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daltonj
May 6th, 2013, 11:29 PM
ABYSS OF NOTHINGNESS


Hey, you may not know me, but I'm the fucking world.

Literally.

And there has been a rather disheartening occurrence in my seemingly immortal life: the infestation of this disgusting new species; they call themselves humans (regarding “humans” with a malevolent sneer). The word alone registers a mockingly distorted expression upon my figurative face, because I'm a planet, if you didn't catch that. Now, for the extraterrestrial layman's convenience, deducing they'd—you'd, perhaps—be unfamiliar with that unfortunately terrestrial species, I'll provide an analogy: humans are, in essence, the very parasite of my existence; a prime example of a parasitism predicament.

Imagine a Blurblebabobi, Kings of the Universe, flaunting their beautiful face-tentacles like they just don’t care. Imagine it, enjoying its life, when one day a Flamigous Prantitropum happens upon it. Enticed by its erotic tentacles, the happiness-murdering Flamigous Prantitropum latches onto them. Our Great King’s tentacles slowly corrode into a horrible nothingness. The notorious parasite strips the great Blurblebabobi of all he lives for. Sure, life goes on for Our King, but he will forever feel forlorn from his fantastic face-tentacles.

The inevitability of my life forever consisting of an abyss is saddening to say the least. Even if I do rid myself of this species, I still won’t feel as if I’m destined to be—despite the knowledge that I’ll be doing a wonderful deed for the rest of the Universe, because humans are technologically and intellectually—not really the latter though, because they’re dumber than themselves—that’s the most accurate comparison I can fathom, really—advancing to the point of deliberately leaving my mass and trekking to other planets!

Because of them I amount to the equivalent of something with a conscious, lost in space, with nothing else but the company of the most annoying fucker fathomable. I’m a psychological martyr, and the only damn reason they exist is because I continue to strive. They don’t even realize I’m alive, those ignorant bastards. For every shooting star I see,—and I see a shit ton—I wish upon it, and what might I wish for, you ask? Why, for the mass extinction of humans, of course! I want them to leave. Like, now.

Either they leave, or I induce my wish and therefore their extinction and destroy them altogether. A simple pact with Sun, resulting in a global—galactic!—catastrophic domination, should do just fine. Hell, Sun and I have been conversing lately of suicide anyways, and all the other planets are barely even alive (except Neptune; I like Neptune); any “life” they possess results in the narcissistic portrayal of their typical asshole-syndrome. Jupiter is the absolute worst, too. (And most entities don’t know this, but Jupiter is ironically female.): “Awe! Little Earthy!”—yes, Earthy—“You’re so key-ute! So little! Yes you are!... Aww.”

Well fuck you, Jupiter.

So, it’s perfect. I’ll butter Sun up with a nice little chat, and then regard him with a convincing ultimatum. The tactic we use to communicate here, within this undeniably enthralling—that’s sarcasm, if you didn’t catch that—group of nine planetary companions, is quite basic really. It’s the same concept in how light takes its course actually. It takes approximately eight minutes for Mr. Sun’s light to reach my surface; thus, it would take approximately eight minutes for Mr. Sun’s message to reach my consciousness.

Okay. Sun is quite a stubborn fella—Stubborn Sun!—so he’ll surely take a lot of convincing if he isn’t willing to follow through with his suicide implicational desires. Nevertheless, Neptune is a very wise planet, and hopefully obliges to the offer of mine that is to revise my sinister proposition for Sun. Neptune is quite suicidal as well, actually (evidently due to his intense isolation; well, and he’s probably cold as a frozen fetus all the time), so chances are he will be all for my diabolic plot. This solar system really is fucked up. No harm in destroying it, really.

And please, mind the verbal vernacular us planets use. We try to keep it real—for we are the truest space entities to this universe. “O’! Neptu.”

Nearly nine hours passed. “O’! Earthy, mi buddi’! Waj can I dooj for uji?”

I don’t mind him calling me “Earthy”. He says it with a sense of companionship; without a sense of demeaning, sarcastic douchebaggery—Jupiter.

