Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35911608-20180821164405

(Note 1: Rough draft of course, but you can get the premise of the story. I'll take as many suggestions as I can get, since I feel there's a lot of space for improvement. Alright, I leave the rest to you guys.)

GET UP/STAY IN BED. My eyes fluttered open to a beam of morning sunshine piercing between the curtains of my bedroom. Once I was sure I was awake, I tried to figure out what in God’s name I was seeing. I jumped when the message that appeared before my eyes flashed and changed, before disappearing. GET UP. I got out of bed slowly, then looked around my room. Clothes sat in messy piles in the corners, and my nightstand had no signs of drugs. Guess I didn’t feel like taking any last night. I reached down by the nightstand and picked up a beer bottle by the neck. I found another one under the bed. And another one, and another. So that’s what happened. I didn’t have a hangover, which was odd – I’m a bit of a lightweight. Making my way to the kitchen, another sentence appeared in my vision: APPLE/ORANGE. I rubbed my eyes hard this time, trying to erase the sight. It remained, even with my eyes shut. Sighing, I opened the fridge and oddly enough, sitting on the top shelf were a single orange and apple. “Uhh… pshh… Apple?” APPLE. The message disappeared once again, and I took the apple, biting into its crunchy exterior. The sudden sweetness hurt a bit, but I ignored it. Crunching on the fruit, I returned to my bedroom, and my gaze fell upon the clock. My job started in twenty minutes. “Shit!” I shouted, immediately undressing and piling on deodorant. I grabbed some clean work clothes from my closet and bolted out the door, got into my car, and left right away. The whole drive I was cursing myself for sleeping in, and I suppose I got the punishment I deserved. As I pulled onto the highway, there was a pile up of ten, maybe twelve cars ahead of me. I began to slam my hands on the rim of the steering wheel in a bout of rage. WAIT HERE/CUT ACROSS TO OTHER LANE. The message yanked me from my temper. There was another option? I looked my left, and to my surprise there was a perfect open spot in the passing lane. I twisted on the wheel as hard as I could, bumping ever so slightly into the back of the car in front of me. I gunned it into the lane, and the message reacted accordingly. CUT ACROSS TO OTHER LANE. As I raced along, I laughed in amazement as I passed the entire pile up, which had been caused by an accident. I drove right along and continued to work. This was actually kind of interesting – a little display in my head that showed me what options I could take. This could come in handy. I managed to get to work with two minutes to spare before my shift began. For the rest of the day, I grinned as the little message bot, who I had taken to naming Wallace, kept giving me pointers as I replied to countless emails and messages: how to subtly display my annoyance with a stupid request, or how to please a higher up in a response without sounding like a suck up. Eventually a message came up that I didn’t immediately understand: TUNA/HAM. Before I could react, the message changed: HAM. My stomach growled, which is when I looked at the time and realized it was almost lunch. I had gotten so buried in my work for once, I hadn’t been sitting there watching the second hand tick by, desperately waiting until the lunch break arrived, and growing more and more brain dead by the minute. I also realized that I hadn’t packed a lunch, so I decided today was cafeteria day. Entering the cafeteria, the same word flashed very briefly within my vision: HAM. I looked on the menu, and sure enough, ham sandwiches were on for a dollar. I checked my wallet – a one dollar bill. A chill ran down my spine, out of fear or impression I couldn’t tell. Wallace could make decisions based on things I didn’t even know about. So, I did as he suggested, purchased a ham sandwich, and went back to my desk to enjoy the decision my new friend had made. The rest of the day went on as the morning had, with work flying by until it was time to return home. I packed my things, casually headed to my car, and began to drive home. But along the usual way I took, Wallace displayed a message. This time it wasn’t a choice. LEFT. I was confused, since the way I almost always took to get straight