- Joined
- Oct 9, 2016
MAKE KIWIFARMS GREAT AGAIN
Alternatively titled; The story that gets Shibbolethal perma-banned.
an illustration
and an epilogue
Shibbolethal sits in front of his computer, staring blankly at the Kiwifarms home page. He reaches across his desk and takes a sip from the water bottle next to him before wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants. The only sound is the ceiling fan, steadily whirring above him. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired. He doesn’t know how long his has been going on, how long he’s been sitting alone in this windowless air conditioned room.
“You can do this. You can keep going.” He’s far from reassured by this half-assed peptalk, far from reassured by his own reflection in the now-dark computer screen. He looks sick. Every word, every paragraph leeches some of his humanity away. He’s too far gone by now. There’s no way that he could be able to live a normal life in this state.
He glances at the door opposite from him. What would happen if he left? There’s no doubt in his mind; he would die. This room is the only space in which he can exist, even if it’s this pale imitation of his former self. A moral quandary arises as Shibbolethal begins to clean his glasses off on his shirt.
Does he keep going? Does he stay here and continue to live an empty life, void of anything but his “art”? Does he stay and continue to force his vile creations into the minds of others? Does he make them suffer as he once did? Or will he leave? Will he sacrifice an empty but eternal life so that others may be free of his eldritch writings?
The choice has always been there, and his answer has always been the same. Shibbolethal turns back to the computer and starts to type.
“You can do this. You can keep going.” He’s far from reassured by this half-assed peptalk, far from reassured by his own reflection in the now-dark computer screen. He looks sick. Every word, every paragraph leeches some of his humanity away. He’s too far gone by now. There’s no way that he could be able to live a normal life in this state.
He glances at the door opposite from him. What would happen if he left? There’s no doubt in his mind; he would die. This room is the only space in which he can exist, even if it’s this pale imitation of his former self. A moral quandary arises as Shibbolethal begins to clean his glasses off on his shirt.
Does he keep going? Does he stay here and continue to live an empty life, void of anything but his “art”? Does he stay and continue to force his vile creations into the minds of others? Does he make them suffer as he once did? Or will he leave? Will he sacrifice an empty but eternal life so that others may be free of his eldritch writings?
The choice has always been there, and his answer has always been the same. Shibbolethal turns back to the computer and starts to type.