The Algorithm
Sometime during the third consecutive night spent huddled over the toilet, insides heaving and shuddering as I vomit forth seemingly everything I’d ever eaten, I realize what’s happening: He’s trying to poison me. It’s all so elegant, so perfect, and so clear, that I almost laugh, but another barrage of retching forces me into silence
The next morning I throw everything in the kitchen away, wrapping it three times in black plastic and burying it deep in the apartments communal trash cans, to prevent an unfortunate transient from crossfire of His wrath. I am out the door of the complex and halfway to the corner store when I realize: He knows, must know, where I would shop.
I pick a direction and walk, enjoying the chill winter air that soothes the ragged shreds of my inside. I turn at random intervals, following an improbable path out of my familiar neighborhood, until I find a small shop with an unfamiliar name. Once inside, I hurriedly fill a small plastic basket; brands that I never have eaten, strange tins of ethnic ingredients I can’t recognize, foods that I’d never thought of buying. Soy milk. Tofu. I can feel my stomach reborn in anticipation of an untainted meal.
I prepare the meal in a fog of nervous anticipation, trying to focus on savoring the aromas and the grease spitting sounds of the frying pan. It tastes clean, but then, so has every other meal before this. I try to tell myself that the mounting pain inside me is simple fear and anxiety, but before the stroke of midnight, I am again crouched in the dingy bathroom, surrendering the days work into the porcelain mouth of the sewer.
The next day, I pack up the remaining food and dispose of it with the same care. I eat out that day, layering debt onto the last of my credit cards at restaurants on the opposite side of town.
He is more clever than I could ever imagined, and I am awash in despair as I spend another sleepless night gagging and sobbing on the tile floor. I imagine the Algorithm, the perfect predictive models at His disposal, brilliantly charting my every move across the city; every time I thought I’d outwitted Him, I was willingly walking into his web.
I buy a candy bar from a vending machine in a theater, and hold it close like a talisman. When I get home, I fill the bath a few inches deep with rust colored water, and hold the little plastic wrapped bundle beneath the water and squeeze. I know that I will see it, but it still breaks my heart when I do. A thin almost invisible stream of bubbles picks out the point where a foreign object has pierced the protective layer. Through the haze of piercing hunger, I convince myself to try, just one bite, and to take the chances. It’s a gamble that I do not win.
In the small hours of the morning as I press my fists into my empty protesting belly, I imagine the legion of His followers sliding silently through the restaurants and produce aisles of my life, slipping hypodermic needles into carefully selected packages of food. They are ruining and corrupting at His whim, surgical and efficient, before vanishing into the throng of the city at my approach. They will always be one step ahead of me, until I learn to think in new ways, to chart new cognitive pathways, and turn the game back upon Him. So, I tell myself, this is what I must do.
The first day of my new life, I spend in the small living area of my apartment, organizing my thoughts with clean and sterile efficiency, and conserving what energy I can from my wasting body. Night brings the retching sickness, but all that arises is water… and pills, half digested in the bilious water.
The pills. Of course. Not for the first time, I feel a sharp twinge of respect for crystalline perfection of His plans. I dump the last of my dozen prescriptions into the toilet.
On my third day, I feel a clarity and a sense of purpose that shocks me in it’s intensity, and my will penetrates the starvation malaise. I must win, or I will die. The rashes and sores in my cheeks are deeper, and I can feel the gentle sway of loose teeth in my desiccated mouth when I grind them in thought. He is winning, but not for long. There is still time.
Water, I collect from the roof in a small army of cheap hardware buckets. I know that somewhere in the byzantine plumbing of the aged building, there must one of His infernally clever devices; a tiny pump, squatting like a predator and pulsing it’s vile contents into the water main. I’ll have to give up bathing. A small sacrifice. The rain water will keep me alive for a while longer, but I must find a way to eat.
The answer comes to me in small unconnected puzzle pieces over the next few days. While gently working another loose molar from my bleeding gums, they suddenly snap together, and a warm smothering blanket of epiphany coats my aching frame. The clattering of the tooth into the sink basin is like the ringing of bells.
