Because I am lazy to write just about anything, I think I will put up some stuff I had written in the past. I have a file labelled "Tittle-tattle tales for all". I started it in Primary School and ended it in Secondary two. I wrote stories in the past before giving up. No talent in it whatsoever so screw it. I am also not one of those who derive much pleasure in writing. Sure, it's fun. But it's too bleeding tedious. So till now, I remain a voracious reader and a non-existent writer.
Here is a story I wrote in the past. Anytime I feel lazy, I will just update this story. Copy and pasting is infinitely simpler. Heh. I did realised I seemed to have predicted my own results. Dayum.
Chapter 1: The meeting
Reality was warped. People might have experienced a metaphorical
sense of warping, but for me, it was not at all metaphorical. It was a
cold bite into my consciousmess. My world had changed and no one could
help me.
It started in the campus. I am 21, a university freshman starting on
applied physics. It was not a course that had interested me; it just had
one of the lowest applicable score required to enter. I am not a
hardworking student nor even a meandering one. I am slothlike and
procrastination was my second favourite word(favourite being destiny,
because with destiny, you don't need to work with a purpose). And that
was what I hated alongside happiness. Purpose. Not general Purpose but
Purpose in its higher form. I watched Purposeful people eat and sleep,
study and shit, obtaining what they had wanted with their life. And I
meander, neither studying my heart out nor playing the day off. I was an
In-Between. Aimless and Purposeless. This mindset to life landed me in
theoretical physics. Perhaps, in another country, with different
parents, I might have studied harder. Perhaps physics in MIT. Right now,
theoretical physics was a joke in my nation. Pragmatic as my country
is, accountancy, law and architecture were what held dominance. They
were the highly sought after industries, the ones with all the required
As'.
I thought all these as I wandered into the university hall.
"Late I see. It's your first day too," a cold stare from the lecturer.
I quickly sat. To my left, a man with specs. Geeky and freckled, he
was fiddling with his phone. On my right was another male listening
attentively. I groaned. Physics was male-dominated, depriving me of any
chance of flirting. Someone grabbed my leg. I started at the hand enclosing my ankle,
pulling away a little. The hand was petite, small and deprived of any
watch. The owner sat in front and grinned at me. She scribbled on a
piece of paper and tossed it to me.
Purplexed, I caught it.
"Greetings. How do you feel about possibilities?"
I thought for awhile, then replied.
"Irritating. They diminish the importance of reality."
And that hour passed as followed.
"How so?"
"Reality is acted upon with information. Possibility is corrupted
information, decreasing the chance of facing reality properly. Eg. I was
told I was smart. Smart people around me got what they want. I wanted
psychology. I got physics."
"So you are bragging now. And that example is pretty irrelevant, is it not?"
"Not really. I am trying to prove my point. The guy wanting
psychology might not be me. Hence, I might not be bragging. But the
possibility of me bragging has arose and this will distort the reality
of who I am to you."
At this the girl laughed and the professor looked up towards us, irritated.
"You. Laughing girl." he squinted at the white paper-filled name. "Give me in any two words, the nature of quantum mechanics."
"Possible realities."
Chapter 2: The bet
I chomped on a piece of meat, thinking about the girl. She was
interesting and pretty. Yes, she's pretty. I couldn't not note her
looks. They were there, good looks being inherent, me being a male. I
had to check her out. I finished my food and got up. A piece of paper stuck under my plate.The grease had stuck the paper on the table. I grimaced and pluck it out
The Bet.
Aim: To cause reality to be distorted around you
Distortion cannot be proved. It's only an opinion you strongly believe in.
The Victory; Obtained when you...
At this, the paper was torn.
I looked around me but I couldn't find the girl. I understood. It's a
test. And a prank. I indulged in these regularly myself. Hence I knew
the most difficult component: finding the audience. Once, I created a
stunning mystery in primary school, hoping someone would try his or her
hands at it. But they never did. I solved the mystery I created myself
and there is never fun in that. They are known formally as Alternate
Reality Game and the creators, Game masters. Or Puppeteers. Ironically,
this one that have been given to me was more of a experiment, an
Alternate Reality Game probing the perception of the player pertaining
to an alternate reality. Or so I thought.
It was a test, I concluded. The first step to solve it was also the
one least used in puzzle-solving. Finding the source of the puzzle. The
girl, or course. I looked at the paper. It was in a mottled colour.
Coloured papers were not found in our university's bookshop. They were
only sold in specialised shops. It was torn. On purpose, no less. To
incite curiosity? Or was there a deeper meaning. To ARQ old hands like
me, the fastest way in solving the puzzle is for tge source to reveal
hidden information in accident. Sure, it was dirty, but the creator of
the puzzle wasn't much good if any information flow pertaining to the
puzzle wasn't controlled by him or her.
Same time the next day. I walked into the lecture hall, keeping my
eyes peeled. The hall was packed but at least pretty girls stood out
here. I scanned rows after rows, keeping in mind her petite size. Her size would, ironically, cause her to stand out. But try as I might, I couldn't find her. This is some elaborate puzzle. I sat down as the lecture started and started thinking.
If I were to create a sense of a warped world surrounding an individual, how do I go about it?
One obvious way would be drugs. LSD, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide could do it, but I doubt the girl had it. It had to be something that introduce an impossible puzzle into everyday life. Something so hard to explain it can only be staged. Yet, the difficulty in staging such an event would cause the individual to doubt the existence of the motive. It was, to me, an impossible challenge. And to challenge me. I was experienced in this; and most disadvantageous to the girl, I was a hardened skeptic and realist.
It's impossible. I fingered the paper in my pocket as the professor droned on. Impossible. The professor seemed to agree with me as he nodded up and down.
