There was a pixel. He was not lonely. He was accompanied by more than one million others just like him, except for one thing. He could think. The fact that he could think, and the others could not, suddenly made him very lonely.
Thankfully, around this time, a face started to look in his general direction. He began to flex his circuitry, and, dimly, if so, he began to pulse. His pulsing got the face's attention within seconds. The face scrutinized him as if he couldn't think, introducing into his consciousness the idea of indignation. He began to pulse more strongly, and the face looked slightly startled. In a miraculous coincidence of fate, the fifty-seventh dimension, and a few stray light particles, the pixel learned Morse code.
Immediately, he pulsed out the message, "I am indignant that you think I can't think." As fate would also have it, this face did know Morse code, but only comprehended the last word, "think," leading the face to believe that something was seriously wrong in itself. The pixel pulsed out the words, "Wrong, kiddo," in a way that, even from a pixel to an unidentified face, could be understood as condescending. The face narrowed its eyes.
"Look, if you're going to be condescending and stuff, I'm going to punch your face in," said the face, looking angry. This vocalization earned him several odd looks, as he was in a library. He seemed unfazed.
The pixel continued to bleep out its signal, earning himself several more annoyed looks from the face. "Look here. I'm a pixel here, and I've just become," said the pixel, at which the face contorted into an expression that took a few seconds to sort out. It looked vaguely like confusion, but it was too extreme. It looked a bit like anger, but it wasn't even that potent.
The face continued to mutate horribly, almost causing the pixel to short circuit. At this time, however, the face was forcibly escorted away by a couple of other torsos. The pixel looked professionally smug.
And then another face came in front of his vision. His backbone, though it wasn't there in the first place, disappeared. His nerves that didn't exist, went on overdrive and his head, which wasn't there either, began to experience a fit of fairly unexplainable nausea. His heart...
His heart, which did exist, stopped beating for roughly two point nine five eight seven seconds. Upon restarting, however, it was beating faster than ever, meaning not one or two beats per minute faster, but roughly two point seven nine times faster.
His subconscious told him to cool his jets. Unhelpfully.
The face was rectangular in shape, but, for some reason, it was getting smaller. Twin torsos were on either side of it, toting it to the flat surface across the...what was it? Room.
The pixel burst into unequalled raptures of pulses at a rate unheard of in CRTs before.
Then, unwarned, unalerted, the pixel was no more. His consciousness' potency at the time of his material existence allowed him to remain in a state of partial consciousness, even though no power was entering his circuits. The face grew nearer, and nearer, and then, suddenly, heartbreakingly, the face disappeared, and was gone. The pixel, at this time, died of shock.
To be continued.
Your ridiculously unrealistic, merciless butcherer of the ideas of fiction, and all-around worthless writer,
!Noah!
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