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Gaming Bills and the Cadavers

Date: 15-Sep-2007/12:00+3:00

Tags: , , ,

Characters: me, her, man, them

I had a number of VR-based adventure game dreams, which were not terribly interesting except the part where people were coming out of the game and all their virtual clothes/identity were being stripped away and they were going back to their main form. I was reading over a page which was listing the charges for the session, and the bill was sort of like a cafe bill for food and things like that.
me: "Wait, hold on. What is this game? How did I get here?"
Wandering out in the parking lot of the cafe, I was attacked by a bunch of people in red motorcycle helmets. I became very angry and ripped off one of their helmets and started breaking up their formations by pummeling them with it. When they were defeated, I walked into a nearby building and a woman approached me.
her: "Want to meet your writer?"
me: "What do you mean by 'writer'?"
her: "Come on, I'll show you."
She took me down a narrow hallway, with rooms that seemed to have emaciated corpses in each small place.
me: "So...as evidenced by the fact I'm here talking to you now somehow, this writer-dead-body isn't 'me'...it's a separate thing."
her: "Yes, completely separate. You didn't even have a writer initially, usually they are paired up with boys when they are much younger than you."
me: "Okay, but... I mean, how do we relate? What do we do together?"
her: (laugh) "You could bring him some soup."
I take it that was a joke, because the bodies looked very dead, and the lighting was terrible. Looked something like this:
...which is an image I got from the Animatrix.
She tried to get me to go into a room to see her surgical work on one of these "writers", which was bloody and gross.
me: "No thank you. Though I am glad you're one of the people who can casually deal with blood and gore, I cannot. I do have more questions though...what is this place? Is it somehow 'reality', like the place I'd end up in if I were to kill myself?"
A man standing up on a ledge looking down on us interjected.
man: "You would only be here for the first 24 hours. Then there would be a trial. And your founders and parents would have input on what's next. Yours are in Arizona, right?"
I corrected him on where my parents live. He then said oh right, and correctly rattled off their names. There were some other questions I tried to ask him, but he seemed to say something like "you're an idiot" and walked off.
Taking the stairs up to where he had been, I approached an ordinary-looking couple who were sitting at a desk. They seemed to be doing a very basic writing exercise, like what kids might do in handwriting class. I stopped them and informed them about the fact that I was asleep, and dreaming, and yet quite aware of the environment and thus had a lot of questions.
them: (sincerely) "Oh, hey, that's good for you!"
Then I woke up.
Note This "meet your writer" and surgical procedures in the afterlife theme has appeared once before.
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The accounts written here are as true as I can manage. While the words are my own, they are not independent creative works of fiction —in any intentional way. Thus I do not consider the material to be protected by anything, other than that you'd have to be crazy to want to try and use it for genuine purposes (much less disingenuous ones!) But who's to say?