FICTION, HORROR
Predictive Text
© 2024 - All rights reserved
Story by Steven R. Chisnell
Text resolution and all other page elements by A.I. generators
A little bit of claustrophobia and something more.


Madison plays the message below on her iPhone:
AI voice-to-text captured by VoiceMeⓇ
5 November 2024 10:05:23 578302A84Hb3
Madison, Madison, I hope you can read this. I hope that you get this. And actually I don’t, because that would mean that I’m not there with you. But this phones battery will probably last longer than me I’m starting to think so I’m recording this for you. I don’t want you to think. Well, whatever you’re going to think when they find me. I want you to know what happened, OK?

Shit, I’m gonna feel stupid if I see you later, but you know what? Right now I’d rather be stupid and alive than, well, let me talk this through. But if this somehow gets to you today, it’s it’s Tuesday then people then get people up here, OK? I mean right now. But.
Nothing else has sent yet. No fucking signal. I don’t think this will either, but I think at least I can. Ohh good. I just got the vibration that I’ve been recording for one minute. That means it’s recording. Damn it, it’s good. I wasn’t even sure I found the app. I can’t see it. Mad I can’t see. My phone, because it’s in this God damn thing in my face, is sticking out of it. I hope the mic can either pick me up this way.
It would have been easier if I just strangled myself. No, I don’t mean that, but this is so. God damn it.
OK, I have to tell you some things. First, what happened? If they found me. That’s kind of weird. If they found me, I’m talking about myself in the future as if it’s already happened anyway. If they found me, then I guess you kind of already know. What’ll they call it. I wonder. Death by misadventure. I think it’s what they say. Doggo much adventure, so death. Does that meme even still around? Or do they just take that much life out of it? Accident makes it sound like I’m ran my truck off the road or something.
But no, not even that. Here it is, right here. God dammit that hurts. My knees are just so funked up right now. Left one feels like a hot little skull, like a sweaty football. Hurts like a son of a bich. Doctor Mitchell would tell me to give it a #7.
Maybe they’ll call it death by exposure, even though I’m not really exposed. The sun’s been baking on me all day, so. I’m in my own little sleeping bag. Sweat lodge. Death by sauna, death by starvation. Death by. Sorry, Madison, I guess I’m kind of panicked right now. And I should be using this time to tell you.
“I know what you’re going to say. People’s lives aren’t defined by their deaths, but by how they lived.”
It’s Tuesday, still doing OK, more or less. I don’t see a way out of this. I’ve been half hanging here since early Sunday morning. I was in the bed of the truck because I thought that would be safer in case, you know. Bear Something came, which is dumb because there are no bears here. Figured that my busted knee might be better by morning anyway and I could decide whether I needed to come home. But I needed to piss, I needed to get out of the mummy bag, so I pulled on the zipper and it got jammed again and the little what do you call it but tag thing came off on the inside broke. Think I busted 2 fingernails trying to move the zipper on its own. It’s caught up good.
Huh. So am I. So I panicked. I thumbed around it and tried to wrestle out, but there’s just nowhere to go. My head was tight in the hood and I pulled the drawstring around my face pretty close. That Nissan bed is pretty small. I could barely fit up there, and I banged my other knee pretty solid. I had the gate open so I could stretch out more, you know? And then I thought, well, I guess maybe I could roll out and stand up or something, or at least sit up.
Madison, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I tried to roll out of the bed of the truck and the 550 cord got caught somehow. I don’t even know what it’s attached to, but it’s the main part of the truck. It’s caught on my legs and I’m half dangling here like a buck. 8 more days and I’d be ready for. Doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter. I funked up. I think I funked up good. Maybe someone will still come in time. But why would they? No one’s going to be up here until at least the 15th. Unless they’re hunting bird, maybe.
I’m thirsty. I’m amazingly hungry. I’ve already. My legs are in the air and they’re numb and throbbing at the same time. I can’t reach my pack and my arms are trapped. I’ve pushed it this thing every way I can think of. I managed to get my face out a little further but. I’m worn out. Addison I I think I’m gonna die like this. At first you know it was just an idea that comes to you and you push it off. Still plenty of time to figure things out, but. But I think it’s going to happen.
I can’t move the paracord, I sure as hell can’t break it, I can’t move the zipper, and I can’t get enough pressure on the inside of this bag to tear it anywhere. I had the zipper tag thing in my hands for a few minutes, but I lost it when I fell out of the truck bed. The phone was in the bag with me to keep it dry, but I haven’t had a phone signal since I’ve been up here. But I’ve.
But I’ve got you to talk to mad on this app I don’t know how much better I have or how long the app will record. I’m hoping it auto saves because. I I just don’t know.
It’s so stupid, Madison. It’s just so dumb. It’s embarrassing. I’m ashamed. And mostly I’m ashamed because somewhere I think there’s like an idea out there that I haven’t tried yet, that some expert survival guy like Bear Grills or a Marine would know. I’m afraid that I’m going to die Because I can’t think of some obvious way out, like one of those idiots in a movie or something. This will make the papers I know. And the whole audience, all of the people reading and posting comments are going to say what an idiot for getting himself into this, and worse, what an idiot for just not doing whatever the funk it is that it could easily Get Me Out. I’m going to die as a Darwin Award or something.
You deserve better than that, Madison. I’m sorry that you’ll be associated with it. With me. All I’ve ever. All I’ve ever wanted to. All I’ve ever wanted was to be someone you could respect, Madison. But I’ve never been worth it. I’ve never been.

