Raconte-Moi Une Histoire
Posted: Thu Sep 26, 2019 6:49 am
((Michael continued from Devil Like Me))
A figure wearing a white, hooded robe walked into the room. The figure held a pistol in its right hand. It sat down on a chair, facing the camera.
"Boo, I'm a ghost." it said, its voice deadpan.
It took the hood off, revealing the face of a teenage boy. He was gaunt, with high, thin cheekbones, and sunken eyes. He wore rectangular glasses, and if one looked closely, they could see his pupils were dilated by an abnormally large amount. He had blond hair, styled in a manner that was popular with young people at the time. He looked up at the camera.
"Hi." he said. He looked down at the ground and then back up at the camera. "My name is -" he paused. "- my name was Michael Froese. I was born on August 7th, 2000, in San Francisco. In the summer of 2013, my family moved to Chattanooga. I wanted to be a marine biologist. I'm dead. I mean, to me I'm not dead, but by the time you see this I'll be dead, so... I'm dead. Chances are I'm dead. I dunno, it's like Schrodinger's Michael. I'm -" he closed his eyes and inhaled. When he opened his eyes, they were watery. "- I'm losing it. I'm going crazy. I've been watching myself go insane and I can tell it's happening and it just... it just hurts. It's the worst thing I've ever experienced. I just - I've got a lot I need to get off my chest, and I - I need to do it while I still can. I need to do it before I'm completely gone."
He paused for a few seconds, idly kicking the ground with his left foot.
"I... I think, maybe I've already lost it. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who I am. I just... I keep doing things and I don't know why I'm doing them and... and it's like there's multiple versions of me swirling around in my head and I don't -" His face contorted. He was openly weeping now. He took his glasses off. "- I don't know what's real. I don't know what's real. I love everyone so much and it hurts so fucking much and - and at the same time I just -" his teeth clenched. "- I just want to hurt people and I - it's scary. I just wanted everyone to be okay. That's all I ever wanted and it's - it's not - we're all dead and I - it's like the closest thing in this place a person can be to okay is dead and I - " his voice broke. He slumped forwards, no longer looking into the camera. He stared at a blue band around his left wrist. "- I miss her. I miss her. I just miss her. I miss her so fucking much and I just want her to be okay and it hurts - it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it never goes away and I keep telling myself I'm over it but it doesn't go away and it just burns inside and it just burns inside until there isn't anything left to burn and - and I have nothing left to burn but myself. I have nothing left to burn. I'm gone. I'm just gone. I don't - I can't exist without it hurting and - we're all broken. Everybody still alive is broken. The ones who died on the first day were the lucky ones. They died before they could - before they could find themselves. Before they found out what kind of person they really were. We're all bad people. We're all bad people and - and we're all good people. We're all people. We're all just trying our best. We're all people and none of you care and we're just names to you but we're not just names we're people and we all had lives and none of you care. None of you care. None of this matters. None of this ever mattered. Nobody makes it out. We're all fucked. We're all broken. There's nothing to save. There's nothing to save. Palliative kill. I just want to matter. I just wanted to matter to someone. Darlene Silva killed so many people. She killed Beryl and she killed me and she killed Nick and she killed Jeremiah and Nia and Alexander and Camila and she doesn't even know it and I'm the only person who even knows she exists and - I'm going to kill her. I want her to hurt. I want to hurt her. None of this matters. Good and bad - all roads lead to Rome and I just - it hurts too much to be a good person."
He seemed to calm a bit.
"I'm gonna fuck shit up. I'm gonna burn everything. I'm gonna burn everything. I'm gonna tear this shit apart. I'm gonna have fun and I'm gonna be selfish and I'm gonna live for myself. That's how you die happy here. I'm gonna help people be selfish and I'm gonna be selfish. I'm gonna help people go crazy. I'm already pretty good at it."
He put his glasses back on, looked back up at the camera, and grinned.
"That was nice. Felt nice."
He cracked his knuckles and put the hood back on.
"Glad I finally got that out."