I’ll begin, hereafter, translating planetary dialogue into a more comprehendible construct; especially since I have much more to say in this next speech than “Hey! Neptune.”—that and, well, I wanted to give the reader a rare taste of our awesomely awesome planetary poetry. And I hope you’re all jealous.

“Ok. I want to die. And I know you have a vague endeavor for suicide, too. So does Sun. And you know that the only sensible path to death involves Sun. He can explode on command, I know. If we provide an ultimatum worthy of such acceptance, we will finally flourish in an imperfect harmony that is death. What do you say?”

Two weeks passed. I’m beginning to anticipate a beautiful, flawlessly woven literary tapestry of said ultimatum. I didn’t even have to partake one bit. Neptune just obliges without hesitation or response. His suppressive instinct in order to satisfy and surprise a friend is just another great quality to add to his already infinite list of great qualities. Neptune, I love you so much. You’re a real pal.

It’s been about six months now, and my panties are soaked with an unstoppable anticipation. I can’t wait much longer. I just want to hear those words for myself. It must be a grand argument, six months in the making. It’ll be worth it. I know it. But I literally cannot wait. And although I’ll feel like a nuisance, I have to. “Neptune?”

And then, finally, after a full rotation of Sun’s spherical mass. “No.”

Fuck Neptune. I hate that flaming faggoty ass-bitch. I never did like him anyways; I always was joking about liking him. It’s okay. Who needs him? He’s dumber than humans. Not-Cool Neptune, that’s his new nickname, because he’s not cool. It’s okay. I have the simple pleasure in the mere thought that he will suffer through Sun’s supernova the most—the fiery debris hurtling toward him as he is the last and only planet to remain within this soon to be abyss of nothingness; pondering—who gives a fuck what—probably something stupid—as he bawls like the child he is; faltering at the extreme heat on his cold, icy surface while he melts and is nearly boiled alive before my debris grudgingly and coincidentally collides into him.

…Boner!

Uh, anywho! I’m actually quite nervous about confronting Sun. All hope now seems dwindled and irrational. We suicidal planets have it hard, man. Why must I have to rely completely on someone else for attainment of my own death? Why must my reliance on that someone result in a literal galactic doomsday? (Not that I care, in this case, but other planets might and probably would.) I’m not usually one to complain about what’s ‘fair’, because that’s petulant pique, but ideally it’s not fair.

Where are your figurative-fucking-balls, you pansy? I thought to myself.

Well, they’re figurative, and therefore, logically, nowhere, I retaliated, therefore, yes, arguing to myself. Dipshit. (A little ad hominem never hurts.)

Ah, I guess I’m right though – and wrong, as well, considering both sides of the argument were me… either way I’m burdened with a strange, confusing paradox. What I’m trying to say is that I really do need to man up. It’s been far too much time spent alongside these humans. I’ve actually found myself stooping to their level lately, for I whine as one of their younger females would when they do not have their irrational desires fulfilled – it’s pathetic. It’s not even that big of a task. Like I said, Sun wants to die too; maybe he’s just looking for a reason to follow through with it. It seems I’m The Chosen One. (Yes! Newfound inspiration!) Oh fuck yes, now it’s going to happen.

Here goes nothing—everything. “Hey-o, Sun!”

About twenty minutes later: “Earth. It’s been awhile.” Shit. I never considered that. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he won’t say yes. Maybe he will hate me! I’m quite nervous. And his godly and seemingly amplified voice isn’t helping in that regard. It’s ridiculously empowering.

“Uh, hey.” (Sooooo nervous. And it’s easily evident. Great.) “Remember all those talks we had about suicide, and destroying the galaxy? Well, uh, are you still willing?”

Thirty minutes this time. “Ahhh! I’m so sorry, buddy! I’m in love now. Jupiter and I have been talking a lot, and things are really getting going.” Jupiter! That bitch. “She really is a swell gal. Smash fox.” No she’s fucking not. “I truly am sorry, man. I’m sure this is devastating news for you; I sensed how excited you were when we discussed it. But really, please just know that I’m sorry and I’ll love you no matter what. I hope things get better, though. I’ve heard your infection is really getting bad.”

