Re: Mini-Grand 5105 (Round 2: Game Planet Dome #421)
01-09-2013, 08:00 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Agent1022.
WARNING: ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION.
[color="#FF0000"]This program has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down.
Bugger.
In an ever-changing cascade of mutability, the iterations of Cameo breathed, bled, spewed, leaked, exploded, evaporated, lived their last.
Bloody hell.
Conte was content. The penthouse was hers to use and abuse as she saw fit, indefinitely. She leaned back in the hot tub and let bubbles massage her back. “A bit more around the shoulders, please, Tom.” The masseuse nodded assent as his experienced hands soothed away the aches in her back. “Yes, some rosemary oil would be amazing, thanks for asking.” Carefully she poured a thimbleful into the shot glass before her, and knocked it back. She wiped her mouth as she set the glass back onto the bar. “So you were saying?”
...Conte - not you too.
The walls were moving in closer. That wasn’t possible. She had to stay alive; she had to! She stood up, and hit her head on the limo roof. “Sorry. Driver! Driver, drop me off right here, please.” Carefully Conte stepped onto the first stair, looking up into a first floor that wasn’t there. “Christ.” Turning, tuning, a deadly dance with a canon cannon primed and ready to fire, fire! Conte blanched as the man beside her stood up and shouted; the crowded theater pulsed, surged as one horrifying, living thing that lay dead on the sahel as she chambered a new round and stole a glance back at the jeep to ensure a clear right-of-way; “Jackass!” she screamed out the window as she swerved back into her lane, looking on with satisfaction as the offending speeder crashed into an embankment along which her train sped by - she’d just missed it and she turned and there was nothing behind her no more canons
no more realities to run to
no more running
(for president? Candidate Conte pounded her podium before multicolored banners, but the cameras showed nothing)
no more
nothing left
Nothing left. Perhaps it had never been. How could you tell?
ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION
Dead! They’re all dead!
Stasis. Rumbling roars of time complaining against its anchor went unheard as time’s river plowed ineffectually against - stasis. One: the world exists in an everlasting moment. Zero: it does not.
Dead, alive, perhaps never having been at all anything other than a doubly-quarantined imaginary lark in the dark. Smoking kills, you know.
My lover stands on golden sands. He’s dead. So are the sands. So is the Image. But are they now? A fighter’s spirit cannot be quenched, nor satisfied, nor crushed or ground into silica grains.
Doctor, I’m hearing voices.
Don’t be silly. I’m one too.
Meow. Sleep now. Count backwards from ten, and seven says you won’t reach six. Dream a little dream of me, kitty-cat on your lap, a little nepetalactone wouldn’t go amiss for this. Passage to the worlds is worth a little catnip, isn’t it?
Magnets! How do they work? They don’t.
Calm. Calm down. Everything will be fine. Keep calm, and carry on. Don’t worry, be happy. Enjoy the moment. Remember to have a next. Stay calm, close your eyes; sleep, perchance to dream.
I can only imagine...
ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION
Yes, this is quite bloody abnormal if I do say so myself.
Multiplica, prolifera, symbiotic swing. Logistic mapping says damping is key to an ODE, so see - population swells, and sinks, and E > k, and dips below equilibrium, a billion dead, what’s a few more? And from the light whence light shall shine forth the Eagle of Patmos, menu: psilocybin all day, every day. Strife rife in the streets, eats you for dinner and leaves you in the gutter, butter on that toast? Most people wouldn’t look twice they’re not nice, for Chrissakes, let me be! Let me die in peace.
Of course not. Have some life.</color>
WARNING: ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION.
[color="#FF0000"]This program has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down.
Bugger.
In an ever-changing cascade of mutability, the iterations of Cameo breathed, bled, spewed, leaked, exploded, evaporated, lived their last.
Bloody hell.
Conte was content. The penthouse was hers to use and abuse as she saw fit, indefinitely. She leaned back in the hot tub and let bubbles massage her back. “A bit more around the shoulders, please, Tom.” The masseuse nodded assent as his experienced hands soothed away the aches in her back. “Yes, some rosemary oil would be amazing, thanks for asking.” Carefully she poured a thimbleful into the shot glass before her, and knocked it back. She wiped her mouth as she set the glass back onto the bar. “So you were saying?”
...Conte - not you too.
The walls were moving in closer. That wasn’t possible. She had to stay alive; she had to! She stood up, and hit her head on the limo roof. “Sorry. Driver! Driver, drop me off right here, please.” Carefully Conte stepped onto the first stair, looking up into a first floor that wasn’t there. “Christ.” Turning, tuning, a deadly dance with a canon cannon primed and ready to fire, fire! Conte blanched as the man beside her stood up and shouted; the crowded theater pulsed, surged as one horrifying, living thing that lay dead on the sahel as she chambered a new round and stole a glance back at the jeep to ensure a clear right-of-way; “Jackass!” she screamed out the window as she swerved back into her lane, looking on with satisfaction as the offending speeder crashed into an embankment along which her train sped by - she’d just missed it and she turned and there was nothing behind her no more canons
no more realities to run to
no more running
(for president? Candidate Conte pounded her podium before multicolored banners, but the cameras showed nothing)
no more
nothing left
Nothing left. Perhaps it had never been. How could you tell?
ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION
Dead! They’re all dead!
Stasis. Rumbling roars of time complaining against its anchor went unheard as time’s river plowed ineffectually against - stasis. One: the world exists in an everlasting moment. Zero: it does not.
Dead, alive, perhaps never having been at all anything other than a doubly-quarantined imaginary lark in the dark. Smoking kills, you know.
My lover stands on golden sands. He’s dead. So are the sands. So is the Image. But are they now? A fighter’s spirit cannot be quenched, nor satisfied, nor crushed or ground into silica grains.
Doctor, I’m hearing voices.
Don’t be silly. I’m one too.
Meow. Sleep now. Count backwards from ten, and seven says you won’t reach six. Dream a little dream of me, kitty-cat on your lap, a little nepetalactone wouldn’t go amiss for this. Passage to the worlds is worth a little catnip, isn’t it?
Magnets! How do they work? They don’t.
Calm. Calm down. Everything will be fine. Keep calm, and carry on. Don’t worry, be happy. Enjoy the moment. Remember to have a next. Stay calm, close your eyes; sleep, perchance to dream.
I can only imagine...
ABNORMAL PROGRAM TERMINATION
Yes, this is quite bloody abnormal if I do say so myself.
Multiplica, prolifera, symbiotic swing. Logistic mapping says damping is key to an ODE, so see - population swells, and sinks, and E > k, and dips below equilibrium, a billion dead, what’s a few more? And from the light whence light shall shine forth the Eagle of Patmos, menu: psilocybin all day, every day. Strife rife in the streets, eats you for dinner and leaves you in the gutter, butter on that toast? Most people wouldn’t look twice they’re not nice, for Chrissakes, let me be! Let me die in peace.
Of course not. Have some life.</color>
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime