Nov 13, 2019
This was Fodder’s darkest day. He had never felt so alone - and yet, he had been alone his entire life.
Never had he felt so foolish though. He continued to place trust in people. People continued to burn him.
With his unfortunate exit from The Corporation, and the subsequent ban from all forms of work, Fodder did not have enough income to survive. His failing health already kept his accounts low; now, he would liquidate his life savings - all in a futile effort to buy more time.
But it would be just a few months before he would be forced to sell his home. Even then, he would never make it until October 2020.
He was going to become homeless. He was going to be forced back into the home of his upbringing: the home of his torment.
And even then, they - his family - were out of money. Their mental health was at an all-time low.
Fodder was beginning to feel nauseous.
“I don’t think this will end well.”
The Aquatic Race
Fodder’s latest epiphany involved a trip to the other side of the world - on precisely the day the world would end. He had come to realize that he - and The Agent - would be required to save Humanity. While she would remain in the world’s first Lonely Town, constructing the new world with Fodder’s bride-to-be, he would be taking a trip into the depths of the ocean. He and several dozen of the world’s brightest minds would be cutting-off from society completely - technology, communication, even sunlight - for the period of one year. When they returned, they would have a plan to rebuild the new world.
Fodder shook his head.
“Stupid,” he muttered. “Ignorant. You’re nobody. Nobody respects you. Nobody wants to be around you. Nobody wants to save the world. Get out of your own head before you lose all sense of reality.”
But Fodder was already gone. There was no turning back.
He had already lost his mind.
When summer gives me eyes, I’ll sue for peace
The psychologists were calling it “maladaptive daydreaming.” The Corporation had so broken Fodder’s spirit that he had retreated into his own mind to find peace. Whereas he had briefly found a source of happiness - realities of life were quickly depleting his reserves. In desperation, Fodder considered taking this public. But to what end?
He was just another mental health case, thrown to the wolves. Fodder was brilliant - he had dedicated his life to serving these people - and for what? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. He would die in poverty and obscurity.
He would die alone.
He would die having discovered self-love, just-in-time to lose it. He would die having never told this story.
Or, he would submit to the Machine, and live in servitude for the rest of his life - fully aware that the world would also die, in part, because of his inaction.
Fodder was fucked. The world was fucked.
He grit his teeth and continued climbing that mountain.
“I’ll play the victim to no one.”
So he wrote.
data.stats.symptoms = [ - depression - hopelessness - isolation - anxiety - despair ]
You said this day would come
I said to bite your tongue
Hold that word in your lungs
(Hold it tight)
A figure to play god
Holding my hand yet not
Leading me forth to rot
But i’m delirious, i’m delirious
Because they’re claiming us
Yet we just watch and smile
This is serious, this is serious!
Are you delirious?
Where is your inner child?
Fodder is fucked.