Fiction: Chaos, or how I became a villain in your story
Many people believe that I am this nerd type who organizes everything down to a minor detail by alphabetical order and color, and plot some factless shit against them just because they are so intriguing and my life looks like pure boredom without them.
Yeah, well tough luck, I actually don't use any neat organization techniques, everything is stored in my memory and other things like password apps and notebooks are just backup methods.
I can recall not only my own projects and codes, and replicate entire texts that I get deleted by mistake almost every second fucking day but also stuff I made for people a decade ago.
The funniest thing is the further I go in the past to fetch info, the more seconds I am actually blocked out and completely frozen from the reality around me. For some fucking reason I can't stop talking when it happens.
This led some people to believe that I can also memorize any of their bullshit and easily recall it, but in reality, I take all that nonsensical background noise and just pull it through the shredder while they are still talking.
You do the same with the memory of your lunch or how many ants you pass by on your way to your super-important next best thing. Because something that will never happen and a thing you stand no chance whatsoever is so much more important than ants.
Do you know that ants don't have relationship problems?
I am far from introverted and I really love a big audience and places with a lot of people. My parents invested a lifetime of lies trying to show me off as a quiet, weirdo little child prodigy. It didn't work.
Then they decided that I need a doctor, and I idiotically agreed.
At first, when all of that came out, my folks were delighted about it, but the more time passed by it was obvious that neither they nor anyone else can really relate to it. Instead of utilizing my abilities some people simply hated on me as it was offending their own. If they had any.
With time I grew to despise them. Because as long I was thinking how there are some good things about them, the growing sea of issues with them just more progressed into pure vandalism. Not only that they didn't care but they actually gave zero chance to try seeing issues from some other angle than their own.
And possibly they also were so sourly miffed because I started to deliberately delete all the things they find relevant. I found out that it is not only relevant for their pleasure, but they were overly dramatizing them into the most important things in their life. Like birthdays, holidays, anniversaries or "do you remember when we"... or their wives.
I grew especially bitter about the wives, Somehow they were always number one but that number one always has to be led, escorted, and taken care of and then insipidly treated by demanding to take them seriously and call on men to be just overgrown children.
Then when I finally talked out about this bullshit, they are adults, not babies, I became this hated misanthrope who steals away their husbands and treats whatever wears the tits with disgust.
At this point, anyone normal would apologize, but instead, I grew fond of that image from one of the letters. The whole content was imaginary by the way, written by some delusional woman who oddly enough reminded me of my ex. One of my exes.
I waited a good few months before I dished it all out and made a scene of the century. I made sure all of those super important entities from the planet Venus are present and wrapped into their best made-up behaviors when I stumble across my feet and gave them all a flipping speech about how their beloved men are a bunch of ignorant, retarded, impotent, and useless pieces of turd I ever encountered in my life...
In short. Brief description.
Then I went home and slept forever.
I hate special events. To me, it looks like all those isolated single events that they decided to remember somehow should correct and make up for all the accumulated mass of grim days and bad behaviors. Those perpetual behaviors for me, with this storage capacity, seemed to last forever.
They would only put on a shiny face and a forced smile when the camera was on. I wasn't even doing a bare minimum, so all my photos turned out deformed.
New year, new me doesn't really vibrate with love to me. In fact, whenever it happens, it ablaze me with a new tidal wave of resentment that I can't even describe.
So, yes, I decided that every anniversary, every memory of these stupid and shallow individuals, every procrastinating activity, and all their stuff with no meaning, or purpose other than self-assurance will be deleted.
Actually not having that stench from their ignorant asses around me was one quite purifying experience.
I grew bored of explaining and just accepted their vision of me, all their lies.
I quit searching for meaning and leaped to the first new thing out there, completely without thinking.
Some noticed this death wish mentality so I tuned it down.
Little did I know that after that I designed my own version of reality, where I have been discarded by all of them, and every word was an intro to a new battle. An invitation to a new conflict.
Little did I know my darkest wish will come about and bite me where it hurts the most. I ask you, does any of you want somebody inside of your own mind? Without end or limit where I end and that person starts, I lost myself in that chaos. And if chaos absorbs me with such a force like it is a force of nature, what if everybody knew about it?