Late in the evening, I begin another unconscious dérive, drifting through the city on shaking and atrophied legs, knowing full well that He is watching. But this, my beautiful solution, is beyond even His reach.
I choose the house at random, and then, in one final attempt to baffle the Algorithim, turn around and choose another house across the little tree lined street. I sift through the mail; it’s a small sample size, but enough to confirm the most necessary of facts. A single occupant.
The poor man is surprised to have a visitor at all, and his face contorts with fear as force my way inside. I am flooded with guilt and regret as I push him to the floor and strike quickly with the crowbar I pull from the folds of my jacket.
No.
I must steel myself. This is His fault. He has brought us to this, and this poor man is just another of His victims.
I make quick work of the meat, the muscle memories of summers spent hunting in the mountains flaring up with each quick cut. I allow myself a quick bite, a feast to my shrunken and withered stomach. The iron and mineral salt taste floods my head like a vapor and I bawl in relief, like a child. When I have the meat packed tight into my rucksack, I light a single candle on the top floor of the little house, and turn the gas range on high.
I’m not yet home when I hear the low rumble in the distance; the pulsing lights of fire engines highlight the black cloud hanging in the sky.
For the first time in more than a month, I sleep well, my body rapidly healing as pure, untainted nutrients penetrate my cells. I am not yet well, but after a few more meals, I will be ready, once more, to fight Him. I know I can beat him now. I know the Algorithm can only predict the actions of my past self, bound by the laws and morals of the old world.
That world is dead.
I am a free man.
–
Credited to Josef K. This is actually called “Sick”, but since we already have a pasta on the site by that name, I’m calling it “The Algorithm” for now, unless Josef has a better idea.
Well, I liked it.
Yay! Another cannibalism story! I’m sure that no one can say that Josef did a good job of making that clear!
“While gently working another loose molar from my bleeding gums, they suddenly snap together, and a warm smothering blanket of epiphany coats my aching frame. The clattering of the tooth into the sink basin is like the ringing of bells.”
Beautiful.
But WHO WAS HE?
Well, that was a brilliant story. Reminded me of The Holders from the way you said Him, but then I considered the Algorithm as an object and it became 5 million times more creepy. Excellent pasta, I woud dine here again.
BUT WHO WAS ALGORITHM?
THEN WHO WAS NARRATOR?
6/10.
A bit slow paced and the ending was kind of lame.
Great pasta, creepy and made me feel a little queasy.
Oooh, I like!
The only thing that bugs me is that I’m not sure whether an algorith would be capable of predicting human behaviour. Typically, they are used to solve more….static problems. Rubix cubes are a perfect example. Behavior follows some patterns, but there’s the little hang-up of free will, you know?
Kind of a creepy-within-a-creepy to think that the algorithm could predict humanity.
I can’t help but feel that this was the result the He was trying to achieve.
OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMMY
Good creepy pasta is gewd~
Now there’s a cannibalism story.
Awh, man… this was so beautiful. I wasn’t really creeped out, but this is still one of the best pastas I’ve ever read, just because of the amazing writing. So much win…
The world is in desperate need of more stuff like this; I’ve read too many pastas that were poorly written.
Again, awesome! I’ll go read it again now…
I like how he left it up to us to decide whether or not there was an algorithim or the narrator was just batshit insane, his symptoms brought on by his own mind. Veddy, veddy yummy.
That was super creepy. …and made my hungry… *goes to find snack*
I really liked that, does anyone else want more, too?
Lol. its sort of ironic that these cannibalism stories have been popping up just after I watched that Most Evil show about cannibals and such….on the ID channel…
lol…
Anyways, decent pasta.
the writing, the imagery in this is perfect. Loved it
That was actually pretty good.
Man, we’ve been eating ppl a lot lately…is the economy that bad?
Gordon Freeman, has it really come to this?
This one was so cool! I feel so bad and disgusted with the main character at the same time.
That if the whole thing is just “His” way of driving the character mad?
Lovely. A favorite.
I didn’t think of it as an algorithm that predicts humanity.
I found it to predict the narrator.
I don’t get it….
Kidding.
’tis a fine alternate title, thank you Phone.
