Prompt:


>Anon, why are you such an asshole! You never show up to school, and when you do, you're either ignoring everyone or you're a complete jerk. Can't you tell that me and the girls are trying to change you for the better!
You are anon, you fucking hate this school and all the fags here. Which is why lunch time is great so you can sit alone in peace. But today Sunshitshitter ruined your peace by yelling at you like a house wife infront of everyone.
>What do Anons?


Autism:




"Sunset, please sit down." 
>Your voice is cold, and level, and controlled, the exact opposite of everything the fiery haired, and spirited girl accosting you is.
>Sunset blinks, furrows her brow, and looks like she's wants to say something, but thinks better of it.
>You go back to pushing a tasteless mixture of mashed potatoes and wilted vegetables around the plastic tray before you.
>You don’t even bother to look at her as throws herself down next to you, and you can literally feel the scorn rolling off of her in waves.
>You let the seconds drag by, and Sunset becomes increasingly agitated with you, tapping her boot on the floor, crossing her arms, and finally letting out a little huff.
>”Well? Why are you such an asshole?” 
>You push the half eaten tray of food away, and turn to face the child.
“Is a knife evil?” 
>She looks at you like you’re retarded.
>”Are you retarded? What does that have to do with literally anything? That question doesn’t even make sense!” 
>She throws her hands in the air, and moves to get up.
>”Should have known you were just being a dick . . .” 
>She mutters to herself, disentangling her boot from the long bench beside the lunch table.
“It cuts. All it can do is cut. You can try and use a knife for something else, but at the end of the day, all it can do is slice, or carve, or peel. It’s dangerous. You can hurt yourself, or others with it quite easily, if you’re not careful.” 
>She takes two steps away from you, before actually pausing to think about it.
>”Well . . . no, it’s a tool. A tool can’t be evil. Only the person wielding it.” 
>You actually grin a little at this.
>She turns around, still scowling, but she took the bait.
>Now she’s too curious to just storm off and call you an asshole.
“Alright. So what about a computer. Can a computer be evil?” 
>She scowls, face twisted in a look of disapproval and contemplation.
>The competitive part of her doesn’t want to be wrong, but the part that hates you doesn’t want to play into your little game.
>The internal turmoil is a little amusing.
>Just a little.
>”No . . . no a computer can’t be evil. It’s programmed by people, and the programmers are responsible for whatever the computer does or decides.” 
“So the missile guidance system for a nuclear bomb isn’t evil? Even though it’s sole function and capacity is death?” 
>She gives you a weird look at this, and her voice takes on a tone of caution.
>”Anon . . . do you need to talk to someone about things?” 
>Now it’s your turn to scowl.
“It’s a leading question, not a cry for help. Is it evil?” 
>She looks uncertain.
>”I . . . it’s pretty bad, I mean . . . there’s really no good way to use that . . . you can’t use it for anything other than massive destruction. I don’t really think I can say that it’s evil, because it’s just a machine, but it certainly isn’t good.” 
>You nod in approval.
“Then what about the men that created that computer? What about the men that created the three and three quarter megaton warhead on top of it?”
>She scoots away from you now.
>”Anon . . . this is seriously why no one talks to you.”
>You stare at her, eyes boring into hers as she tries to flee from your withering gaze.
“The men who made this monstrosity, this tool for instant genocide, made it out of fear, and out of a desire to protect the things they held dear. They, just like the guidance system the built, took the input of fear, a desire to protect, and combined it with a vast knowledge to create the most deadly weaponry made by man. Mutually Assured Destruction, Sunset. We like to think that we’re different from the machines we make, but it’s just orders of magnitude of complexity. It’s the difference between one and one thousand, just orders of magnitude. It’s cause and effect, down to the core, running back to the moment existence began.”
>She looks at you like you’re crazy.
>You’re self aware enough to realize she might be right.
“You’re popular, you’re attractive, and you’re ambitious, those are the things that you ‘just are’.” 
>Her face takes a bit of a pinkish tinge as you say this, but you don’t pay that any mind, as your voice is rising in tone and tempo.