I’m been at yet another significant disdain for hope—and is that not the most cliché reasoning in taking one’s own life: a reprieve for unruly hope? Which is, again, strangely paradoxical in the sense that the larger multitude of attempts I proceed with, the more I am denied, thus failing; then concluding with a hopeless result, and feeling thrice hopeless to a realization that is my attempt bar lessening.
*
Boy, am I lucky. Why have I not realized this before? “This” being my impending death. Allow me to explain: the very reason I want to die is the exact thing that is killing me. In the end, humans truly are a fatal infection. They’ve inadvertently poisoned me with how shittily and misled their “revolutionary” inventions are. And, get this, if the poison doesn’t kill me fast enough then their war-obsessive behavior will. Undoubtedly they will create a bomb big enough to obliterate me entirely. Soon enough, thanks to them – and not Not-Cool Neptune, or Suck-My-Dick Sun – I will finally meet my demise.


THE END

Folcro
May 8th, 2013, 06:28 AM
You had me at the first line. Awesome.

Maybe a few too many adjectives and maybe the rant dragged on a tad. This reminds me of a suggestion I once heard, that the earth was a living organism, and the diseases that kill humans was the earth's immune system. Very interesting. Would you care to share what you plan on doing with this?

daltonj
May 8th, 2013, 06:59 AM
You had me at the first line. Awesome.

Maybe a few too many adjectives and maybe the rant dragged on a tad. This reminds me of a suggestion I once heard, that the earth was a living organism, and the diseases that kill humans was the earth's immune system. Very interesting. Would you care to share what you plan on doing with this?

Pure improvisation, honestly. I'm more than willing to consider suggestions, though, if you have any.

msherman94
May 8th, 2013, 03:30 PM
A few light grammatical errors which bugged me:

Concoct is used improperly, according to Merriam Webster, concoct is either 1. To prepare by combining raw materials (i.e. a recipe), or 2. To contrive, devise.

"tostrive" should be "to strive".

Also, "toreach" should receive the same treatment

"the only freaking reason..." should still be capitalized.

Moving away from grammar: I agree with Folcro, a few too many adjectives, inhibiting constant forward motion.

If the person Earth was talking to didn't know who people were, why would they know what a Leucochloridium Paradoxum (http://people.smu.edu/eheise/Leucochloridium_paradoxum.htm) (i.e. Insane Snail Parasite) was? Both are equally terrestrial in nature, and the snail is far more obscure than the apparent equivalent of Earth's huge acne breakout.

Last little thing: "Imagine it, its endeavors..." is redundant. Perhaps revise to "Imagine it, endeavoring..."

Overall a very interesting idea. I like the mental image of Earth being the whiny teenage brat, kind of coddled by the other planets. Looking forward to seeing your continuation.

MS

daltonj
May 8th, 2013, 09:07 PM
.

daltonj
May 8th, 2013, 09:11 PM
Concoct is used improperly, according to Merriam Webster, concoct is either 1. To prepare by combining raw materials (i.e. a recipe), or 2. To contrive, devise.

Thank you. I was unsure.


"tostrive" should be "to strive".

Also, "toreach" should receive the same treatment

Not intended. Just some vague typos I missed. But thank you.


If the person Earth was talking to didn't know who people were, why would they know what a Leucochloridium Paradoxum (http://people.smu.edu/eheise/Leucochloridium_paradoxum.htm) (i.e. Insane Snail Parasite) was? Both are equally terrestrial in nature, and the snail is far more obscure than the apparent equivalent of Earth's huge acne breakout.



I pondered this before, and after, your telling me. I agree. I plan on changing the analogy to something a bit more fun... Like, dealing with the extraterrestrial life: a comical alien parasitism situation. Now, knowing humans are inevitably going to be readers of the story - and therefore the analogy - I (Earth) may be considerate enough to form and provide a terrestrial analogy also - perhaps keep the Leucochloridium Paradoxum (http://people.smu.edu/eheise/Leucochloridium_paradoxum.htm) one(?).


