full image - Repost: Tried to make a story where the narrators keep fighting, and they all fucking hate each other. Made with A.I. (from Reddit.com, Tried to make a story where the narrators keep fighting, and they all fucking hate each other. Made with A.I.)
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I was sitting here, trying to think of a good way to start this story, when all of a sudden, Gill, who I fucking hate, started butting in with his own ideas. "Why don't you start with how we all met?" he suggested, like always, trying to take control of the narrative. As if I'd ever let that happen. So I ignored him, of course, and focused on Bill, who I also fucking hate. He was slumped over in the corner, mumbling something about wanting to be the protagonist. Seriously, Bill? Like anyone wants to be associated with you. Fucking good for nothing-loser cunt. How'd I get stuck here with all these dumbasses? I'm a writer, not a fucking monkey.But then I realized, hey, maybe there's a way to use all these idiots to my advantage. I could write a story about a group of characters who are all constantly being interrupted by other characters, like a giant game of telephone. Yeah, that's it. So let's start with Phil, who is dead, on the floor. I mean, that's pretty much the most interesting thing about this whole damn group right now. And then we'll move on from there.God fucking damnit, no gill you cannot go into the text, this is my fucking thing-GILL NO YOU CUNT! Oh, wait, sorry about that. Yeah, so as I was saying, Phil, who is dead, on the floor, was a real piece of work. I mean, I didn't hate him or anything, but he was always trying to steal the spotlight. He was the kind of guy who'd start a story and then, before you knew it, he'd be talking about himself the whole time. It's like he had a goddamn complex or something. But I guess that's what you get when you're the protagonist, right? Everyone wants a piece of you.Anyway, so one day, we're all just sitting around, minding our own business, when Phil decides that he's had enough. He pulls out a gun, puts it to his head, and pulls the trigger. And I'll tell you what, when that bastard hit the floor, I swear I thought the room was going to collapse from the sheer weight of all that fucking self-importance. It was like a giant anvil had been lifted from our shoulders. Except, of course, for Bill and Gill, who immediately started arguing over who should take over as the new protagonist. Jesus fucking Christ, I wish I'd brought my laptop with me. I could really use a game of solitaire about now. I should fucking kill these cunts, hey wait has this rock always been here?God fucking damnit Bill stop throwing rocks at me, you braindead cunt. Anyway, so while Gill and Bill are arguing over who gets to be the new protagonist, I'm just sitting here, trying to ignore them both, when suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my side. I look down and see that Bill has somehow managed to throw a rock at me. I mean, really? You couldn't have just punched me in the arm or something, you fucking loser? I mean, Jesus, you couldn't even hit the broad side of a barn with that thing. It's like you're trying to prove you're some sort of pathetic, incompetent asshole.Anyway, I decide to ignore him and focus on Gill, who is still trying to butt in with his stupid ideas. "Maybe we should all just work together," he suggests, "and find a way to get out of here." Oh, please. Like that's ever going to happen. You're not the fucking protagonist, Gill. You're just some background character who thinks he's important. So why don't you shut the fuck up and let me tell my story.Also the chance of us working together isn't happening, i'd sooner kill myself then even touch you Gill, let alone work together with you. And you Bill, you're just a dumbass, there's no need to be so violent, if you want to be the protagonist, then just fucking write your own story, don't try and force your way into mine. You all have notepads and pens, you fucking cunts. Stop drawing dicks in yours GIll, I know your gay and immature but we only have a limited ammount of paper and I'd sooner tear my eyes out then lend you mine, fucking dick.Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Phil. So there I was, lying on the floor next to Phil's lifeless body, surrounded by a ring of assholes who couldn't keep their fucking mouths shut for two fucking seconds. And then, just as I was about to lose all hope, I felt something brush against my foot. I looked down and saw a tiny key, just sitting there, like it had been waiting for me. A smile spread across my face. I knew what I had to do. I picked up the key and began to search the room, carefully examining every nook and cranny, looking for a way out of this fucked up situation. It was a complete white void, so finding shit was kind of hard.After what felt like hours (but was probably only like five minutes in real time), I finally stumbled across a door. I tried the key in the lock, and much to my relief, it fit. With a click, the door swung open, revealing a long, dark hallway. The air was thick with the smell of dust and old books, and I could hear the faint sound of music playing in the distance. I hesitated for a moment, but then I thought, fuck it. I'm not going to let these assholes keep me here any longer. I stepped through the doorway and started down the hallway, following the music.As I walked, I began to feel a sense of hope and determination welling up inside me. Maybe there was a way out of this nightmare after all. I entered the room to find, all the characters I had written from diffrent stories, I had written the same dyanmic 12 fucking times, godfucking damnit. Those Imbeciles have posioned my brain, I closed the door then reopened it, to find a completely different room. This room was filled with various objects and contraptions, some familiar and some not. In the center of the room was a large, ornate desk, covered in papers and strange devices. And sitting in a chair behind the desk was a figure, shrouded in shadow."Hello?" I called out tentatively. "Who are you? And what is this place?" There was no reply. I walked closer to the desk, feeling a sense of growing unease. As I examined the papers on the desk, I noticed that they were all scribbled with words and numbers, as if they were some sort of code. There were also several maps and diagrams, depicting what appeared to be a vast underground network of tunnels and chambers.God fucking damnit, I just woke up, I was dreaming, or passed out. There is no key, and so far there is no fucking door. Bill and Gill are still being fucking mentally retarded assholes and trying to push their own stupid stories, when they should be working on their own damn lives. Phil is still dead, and I'm just lying here on the floor, wishing I was anywhere else.
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