Author Topic: No Pun to End so Quip-ly...  (Read 21003 times)

Heradel

  • Bill Peters, EP Assistant
  • Hipparch
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  • Part-Time Psychopomp.
Reply #25 on: February 17, 2007, 06:03:51 AM
It had grown from some sick twisted marketer's mind. It started slowly, going from one person to two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four. It soon obtained critical mass and exploded across the mental spectra of the city, fragments infecting populations in London and Los Angeles and all points beyond.

Most had thought that it was simply one of those natural things that swept through the mind-space like a plague.

Few suspected the truth.

His name was Collus Polanski, and he was had a card which said he was crazy. But he thought the doctor was trying to kill him, so he didn't believe it.

His apartment was plastered in words, words, words, maps, photos. No one else saw what he saw. Shaky sharpie lines highlighted text, dragged it over to points on a map of Manhattan. Photos of billboards were tacked onto the map. Scribble-y handwriting covered the few spaces that were empty of evidence.

At 4:25 on a Sunday morning Collus stepped back and looked back at his work.

It was done.

He had found the Genesis point.

An up and coming advertising executive had pitched a slogan that was overheard by the wrong ears.

The wrong ears spread it around, and it had started.

He had proof. It existed. It had started with "It's not about me or they or I or even us anymore. It's about You."

The Second Person Conspiracy existed!

Now he could prove to the doctors that he wasn't a... He wasn't... He groped around for the card. He read it slowly, his lips forming Paranoid Schizophrenic.

Oh, he though. Damn.

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