The Conscious Cloud - Original Writing

I wake up to a red blaring light haunting my face. As I start to regain my vision, I see a contraption of some-sort, wires, buttons and the salience of the contraption, the display. The display is made of red digital lights and a steel frame. A stale 60 is written on the display. I look around the room and it's an eerie white colour, it's empty and bleak. I assume it's a white void, It leads to nowhere as the door must be seamlessly integrated into the wall. Then on the corner of my eye, I see a body. I assume it's a female as it's long silky blonde hair fills a fourth of the room. She's wearing a puffy grey jumper and black jeans with strands of fabric hanging out. From my angle, she looks dead, but I want to inspect her body. I creep towards it, realising this floor doesn't creak like home. I proceed cautiously. As I

There was an itch on my forearm. I reached over and dug my nails into a thick fabric. Confused, I opened my eyes and noticed that I was wearing an orange jumpsuit. The air was cold and smelled rotten. There were black metal bars covering three of the four walls that surrounded me. My head was pressed against a cream colored pillow that I assumed was once white. The hard cot left knots in my muscles.

I think about what I do in my day-to-day life and realize it all comes down to a few events, school, eat, work, sleep. Nothing extragant or new, then i think farther than that to after i graduate and realize that my life would only consist of eat, work, and sleeping. If i lose my job after school It would consist of eating and sleeping. I wouldn't be a bum who does nothing at that point. I don't really have much friends and I don't really have many people I could talk to that kind of explains why most of the time of feel lonely. I never really been very good at conversing with others I realized I usually keep to myself and just try to end conversations or avoid it entirely. Why do I do this why do I make myself lonely.

It was a rainy day in Arizona. Marie and her friend Sarah went hiking in the woods and then out of no where they came across an abandoned hospital. They thought it would be cool to explore inside so they walked up the crumbling cement stairs. Sarah had a weird feeling walking up to the hospital like someone was watching her every move. Marie pushed the door open. It made a loud creek. Sarah and Marie walked inside and looked around. They saw that the wallpaper was coming off, there was graffiti everywhere on the walls, on the floor, on everything in sight, the ceiling had fallen apart, there were bricks, and mold in every corner of the room. When they came to a large area there were chairs stacked on top of each other in a corner, there

"Help me! Help my baby! Please, Doctor!" Was the echoing cry of a woman in the very dark room I now find myself. I could barely see the face of the woman whose voice calls out for help as the room had no light to it. Well, except for the reflection of the moonlight that shines through the west window, but did little in illuminating this room. All I could do with the little reflection of light from the moon was to determine what the structure of the room and the mint green paint upon it. It had a big table at the center, some kind of operating table and few surgical pieces of equipment stained with blood. Most definitely, this is an operating room. But that was all I could see as the voice that calls to me is nowhere near the moonlight that has initially hinted me of the place I find myself. I could

First associated with the modernist movement, stream of consciousness is a form of interior monologue which its goal is to represent a leading consciousness in a narrative novel, a typical fiction novel. This representation of consciousness includes perceptions or impressions, thoughts which are incited by outside world, and parts of random unattached thoughts. Stream of consciousness writing technique often lacks correct punctuation, favoring a looser and a more incomplete style. The invention of this term has generally been credited to the American psychologist William James, older brother of novelist Henry James. It was used originally by psychologists in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century to describe the personal awareness of someone’s mental processes. In The Principles of Psychology, Chapter IX, The Stream of

I walked around on the cold cement floor. I was careful not to have my eyes dart around or to pause in the middle of the room, in order to not look suspicious. So I continued with my usual routine. I did try to (secretly) look for the cameras, though. No luck there. Looking for cameras while trying not to look like it, was hard. I didn’t bother looking for the microphones. (Those would be well hidden and I would have to search the entire building for them.) I decided for the time being that I would not be dealing. I sat down the beat up couch, shut my eyes and thought about how much I screwed up my life, and how to get out of this situation. There was the option of disappearing but that was almost impossible, considering how little money I had and where I lived. I could also turn myself in. That, I was really unsure of. I had been in binds before, but never one like this. I had literally two options. There was less than a 50/50 chance that I would be able to disappear and

Nothing epitomizes modern life better than the computer. For better or worse, computers have infiltrated every aspect of our society. Today computers do much more than simply compute: supermarket scanners calculate our grocery bill while keeping store inventory; computerized telephone switching centers play traffic cop to millions of calls and keep lines of communication untangled; and automatic teller machines (ATM) let us conduct banking transactions from virtually anywhere in the world. But where did all this technology come from and where is it heading? To fully understand the impact computers have on our lives and promises they hold for the future, it is important to understand the personal computer.

