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person who is basically a stalker who is very convinced another person is in love with them and what they're doing is normal/sweet

You're experiencing life as a square

[PT] Someone narrating how your life is going detail by detail. But slowly, you realize the life path you going for isn't what you want deep down. So you stop listening to the narrator. Then, the world slowly begins to change.

The ocean gives many things. Life, death, storms, sun. But no one quite expected it to give this.

Life as a sentient EV car in a world build for gas engine vehicles

There never was a good time to admit to all the lies. And now they're starting to pile up, creaking and groaning under their own accumulated weight.

The clouds have eyes. And they're watching.

A child who tells their mundane day as if it were an epic tale.

I always felt like I was being observed, ever since I was a little kid. I could feel eyes on me. Adults said it was stress or pressure. I knew better.

When I was a kid I used to naively picture some sort of ghost or ghoul, following my every footstep, breathing every breath with me. I imaged a cartoonish villain, a boogeyman I could point and scream at.

When I was eleven I wanted to see my specter. To make it know what it felt like to be seen. I wandered out into the fields. Tan, rolling hills, as far as the eye could see. The straw-colored grass collapsed under the dusty blue sky stained with dull clouds. It made a little swish, swish as I walked through it. I felt like I was walking down an aisle in a church, towards an altar. Or towards a casket.

I walked for about 30 minutes until it was just me and the hills. I spun around, looking for my audience. There was no one there. There were thousands of eyes on me. There was no one there. Panic seeped into me through my skin. There was no one there. Terror jolted me, there had to be someone there, there had to be someone looking at me, how else could I be watched? There was no one there. The eyes observed me, simultaneously impersonal and engaged. There was no one there. I spun around again and again, then I started running through the hills, frantically searching for what was watching me. There was no one there.

I don't know how long I ran, but it was long enough to make little eleven-year-old me collapse to the ground. I laid on the crunchy grass, looking up at the murky blue sky stained by grey clouds. I decided to stay there until I caught my breath.

No words can describe what happened next. Whatever you are picturing in your head, is not what happened. It didn't close then open, it didn't flicker, it didn't have an eye like us, it didn't do anything you are thinking of right now. The cloud blinked.

I stayed frozen. Time started to melt. I couldn't say how much later it was, but later, another cloud blinked.

They were all watching. All the clouds were watching. The sky was a cacophony of eyes. Constantly observing, constantly watching, silently staring at everything. Clouds were a witness to everything. Everything.

There was no one there, and there were so many watching me.

Nowadays I avoid open spaces. It's easier to cope with being watched if you can pretend someone is watching. I usually wear hoodies or hats, but I know it doesn't make a difference. The clouds will see me no matter what I do. They have to. I can't go to my car, go to my office, go to the grocery store without them knowing. They bear witness to everything we do. Everything you do. They know all of us.

The clouds have eyes. And they're watching.

Ooh! Lovely descriptions in there! You did a great job creating that sense of unease and uncertainty! Thanks for writing!

Have you ever seen pictures of those flooded rooms, so full of water the floor beneath them warps and forms a hole? There is one picture where the floor is so full of water that it breaks the wood beneath, and protrudes into the basement. They're almost scary to see. They look unnatural. And I suppose neglect is unnatural. It's unnatural to let a problem compound long enough for it to look like a monster.

Lies are a lot like that. When I felt the first orange lie slide out of my mouth, I caught it in my hand and slid it into my pocket. I told her that I just had a little bit of a cold, then I had to turn and catch another lie that plopped into my hand. I loudly coughed, trying to make my feigned illness convincing.

I caught another lie in a paper napkin in my mouth after I told her that her cooking was good. I didn't want to hurt her feelings like the burnt, undercooked fried rice hurt my mouth and throat.

She is special to me; my lies are mundane, routine, even. Each day I come home with bulging pockets full of orange, soft lies, and each day I hurriedly place them in my closet. But lately I have been having trouble closing the door without a couple of them spilling out. For each lie I cram and kick in, another tumbles out.

