MWC19 - April - I'm the Fool

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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome to February 2019's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC19 - I'm the Fool - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hope you're all enjoying the April Fool's joke from newgrounds like I am. I'm keeping a simple theme for this one. It should be a fun one to write about.

  • THEME:

I want you to write about a situation that ended up making the main character a fool. It could be a prank gone wrong, a funny situation, a bad situation, etc... That's all. Show how your main character is a fool for their choices.


  1. Word Count Minimum: 700 words
  2. Word Count Maximum: 4000 words
  3. Story must have a strong presence of the monthly theme
  4. Story must be submitted by the deadline below


May. 2nd 2019: Midnight EST (ie midnight between May. 2nd and May. 3rd)


1st Place: Supporter Status

2nd Place: Supporter Status

3rd Place: Supporter Status


  1. Post your stories in this thread.
  2. Do not post revisions in this thread. They will be deleted.
  3. You may submit one story only, one time.
  4. Only submit stories that you've written for this competition. I don't want stories that you've written in the past. The point is to write something new and to challenge yourself. If your story shows up as plagarized (aka, found anywhere else on the internet, even if written by you) it will be disqualified.


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Response to MWC19 - April - I'm the Fool 2019-04-10 15:58:01

The Life Of A Shut In

I always thought that being safe was the best option and this is done by minimizing risk. So I didn't drive and I never hit on any women at the bar. I actually quit going to the bar because drinking could cause liver damage. I also didn't want to get stabbed if I was included unwillingly in a bar fight. So I just sat at home and watched movies and played video games. 

My drinking friends stopped showing up and I didn't even like the friends I played online games with. They were just terrible players and I wasn't playing to just have fun. I avoided the confrontation of their skill stopped playing games with them. I then developed this point of view that the games were just an addiction. Just like alcohol they had this negative effect on my life. The games were just a waste of time since I wasn't going to be a professional. 

Funny how someone so smart can be so stupid and foolish. I would always criticize others secretly and think of them as dumb fools. Reckless and careless people who just wasted their time with dumb women and nights at the bar. I became quite bitter and closed in socially. I didn't like the outside world and the crazy people out there. I didn't want to get shot, stabbed, in a car accident, or in some altercation. So I just sat at home and developed skills with new hobbies. 

Time passed by and it seemed that I was missing out at such a young age. I was only twenty six when I started to change my lifestyle. This personal decision of mine seemed to be for the best. Yet as I got older it seemed the days dragged on the same and were very bland. The same routine and safe protocol I made for myself became these rules I lived by. I lived with the truth of death and foolish people that fall victim to it. I just never thought that with these risks I minimize it would be like I was already dead.

I looked at others as foolish people who wasted their time. Who were just ignorant to have fun and they weren't aware that their lives were at risk. That most pleasures they partake in could end up being fatal. Alternatively their choices leading up to a fate of little success or wasted time. After over a decade and turning thirty six years old I started having second thoughts. 

I wasn't an alcoholic and would just drink every other weekend before. I used to have good times playing video games but I developed this point of view. The more I looked back at some of those good times the more I started to realize. I was a fool wasting time trying to avoid everything. I was the stupid person who always had to make it into a big deal. Who always made it about himself and never cared about anyone else. I was a coward and a betrayer of friendship. 

I had become the very thing I was trying to avoid all these years. A stupid fool who wasted time and risked his life. I risked my life by not living at all and not doing what I wanted. I could get cancer any day randomly and spontaneously. So what would be the point if I died as this fool with no friends or memories? I'd just be this shut in without a smile or anyone to hold at night. Instead I was turning into the ultimate fool tricked by my plan of safety. 

I never fell in love because I never put myself out there. I never met my best friend because I quit going to the bar. I never went on that vacation with my group of buddies I would have had over the years. These aren't the exact things I missed out on but still. There was so much life that I could've lived. Even if I died living that life it would've been worth it. Anything out there was better than being this stupid foolish shut in. 

Yet it wasn't too late to change myself for the better. I had to get out there and live my life before it's too late. I can't just be this fool who lets himself fade away alone and boring. I have to put myself out there and hope for the best. Live with the risks and if a smile kills me then so be it. I will die a happy person with a smile on my face. I can't be this stupid waste of time no longer with these painful guidelines to follow. I will no longer be this fool who shuts himself inside while the rich sunshine invites him to bask in it. I will break this life which torments my soul and be redeemed forevermore. I will never be this fool ever again!

