Before I blinked into this blinking-line existence, I was human. An office worker. Hours upon hours spent staring at Excel sheets, dragging my own cursor across cells, filling in numbers no one would ever care about.
SUM formulas, endless tables, pivot charts—I knew them all by heart, and hated every single one.
And now… the irony hit me like a freight train. I was the cursor. I was the thing I had mercilessly dragged and clicked a thousand times.
Every cell I had ever filled now felt like a tiny, mocking memory screaming back at me.
"Of course," I muttered, glaring at the endless rows. "This is my life. My karma. My… Excel-lent nightmare."
The white void stretched endlessly around me. No ads. No buttons. Just emptiness.
At first, I thought maybe this was heaven. A clean, quiet place after the chaos of pop-ups. But then… my body began to change.
My sharp, triangular form melted. I stretched tall and thin, glowing like a strange pillar. I looked down at myself and froze.
"I… I've turned into… an [ I ] ?!"
It wasn't just a letter. I had become the dreaded text cursor. A fragile, blinking line destined to live and die between words.
Before I could fully grasp my nightmare, the booming sound returned.Click.
The human began to type.
T.
A massive letter slammed into existence beside me, shaking the ground. Then another.
T. H. I. S.
"Oh no. Oh no no no no. I'm a cursor in typing mode!" I cried, as words began piling up around me like a city under construction.
The letters grew fast, some neat, others messy, sprawling across the blank white void. I stumbled between them, blinking helplessly.
Then came the horror.
Backspace.
A giant shadow claw ripped through the text, devouring letters one by one. I screamed as the words crumbled beside me.
"Nooo! They were so young!"
The human kept typing, erasing, fixing typos, and smashing me into place at unnatural speeds. I was dragged line to line, word to word, dancing endlessly across the page.
At first, I resisted. I fought against every keystroke, twisting my glowing body, trying not to line up properly. But the clicks kept dragging me back, forcing me into position.
And slowly… terribly… I began to get used to it.
The rhythm of typing carried me along. The blink, the pause, the rush of new letters flowing like rivers. I started predicting where the human would place me. I even learned to lean into the words instead of fighting them.
"This is… not so bad," I admitted, watching a neat little sentence form around me. "I could get used to this."
But my peace lasted all of five seconds.
Because the human wasn't writing anything meaningful.Oh no.
They were filling a spreadsheet.
A giant gray grid opened before me, swallowing the page. Cells upon cells stretched as far as the eye could see. Numbers. Formulas. Charts.
My glowing body trembled.
"No. Not Excel. Not the land of endless columns. I literally died typing in here from the overwork. Can't I get away from this damn Excel SHEET!!!"
I had been thrown into a new kind of hell.