**

The air conditioning in the Home Depot is too high. Chills caress me as I grow small goosebumps. I pick up a plastic five-gallon bucket. One won't be enough. I pick up two more. The cashier tries to make small talk as I check out.

"Whatcha planning?"

"Just a fun little project." I nod and turn, and a lie falls out of my mouth. It plops as it lands into the bucket. This project was not going to be fun.

**

I'm going to have to get rid of these lies someday. Someday I'll tell her she's awful at cooking, that my pockets aren't full of trinkets I find on the ground, they are full of lies, and someday I'll say to my co-worker that he is an asshole. And someday those lies will dissolve way. But there are a lot of lies that will stay forever. Inconsequential, short interactions, like the Home Depot Cashier, or the barber I went to once and never again (for good reason). And eventually, my lies will pool up, rancid and rotten, and maybe they will form into a terrifying thing that looks like a monster. I mumble that I will deal with it when the time comes. Another lie rolls out of my mouth. I put it in one of the buckets in the closet.

Thank you for the feedback and prompt! I couldn't *not* reply, it was so great! Lmk if you think of any others like that

>Lies are a lot like that. When I felt the first orange lie slide out of my mouth, I caught it in my hand and slid it into my pocket.

There's lots of wonderful imagery in this, but this is the first one that reached out and grabbed me. This is some great writing!

Damn this is a good one! I’ve been trying to work on describing unsettling feelings myself and this gave me good insight on how to do it. Great work all around!

If you want more inspiration, listen to the Magnus Archives. I use them for inspiration more than I’d like to admit

Thank you! What are some other images you liked?

All the ways that you described lies were great!

I also liked the overarching uncertainty from the narrator, where it isn't clear if he's stealing things (the things in his pockets?) and the buckets he's buying from Home Depot to store in his closet (because of the leaking floor? To hold the things he's picking up?). You nailed the unreliable narrator aspect, and while I'm not entirely sure what's happening, it's wrapped in such lovely language that the story sucked me in.

The things in his pockets were all the lies he tells every day, and thank you!

"WHY IS EVERYTHING BEES!?"

"And you see, that was when the statues started...erm..."

"Speaking?"

"Yes. But...not just that? They erm...well..."

Tremendous descriptions in here.

>I felt like I was walking down an aisle in a church, towards an altar. Or towards a casket.

That line gave me delicious chills. And the repetition of 'There was no one there.' really hammers in the confusion and paranoia.

I also liked the line

>The eyes observed me, simultaneously impersonal and engaged.

because it reminds me of a scene from this short animated piece called Puparia. Check it out on YouTube if you haven't heard of it, it has an otherworldly, abstract mood that I suspect you'd vibe with.

This could be in a published anthology. It feels so polished.

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My dream:

Person 1: hey guys, I got a nuke

Person 2: cool!

Me: wtf how

P1: we should use it

Me: wtf no!!! Why do you have a nuke? Why is it handheld? Why did it come in a box that says shortcake?!?

P2: that’s a great idea!

Me: NO!!

P1: okay, I’ll arm it, [my name]has to throw it.

Me: argh!

P1: hands me armed nuke

P1: it’s on a timer

Me: you fuckers don’t get out of it that easy. If I’m throwing the nuke you’re coming with me.

All: run away from bunker

Me: throws nuclear potato

All: book it back to the nuclear bunker

Me: seals door

And that’s it that’s the dream

I hope you have fun with that.

You look up from the sofa to the dining room table and see yourself sitting there. All at once, a memory replays itself before you.

A sentient mailbox

A drunk person gets stuck in a box- narrated by said drunk person.

Post apocalyptic world, but it’s just people getting used to what our modern technology is instead of quantum computing, FTL space travel, and whatever else in a futuristic society you want to reference but not incorporate

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