Microstory 1096: Nannie

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I don’t know what to tell you. Some people are just born wrong, and I’ve never done much to hide what I am. I like hurting people, and it feels so good to admit that. Here’s the deal. All these chumps actually believe that Homer is going to save the planet, which is admittedly understandable, since he’s proven to us that he does have special abilities. He probably could do that, if he wanted. They think they’re loyal followers of a real-life Thanos, but he has no illusions about what he is, or what he’s doing. He’s made himself out to be this antihero, or maybe you would call him an antivillain, but I know he’s just a regular old villain, and he’s never hidden his true self from me. He’s not trying to improve the way the world does things. He couldn’t care less about that. He just wants what everyone else wants, and that’s to have fun. We both recognize that we don’t belong to civilized society, but we independently felt it necessary to complete our high school education. We do not intend to get jobs, since he’s too powerful for that, and we don’t have any interest in higher education, but it was important that we not begin our lives until we were adults. Well, now that time has come, and this is our grand debut. We’re not coming out as sadistic killers, though. I’m only telling you about this since you’re going to be our first victim. No, Viola doesn’t count, because that was an accident. At first, I was confused about how she knew what we were going to do. We didn’t warn Maud or Gertrude, and I’ve already questioned the other the other five. Homer says that she was just like him, except that she didn’t look at humans as playthings, which is what you are. He was actually surprised she was able to stop us at all. They were meant to be equals, which meant whatever powers allowed her to know the things she shouldn’t have shouldn’t have worked when it came to him. I mean, what was the point of her even trying anyway? It was clearly a waste of her time, and still would have been, had she lived. People aren’t worth saving, and that’s not just something I use to justify my actions. Others are no better than us; they’re just not strong enough to harness their own power. Anyway, I just came to check on the locks. Looks like it’s time to release you from them, though. Homer’s arrived to finish this fake ritual, and he’s brought a friend. Wait, that’s no friend. What is he doing here? Oh my God, there’s more of them. What did you do? Why isn’t Homer fighting back?

Microstory 1057: Earl

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My name is Earl, and I don’t like to talk about what happened to me last year, but I’ll do it, because you’re somehow making me feel like I need to. Edgar was a bad person back then, and I still don’t quite understand what happened to him, but that’s not really important, is it? What we really want to know is why he was ever so horrible? What made him that way? Only he could truly answer that, but the original Edgar is dead, and so is Viola, so I’m going to have to do my best. The way she explained it to me, there are those in this world who are born with a corrupted sense empathy, but not no empathy at all. Most people can experience, to some extent, other people’s emotions. Someone with reverse empathy, however, will feel the opposite emotion. Happy people make them angry. Sad people make them feel joyful. Do not mistake this for schadenfreude. A sufferer of this affliction will actively seek out the misery, and if they can’t find it, they’ll create it. It’s not that Edgar derived pleasure out other people’s misfortune, but his brain was literally processing the information the wrong way. When the original Edgar was hurting our friend, he wasn’t actually trying to kill him. He was just trying to undo his own physical pain. I don’t really remember what had hurt him in that case, but it certainly wasn’t the first time. He first told me about what he was when we were in middle school. That’s a really trying time for kids, so there was plenty of anguish and angst to satisfy Edgar’s needs, and he didn’t even have to do anything to get it. He just had to walk the halls, amongst all those growing boys and girls, who were so self-conscious about their lives. But then he got into high school, and things started changing for him. Our classmates were figuring out what they were good at, and what they wanted to do with their lives. They were making a point of having fun, and rebelling against their parents. Worst of all, they were discovering sex. Sex was the worst for Edgar. The ultimate pleasure, to translate to the ultimate torture. I spent years helping him get through his affliction, even going so far as to harm myself, but it stopped being enough, and I couldn’t do it on my own. He started trying to recruit others, and when I tried to stop him, he persuaded me otherwise, using a hypnotic power that I did not yet know he even had. I’m not sad he’s dead, because it really is the best for everyone, including him. I’m only sad about Viola, because how many others are there out there with reverse empathy, whom she could have helped? Perhaps now...falls to me.

Microstory 17: Slug

As I let the salt fall, it writhed and curled. Back and forth. Up and down. Sweeping through the granules that landed dry on the deck. In its final moments of torturous pain, it couldn't tell the difference between where there was salt and where there wasn't. It knew only that something was scratching and tearing at its skin. An unstoppable fire sucking the moisture from its body. I felt an unavoidable urge to explain myself. "I'm not a sadist." I stood up straight, looking for any more, camouflaged on top of the brown planks. "I just can't have you near my dog's food." But as I said the words, I wondered, were they true? My dog ambled onto the deck and sniffed at the slugs, placing her nose firmly against their lifeless bodies. She opened her mouth, contemplating whether she wanted to try one for breakfast. She snapped at it a couple times. "No!" I said. She looked up at me as if to say, who do you think you are? Then she snapped at one again. "NO!" I said with more fervor. She looked up again, what is this? I don’t even... "Don’t eat that," I said. "It might have ingested pesticides, or something." If she had shoulders, she would have shrugged them. Whatever. She walked over to the corner of the deck and dramatically plopped down on her side. Wake me up when there’s legal food.