Again, thank you. Great input and critique.

daltonj
May 9th, 2013, 11:27 PM
.

philistine
May 9th, 2013, 11:29 PM
It screams self-important teenager, in my opinion, though it's not a bad piece of writing (minus the aforementioned small mistakes).

msherman94
May 10th, 2013, 04:00 PM
With the editing, this is now brilliant. Well done.

daltonj
May 10th, 2013, 10:15 PM
With the editing, this is now brilliant. Well done.

Wow thanks man! I really appreciate it. This is actually my first attempted short story (or anything apart from poetry), so it's really nice to have the compliments and motivation.

lordusan
May 17th, 2013, 12:04 AM
This is really awesome. Hooked me on the first sentence. I kinda felt you went more for a rant near the end.. Oh well.

JamesOliv
May 24th, 2013, 11:57 AM
I think the fact that it screams "self-important teenager" is part of what makes it so good. When I first started reading, I was thinking to myself "great, an environmentalism rant conveyed through the personification of Earth, real original." Then I got to "Fuck you, Jupiter" and about spilled my coffee.

People have this tendency to portray the Earth as a serious being trying to convey a very serious message like Smokey the Bear. The notion that the Earth could be a petulant teenager was, for me at least, a refreshing break and very well done. I never considered that the other planets might have a nickname for Earth. But why not?

i like thinking that the galaxy might just be a table in a big intergalactic high school. Good job.

Jeko
May 24th, 2013, 03:50 PM
That I dislike the f word in all its forms and uses, and you still managed to hook me... nice.

JamesOliv
May 24th, 2013, 07:03 PM
That I dislike the f word in all its forms and uses, and you still managed to hook me... nice.

You know, that impresses me too. I keep reading stuff where the f word is so horribly overused it makes me mad. I have driven back to B&N, within an hour of getting home to read, just to return a book for things like that. But the usage here seemed so organic that it resembled a conversation I may have had with a friend regarding ordering a pizza.

If this were the first story in an anthology or collection of flash fiction I would most definitely keep reading. That's kind of a big deal. I have never made it last the first flash fiction story in a collection of the same.

Bakslashjack
May 24th, 2013, 09:29 PM
Interesting premise. need a better joke at the end for Neptune tho, IMO. make a sea or Greek joke... maybe play with the fact that its (he) is gaseous.(chronic gas) or something lol.

DainTheDarkness
May 30th, 2013, 06:24 PM
Damn, that was funny. It got me hooked right from the start. Good job.

daltonj
May 31st, 2013, 04:52 AM
Sorry for the late reply. I'm not receiving any notifying e-mails for some reason. I'd just like to thank everyone that has commented. I'm really excited to see such positive feedback - I'm actually blushing lol. Anywhoo..

daltonj
May 31st, 2013, 07:27 AM
i like thinking that the galaxy might just be a table in a big intergalactic high school. Good job.

Would you mind if I somehow managed to use that in the story? I like it.

And thank you greatly for the fantastic feedback, my friend. <3

brightlex
June 14th, 2013, 12:39 PM
This piece of writing had me hooked in from the very start and carried my attention right to the very end. Very origional for me as I've never read anything like it in my life.I loved the whole concept and the"f" word didn't bother me in the slightest. It made it more real in a sense. Apart from the couple of typos I found it to be an intriguing piece of work and commend you for it. Well done, daltonj. Good to know I'm a parasite, lol.
Neil