AI voice-to-text captured by VoiceMeⓇ
5 November 2024 17:42:03 578406A51Jf7
Up the thing just please.
OK, OK, OK. I think I’m recording again. I’m not sure what happened, but it stopped I. Decided to sleep for a while again. I need to be awake for night. It’s cold. I mean I’m not cold. Well, my body is fine, sweaty during the day, cold at night, my feet and ankles feel kind of cold. And my face. At night is like little razors. I think it was fine if I was up and around but laying here? Can’t even scratch my head or cover my nose.
Madison, you need to know that this. This way of dying. It’s.
I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, there’s all kinds of ways someone can die, you know? Like there’s the whore death that happens at night when something strange or scary rips you apart. You become some kind of urban legend, like Candyman or something. There’s just the sudden death. More normal, like a heart attack or being run over by an Uber. Not cool, still normal. Some people die because someone killed them, like a revenge plot or over a card game. There’s more drama to that. At least of we’re lucky we die quietly, like in our sleep of old people disease or something. No stories there? None at all.
Just got the signal that I’ve been recording for a minute, so let’s keep going.
I was saying that if you’re going to become a story, that there should be a good one, you know, it should mean something. Give your life story closure. I can hear you talking to me, man. I know what you’re going to say. People’s lives aren’t defined by their deaths, but by how they lived. I bet you read that in Real Simple or Oprah to Day. But you’re right. I get it.
But this is where you don’t understand, my dear. I’m exhausted. I’m having a harder time breathing. It’s not much different. You know.
I have to tell you so you know, mad. I never played pickup bass with warrant. I know you always thought that. Virus. Pretty unbelievable. Jokes on everyone. It was. I saw them once in the early 90s and Saginaw they were with poison. But Jerry Dixon would never step away from Eric, so how could I ever? It doesn’t matter. I didn’t do it. Never even met Dixon. So yeah. And I never hung out with Mark Hoppus before Blink 182 broke up in 2001 or 2002 or whatever. Or after. I met him on a sidewalk once in Pontiac during the Vans Warped Tour. Just stood and said hello. Rushes with greatness.
So yeah, mad. Maybe you knew. Maybe you knew what kind of guy I was. A liar. Someone making shit up to impress you. You pitied me enough to keep me anyway. Shit, look at what I’m giving you now.
You tell me. You tell me every time that you love my feta lasagna, but I swear to God I have no idea what I’m doing and I know I make it different every time.
There’s so much, just so much. There’s so much I’ve kept from you. I really never did follow up on the poodle breeder call last year, so it’s my fault we didn’t adopt Bijou or Alda.
No reason. It’s not because I don’t like dogs or I didn’t want you to have them. I just. Didn’t.
So I guess I’m saying that sometimes our deaths match our lives. Justice in our world is this little bit of business. The only thing worthy of a story is the idiotic part of it. No way someone can die like that. Yes way, but why didn’t he just?
Shit, and if I could finish that question I might have something more to do with it, huh?

Ohh I’m sorry, mad the Nissan’s not really paid off. Sell it. And since it’s at least partly responsible for killing me, maybe it’s worth a bit more as the Murder Truck of Michigan.
Damn, it’s gotten dark. We fell back an hour and it’s still doing a number on my head. This will be my third night dangling here in Madison.
At first I might as well tell you I could smell my own piss in the bag. That was Sunday morning when I still felt there was a chance I could escape. But my beer filled bladder had its own ideas. It was foul, but. The worst of it was that my hips weren’t fully on the ground, so everything kind of soaked upward under my back. Second time was worse. I actually don’t know if I’ve done it again. All I know is that makes the inside of this water resistant bag offal. But good news, Saturday night’s dogs and beans are somehow still in my possession.
But the smell mad, It’s the smell. And how long have I been here? The early hunts are over and nobody hunts bird here or bow hunts. I think there’s a kind of lull like a breath in the woods before the guns start. Saw three doves Sunday and a wood mouse visited me yesterday. Stayed awhile and I actually thought it was going to climb on my face. If I had strength enough and saliva, I’d spit at it. How many days can someone go without water? I’m guessing I’m close to it. Umm, I guess we’ll also get to see how good the app is at deciphering my speech. Speech integrity, what AI tells us it can do.
But my guess is that this app can’t predict what I need to say next. Mad. That little mouse was some kind of messenger, I think it told the others last night. There were more visits and I think they’ll come back to night and with some ideas.
Not bare. No bear around here, I think not for years. Except for the deer. Just smaller guys. I saw their shadows at the edge of the campsite last night, keeping their distance. But one was up behind me under the truck tires too. One at least.
Someone’s death has nothing to do. With how they live their life. But sometimes it does, you know? Maybe there’s a story there? Post it on Am I the asshole thread on Reddit or something? Or make some money with it. Whoever will pay money. Call it WTF storytelling. At least get that out of me, Madison. At least get that.
Funk. The phone just dropped. And the damp spot. I hope it’s still recording.
They walk like they smell like possums. And they wobble like them, the pink eyes. Not Badgers, not raccoons. I think it’s possums. Holy. But it’s not. With the faces. Scrape. It’s a turnicid. A phenacite. Robbery. Madison, I’m so sorry. I think I know how this is going to turn out. And I’m sorry. Ice.
You’re saying it now if only he would. And I can’t hear it. If only I would what? And I’ve never been able to predict the end of that sentence. Not my whole life.
It’s still recording.
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