Random Story :
Made To Be Broken
Sergeant Ariel Odipo held back a grimace as her squadron …
Soul Copy
Author: Amanda Fetters
You scramble against the upholstery.
“What are you doing?”
—Hold still.
“No, really. What are you doing.”
—Making a copy. Stop squirming. We could have been done by now.
“A copy of what?”
—Your ≹§.
“My…?”
—It’s not a great translation, but roughly interpreted: your soul.
“You’re making a copy…of…my soul?” A moment of incomprehension, then you’re frantic to cover up.
Even fully clothed, you feel exposed, indecent. Naked.
—Affirmative. Shut up.
The spirit or entity or maybe demon transfers your copied ≹§ to a set of complicated scales, multi-panned with several crossbeams and more than one fulcrum. Gears click and whir until they shriek and smoke, and its meters fluctuate with varied neon hues.
—“Oh for the love of .
“Is something wrong?”
You get the sense the entity is holding a clipboard.
—I’m afraid…well. There it is.
A slot spits out a long, narrow receipt. You reach for it.
Partial to animated fantasy films
Wears the same three niche graphic tees on rotation
Musical tastes stalled in 1994
“Alternative peaked in ‘94,” you say, already on the defensive.
Relishes Broadway musicals, but only admits it in select company
Will not eat kimchi
You have the distinct impression that the entity is frowning.
Avoids committing to anything resembling an RSVP
Freezes in 99.9% of tense situations
You say nothing because you’re frozen.
Secretly believes they are an undiscovered genius
Secretly believes their mother was a pathological liar
Secretly believes all existence is an illusion
—I can assure you: it is not.
You blush. You want to ask questions, but the receipt is still printing.
Dreams of owning chickens, but is too squeamish to clean a coop
Dreams of seeing the Taj Mahal, but is too apathetic to book travel
Dreams of earning a fine arts degree, but is too cowardly to risk rejection
—Thank you, that is all we need.
You blink. “That’s it? That’s my soul? What about my personal morals, my core beliefs? And who is we?”
A slight hesitation.
—Irrelevant.
“Will you share it with anyone?”
—No.
“Will you share it with anything?”
—Possibly.
“I do not give my consent.”
—Sadly, this is not a matter of consent. I need you to stop worrying so much. I assure you, this process is harmless.
“Are you storing this somewhere?”
—Securely.
“I asked where, not how.” You twist in your seat, looking for an exit.
—Stop lolling about like that. We could have been finished ages ago.