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[Issue 40] Warphare: Psychological


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Tanki may be the first place I’ve offered my writings for human consumption, but my love affair with the pen and paper started long before now, back when I was still a pupa. My vivid imagination needed an outlet, so I started writing little miniature stories, which I tucked away so Chrysalis wouldn’t find them. I titled them my “Warphare” series, unaware that I had spelled the name wrong.

 

The Warphare stories have been edited to remove the downright comical spelling errors I made; the characters have been changed to humans, too.

 

And so I present, for your amusement, the contents of my then-undeveloped mind.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The man was happy, because he had friends, and his friends liked him.

 

His nurse liked him too, because he was her nicest patient. He had never bitten her, and he didn’t try to hit her when she gave him his injection. She even gave him his very own room to live in with his friends.

 

His friend wolf lived by his door, the horse lived under his bed, and the wise elf sat on the foot of his bed. And, just as the man had an injector, each of his friends carried their own injector.

 

They had the most fascinating conversations, the man and his friends. They all talked about how real they all were, even if the visitors couldn’t see them. Even the nurse had agreed that they were real, though she never spoke to them, nor did she answer when they called to her.

 

And so the man was happy, because he had friends, and his friends liked him.

 

One day, the man looked on the floor and found the nurse lying there, stabbed to death with an injector.

 

“Why, some very bad person has killed the nurse!” said the man, picking up the injector.

 

“How horrible!” neighed the horse beneath the bed.

 

“That’s awful!” barked the wolf by the door.

 

“Who could’ve done such a thing?” squeaked the elf on the foot of the bed.

 

The man clenched the injector.

 

“She was killed with an injector, so one of you must’ve done it!”

 

He looked very sternly at each of them.

 

“Now, which of you has done this? Come now! Confess your guilt!”

 

The wise old elf removed his hat and looked very kindly at the man.

 

“My friend,” said the elf, “You know I care very much about you-.”

 

“I do know” smiled the man.

 

“And so, because I care about you, I must tell you the truth-.”

 

“Yes?” The man was growing impatient.

 

“We all act with one mind, your mind, and we, your friends, are extensions of yourself. We think what you think, and we do what you do.”

 

The man studied the elf, who fidgeted nervously.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

The elf spread his hands pleadingly. “I beg for your understanding, dear friend. You must know that you stabbed the nurse with your injector.”

 

The man continued to study the elf in silence.

 

“You have betrayed me,” said the man finally, “and are not truly my friend. I cannot live with you anymore.”

 

The elf vanished, and in its place appeared a smiling dandelion.

 

“I am your friend” said the dandelion.

 

And the man was happy, because he had friends, and his friends liked him.

 

 

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Edited by Hexed
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