Frankly, I thought the title “Sick” removed any chance of ambiguity… Lord knows I like to be ambiguous.
Josef K. never disappoints, read this on his site already though.
x
…. I didn’t get the Algorithm or who He was.
But. Ew. Creepy.
it was about cannibalism?
I liked it but i didnt get the story
can someone explain?
Me gusta.
I love this story.
Mmmm…a nice Bolognese.
This is absolutely beautiful. That’s really all I can say.
Absolutely phenomenal.
there’s nothing from josef k. that we can’t like =)
but then again, creepypasta keeps posting old stories from josef’s site =/
its sad that josef ain’t updating that frequently anymore =’(
I like this one, a lot.
that was really, really good! you should definitely put more like this on the website. not creepy, per se, but it made me think.
Yay for cannibalism!
Really well written!
i like that if you read between the lines, you find that the narrator is probably schizophrenic or in some way mentally unstable.
*punches 31 in the cunt repeatedly*
Was anyone else seized by a sudden urge to cry? ._.’
This one makes a nice story. Could be extended into something even bigger. Reminds me of “Special” in this aspect…
Anyway, I have the feeling the Algorithm won in the end. That bastard set of deterministic opertions upon an input producing an output…
Yes, you can punch me now.
Doctor Thrax and his toxins seem to be stalking other people again <.<
it dosent feel complete needs something…
A great story, I really enjoyed it the first time I read it. I could’ve sworn it was already on here, but I must have read it somewhere else…
Excellent Josef K. It actually made my stomach hurt, that’s hard to do to someone like me, especially with a written story.
Dynamite! Now we’re cooking with plasma! Great story!
This is the best pasta i’ve ever read. I can’t thank you enough for writing it.
= Liked.
while reading this,i imagined the “Poisoned” food as being a growing mental disorder in the narrators brain,and that he comes to a solution,which is cannabilism,all because of a mental disorder,whic hmakes me wonder.is this how people become cannibals??? also
is it wierd that hannibal rhymes with cannibal,hannibal the cannibal
Oooo…Cannibalism. Nice.
I kind of figured he was mentally ill, what with the pills and resorting to cannibalism only afte he’s thrown them away.
An excellent story, I would expect no less.
Wow.
That was…..Different.
A+
Delicious pasta!
i dun get dis story geise
me rikey rong time.
I’ve read this before and always liked/loved it.
Saw it coming, but regardless… I have to say, I feel a little bit queasy now.
Good job! ;D
Delicious pasta -*YAMMY* *YAMMY*!
yummy! that was good
very good and very true calculating some ones moves by algorithm very sinister but no one has the time to make such a thing
LOL sigma ” Gordon Freeman, has it really come to this? “
Creepily beautiful. Who was schizophrenia?!?
It’s been a while since I’ve read such an.. entertaining pasta. Delicious. :]
and why not just ask random strangers if you can eat with them eh?
Cannibalism isn’t the only answer…just the lulziest
That’s brilliant. :3 I love it! Ugh, but now my teeth feel all weird. >.< I can just imagine the feeling of it coming out…
Very well done. Kudos.
i really liked this one, one of the best ones on the site imo
Why the fuck didn’t he just kill a dog or something? Srsly…
Awesome! I just Stumbled on this site and I have it bookmarked as “Go here on dark and stormy nights”. Love it!
I’m not sure if this is more of a thing about me or the story, but I didn’t really feel anything but curiousity when I read this. Course, I spend most of my time researching serial murderers and killers.
Best part about this whole thing is it cannot be madness and it cannot be insanity because there is proof she is being assaulted in some way. Amazing as his powers are, they are not unreal for she found a hole in the packaging of her candy bar that made her sick.
LOL at everyone who doesn’t get that it’s paranoid schizophrenia. I mean, come on. He even threw in that bit about the pills!
I didn’t get it at first, and everyone was like it’s a cannibalism story, lol so I read the last few paragraphs and got it, you see I am getting distracted my workmates are talking to me while Im reading this lol, really good story BTW, now I get why he kept on vomiting.
beautiful
Really well written, but couldn’t you have at least started to try and hunt fresh meat from wild animals and such?