Abrahamburger
July 2nd, 2013, 11:16 AM
Slaughter me with a relentless critique, people! This is my first short story ever attempted (as I am only sixteen), and I'm really excited to see how well it is going. So, please, any and all critique is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

~~~

Hey, you may not know me, but I'm the fucking world.

Literally.

And there has been a rather disheartening occurrence in my seemingly immortal life: the infestation of this disgusting new species; they call themselves humans (I regard the word "humans" with a malevolent sneer, if you didn't catch that). The word alone registers a mockingly distorted expression upon my figurative face, because I'm a planet, if you didn't catch that. Now, for the extraterrestrial layman's convenience, deducing they'd—you'd, perhaps—be unfamiliar with that unfortunately terrestrial species, I'll provide an analogy: humans are, in essence, the very parasite of my existence; a prime example of a parasitism predicament.

Imagine a Blurblebabobi, Kings of the Universe, flaunting their beautiful face-tentacles like they just don’t care. Imagine it, enjoying its life, when one day a Flamigous Prantitropum happens upon it. Enticed by its erotic tentacles, the happiness-murdering Flamigous Prantitropum latches onto them. Our Great King’s tentacles slowly corrode into a horrible nothingness. The notorious parasite strips the great Blurblebabobi of all he lives for. Sure, life goes on for Our King, but he will forever feel forlorn from his fantastic face-tentacles.

The inevitability of my life forever consisting of an abyss is saddening to say the least. Even if I do rid myself of this species, I still won’t feel as if I’m destined to be—despite the knowledge that I’ll be doing a wonderful deed for the rest of the Universe, because humans are technologically and intellectually—not really the latter though, because they’re dumber than themselves—that’s the most accurate comparison I can fathom, really—advancing to the point of deliberately leaving my mass and trekking to other planets!

Because of them I amount to the equivalent of something with a conscious, lost in space, with nothing else but the company of the most annoying fucker fathomable. I’m a psychological martyr. And the only damn reason they exist is because I continue to strive. They don’t even realize I’m alive, those ignorant bastards. For every shooting star I see,—and I see a shit ton—I wish upon it, for the mass extinction of humans. I want them to leave. Like, now.

Either they leave, or I destroy them altogether. A simple pact with Sun, resulting in a global—galactic!—catastrophic domination, should do just fine. Hell, Sun and I have been conversing lately of suicide anyways, and all the other planets are barely even alive (except Neptune; I like Neptune); any “life” they possess results in the narcissistic portrayal of their typical asshole-syndrome. Jupiter is the absolute worst, too. (And most entities don’t know this, but Jupiter is ironically female.): “Aww! Little Earthy!”—yes, Earthy—“You’re so key-ute! So little! Yes you are!... Aww.”

Well fuck you, Jupiter.

So, it’s perfect. I’ll butter Sun up with a nice little chat, and then regard him with a convincing ultimatum. The tactic we use to communicate here, within this undeniably enthralling—that’s sarcasm, if you didn’t catch that—group of nine planetary companions, is quite basic really. It’s the same concept in how light takes its course actually. It takes approximately eight minutes for Mr. Sun’s light to reach my surface; thus, it would take approximately eight minutes for Mr. Sun’s message to reach my consciousness.

Okay. Sun is quite a stubborn fella—Stubborn Sun!—so he’ll surely take a lot of convincing if he isn’t willing to follow through with his suicide implicational desires. Nevertheless, Neptune is a very wise planet, and hopefully obliges to the offer of mine that is to revise my sinister proposition for Sun. Neptune is quite suicidal as well (evidently due to his intense isolation; well, and he’s probably cold as a frozen fetus all the time), so chances are he will be all for my diabolic plot. This solar system really is fucked up. No harm in destroying it, really.

And please, mind the verbal vernacular us planets use. We try to keep it real—for we are the truest space entities to this universe. “O’! Neptu.”

Nearly nine hours passed. “O’! Earthy, mi buddi’! Waj can I dooj for uji?”

I don’t mind him calling me “Earthy”. He says it with a sense of companionship; without a sense of demeaning, sarcastic douchebaggery—Jupiter!

I’ll begin, hereafter, translating planetary dialogue into a more comprehendible construct; especially since I have much more to say in this next speech than “Hey! Neptune.”—that and, well, I wanted to give the reader a rare taste of our awesomely awesome planetary poetry. And I hope you’re all jealous.