I met the love of my life and we got married. I made a lot of new friends and even reconnected with some old ones. All that stuff about them being not good enough in one way or another didn't matter. I was a fool to think such things about the people who gave me life. I felt stupid about what I did for a long time but I was also glad to break the habit. Sure you know life can be scary when there are so many risks and you never really know what is going to happen. Yet if something were to happen I wouldn't want to be the fool who shut himself in from a world of life. 

So as time went on I started to live more and think less. I risked things and I mostly just had fun. This doesn't mean I was just reckless but I got out there. I lived my life everyday and I still do. I even flew on a plane for the first time and that's something I would've never done before. So somehow this fool was able to recollect himself before it was all too late. The life of a shut in turned out to be a life not worth living. 

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"Why, oh why, is the human brain so fragile??"

The question perturbed his every thought as Marcoh manipulated the intricate brain cells of a brand new specimen. A heavy brow of sweat rested delicately on the neurologist's forehead, barely maintaining its form like the many unique synapses inside his subject's skull as he poked and prodded. Snipped and snapped.

Removed and replaced.

Constant watch and delicate gestures were required to alter the human brain without causing irreparable damage. A person's personality is akin to their human nature, and human nature is as gentle as the microscopic impulses that passed between nerve cells. One wrong move and his subject was a zombie-- mindless as snowflakes falling without a will.

And these zombies clumped, too.

It struck Marcoh only as mildly intriguing when his first specimen was zombified. Seeing a human mindlessly chase after other humans in an almost comical way was interesting. It tumbled after Marcoh flaccidly and gurgled nonsense. And when the scientist managed to get away, the wannabe human kept thumping its head against the bulletproof glass, without fail, until it's head, and former identity, was no longer conceivable.

"How very curious."

Unlike in the movies, a zombie created in his lab only chased after other humans for connection. It did not crave blood. It did not wish to bite or tear flesh. This event commonly became a short anecdote within the concrete bunker where Marcoh's lab resided-- a failed experiment's actions are unimportant in the grand scheme.

Only a fool would make note of their failures when the looming future promises much greater successes.

Marcoh has ruined many, many souls during his research and experiments. And of course, the word "soul" is just a four letter word in the meticulous, ever-examining eyes of science. A soul is nothing more than a person's inclinations, and those inclinations are made powerless within the hands of God, as he liked to believe himself to be.

"Gain access, get paid... gain access, get paid... gain control... get paid even more..."

A wide, animal-like grin spread across Marcoh's face as he bore his teeth in the form of a smile. He had successfully attached the programmable apparatus to the empty husk’s brain before him. As the sweat poured from his head, finally relieved from intense focus, Marcoh set his tools down and, without apprehension, proceeded to his supercomputer.

Marcoh was not offered assistance, and he was more inclined to not accept it. His work could not allow for the most minute distraction. A wrong move from an assistant wiping his brow and his hand could move just a wrong fraction of an inch-- destroying his hard work. Work, which normally insisted 28 straight hours without rest.

“Not worth it,” the neurologist mumbled to himself as he sipped his coffee, black.

He was referring to the personalities he encountered while digging inside the brain. Synapses, although impossibly complicated and void of direction, they tended to resist the complex programming of his biomechanical devices. These devices were makeshift brain cells and, if used with the proper precision, they could command a human to their will, successfully bypassing the natural impulses of their host.

It was entirely impossible to reprogram the brain without encountering the other electrical impulses that naturally resided between the cells. His supercomputer spit out information to the implanted devices and translated the results. These results displayed a battle between the host and the surrogate.

This battle resulted in pain.

Excruciating pain. Hot tears flowed from his subject’s bulging eyes as its tongue flickered madly from corner to corner. It was impossible to understand this pain. But with the supercomputer, it was clear as day on the computer screen that this pain was equivalent to having your brain melted by microwaves.

To go through such terrible pain just to recover one’s personality, a personality that can be wiped at the much-too-real push of a button, is just silly, thought Marcoh. Just give up. It's not worth it. Within the hands of science, you are nothing more than a mere stepping stone-- a disposable syringe, empty of fluid and worth.

He could end the struggle, type in a few codes, and shut down the pain or the last bits of consciousness left inside it’s cranium.

But he preferred watching the subject struggle to render his work worthless.

“Pointless,” Marcoh muttered as he sipped his coffee once more, “You cannot go against a God.” He got up from the endless data displayed on the supercomputer screen to get another fill.