Haylias - The algorithm depends on the main character depending on the morality’s of the culture he is in.
Great story! There’s just one thing that ruined it for me. The word “it’s” is a contraction of “it is” - not the possessive form of “it”. So, in the sentence “On my third day, I feel a clarity and a sense of purpose that shocks me in it’s intensity, and my will penetrates the starvation malaise,” I read it as, “I feel a clarity and a sense of purpose that shocks me in it is intensity…” It just made me cringe and ruined the story for me a little.
I liked it,
it gave me the ” Is he going to…….? No, he couldn’t…..Wiat OMG he’s doing it …..ewwwww ……no way GROOSSSS.”
feeling.
that was some great pasta
gotta love good ol’ cannibalism
Damn fine pasta!
Anyone who doesn’t realize that there is no algorithm and that the guy is just schizophrenic is a fucking moron with no sense of subtlety, reading comprehension or good prose.
Another good one from Josef K (but you already knew that).
Started to drag on after a while. Good read though.
“…pulled out my crowbar”
“now i am a free man”
half life reference anyone?
“…pulled out my crowbar”
“now i am a free man”
half life reference anyone?
Wow, this is a very well formed story. A little long, but definitely a great story.
the basic gist of it is, some guy is poisoning all the food,so the main character kills some poor dude and eats him. presumably does the same with a bunch of other people. not really creepy..
Haylias makes a really good point.
Also, it was really predictable when the hunger pangs started to appear in the pasta.
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
THE CARROTS
THE PEAS
THE CELERY STICKS
THE MEAT AND THE FISH WILL MAKE YOU SICK!
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
APPLES
TOMATOES
THE WHEAT AND THE CORN
ALL FOOD IS POISON
DON’T EAT THE FOOD
IT’S POISON FOOD!
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
ALL THE FOOD IS POISON!
THE ONIONS
THE PICKLES
AND THE MELONS TOO
EVEN THE PASTA AND THE TURKEY
ARE CONTAMINATED FOODS
DON’T EAT THE FOOD!
Excellent. Masterfully-done analogies, a real sense of desperation, a flow of literary writing expertise, and it ends with a suspenseful, thrilling climax.
Delectable. Well, not in the cannibalistic sense, but… y’know.
I thought it was going to turn out that He had invaded the home previously and forcibly injected the man. That’d be cool - random psycho needles you and five hours later, his snaggle-toothed rash minion eats you as directed.
… Lovely, lovely ambiguity. Is the protagonist a madman who, trying to escape imaginary poisons and a fictitious poisoner, turns to cannibalism as his only escape? Or is He real, and the man, driven mad by starvation and the impossibility of his situation, stumbles across the only escape from death in his insanity? Without an outside reference point this story doesn’t provide, there’s no way to be absolutely sure either way.
There is no He. The narrator is a schizophrenic.
Amazing story.
So…Boil your water, then nothing can possibly be in it….grow your own food, and set traps for people trying to do shit to it….
I really enjoyed it.
Good pasta.
I was pretty sure it was going in the direction of “hes insane and hes poisoning all of his own food but doesnt realize it”, so the cannibalism was a nice twist. Or maybe he really was poisoning all of his own food and was just subconsciously trying to justify cannibalism? Lol. One of the better pastas ive read either way.
I love insanity.
Fear the Darkness
-Nex
great, though up till the end i thought it was about a schizophrenic pregnant woman and that “He” was the father.
Good pasta!
NOM NOM NOM
Throw it up later
In the first few sentences, I thought ‘He’ was an abusive husband.
Then I thought ‘What the heck is an Algorithm?’. *goes to Google*
He could’ve gone to the McDonalds down the street.
however, 8/10 Quality writing.
I imagine the main character in this to be the same man as the protagonist in the Josef K story where he keeps receiving videos of his son, telling him he’ll kill his family etc. But on the topic of this story’s plot, once it had been revealed to us all his food was being poisoned, my first thought was “hop on a plane, live the rest of your life in the Amazon where he can’t get you”, so the twist was nice. Fantastic story.
Seventyseven: “He could’ve gone to the McDonalds down the street.”
The narrator is trying to avoid food poisoning