He stood up and left the room.
((Michael continued in Dystopia))
A figure wearing a white, hooded robe walked into the room. The figure held a pistol in its right hand. It sat down on a chair, facing the camera.
"Boo, I'm a ghost." it said, its voice deadpan.
It took the hood off, revealing the face of a teenage boy. He was gaunt, with high, thin cheekbones, and sunken eyes. He wore rectangular glasses, and if one looked closely, they could see his pupils were dilated by an abnormally large amount. He had blond hair, styled in a manner that was popular with young people at the time. He looked up at the camera.
"Hi." he said. He looked down at the ground and then back up at the camera. "My name is -" he paused. "- my name was Michael Froese. I was born on August 7th, 2000, in San Francisco. In the summer of 2013, my family moved to Chattanooga. I wanted to be a marine biologist. I'm dead. I mean, to me I'm not dead, but by the time you see this I'll be dead, so... I'm dead. Chances are I'm dead. I dunno, it's like Schrodinger's Michael. I'm -" he closed his eyes and inhaled. When he opened his eyes, they were watery. "- I'm losing it. I'm going crazy. I've been watching myself go insane and I can tell it's happening and it just... it just hurts. It's the worst thing I've ever experienced. I just - I've got a lot I need to get off my chest, and I - I need to do it while I still can. I need to do it before I'm completely gone."
He paused for a few seconds, idly kicking the ground with his left foot.
"I... I think, maybe I've already lost it. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who I am. I just... I keep doing things and I don't know why I'm doing them and... and it's like there's multiple versions of me swirling around in my head and I don't -" His face contorted. He was openly weeping now. He took his glasses off. "- I don't know what's real. I don't know what's real. I love everyone so much and it hurts so fucking much and - and at the same time I just -" his teeth clenched. "- I just want to hurt people and I - it's scary. I just wanted everyone to be okay. That's all I ever wanted and it's - it's not - we're all dead and I - it's like the closest thing in this place a person can be to okay is dead and I - " his voice broke. He slumped forwards, no longer looking into the camera. He stared at a blue band around his left wrist. "- I miss her. I miss her. I just miss her. I miss her so fucking much and I just want her to be okay and it hurts - it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it never goes away and I keep telling myself I'm over it but it doesn't go away and it just burns inside and it just burns inside until there isn't anything left to burn and - and I have nothing left to burn but myself. I have nothing left to burn. I'm gone. I'm just gone. I don't - I can't exist without it hurting and - we're all broken. Everybody still alive is broken. The ones who died on the first day were the lucky ones. They died before they could - before they could find themselves. Before they found out what kind of person they really were. We're all bad people. We're all bad people and - and we're all good people. We're all people. We're all just trying our best. We're all people and none of you care and we're just names to you but we're not just names we're people and we all had lives and none of you care. None of you care. None of this matters. None of this ever mattered. Nobody makes it out. We're all fucked. We're all broken. There's nothing to save. There's nothing to save. Palliative kill. I just want to matter. I just wanted to matter to someone. Darlene Silva killed so many people. She killed Beryl and she killed me and she killed Nick and she killed Jeremiah and Nia and Alexander and Camila and she doesn't even know it and I'm the only person who even knows she exists and - I'm going to kill her. I want her to hurt. I want to hurt her. None of this matters. Good and bad - all roads lead to Rome and I just - it hurts too much to be a good person."
He seemed to calm a bit.
"I'm gonna fuck shit up. I'm gonna burn everything. I'm gonna burn everything. I'm gonna tear this shit apart. I'm gonna have fun and I'm gonna be selfish and I'm gonna live for myself. That's how you die happy here. I'm gonna help people be selfish and I'm gonna be selfish. I'm gonna help people go crazy. I'm already pretty good at it."
He put his glasses back on, looked back up at the camera, and grinned.
"That was nice. Felt nice."
He cracked his knuckles and put the hood back on.
"Glad I finally got that out."
He stood up and left the room.
((Michael continued in Dystopia))