“You are the sort that can be better, you’re the kind that can tell yourself ‘today is a new day, and I’m going to make the most of it. But you have to understand, the thing that makes up who you are, is all just electro-chemical potentials either firing or going dark in a neural web so complicated, we can’t simulate it with the largest supercomputers on the planet. Your web is so advanced, it can modify itself. It can take in data from its environment and then modify its decision making process based on that. The data input can rewrite the program that is named ‘Sunset Shimmer.” 
>Your body is gripped by an almost mad fervor, as you practically spit these things out.
>You seize her by the shoulders, shaking her as you bellow into her face.
“WE’RE MACHINES MADE OF MEAT SUNSET, WITH CIRCUITS MADE OF NERVES. YOUR MODEL CAN BE GOOD, AND MY MODEL CAN’T SUNSET. IT JUST CAN’T. I’M A SCUM SUCKING ARROGANT PIECE OF SHIT. I HATE YOU, I HATE THIS PLACE, BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING-FUCKING-ELSE I HATE MYSELF. I HATE THAT I CAN’T CHANGE LIKE YOU, BE HAPPY LIKE YOU, WALK, TALK, AND SMILE LIKE YOU. I HATE THE WIRING IN MY HEAD THAT LETS ME SEE THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN US, AND THEN WON’T LET ME CHANGE THEM.” 
>Only half the lunch room was staring at you when Sunset accosted you.
>Now the entire lunch room was dead silent, and every set of eyes was on the two of you.
>You could hear the analog clock on the far wall, a good 80 feet away, tick steadily away in the dead silence.
>You look at Sunset’s quite crimson face, eyes wide, leaning away from you.
>You gingerly release her shoulder, and avert your own gaze in a mixture of shame and embarrassment as your body visibly deflates.
>Your voice is just above a hoarse whisper, all of your passionate flaming vigor spent, and you barely manage to creak out just a few more words.
“I don’t want to be the human detritus that I am, but . . . either shaped by circumstance or nature, I just won’t change. I have all the basic compulsions of a human being to seek out companionship, perform meaningful work, and develop strong social ties, but none of the ability to attain them.” 
>You lift your head slowly, and find much to your surprise that rather than scorn, Sunset’s face is twisted into a look of deep concern for you, and her hand hovers just a few inches away from your shoulder, as if she’s afraid that touching you might break you even further.
“Even this attempt to make you understand, to communicate, it’s just another example of my own disfunction.”
>You sigh, head dropping to your chest as you hear the whispers begin to race around the lunch hall.
>By this time tomorrow, you’d wager that the teasing would start.
>The common student would whisper his insults behind your back, and laugh with his friends about it.
>The popular sort would follow up on whatever agenda Sunset planned.
>It’d take longer, but the athletics team would come up with a kinetic prank of some kind, or a physical reminder of your outburst.
>It’d take a month or so, but this would fade. It’d fade quicker if you ditched school more often.
>Something warm gently rests on your shoulder.
>It almost makes you jump, the sensation is so foreign. 
>You glance up into a pair of dazzling, intelligent, turquoise colored eyes.
>”You . . . you need help Anon . . . help that I don’t think me and the girls can give you.” 
>You draw in a long, smooth breath, count to three, and let it out, straightening back up.
“I know.”
>You stand, and mechanically grasping your tray, you turn away from her.
>You march off to the trashcan to discard the quite frankly insulting attempt at food you pushed around your tray for the past 20 minutes, the off white slop landing in the bottom of the bin with a wet, heavy thud.
>If you turned your head, you might see the look of helplessness, and struggle in Shimmer’s eyes.
>You don’t.
>If you talked to her, you might realize that she said that in haste, and that she was still willing to try and help you, now that she had gotten a bit of insight into who you were.
>You’re not going to.
>What you are going to do, is enjoy the several months of peaceful anathema you just earned yourself.
>It was a calculated risk. On one hand, this might actually result in a breakthrough, a path to a new you, a life with other people in it.
>On the other, you might actually be able to get the seven of the most self righteous individuals you’ve ever met to keep from obsessively sticking their collective nose in your business for a while.
>No matter the outcome, you win, really.
>At least that’s what you desperately tell yourself as you walk out of the building in peaceful, if cold, solitude.