Six Feet Under In Cyberspace

I didn't care how they split my assets, I simply wanted to be dead. I was six under in cyberspace, without a ladder to climb up and go back into the world of the real life.

The images on the screen fluctuated between images of Nordic people and plain text, with the occasional interspersing of UFO images in other give an otherwise mainly spiritual group a thin layer of ufology. From time to time we would meet on Sundays, and never would I have any kind of fun days.

"Why do you write fiction?" he would ask, then follow up with "But isn't that kind of a waste of time to study things besides the celestial father?"

"Why should I care what the celestial father thinks?" I asked.

He would be quite for a very short while, and then respond. "But you really should care, after all the celestial father is the entire truth." It took most of my energy just to not be overcome with self-doubt, do to looking back on it was a sign of paying to much thoughts to paranoid thinking. Most of my days were spent trying to write my next book.

But due to the constant barrage of instant messenger calls, that seemed to leap about in cyberspace like roaches crawling on sour kraut, I would occasional have to wait upwards of multiple hours to get the guy to shut his face. And at times he would want me to look at some document after meetings related to the celestial father.

He would at times give me said books for free, which looking back on it felt like an abuse of free culture. "You should really take the time to read this, it would completely change your life."

By the time he was done, I would usually be so socially drained that I had to go straight to bed, where I would have dreams of boogie men instead. Yet for me I came to appreciate the darkness in the real life, the only semblance of honesty. And yet I would dream of the celestial father's men coming to Earth on UFOs, and hobnobbing with the celestial father himself. I would at times also hallucinate anonymous silhouettes in front of my bed, and wake up with scratch marks.

This was before I even entertained the idea of becoming any sort of programmer, or even one who would work around specific web pages in order to background check friends of mine. I would dream about going to various web pages I didn't in real life, longing to create some other form of a peopled data sphere. The closest I ever came to a full fledge programmer was for simple "hello world" scripts. I simply couldn't maintained the concentration for anything else.

Even as I withdrew from the family of the celestial father, there were frequent reminders of times I could have experienced in that group. It was be far stranger groups as I would soon find out, that would wreck my identity as I knew it.

Part of me wishes I could have learned how to work around things much sooner. It would have saved a disability necessity.

But sometimes one needs a Splinter Cult covert evacuation expert.

My name is Sarah. We will meet again soon.

It wasn't every day you'd ask yourself to cease and desist, or be sued. But that was part of the new group I had belonged to. Although plenty of other people in that group somehow found it rational to extort thousands of dollars from one hand to the other, but I was left wondering how a lawyer would even try the case.

One lawyer I had met seemed to have been completely taken in by the cult, and managed to try to get me to believe how in theory could be multiple different people within the same body: twins sharing the same meat space avatar. At times I would see him at times talk to himself, with his voice gradually changing in different subtleties. The other brother, or he so imagined. "Why that's not true at all, how can you give this independent investigator that that intelligence."

This was simply to strange for me to handle, so I tried to leave as best as I could without a trace. Unfortunately it backfired.

As soon as I tried the leave the building, it was on total lock down. The leader of the cult of the twins wanted to capture me. I jumped over their portable spike traps, and poked the eyes of specific guards who identified as twins. One of them tried to grab my leg, but instead I shot his leg.

"Don't let the unidentified twin get away." one guard said.

However eventually I was able to make them argue amongst themselves. I triggered the unlocking of doors. And then eventually I was able to leave the building. The yard was covered of many fences, planned in such a way as to not let anyone out. And yet for me this was all part of the job.

I knocked out a guard, and put on his clothes.

I pretended to aim at the intruders, then snuck up on him and slit his throat. Eventually I used his coat as a parachute. And so I landed roughly, but not as roughly as I would have otherwise onto the snowy ground.

I walked into the forest.

I walked into the next county.

I walked and found a motel. And then swiftly left. I boarded a train to the next town over, careful to change my outfit.

Until eventually I was out of town.

I payed my $150 dollars for name change. And then asked friends and family to refer to me by this new handle except in private. I wasn't sure if anyone in my family had been part of the cult. But for now I was in the clear.

In case I wasn't, well ...

That's why I carry pepper spray in my purse.

The next week I heard gunshots, and saw dents by my new office. I called the police, and they took care of the case.

A rogue gunman. The only man left.

The lawyer that tried to make me a twin.

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