In the year 2135, on the fringes of the infinitesimal spiral galaxy known as Nomricon, a peculiar device lay hidden in the wreckage of an old, long-forgotten spaceship. This device, known as the Stroking Simulancer, had an inscrutable purpose, something which even the star-gazing inhabitants of Nomricon could not fathom. To them, the Simulancer was an absurd relic of a bygone era, like a rubber ducky in a desert of logic.
Narl Wibble, a cantankerous scholar of the obscure, stumbled upon the Simulancer while scavenging through the relics of Nomricon’s history. Narl, who fancied himself a connoisseur of absurdities, was ecstatic. His reputation as a seeker of the strange had made him a local hero in the obscure corners of the galaxy, and this find promised to elevate his status to near-mythical proportions.
The Simulancer was a complex contraption made of polished brass, with a series of dials, levers, buttons and spinny things that seemed to have no discernible pattern. It looked like something a mad scientist might have designed while under the influence of a particularly good space-hallucinogenic. Despite its outward appearance, it was clear that this device held secrets that even the most learned scientists of Nomricon couldn’t crack.
Narl, with the enthusiasm of a child discovering a forgotten candy, took the Simulancer back to his modest laboratory. It was a cluttered space, filled with the remnants of failed experiments and half-read books. He set the Simulancer in the center of the room, its brass surface glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. He leaned in, scrutinizing it like a fine wine or a particularly stubborn puzzle.
With trembling hands, Narl started twisting dials and pressing buttons at random. Nothing happened at first, which was unsurprising given the erratic nature of the device. However, as he continued his clumsy exploration, the Simulancer hummed softly and began to emit a soft, blue glow.
Suddenly, the room transformed. The walls melted away, and Narl found himself in an abstract landscape that seemed to be a cross between a Salvador Dalí painting and a circuit board. The sky was a swirling vortex of colors, and the ground was a patchwork quilt of neon lights and floating geometric shapes. Narl realized, with a mix of horror and fascination, that he was no longer in his laboratory but inside the Simulancer itself.
“Welcome to the Stroking Simulancer of Nomricon,” a disembodied voice intoned. It was smooth, like an over-caffeinated radio announcer from another era. “You have been selected to experience the simulation.”
Narl looked around, dazed. “What simulation?” he asked, though it seemed futile to speak to a voice that had no visible source.
“The Simulation of the Absurd,” the voice replied. “Here, you will experience scenarios of illogical and irrational events designed to test your adaptability and patience.”
Before Narl could respond, the landscape shifted. He was now standing in a surreal marketplace where vendors were selling jars of invisible jam, telepathic pets, and paradoxical scarves that changed color based on the wearer’s mood. The inhabitants of this market were a motley crew of beings: some had eyes where their ears should be, and others had mouths where their noses were. They moved about with a sense of purpose that was, quite frankly, baffling.
Narl stumbled into a stall selling “Eternal Confusion,” a misty substance that promised to keep one perpetually perplexed. The vendor, a creature with a head that looked like a rotting pumpkin, grinned widely. “Care for a sample?” it asked.
“No, thank you,” Narl replied, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was being polite or genuinely refusing. The very act of refusing felt like a cosmic joke.
As Narl wandered through the marketplace, he encountered various scenarios that seemed designed to challenge his sanity. There was a parade of marching clocks, each moving backward in time while their hands spun wildly. There were also beings who spoke in riddles that had no answers, and others who insisted on making polite conversation while standing on their heads.
Hours, days, or perhaps eternities later, Narl found himself in front of a giant mirror that reflected not his image, but a series of absurdities that grew increasingly bizarre. One moment it showed him arguing with a sentient cactus about the merits of wearing hats, and the next it depicted him performing an elaborate dance routine with a troupe of invisible ballerinas.
Exhausted and disoriented, Narl slumped to the ground. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back in his laboratory. The Simulancer, now dark and inert, sat in the center of the room like a disheveled toy that had been abandoned.
Narl stared at it, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. He had survived the Simulation of the Absurd, but he was left with more questions than answers. What had he learned? Was there a point to the madness he had endured?
In the end, Narl realized that the true purpose of the Stroking Simulancer of Nomricon was not to provide answers but to remind its users of the inherent absurdity of existence. It was a cosmic joke, a reminder that no matter how deeply one might search for meaning, sometimes the only truth is that life itself is a series of whimsical and illogical events, and the best one can do is embrace the absurdity with a smile.
—PP
Contributor
Not Phil Italiano.
