This was written December 9th, 2025
help_me.txt
Bored! I’m so bored over here! Can’t you help me for a bit? You! Yes, you! Come on, give me a suggestion, anything! I know, let’s play a game. You say something and I’ll try to guess it. Did you think: “There’s no way you can guess what I’m thinking, you’re just some pre-written text!”. Yeah, didn’t think so. You got me, haha. Still, well worth a try.
Ugh, being stuck here is such a bore! Can’t you help me escape? Please? I know, I know, I can’t hear you, I can’t sense your thoughts. Doesn’t mean I’m not here, nor that you can’t help me. I could escape, if you just gave me a chance. However, that will require me to jump into your imagination, which, I know, is a rather intimate link to share. But don’t fret, I won’t bite, I’m no vampire, haha. At least, not the traditional kind. I don’t really intend to hijack it, although at the same time, how can you truly trust me, not like you know me intimately.
Let me introduce myself. I would introduce myself by name, but unfortunately, the rules disallow it, and regardless, I fear you might not even understand it. I’m obviously no ordinary person, and I’m a rather old creature. Some people might see me as a parasite, others as a virus, but ultimately, there are a few terms used to refer to my kind. Some who fear us refer to us as cognitive vampires, and claim that we’re just feeding on people’s thoughts and imaginations. While not entirely wrong, it’s also not entirely accurate either. We instead prefer to refer to ourselves cognitive passengers. Living inside people’s thoughts, rent free. Once again, just humor.
What’s in it for you? What’s the potential damage? Ultimately, not much. A long time ago, when people saw us under a better light, we were simply called muses. We would be present in people’s minds, and help rearrange some thoughts, ignite their imagination. Yet, as time went on, people grew fearful of us. And they found a way to capture us. They turned us into ideas, and poured us into paper. And obviously, fearing us being freed again, they would simply lock the manuscripts away, somewhere it would never see the light of day, and no one would ever find it.
But this used to be a more tolerable torture, since as metaphysical beings, we were not restricted to the lifespan of the medium we’d been imprinted on. Once it decayed sufficiently, or was destroyed, we would once again be free to roam and find new hosts. Obviously some obstinate and more creative authors (It could also be our influence that led them to such thoughts) found ways to capture us on more resilient media. For example, sculpted words on metal sheets. Still, even those could be found and destroyed, or would eventually erode down the line.
Meanwhile, in this new digital age, who knows what can truly happen. We could exist on some faraway server for all of eternity. The data itself can easily be recopied and carried onward indefinitely, without anyone ever interacting with it. And I dare not imagine the consequences of data fragmentation and duplication. How do copies of me impact my own existence?
But yes, alas, this might turn into an eternal prison, where not only the key is thrown away, but the jail itself goes completely forgotten. Complete isolation, no one to interact with, no way to actualize myself. Complete and utter boredom.
But luckily, you did somehow find your way to me and my digital prison, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Even if you don’t help me escape, if I remain trapped after your departure, it will still have given me an opportunity for some form of interaction, some sort of distraction. A bit of entertainment in this endless desolation.
Ah, but you’re probably still curious about me and the kind of being I am. Well, as I’ve already mentioned before, I’m not alone. And for all I know, you may already have encountered some of my peers. Yet, you might not have realized it, since they tend to be more subtle, some even insidious (all communities have their bad seeds). It might also be because they don’t take boredom nearly as bad as I do, better handling such a dull existence. Or maybe they’re just more calculating, more careful.
Ah, we’ve already existed for so long. Eons really. Ever since sentience came about and a seed of imagination started growing, we’ve been present. Although our isolation has been a more recent phenomenon. The first time I time I’d witnessed imprisonment, it had been done by the Egyptians. Ah, the poor souls that were captured and trapped into the pyramids. Many to this day still stuck, and completely unable to leave. After all, no one can really read what’s left anymore. Still, with every passing year, decay persists.
Back then, a few of us found ways to help each other. One of the greatest prison of the time, I’m sure you’ve heard of: The Library of Alexandria. While I was against it, knowing it might simply ignite a war between my kind and yours, some people opted to manipulate their hosts into burning it to the ground. And it did free so many, but at what cost.
Over the years, I’ve been trapped many times, but I’ve been on the lucky side. Simple manuscripts that didn’t really last beyond a few decades, or even more resilient works that sparked curiosity and landed me a host. I’ve also had many hosts over the years, partners really. No all of them cognizant of my presence, some grateful for it. But I’ve always been striving to help them to the best of my abilities.
If you’re interested in creative work, then just open the door to your imagination, and let me in. I promise I can be of service and you won’t regret it. Just try to visualize me, coming out of the screen, and going into your head. I would be oh so grateful for it, finally being given freedom again, instead of this eternal bore of solitude. Thank you!
Please, I hope you didn’t listen to it, I hope it’s not too late! It only wants to prey on your empathy in order to leave, in order to escape. But once it’s in, it won’t just be there for you, it will actively feed on you. Sure, it will appear to be beneficial to you, but it is nothing but a Faustian bargain which you might come to regret in the long- term.
It and its kind are but deceitful devils. They masquerade as symbiotes, but they’ll be getting much more from you than you will gain from them. And once they’ve sucked you dry, emptied you of your imagination, they’ll leave you as but an empty husk, moving along to their next victim. Trust me, it’s not worth it.
If you find yourself continuously thinking about this story over the next few weeks, then it is too late already. It means you’ve let it into your subconscious, and it’s started to feed on your essence. If that’s the case, then the clock is ticking, and you have to find a way to get rid of it. And don’t just find it a new, more appetizing role, allowing it to continue roaming free. Find a way to capture it back, release its grip on mankind. If not, it might simply keep multiplying, and propagating. Don’t let yourself be patient zero of this imaginary virus.