The coming years were fast. Anarchy, rebellion, riots, and guerrilla looting instilled fear against his communist party. Quickly, Marcoh became the forefront forefather of the war-- a war caused by fear of being mind-controlled and manipulated by the government or being forced into captivity under the loose premise of being a “traitor spy.” Of course, other countries and continents did not appreciate his brain-control research and deemed it their righteous goal to stop him as well.

“Remove. Replace. Reprogram.” An outspoken motto from the white-bearded Marcoh himself to everyone within the “workshop.”

You were allowed reprieve from fighting in the war if you were intelligent, skilled, or savvy enough to partake in Marcoh’s manipulations. Through his years of grueling, dark research, Marcoh had ruined hundreds of thousands of minds in order to expedite a process to where even your average evil genius could manage a simple personality reprograment.

The problem was finding enough people to operate on.

Enemies of war, captives, even the poor and the old were reprogrammed to fight his country’s war that Marcoh himself started with his taboo research. A large white-beard and focused, old eyes of the neurologist’s were the only signs of his growing wisdom. Impossibly akin to a God, Marcoh was allowed control over every single specimen that left his workshop. His watchful eyes could interpret the data from his multiple supercomputers and tell you how many have died, how many they’ve killed, and if they needed “readjustments” because their control was either weak, misplaced, or damaged due to the inexperienced underlings he had now.

Joy was an incorrect description of what Marcoh felt.

Perhaps ecstasy was an even weaker word.

Marcoh was at peace, but somehow his mind was still toiled by the use of his years of research. Something as pitiful as war could not be his endgame.

Complete control over famine and wealth was his favorite fantasy. To end the world’s suffering just by the power of one man seemed like the most likeliness to becoming the God he knew himself to be. To smile in the face of The Big Bang and Higher Powers and declare that humanity was fixed and saved by a single human being was by far the greatest erotic accomplishment that Marcoh could think of.

And it gave him chills.

The war would eventually end through Marcoh’s upgrading of his old system. He discovered that by asking the brain to do things through emotional discourse, he could make his super soldiers stronger, faster, and harder to kill. There was one drawback. His subjects would cry out meaningless words such as, “Mom,” or “Dad,” or “Brother,” or “Sister,” and would sometimes be caught weeping uncontrollably to oneself.

Pointless in the grand scheme.

estimated minimum amount of sarcasm per post: 38%

Marcoh could not entrust anyone else to accomplish his task of relieving the world of disparity and eventually he used his mob of the manipulated to conquer the world. Two decades had passed since the beginning of his research, and his country had managed to conquer the world through sheer numbers and negotiations. The neurologist Dr. Marcoh ceased to exist and in his place was Father Marcoh. And Father Marcoh was so good at his job that he could program subjects to reprogram other subjects, thus entertaining the idea of a self-sustained army.

Father Marcoh’s needs quickly overtook the government that funded his initial campaign as he used his army to either kill or reprogram everyone that wasn’t already under his control… Such blindsides, his former communist fellows had… They didn’t understand that what Marcoh wanted was much greater than what life or free will could fulfill.

And everyone paid the ultimate price in the eye of Father Marcoh’s dark science.

Zombies were no longer a concern. Everyone followed, died, and obeyed without consent…

The years went by, seemingly unnoticeable as technology and conflict ceased to matter. The Earth grew lush greens and habitats flourished without man’s constant environmental abuse. War was impossible and starvation, too. Subjects toiled fields and grew bare necessities, for they still needed to eat to continue to work properly. The skies were blue and the animals happy.

Father Marcoh could only see harmony on his many supercomputer displays, and he eventually abandoned them to walk as the world’s lone messiah among the “people.”

The years flew by.

One day, something peculiar happened.

As Marcoh walked the pear trees and strawberry groves, picking the fruits of labor, and he noticed a small congregation.

An unwarranted congregation.

Subjects were gathering together, half-naked, sitting in the baking sun, absent from work, and leaning in towards one another. If they had the strength, or willpower, they would no doubt be embracing each other with arms over their neighbor. They were the very embodiment of a close knit community.

Father Marcoh’s heart thumped in a strange way. The irrationality of being the only one with free will and discovering a glitch in his programming immediately sent thrills through the so-called God. Immediately he felt fear that his subjects were being controlled, but upon returning to his concrete bunker, he discovered that his supercomputers were not being manipulated by another thinking human.

But instead, they were being controlled by his subjects.

Not directly. There was nobody inside the programming room, and there were no signs of tampering. His multiple displays showed that his subjects were simply craving connection.

