Creepypasta: Every Ten Minutes
Check your watch. Count off the seconds in your head.
You're not really seeing all of those seconds, you know. Your brain doesn't work that fast. It's taking snapshots of the world and sorting them together after the fact. Your brain is a few milliseconds behind what's actually happening. This is a scale that you can't actually perceive, so to you it's not a problem.
But to them, it is.
They watch you right now, waiting for their opening. Your brain refreshes too fast for them to act, so they have to wait. If they moved now, the force of your perception would overwhelm them. They're too fragile for that.
What you don't know, what scientists don't know, is that sometimes your brain has to stop and sort things through. It does so too fast for you to notice, but your brain has to reboot itself and clear out the files from the constant cut-and-paste job it does on the universe.
That's their cue.
The ones that watch wait for the brief instant, slightly longer than the usual period, when your brain is open. It's different for everyone, but that brief shot is, on the average, every ten minutes.
When it comes, they act.
Have you ever had a period where you catch yourself, and realize that for the last few minutes you were just staring into space? You think back and the last few minutes are an empty blur. Usually you just shrug it off and move on.
Now, you may be wondering why this doesn't happen to you every ten minutes. Sometimes they're too far away to take that shot, or too afraid of being caught when it ends. So they wait for just the right moment.
When the time comes, you come to a few minutes later, wondering where you went. You feel a bit cold, a bit hungry.
And they leave, slightly heavier.
You're not really seeing all of those seconds, you know. Your brain doesn't work that fast. It's taking snapshots of the world and sorting them together after the fact. Your brain is a few milliseconds behind what's actually happening. This is a scale that you can't actually perceive, so to you it's not a problem.
But to them, it is.
They watch you right now, waiting for their opening. Your brain refreshes too fast for them to act, so they have to wait. If they moved now, the force of your perception would overwhelm them. They're too fragile for that.
What you don't know, what scientists don't know, is that sometimes your brain has to stop and sort things through. It does so too fast for you to notice, but your brain has to reboot itself and clear out the files from the constant cut-and-paste job it does on the universe.
That's their cue.
The ones that watch wait for the brief instant, slightly longer than the usual period, when your brain is open. It's different for everyone, but that brief shot is, on the average, every ten minutes.
When it comes, they act.
Have you ever had a period where you catch yourself, and realize that for the last few minutes you were just staring into space? You think back and the last few minutes are an empty blur. Usually you just shrug it off and move on.
Now, you may be wondering why this doesn't happen to you every ten minutes. Sometimes they're too far away to take that shot, or too afraid of being caught when it ends. So they wait for just the right moment.
When the time comes, you come to a few minutes later, wondering where you went. You feel a bit cold, a bit hungry.
And they leave, slightly heavier.