rebornratwithapen
rebornratwithapen
Oh god the Rat picked up a Pen
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rebornratwithapen · 4 months ago
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Creative Writing Class Week 6 Prompt: Instruction Manual
Prompt: "Write a story or poem as a 'how to,' or instructional manual, employing a step-by-step method, such as 'How to Know If You’re Enlightened.' Or 'Ten Steps to Losing your Mind.' Or try to weave the two topics into an instructional piece. i.e. In Susan Carol Hauser’s Sugartime she explains the steps involved in gathering maple syrup while weaving in meditations on life and nature."
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How To Stop Being Insane
So you want to stop being insane. Well, first you must determine whether or not you’re insane in the first place. But how do you do that?
Um…I…actually have no idea. To tell you the truth, I might actually be insane as well. I am the last person who should be giving this advice. But indulge me and allow me to try.
Let’s see…ah…OK.
Step One: Look in the mirror. Look deep into your eyes. Woah, not that deep. Just a little deep. Right…there. Keep it there.
Step Two: Take a sort of mental picture of how you look right now. How do you do that? Hell if I know. Just…try. Do you have your phone? Oh, wait, you could’ve just used that instead of the mirror. Sorry. But, yeah, your phone. Just keep that face, open up the camera app, and…there! Now…
Step Three: Look at that picture you took. Really dissect it. Your baggy eyes, your frizzy hair, your…what is that on your nose? A pimple? It looks worse. You should see a doctor. You could die.
What? What did I say? Oh, right. Sorry. Yeah. The picture. Um…you look…good? Sort of? You look…well, tired. How much sleep did you get last night? There’s a fine line between insanity and exhaustion…I think. I did know this guy once who got addicted to meth, and he…oh, right. Next step. Uh…I…
Step Four? How…how does one measure insanity? Was that guy insane because he was on meth or did the meth make him insane? Or was…what do you mean that means the same thing? No, it doesn’t! Either he was insane because he was on meth or the meth made him insane! Or…I don’t know! It doesn’t even matter! He might’ve been insane already! That was my point, right?! Are people born insane or does something have to trigger it? And if so, what triggers it?!
Step Four?! Will you be patient?! I can’t think about the stupid fucking instructions right now! I need to…look. Just…be quiet. For one second…oh, you’re just reading. Right. Well, uh…keep being quiet. You’re doing great.
Actually, fuck it. No. I can’t take all this quiet. Scream. Don’t worry about who hears. That’s your next fucking instruction.
You didn’t do it. See? Now you know what it’s like. Do you know how many screams I’ve swallowed? Do you know how many times I think about popping my eyeballs with knives? Do you know how many people I once knew pretend I don’t exist? No. But now you’ve experienced just a fraction of that. And it helps. A little.
Step Five: Realize that people need very little reason to call you insane. You could just scream one day and people would never forget it. They would stare at you, venomous words in their eyes, but never say anything. Until they would. And they would never let you explain yourself. Because if you’re insane, what do you know? You might as well be a puppet with tangled strings.
But then again, maybe you are insane. Even if you’re not, you’re still treated as though you are. So the solution is the same either way.
And that brings us to Step Six: Decide that there must be a way to rid yourself of this ancient curse. There must be a way to take those venomous words out of their eyes and blink them out of existence. There must be a way to stop being insane.
So you want to stop being insane.
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rebornratwithapen · 4 months ago
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Terry the Government Pidgeon
Inspired by a conversation I had with a friend about conspiracy theories.
Around 879 Words.
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Terry is a Pigeon.
Terry is not supposed to know that he’s a Pigeon. Because really he isn’t.
Terry is a Government controlled espionage device. His job is to watch out for the people below him and observe. The round cameras in his eyes capture every movement in his line of sight, and the lanky transmitter in his tail transmit the information to the nearest Observatorium as they’re called, for data analysis.
On a Powerline you can see seven Pigeons, and Terry is always the second Pigeon from the right. He shouldn’t have a preference, and he doesn’t know why he has this preference. Terry is a weird fella in that regard. Considering the wiring in his body, he shouldn’t feel anything. But anytime he sees a child fall over, a human child, he feels a small tinge of sympathy. Anytime he sees someone helping a grandma cross the street, he feels happy, and anytime he hears someone talk about their newly polished car, he orchestrates a full on attack onto the car for shits and giggles.
