Anti-Hate Pills: Science Fiction

The personality altering drugs were kicking in, and he hated it. Of course, he hated everything--which was why he was on these damn drugs. He hated himself enough to decide they were worth while, at least for a while, at least long enough for him to make the documentary of the two sides of him, altered by drugs and unaltered. Kind of a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing, though he supposed it was a Dr. Hyde and Mr. Jekyll instead of the other way around. Not that he was that bad, despite what his ex-wife said. He'd never hit her or anything like that, he just didn't much like her some days--not that that made her special. He didn't expect, however, the way that the drugs made him want to go out into the world and document *it* instead of himself.

Inspiration: "Depression Medication May Offer Mood Lift Via Personality Shift" (http://www.sciencenews.org/view/generic/id/50522/title/Depression_medication_may_offer_mood_lift_via_personality_shift)
Story Potential: Medium?
Notes: I dunno. This kinda fits in with the whole how people react to close quarters, need to work with the *world* community to survive, figuring out how "tribe" works in the brain sort of ideas, but it doesn't gel.

"Salvaging Scottwell" Published!

Since it's been brought to my attention that I ought to also link to publications here--



Go to Baen's Universe to read "Salvaging Scottwell," my story about an obsolete police dog robot that gets an upgrade with unintended consequences to the Powers That Be: http://baens-universe...

Excerpt:

Max woke up inside his kennel, unplugged his tail from the wall, and ran an automatic systems check. Recharging his battery had taken a half-hour longer than last month. He connected to the BigDog network so that he could send an error report about the battery. The automated reply told him that his error report had been filed, and a handler would contact him if any further action was required. The last handler contact recorded in Max's memory log was three years old.

He limped to the door of the jailhouse. His right third leg had broken down two years ago. It had taken three weeks for his movement pattern to functionally reform, but he still limped. His speed was a fraction of his original specifications. His right second leg couldn't provide the same motive power. It had been designed for stability, not speed.

He stepped out into Scottwell neighborhood to begin his patrol. His tail wagged once. Scottwell was more than just the neighborhood that he guarded; it was as much a part of him as his paws. When he kept himself and his neighborhood protected and well-maintained, he was a Good Boy.

His tail drooped. He hadn't been a Good Boy for a long time.

Read more.

It was based on this entry. Which means this whole thing was originally inspired by me seeing a guy wearing bunny ears. ;)