Only God Can Judge Me and More
rating: +42+x






Year 1,499,999


Here’s a joke I remembered liking at some point.

A Foundation employee goes to ask the Records Department to change their name and gender. After filling out many forms and having to carefully explain to the staff what they are doing and why they are doing it for hours on end, the process is finished.

‘See, that wasn’t so bad!’ And the clerk was right! It was a lot easier than expected, even if bureaucracy will still make the paperwork take ages to go through. ‘There’s just one last part of the process on your end, however. Please put on these laboratory gloves.’

‘Anything to get this done and over with, sir,’ the Foundation employee states. After they put on the gloves, they then are handed SCP-113.

‘Once you get back to your living quarters, you are instructed to use this once every other week for two months until your forms are processed and approved. Then you may bring it back, and you are officially all done.’

As reluctant as the employee is, they know they just need to get through it. So they comply. For four months, they use 113, "switching" between genders constantly, undergoing what is now classified as a "Class-Diogenes" phenomenon, appearing visibly more androgynous. After four months, they are notified that all their forms have been approved! Now they can bring 113 back to the Records Department. With haste, they make their way back and approach the clerk!

'Thank you very much for your patience, your name and gender changes have all gone through. One final question we need to ask before you are free to leave; have you noticed any changes with using SCP-113?'

'No sir, I can't say I have,' the employee replies. 'Why is this mandatory to use, again?'

'So you can see what living as both a male and female is like,' the clerk replies in a stuffy, bored voice. The employee is stunned!

'With all due respect, that sounds crazy. I've already spent my life trying to live as both; it's a real garbage fire.'

Cue my nervous laugh, my stomach sinking.


I'm pinned on the conveyor belt of a grand machine, overlooking the entirety of my existence. Its mouth is a howling beast with the skull of a human, full of insecurities and paranoia. "I'm struggling, I don't know what comes next, I'm doing my best, please like it, please like me," it cries out in a tinny gasp. Still it churns on, and still I get ever closer to it. Any second now, it'll pierce me, and that will be it.

When its jaws come hurtling into my body, I don't end up dead. Instead, it stops at my neck, slowly dragging its way down my body. Breathing becomes harder. Its jaws stop at my torso, snapping it off; I feel no pain.

"Talloran, why do you feel no pain?" the Voyeur questions. "Have you gotten used to your pain? Do you look forward to it now?"

"I thought you were the one inflicting the pain on me!" The Voyeur circled around, burrowing itself into my corneas.

"No, I'm merely the arbiter. I only bring what was already there. Hmm… there's just no physical pain here to bring." The jaws' claws work its way up to my head now. "In much the same way as a writer is the one bringing out its' characters present in the story, so am I for your hatred to yourself. It's simply…" The jaws break off the front portion of my head. "…simply just the messenger."

The machine scoops up my brain, and though my body is limp, I still feel and sense everything around me. With its hand, it splits me apart, gently guiding both halves into its skeletal form; one for its head, and one for its crotch.

'Talloran, do you understand now, who you are?'

I am… Researcher Talloran.

'Do you know what you are?'

Human, in the loose sense of that word.

'How would you describe yourself?'

I can't.

'Why do you avoid referring to yourself in here as anything other than yourself, or Talloran?'

I guess… it's because…

'Are you a guy?'

I'm unsure. I don't know.

'Are you a girl?'

I'm unsure. I don't know.

'Do you remember how you were before you sentenced yourself?'

Yes.

Then why the lack of responses?

I'm unsure. I don't know.

I've never known, I suppose.

Have I always never really known? Or is this just a recent thing? What if it's all fake and in my head?

Wouldn't be the first thing to doubt in here, that's for sure.

"Gender's that much of a worry for me, huh." The words came out from somewhere I could recognize as being me, but I wasn't sure. They transformed into neon colors resembling a Rorschach test.

"What's my biggest fear?" The fear of not knowing. "What's my biggest concern?" That I am simply faking. "Is it so important to entrust myself and my safety to everyone around me?" Yes. "Even in a place like the Foundation?" Yes. Especially in the Foundation. "To be neither a man nor woman, huh, nor truly either or." Yes. "Do you think not being yourself any moment of the day is an actual problem?" Yes, because I am the root of this problem. "And not your environment?"

I don't think so… it's just easier to blame myself and be a sad-sack, isn't it?

But if that were true… it'd be a sad story. There's more for me out there than a sad story, isn't there?

"The machine isn't interested with feasting on you… what do you feel right now, that you can truly feel nothing in your situation here, but contemplation?" the Voyeur asked. Irritation seeped in for the first time.

"I feel… like I want to be alone and think." And so It left me alone. I spent every second contemplating, feeling myself out.

I got stronger.






2016

Talloran heads to the Records Department.








Year 1,500,000


I'm one step closer to surviving.




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