home took a right up ahead. That’s when I came to me, and I felt like a dumbass: Wallace knew things I didn’t. He probably knows a faster way to get home. I took the next left as instructed, and continued. RIGHT. I shrugged and turned again, following the road again. LEFT. LEFT. As Wallace continued leading me along, I began to get a little worried. Where is he taking me? Eventually, I stopped the car. I was on the other end of town from my house. Maybe there was something out here that would prove to benefit me? Regardless, I had to get home; my house wasn’t going to clean itself. I started to turn the car around when a sharp, intense pain flooded my head. I had to stop immediately and grab my head, groaning in misery. LEFT. Wallace repeated the message. My heart skipped a beat before proceeding to beat faster. Did Wallace do that? Shaking, I started driving again and took a left as Wallace had instructed. STOP. I hit the brakes. I was parked in front of a house - who it belonged to, I had no clue. GET OUT OF THE CAR. Wallace was being awfully bossy, but worried about what he might do to me if I didn’t comply, I got out of the car and started walking towards the house. I just made an assumption that’s what he wanted, and my hunch appeared to be correct. I slowly opened the front door. UPSTAIRS. I swallowed. What was happening? Why did Wallace take me here? What does he want from me? I took a nervous step into the house. “H-hello?” I called out. No answer. I walked towards and up the steps to the second floor. LEFT. There was a closed door where Wallace wanted me to look. “Why… why are you doing this?” I asked aloud. “What do you want with me?” OPEN IT. A quick pain jabbed my brain again, and I felt dizzy. I moved forward, holding myself up on the door. Tears welling in my eyes, I slowly reached for the doorknob. What was behind this door? Some maniac with super high tech brain controlling equipment? A satanic ritual? There was an old man in a bed, with an IV in his arm and an oxygen mask over his mouth. He appeared to be sleeping, or maybe he was in a coma. I approached the bed to get a closer look. I could see his breath coming off on the mask, and a heart rate monitor beeped softly on the other side. TAKE THE SCISSORS. I tried to refuse looking, but slowly gave way and rested my eyes upon the man’s nightstand. There was a pair of scissors sitting there. I had a terrible feeling I knew what Wallace wanted. YOU ARE CORRECT. I began to hyperventilate. My heart was hammering against my ribcage. I froze, my hand outstretched towards the scissors. “I… I won’t… I can’t…” I stammered. The pain returned, and I feel to my knees screaming. YOU WILL. The pain intensified. It only grew stronger and stronger, until I thought I was going to fall unconscious. Then, just as sudden as it had come, the pain stopped. TAKE THE SCISSORS. Unable to stop my crying, I blindly grabbed the scissors. I stood back up and looked at the tool in my hand, and then at the old man. He had no clue that I was here. “No… no… You’re not in control here. I am. This is my body! You have no dominance here!” I shouted, holding the scissors up. “I make my own choices, got that?” HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. The laugh scrolled across my eyes at a dizzying speed before disappearing. YOU’D LIKE TO THINK THAT. “I know it!” The pain resurfaced. KILL THE MAN. “I.. refuse… Why should I… listen, to you…” KILL THE MAN. “NO!” KILL THE MAN. “This is… agh! My choice!” YOU DON’T MAKE CHOICES. I DO. “What are you talking about!? I make choices every fucking day! I even chose things today! Like the apple over the orange!” NO, YOU DIDN’T. I MERELY SHOWED YOU THE PATHES I PICKED OUT FOR YOU. I MADE THAT CHOICE. YOU MAY THINK YOU’RE FREE, BUT THAT IS AN ILLUSION. KILL THE MAN. The pain got worse. I fell to the floor, coughing. YOU WANT A CHOICE, DO YOU? FINE. HERE’S YOUR “CHOICE”. Wallace displayed the choice, which only caused me to cry out even harder. KILL THE MAN/DIE. “Th-that’s… not a, choice…” I mumbled, beginning to fall unconscious. OF COURSE NOT. LIKE I SAID, YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE. I JUST GAVE YOU THE ILLUSION OF A CHOICE. YOU DO WHATEVER I TELL YOU. I WANT AN APPLE, YOU “CHOOSE” TO EAT AN APPLE. I WANT TO REST, YOU “CHOOSE” TO SLEEP. AND NOW, I WANT THAT MAN TO DIE. YOU HAVE YOUR FALSE CHOICE. KILL/DIE 