“Zombies.” The thought made Marcoh feel ill.

He tried his best to stop it but the humans he controlled so prominently had been slowly unraveling his methods. As Marcoh frantically backtracked through years of actions and input, he could now clearly see what had happened. It seemed that there were small discrepancies in the code here and there, but largely unnoticeable when a lot of information was being passed at once-- such as there was when the war was abundant.

Ba-dum. Marcoh’s heart felt a very strange tinge of human anxiety.

The neurologist could not have predicted that his programming could be overturned over the course of 30 some years. He could not have predicted that such a small subtlety in the code would be forgotten instead of overwritten by the supercomputer itself. It was impossible, clearly, for him to have predicted his subjects would disobey him, even when he controlled them consistently for decades. His trials, his errors, they paved a clear path to the future successes and within those successes he had showed He Himself that mutiny was impossible. His computer eradicated discrepancies and disrupted any free will that managed to show up unwarranted.

Marcoh’s head spun.

As Marcoh exited the contents of his stomach into the latrine (fresh fruits and vegetables, well-cooked venison, and exquisite wines) he realized something.

He had seen it all along. The tiny errors. The minute codes that promised today’s uprising.

Marcoh hadn’t thought the human psyche was strong enough to hide from him, so he didn’t bother searching for its eradication. At the peak of his research, he had programmed his computers to do such things for him. But there it was, currently. Staring him in the face, through lines and lines and lines and lines of code, was the personality he so wanted to extinguish.

It had hid from him.

And unable to see without the eyes of a scientist, Marcoh was unable to understand the will that these small, minor blips of human resurgence really contained.

It was impossible to stop, once started. Soon subjects began gathering together in desperate attempts to feel connections and the once-neurologist Dr. Marcoh watched in despair as they refused to communicate with his demands. It was like they were shutting themselves down.

The coming years became so bleak that Marcoh eventually killed himself-- unable to reclaim the Godhood that he once had craved so badly that he was willing to erase the world of free will.

estimated minimum amount of sarcasm per post: 38%

Response to MWC19 - April - I'm the Fool 2019-04-18 22:19:02

3rd One in Line

Ahh. What a beautiful spring morning!

Waking up this day, I was so Happy to see morning sky and clouds as I kicked my skateboard up into my arms.

Unluckily ;P .. This story is not about me..

I had spent the first part of my morning walking with my skateboard on the sidewalk of my hometown. I was headed in the direction of the downtown area. A friend of mine had called me to come over for some little extravaganza he was having at his place. Fifteen years old and feeling great that I was already on my way out of Highschool, considering my skipping and obstructions record... This summer was going to be awesome!

I called my buddy when I had reached town to make sure that he would meet me "halfway" at a school near his place. He told me he was taking his skateboard out to meet me at that moment. I hopped on my board and started pushing. Passing through the rest of town, I checked my phone just in case of a text. I had noticed the DATE! What a perfect way to start the spring off but finding the ultimate "Got YOU!" ritual to pull on my buddy. It was April Fool's day, and I had the biggest excitement rising within me.

Getting closer to the school, I could see no sight of my friend. I called him again and he said he was walking out his front door. I had nothing.. So far all I could pull would be a "Jackass" technique with the skateboard. I pushed ahead and went down the little hill leading to his block. I turned left and finally see him pushing fast on his board toward me. I pushed up to meet him and instead of slowing down he tried jumping off his board to tackle me! I stepped off to the side as his hand brushed my elbow. A nonsensical and gritty, "April Fools!" filled the air.

My friend, we'll call him Kyle, has a very hyper and chill attitude. A constant battling of the two. Main reasons would be the excessive weed smoking and strong female addiction. :D Kyle is a special kind of friend that everyone needs to show to their kids, "This is what not to do."

So.. me being the caring person I am, and knowing him to be my bud, I helped him up off the ground as he patted my back and whispered, "April Fool's" in my ear, with a tiny grin. We proceeded to his place of dwelling and, not to my surprise, there were already three of my friends, and two girl's I've never met before. In total It was four guys and four girl's.

So were clowning around in the backyard drinking some reserved coolants (underage variety pack) and everyone seemed to be in a swell manner. Kyle and one of my other friends, male, disappeared inside for a short period of time, leaving outside me, with my two friends (we'll call them Kathy and Matt), and three girl's I've never met before. Apparently they haven't met them either, so my friend Kathy, decided to ask where these girl's were from and who they were. We each introduced ourselves, Matt had let out a gasping, "I'm Matt" with a huge dorky smile. We shared smokes for the time we were out there ourselves and when I had gotten a chance to introduce myself, Kyle and our other friend came bustling out of the back porch door with a gallon of Arizona iced tea and a few cups to match.

