades of purples, reds, orange and gold dancing across the sky, illuminating the smile on his face, now glowing brighter than Lady Liberty’s eternal torch.


These words appear, large and flashing and urgent red across Mark’s field of vision.

A passerby notes his frozen, vacant but deeply contended stare that remained across his face, as he stood there motionless.

His handler and beloved wife, Priscilla, rolls a dolly up behind her husband, hoists him up and whisks him away, loading Mark’s slumbering synthetic body into their luxury, sport sedan.

She starts the car and peels out, stylishly and seductively, like a wanna-be Charlie’s Angel. with the windows down and the whipping wind blowing her hair wildly across the golden chestnut colored skin on her face as she brushes her choppy bangs away from her eyes.

She lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag and exhales with a sigh. If you look closely you can see a very small barely noticeable smile form along the furthest reaching lines of her lips while the rest of her face remains concealed by oversized, dark sunglasses. No longer caring about the messy bangs for they only distort her vision just slightly and nowhere near as much that it would impair her driving.

“Everybody Wants To Rule The World” by Tears For Fears begins to play from the car stereo as the camera pans out to a birds eye view seeing her drive off out of an abandoned industrial warehouse complex.

/end scene
Wow man, great avatar, black and white photos are so timeless and classic.

I am just sitting back with my morning coffee trying to wake up...

I am stoked to read this and even more stoked that you thought to come and share it with us.
I'm so glad you've decided to take up creative writing...

You were so meant to do this. And all kinds of writing whether it's fiction or not.

So proud of you.
Lmao holy fuck man!!!

This shit took me for a fucking left turn!!!


You know what though man...

I get shit tons of Native American vibes when I'm reading this.

Sooo much Native American energy surrounding you.
So random but so strong.
This "story" is fuckin' crazy...

Reminds me of a dream I had once.

Wonder if I could find the actual text of the dream.


I know I have it saved, so let me try and find it.


I found it.

I usually don't share my dreams, especially verbatim, but I'll try and see what I can share of this one.

The imperfect grammar etc. is due to the fact that I immediately recount my dreams as soon as I wake up and sometimes it's in shorthand.

Quote:June 2015

Part of a bigger dream about kids and lots of magic. WH was on fire. Lots of mad people around outside. Pres. (Obama), myself and other men (white and black) went into this very small dark wood room that looked like a restaurant booth. I ask what are we doing, we should be getting out. They look at eachother like should we tell her? They say nah. We're seated looking out the window at lots of angry people around the fire. Suddenly I become woozy... we all fall into a woozy sleep and then start to wake back up. The room feels like it's wobbling. I look back out the window and it looks like we're whirling around in space (purple nebula). Then they say where should we go, and they decide Nebraska or Nevada (not sure which). So we go woozy again and then wake up and step out into a warehouse looking building. At first I thought there were only 3 or 4 men, but then a few more men came around the corner in the area of the building we were standing and sitting around in. They appeared to be resting momentarily from the journey, and some of them were seated on a wood palette. They looked at me like I was a bit crazy, and it was clear that the spacefaring booth was no surprise to them, yet I was reeling from the adventure.
(07-17-2021, 12:25 PM)Mister Obvious Wrote: Lmao holy fuck man!!!

This shit took me for a fucking left turn!!!



Hahahaha heck yeah, it does get pretty wild doesn’t it? I’ve never really tried to write short stories or ‘scenes’ as I see them unfold in my head and usually been at a loss at even how I want to word and describe these sorts of scenes as I see them so I’m curious how the progression and unfolding played out for you as the one reading it. From the sound of it, like gangbusters, I take it? You mentioned that other bit about grammar in your last comment about your dream and that’s always my thing, I feel like my grammar isn’t that great and sometimes I write more I guess like a script? Cross between novel type styling and screenplay sort of writing like you would to describe camera angles or stage directions etc I don’t know. ?‍♂️ But you got a kick out of it huh?  Big Grin
Yeah absolutely, and I prefer the screenplay format...

For me, it's easier.

I see the story...

So I can describe what I see, but coming up with new stuff, or the finer details, not really my forte.

That's why all my stories remain unfinished, except for the beginnings, some details/scenes, and the endings.

Really, technically, they ARE finished. But not presentable in a book or even short story format, really.

Up to the reader to enjoy the story/idea in the first place, then fill in the blanks how they see fit if they want.

At least that's what helps me sleep at night knowing I've never written a full story (barring one or two very short stories)...

One of my (details-wise unfinished) stories was a mega twisted '50 Shades'-esque kinda tale that I'd love to see be made into a movie someday... but it would be way too hardcore, and I guess it really couldn't be made into a movie without pissing off a whole lot of people.
The one that should be made into a movie is I Fed The Devil...


There's no warped twisted sexual shit in it, it's just (I feel) a really cool story.
Thing is, the reason I can't come up with more scenes is because the universe gives me these stories in visions and they don't even come from me in the first place. So at least I can make sense of it that way.
Nice avatar, man!

I enjoy your visual storytelling style, it's very cinematic. Thanks for having the balls to share your stuff.
(07-17-2021, 01:53 PM)Atma Wrote: Nice avatar, man!

I enjoy your visual storytelling style, it's very cinematic. Thanks for having the balls to share your stuff.

You’re very welcome! Thank you so much for taking the time to read it!

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