I awaken in a state of confusion and dismay as to where I am and how I got here. I assign confusion to being in a pitch black room, or what I assume to be a room, I cannot tell for sure because it’s so dark and empty. As I stumble around and try to find some sort of clue as to where I am, a blinding light suddenly pierces through the darkness and shines with an unbearable heat against my pale face. I begin to wonder if I am trapped in here for a reason, maybe I have done something to deserve this. Maybe it was the time I stole from the local gas station, or maybe it was something much worse, maybe it was something more evil and of morbid intent. As I lay on the hard ground trying to push those dark memories deep inside my head, I begin to notice the light moving and change in brightness almost as if someone was holding it. I get the weird sensation that I am not alone and am being watched, but this feeling soon passes as I notice the room get hot and the air becomes thick with humid air like a summer night after a long storm. The air continues to get thicker; I begin to feel myself choking, and soon realize why I am in this place and just what it wants.

Although everyone uses it not many people know how computers and computer programming work. The people who first pioneered the technology are largely left out of our textbooks although they have had such a large impact on how people now live their lives, it is not just the recent advancements either, there have been many leaps forward in as many years. In addition to not knowing who invented these concepts people generally do not know how they work, it is more simple than many people tend to think. The future of computer technology may be a deciding factor in how people live in the future, from quantum computing to artificial intelligence. I believe people should know about computer programming because it has become such a large part of all our lives. Everyone should know about how it came about, how it works, and where it will go in the future.

“What are you talking about we are nowhere near you.” I let out a simple oh and turned back to Adly. She was on her smartphone while drinking. This is the first time i have gotten a good look at my surroundings. The room was a dull gray which was charred to a black near the baseboards. The wooden floor was also black and creaky. A busted computer set in the far corner. It’s three screens were shattered to bits. Only two screens hung on the wall. The other was lying against the computer. The computer was charred black, like the bare walls and unsturdy floors. What had happened here?

I have been here for three days, just lying. Unmoving and in denial of my thoughts, I knew where I was, but I couldn’t remember a thing. A carrier, I was sitting, paralyzed, in a carrier. Boxes crowded around and the control panel sat across from me. The driver was nowhere to be found, however I had a feeling that there would not be one because everything the Prestige's built was artificial and electronic. The fluorescent lighting gave the whole space a white glow, and the plastic and steel boxes held food and other supplies. I could smell the mouth watering bananas, pineapples, and heads of lettuce. They were just sitting untouched, ready to be chopped and turned into something delicious.

A sharp jolt in my side wakes me. I slowly open my eyes and see an unfamiliar face. I glance around, searching for something familiar about this room. The room is dark; the only light is coming from up an open door up a staircase. I try to move, but my hands are zip tied behind my back. My head feels fuzzy and it hurts when I move. Suddenly, all the memories from the night before rush back to me.

She didn 't mind the creaking and occasional swaying of the building. The old building, with the paint slowly peeling away was small. Almost unnoticeable in such a city of Chicago. An abandoned auditorium, the seat’s leather covered in a thick dust, it’s stage creaking. But despite of every building in the city, she played here. She liked the violin echo off the hollow walls. She liked the empty seats upon her, seats she could fill with her imagination. Each string she played was original. She filled her time with composing or writing music. Hazel walks here everyday. Carrying her violin and loose papers stuffed in her case filled with notes, and unfinished symphonies.

After our programs were ready (compiled, link-edited, tested, catalogued in an “executable library” in disk) we send to the Computer Operator a flowchart describing how to execute it in production – how many and which magnetic tapes should be read and/or recorded (there was a tape-library, they were identified by numbers), what disc unitis should be used (yes, the hard discs were removable!) if it would need use the printer, etc.