He has been issued a callback for days. The Observatorium doesn’t like Terry acting out. They don’t like his Attacks on civilian cars and his antics in the city, and they’ve noticed him disobeying orders. But for some reason, Terry resisted the callback. This felt right. More than right. Robotic Surveillance Cameras shouldn’t have a concept of freedom, but if they had, Terry would fight for it until his very shutdown.
Terry knew he was all alone with his train of thoughts. Approaching other Pidgeons didn’t do much. They didn’t respond to his chirping. They chirped back at him, but without meaning, without substance to their words. It felt lonely. Terry felt lonely. His existence felt like it didn’t have any meaning. So what if he disappeared for good? He’s disposable. Just a Robot. Just a Pigeon.
The pigeons had government orders to act scarcy around humans, so they don’t get caught. So no one dissects them and realizes their true nature. Terry obeyed the order. Terry obeyed the order, until he didn’t anymore.
In this loud and busy city, with skyscrapers towering around every corner and cars polluting the streets with the smell of fuel, was a small, secluded park. And in this park was this very sweet boy, couldn’t be more than twenty years old, who came out around noon to feed the pigeons. Of course the pigeons didn’t need the food but they “Ate” it nonetheless, picking it off the ground to satisfy the boy. Terry always thought the boy looked melancholic against the happy facade of the city, sitting all by himself on the bench in silene, leaned forward against his own knees, in his hands a bag of bird food as he watched the Pigeons pick it off the ground.
Maybe… Maybe he was lonely too?
The thought of another being being lonely, somehow scarred Terry. He thought of how to make the boy feel better. He comes all alone every afternoon just to feed some robots that don’t need the food, he’s wasting his money! Terry picks up some of the bird food and waddles over to the boy. The boy on the bench notices the bird walking over to him, his blue eyes now focused on the gray creature before him. Terry spits out the food, before nudging it with his beak towards the boy.
“Look, I’m taking care of you, I’m also giving you food!” he chirps, fully aware that not a single soul could understand him.
The boy looks down at the bird food with a small smile. “No no, It’s for you. I don’t eat this kind of thing.”
Terry still felt a little bad however. He could see the boy clearly in thought, his eyes slightly glossy, hair messy, Terry observed enough humans in his time to know what a sad one looks like. The blue eyes boy fit the description to 87.3%. What do people do to cheer each other up? Terry searched through his recorded memories… hugs. Physical contact! Eureka!
With a swift motion, Terry opens his wings fluttering up onto the bench, surprising the boy who physically shuddered from the pigeons motion, now looking at the creature wide eyed. This was the type of action geese usually performed before snatching your fingers. But terry just waddled over to terry, before plopping his head onto the boys thigh. Like dogs do. Pigeons don’t do that usually.
Pigeons don’t do this.
They don’t try to make humans happy.
And yet Terry felt fullfilled when he saw the boys sadness dissapear as he cracked up laughing, his eyes now watering from joy and not sorrow.
If Terry’s battery were to run out this very second, he would shut down happily, knowing he made the boy happy.
And this begs the quetion…
Is Terry really a Robot?
Or is he more?
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rebornratwithapen · 4 months ago
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Sir Whiskers
By HybidDH
Art by ghosty_entity https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21
Sir Franklin Whiskers was a cat most refined,
With a coat so pristine, meticulously lined.
A monocle perched on his dignified face,
And a little silk bow—always tied, just in case.
He’d take his tea at precisely four,
Sitting upright, with one polished paw.
And heaven forbid if his saucer was chipped,
For his tail would twitch, and his whiskers, quite miffed.
Sir Franklin believed all mice were gauche,
Far too unrefined, undeniably proche.
He’d chase one on Tuesdays, but only in jest—
“You can’t seriously think I’d dirty my vest?”
Once, he heard Rover, that mutt from next door,
Scratching and howling—a true eyesore!
Sir Franklin just sighed, with a delicate yawn,
“Oh, the rabble that dare step on my lawn.”
On Sundays, he’d stroll through the garden, you see,
In a top hat he’d borrowed from Lord McBee.
And if anyone dared snicker, he’d toss them a glare—
For Sir Franklin had dignity, style, and flair.
So here’s to the gentlest, poshest of cats,
With silk in his stride and a disdain for rats.
For all who have seen him must say with delight,
“That Sir Franklin’s got more manners than most I’ve met tonight!”
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