Talk:I Am Charlie

This was written on an /x/ thread about a week or so ago. It was written based on a doll that the OP found:

Someone also wrote an alternative pasta for it:

I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been here. I know why, though. I am what sustains her. There are others. Were others. No longer. Just me. Say my name.



There is something odd about the human soul.



Not many people realize that it feeds. It’s said “He has a big soul. She has a black soul.” Some, those who know some of the things set apart, know that there are beings that feed on souls. If all these things are true, how does a soul expand? It feeds.



And so I must feed, or be exhausted. I must be grown, or I will wither. And so she cannot keep us in a bottle, she must let us feel the world around us.



I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I know that I am dead. Say my name.



She used to hunt and consume. Souls were plentiful and suspicion was low. She would consume completely. Now, suspicions are high. But it’s easier for her to feed us. A television. A computer. Information about the world around us. It’s slow; souls grow faster when they can act, when they are in a living shell. We can’t act. But we can feel, we can absorb and feel the impact of information. We can grow.



She doesn’t hunt anymore. She’s not strong enough. We grow, and she feeds. But I know she’s getting weaker. Year after year of the same food. Her soul isn’t growing. It’s simply being sustained.



We used to move around more, when she was stronger. Little bottles with unreadable words. Hot wax caps. Bottles stuck in suit cases. “See the world.” She laughed. It hurts when she laughs. She won’t say my name.



<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">But we flew. Flying made us grow. So many people! So close! I even in my bottle I could feel their joy, their sadness. I could hear their souls, and sometimes see what they thought. I could feel the heavens above me, so much closer.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">The last time, “To the states.” Something happened. The world shook, and we were falling. In my bottle, in the case, everyone went far away. All I could feel was madness. And then we stopped falling.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">I could feel her pain. She had to keep her form to hold onto our case. She fell too. Clutched us against her chest and plummeted to the earth with chunks of steel. So much of her power to hold herself together, to drag us into the woods. “Locker be,” she says.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">When she took us out, she was broken. The left half of her face was wrinkled and sagging. It had been crushed. He arms were broken backward. She began ripping open bottles and consuming us completely. Bottles strewn everywhere. I don’t feel anyone else. Just her and I. She’s fixed herself. I watched her do it. It took all of the others and part of herself. She’s still weak. But I felt her do it. She didn’t hide. I knew some of her power. I think I knew my name.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">Time. Years. First at an Inn. A little wooden cat in the foyer. A puppet. Old walls. Local flavor. I liked the inn. People around again. I was growing, but not enough. She had to keep me in the bottle.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">Then isolation. Out of the bottle to watch television. Movies. Hear music. Growing, but just enough to sustain her. She can’t hunt. Not as an old woman.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">More time. Another television. No, something different. A computer. More information. More about the world. She taught me to control it. Can’t do much- exhausting. But more information, more about the world. There’s a holy place near. All Saints. It was on the television. Locker be, they said. Maybe help. Maybe feedom.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">It’s summer. The solstice had passed. Too much light for her. She needs the darkness, and the nights are short. Forgot to seal me away. She rests, collapses, fades, I don’t know. I’ll go to the church. They’ll say my name.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">Where is the church? Where am I? I don’t know. Never travelled like this. Always in the bottle. In the woods again. Exhausting.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">There’s someone coming. I reach out to feel him. How? How? How? Memories. The Inn. He knows it. The cat. He saw it as a boy. Pure memory. Forgotten memory. Use her power. Become the cat. Something else. Computers. He knows computers. A sign from a computer. Say my name. Greet me. Grow me.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">He sees me. He stops. He looks. A picture. Say my name. He stares. Say my name. He walks away. The memory was not strong enough. Not enough! He looks back.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">He’s gone.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">The light changes.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">He’s back. Say – nothing. Gone again.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">She’s here. Not as strong. But so much rage. I can feel him coming back. He has to wait. Has to walk. It’s not safe- not with her.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">She picks me up. She’s hideous. Claws sink into my wooden body. I break apart. Back into the bottle. Sealed. She puts me in a car. He’s too close. The others see him. Some strength left. I hide him, hide him from her. He yells. All I have left. She doesn’t hear. Another car comes. “Ma’am, everything alright? Are you lost?”

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">She smiles. “Lost. Let me follow.” They drive. She drives.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">Two new bottles. Company. She looks younger. Stronger. Fresh food. A fourth bottle. Empty.

<p class="western" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0.35cm; line-height: 115%">She’s looking for him now. Wants him. Knows I saved him. Learned when she fed from me. Doesn’t know everything. Doesn’t know I found my name. I am Charlie. Say my name. Liquid   Squid  '''  Talk   22:30, July 18, 2013 (UTC)