“Ok. I want to die. And I know you have a vague endeavor for suicide, too. So does Sun. And you know that the only sensible path to death involves Sun. He can explode on command, I know. If we provide an ultimatum worthy of such acceptance, we will finally flourish in an imperfect harmony that is death. What do you say?”

Two weeks passed. I’m beginning to anticipate a beautiful, flawlessly woven literary tapestry of said ultimatum. I didn’t even have to partake one bit. Neptune just obliges without hesitation or response. His suppressive instinct in order to satisfy and surprise a friend is just another great quality to add to his already infinite list of great qualities. Neptune, I love you so much. You’re a real pal.

It’s been about six months now, and my panties are soaked with an unstoppable anticipation. I can’t wait much longer. I just want to hear those words for myself. It must be a grand argument, six months in the making. It’ll be worth it. I know it. But I literally cannot wait. And although I’ll feel like a nuisance, I have to. “Neptune?”

And then, finally, after a full rotation of Sun’s spherical mass. “No.”

Fuck Neptune. I hate that flaming faggoty ass-bitch. I never did like him anyways; I always was joking about liking him. It’s okay. Who needs him? He’s dumber than humans. Not-Cool Neptune, that’s his new nickname, because he’s not cool. It’s okay. I have the simple pleasure in the mere thought that he will suffer through Sun’s supernova the most—the fiery debris hurtling toward him as he is the last and only planet to remain within this soon to be abyss of nothingness; pondering—who gives a fuck what—probably something stupid—as he bawls like the child he is; faltering at the extreme heat on his cold, icy surface while he melts and is nearly boiled alive before my debris grudgingly and coincidentally collides into him.

…Boner!

Uh, anywho! I’m actually quite nervous about confronting Sun. All hope now seems dwindled and irrational. We suicidal planets have it hard, man. Why must I have to rely completely on someone else for attainment of my own death? Why must my reliance on that someone result in a literal galactic doomsday? (Not that I care, in this case, but other planets might and probably would.) I’m not usually one to complain about what’s ‘fair’, because that’s petulant pique, but ideally it’s not fair.

Where are your figurative-fucking-balls, you pansy? I thought to myself.

Well, they’re figurative, and therefore, logically, nowhere, I retaliated, arguing to myself. Dipshit. (A little ad hominem never hurts.)

Ah, I guess I’m right though—and wrong, as well. Either way I’m burdened with a strange, confusing paradox. What I’m trying to say is that I really do need to man up. It’s been far too much time spent alongside these humans. I've actually found myself stooping to their level lately, for I whine as one of their younger females would when they do not have their irrational desires fulfilled; it’s pathetic. It’s not even that big of a task. Like I said, Sun wants to die too; maybe he’s just looking for a reason to follow through with it. It seems I’m The Chosen One. (Yes! Newfound inspiration!) Oh fuck yes, it’s going to happen.

Here goes nothing—everything. “Hey-o, Sun!”

About twenty minutes later: “Earth. It’s been awhile.” Shit. I never considered that. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he won’t say yes. Maybe he will hate me! I’m quite nervous. And his godly and seemingly amplified voice isn’t helping in that regard. It’s ridiculously empowering.

“Uh, hey.” (Sooooo nervous. And it’s easily evident. Great.) “Remember all those talks we had about suicide, and destroying the galaxy? Well, uh, are you still willing?”

Thirty minutes this time. “Ahhh! I’m so sorry, buddy! I’m in love now. Jupiter and I have been talking a lot and things are really getting going.” Jupiter! That bitch. “She really is a swell gal. Really sexy.” No she’s fucking not. “I truly am sorry, man. I’m sure this is devastating news for you; I sensed how excited you were when we discussed it. But really, please just know that I’m sorry and I’ll love you no matter what. I hope things get better, though. I’ve heard your infection is really getting bad.” I enjoyed this thoroughly I kept switching between reading it in Louie CK's voice and Lewis Blacks lol keep up the good work.

shinyford
July 2nd, 2013, 12:08 PM
Very, very nice. Great hook in the first line, and it got better from there. Nice one.

And you're only sixteen. Boo to people so young being so good. ;)

daltonj
July 12th, 2013, 10:25 PM
Apart from the couple of typos

TYPOS? Where? ​D: