entranceway | text } Images May Disturb You: the blog of Georgia Mason, entry #1

My name is Georgia Carolyn Mason. I'm a licensed journalist from After the End Times. Five years ago, on a website that is inaccessible from this location, I started my blog and wrote my mission statement: to always tell the truth no matter the cost. For the past several months I've been following Senator Peter Ryman's presidential campaign and reporting on his progress. For the past few minutes, I had been running for my life after someone blew up my trailer. It turns out that cost was a lot higher than I ever anticipated. And that was just zombies and a government conspiracy. What will the cost be for telling this new truth: that I seem to have woken up in a literal fairytale? I tested clean five minutes ago, and hallucinations have never been one of the symptoms of Kellis-Amberlee. I'm forced to conclude that this is, indeed happening and not a very strange dream. I would like nothing more than a way to send this information home so that our readers could know about this, but I've done my research. All sources indicate that is, for the time being, impossible. So, I suppose, I'll just have to start reporting here, and know that someday, should the opportunity arise, I'll be able to bring the news home. In the meantime, if anyone here is a doctor, or even better an epidemiologist or virologist, I have some questions.

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[Yes, that's exactly who she thinks she is. And more than that, she thinks she's Georgia Carolyn Mason. And that's pretty badass too.

That being said, she has a lot more to worry about than retaining anything when she goes home. If she goes home. That seems like definitely not this asshole's business, though.]

I've worked through slow news days before. I think I can manage.

Y-You can report on the animal explosions that happen like, like once a month or so around here.

Animal explosions? [She tilts her head. Judging from the rest of this conversation, he's probably mocking her, but he also may give her something interesting to work with, intentionally or not.]

Can you elaborate on that phenomenon? What sort of animal? Do you mean literally exploding or more of a metaphorical population explosion? How big are these animals?

Oh my g-god you really are a journalist, h-holy fuck.

No, J-Jesus fuck, I mean population explosions, like okay, t-the closets here are basically g-glorified magical 3D printers that can make basically any f-fucking thing, so once in awhile some dumbfuck will be like oh hey, I kinda want a kitten, and they'll just, they'll be like, they'll go to the closet and be like, hey fucker I want a kitten and the closet will be like so you d-definitely meant four hundred and s-s-ixty-eight k-IIURRRRRHHH-ittens, right? And then said dumbfuck will go on the network like "why can't I hold all these limes? I mean kittens." Or rabbits, or dogs, or whatever, I th-think there were hamsters one time? And then most of the kittens get adopted out and the rest go feral or vanish into Wonderland. Th-There's probably some super fucked up pet cemetery here that no one knows about, re-real Stephen King type shit.

Yes, I told you. You aren't one of those people who thinks blogging isn't legitimate news, are you?

[She's used to that. Which doesn't make it any less annoying.]

Last I checked 3D printers couldn't create single functional living creatures, let along 468 of them..

Th-There's no such thing as legitimate news or a legitimate journalist. Fuck newspapers. Fuck blogs.

[FUCK FACEBOOK TOO!]

Yeah, well, th-that's what you get when, when you have fuckkoff science and magic all, all mixed together like a fucking weirdass cocktail.

[George bites back her initial response that magic doesn't exist. She was a wizard a few days ago. Until she finds a better explanation, she has to assume the usual rules don't apply.]

So are there any limits?

There's physical limits to this place, sure. I-It's like a biodome. You can get a mile or so out into the ocean, a few miles out into the forest, a few miles into the air, th-then you either pass out and fucking die or you just hit a-an invisible treadmill and stop making progress.

So we're in a cage. [A gilded one, maybe, but definitely a cage.]

Now you're getting it.

It's not really surprising. If they're not letting us have wifi, I don't see them deciding a bus ticket's okay. But what about limits on the so-called magical closets? They can make life. What can't they do?

They can't make anything specific to your w-world and they can't, like, bring people here. I mean, I t-tried having it create sentient life at all and it didn't work. Just ended up with a pointless dead body. The fuck am I gonna do with a dead body? Fucking s-stupid.

It can make dead bodies? [Interesting. In a horrifying sort of way.] Human bodies or more animals?

Both. Like, they don't l-look like anyone at all, that'd b-be creepy. It's mostly b-body parts.

...are the body parts connected to each other?

Ssssssometimes?

Wonderful. [She loves this place already.] Do I even want to ask if they're in the right order?

Nnnnnno?

That's what I thought. [Not like she was planning on asking the closet for a corpse, but still good to know.] Well, thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Sanchez.

Edited 2016-11-20 23:46 (UTC)

Yeah, whatever.

text } Images May Disturb You: the blog of Georgia Mason, entry #1

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