They were both smiling, but Kyle was grinning profusely and I could sense the calm psychotic lurking in the back of his eyes. He began giving everyone cups and our friend offered to pour everyone drinks beginning with Matt. Then Kathy was served, but not before I had seen Matt take a tiny sip then a sniff of his drink. He looked at Kyle just as our friend was coming over to pour me a cup, and screamed, "There's piss in this!" I refuted my drink offer as Kyle screamed back, "Just drink it!" He almost got his hands on the cup when Matt splashed him in the face with it and Kathy at the same time splashed her cup on our friend attempting to pour me one. They began yelling "April Fool's" and at the same time Kyle grabbed the Arizona, Matt had got up and pushed him off the porch.

shamanistic healing and alchemical Druidry

if interested in advanced to greater level meditation (FlowKinesis

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Response to MWC19 - April - I'm the Fool 2019-04-22 21:48:01

The Guitar’s Song

Late this night is like most nights. The bars are charged with the depressed and celebratory to fill up the walls. People drown their sorrows with drink. It is only as they empty and the street noises die down. You can hear the sounds of a sweet sixed stringed song bird chirping away in the corner of a dark and musty room. Nobody listened for the man singing the words but to feel the way he felt through the notes of the finger powered songbird. There are many nights this bar has been graced with the bardic tales of his guitar. Most nights have lasted through till the morning long since the doors are closed to the idea on additional onlookers.

There is always that one night where someone of interest decides to show themselves. The someone who’s sheer aura brought people to fame. Slick hair. Slick shoes. Slick smile. Sane people who weren’t drunk on the elixir of fame saw this snake of a man slither in confidently from his flashy car. The sly man picked the one bar everyone talked about tonight. He picked the one where he could find the enticing plinks of a man with bardic fingers.

This night like every night before the man played with all his soul. His feelings layed for all who listened to interpret what he has been through or to imprint themselves in his life. Though most don’t know him, his tweets make him seem relatable. The fingers of the skilled performer licked the strings making them sing that sweet siren tune. But the one thing different was the man sitting in the front row. Pulling the stage light toward him and his shiny, black suitcase. This did not distract the guitar man one bit though his did look out into the crowd and saw this keniving man sitting perched, relaxed, and listening.

The night was coming to an end as the guitarist finish chirping the As through Fs finished coming from his dancing fingers. He thanked the audience for coming out to listen as he packed his guitar on top of a small pile of newly donated money within his case. The guitar man started to walk out the bar but before he pasted this new stranger grabbed his arm and gestured him to sit across from him.

Weary the guitar player sat to listen to the tale that span from the snake oil salesman’s mouth. The salesman ended a short tirade of promises of fame and fortune with a slide of a piece of paper across the table. It was a golden ticket to the world. Its payment is just a signature that comes tagged to the soul of the unsuspecting artist. This guitar player figured if this wasn’t for him that he would just walk away before the end of the day.

One night to pack and a nights fly he was in a city where stars are crafted with the fires of corporate greed. The first thing he was told when he arrived is that they can’t sell just a one man and his guitar. He needs the whole band. The guitar player tried to refute their demands since he just wanted to play his music. But his contract said he only played with a band.

A few years passed and the guitar player was packing up when the sly salesman slide into his room. Curious on where he was planning on going the salesman asked with hostile intent. The musical man said his gig was up and he wanted to return to his bar where he could feel the music flow through him. For he was losing touch with what made him who he was. The salesman had nothing more to sell but only information to give. A lawyer was bestowed to sign papers while the guitarist played his songs. The contract is extended with longer terms and harsher deadlines.

One day the songs stopped coming out of the man who used to play so many. He had always had vices in his life but they were something that helped enhance his days. But now he turned to these vices to escape. Escape the hell that he built around himself. To escape the self he became. To escape the fact that he walked away from the life he had to a life that he thought he wanted. That there was no way out of the life that he was sold under the pretense that the glitz and the glamor of the golden stardom was not just for show.

Don’t think I am trying not to convince you to chase your dreams and take advantage of the opportunities that are given to you. But nobody is out to hand you the life you want. Don’t be fooled by a the devil wearing a pinstripe suits promising everything you thought you wanted. You might just end up losing everything you ever were. Leaving everything you loved behind.