Once upon a midnight dreary, as I labored, dull and weary, Through a tiring routine performed a thousand times before— There I stood engaged in tending to my basic needs unending And the idle minute spending on the odd quotidian chore— On the odd hygienic, skill, career, or culinary chore, Merely this and nothing more.

'Twas a cool night in October with the full moon watching over

And the fall mood snugly captured by the harvest-toned decor

Through which whiffing winds had brought the most distinctive smells of autumn,

An aroma fair that not a mortal being could ignore—

Merged with simmered homely flavors far too charming to ignore,

Warmth and spice and nothing more.

With the supper neatly plated—and a growling stomach sated—

Yet, a whim within dictated a desire still for more

I had thought before of staying, but compulsively obeying

Was my act upon relaying the command from in my core—

The command to cook another meal from deep within my core—

Stir and cook, and nothing more.

But preparing it felt hollow, with another soon to follow

Since I scarce could bear to swallow what already lay in store;

And this action, I suspected, was the fate I had accepted:

Swept and swung into the rapids of this purposeless encore—

Caught and carried in the vapid, vain and purposeless encore

To repeat forevermore.

Here my mind with horror brimming turned to morbid thoughts of swimming

From the inkling of forgotten rumor heard and lost before,

That some wretch removed the ladder; left one soaking from the bladder,

Who then, mortified, did splatter—swept like dust across the floor—

Cast inside a tarnished urn of ash and dust upon the floor,

There to rest forevermore.

Then—it seemed—I had unravelled, and through space and time I travelled

To some grim-fantastic world beyond the confines of Sims 4

In involuntary spasm—when I saw, across the chasm—

Saw a wisp of a phantasm watching; watching fiercely o'er!

And the presence of that distant eye that glared so fiercely o'er

Would be lifted—nevermore.

Nor my psyche had reacted before snapping out, distracted,

By the portent smell of smoke from out the glowing oven door:

For my pause—as I was learning—meant the dinner now was burning:

Ash and charcoal, swiftly turning into broadening uproar!

And my panic—with it—rising to tumultuous uproar!

All-consuming, evermore.

Here the watchful eye's abstention plainly hinted their intention:

A creator who constructed their creations to abhor—

Hence my friends, with deaths so tragic—merely victims to their magic—

Met an ending autophagic by the treach'ry held in store—

And I grieved, consumed by dreading for the end that lay in store—

It was fate, and nothing more.

In the face of certain dooming, with the autumn winds now looming,

I appealed to my commander—though they offered no rapport—

"Please," I begged of them, "you have to hear my cries for help!"—but after,

Felt the grim reply of laughter as it echoed through my core—

A foreboding laugh that chilled my being and trembled through my core—

Then a voice said "Nevermore."

Shocked was I to hear this master—who had led me to disaster—

But my terror turned to hatred, and this hatred did outpour:

"Pray then, tell me, ghostly mystic, with intention so sadistic

With desires egotistic, with inhuman thirst for gore:

Pray—when will you end the sacrifice and quench your thirst for gore?"

Quoth the Watcher "Nevermore."

"Villain," cried I, "thing of evil!—Villain still, if man or devil!

Whether vicious, venting maniac, or vengeful god of yore—

You, who conquer and corral us! Is there method to your malice?

Is your bitter heart so callous as to wage a coward's war?

Can your helpless subjects forge a truce to end this pointless war?

Quoth the Watcher "Nevermore."

"Villain," cried I, "thing of evil!—Villain still, if man or devil!

By the powers that connect us, by the ones who fell before—

You, with tragic heart forsaken, with reluctance to awaken

to the lives your crimes have taken and the sins your soul has bore!

May it weighten with the murders of the Sims your soul has bore!

Curse you, curse you evermore!"

I was grasping, but there were no tools to counter the inferno

And through wreckage could discern no exit, save the burning door;

Under watch of one who made me, whose malevolence enslaved me,

Who made no attempt to save me; left me gasping on the floor—

And the restless flames unchained me from the body on the floor,

To awaken—nevermore.

Author’s notes:

(1) This was written as an entry in the Monthly SimLit Short Story Contest for October. Why not try your hand? We could always use new entrants.

(2) If you’re looking for more Sims-related black comedy/drama that blurs the line between author and character, and that has some extremely silly prose, you should check out Catastrophe Theory. If you want to see a brutal roast of SLC ft. stoned gnomes in a psychedelic basement, that’s my coauthor’s deal.

(3) CC/build credits: Hair is by Vikai; house is New Beginnings Starter by chenelclarke

(4) Don’t worry; I quit without saving. Lenore is fine.