Knives. Where were the knives? she thought to herself, getting more aggravated by the second. There were plenty of forks. If she needed a fork, or even a spoon, there were loads. The drawer was overflowing with cutlery of all kinds, excpet for knives.
She could hardly cut the ham with a spoon, gouging chunks out of it. Sighing, she tried to count to ten, calmly. This is what her therapist talked her through. Stand still, breath deeply and count. One...two...three...But, where were all the knives?
They had been there at some point. The cutlery had been bought in a...
This is the doctor sewing the corpse
They kept locked up with the crowd in the morgue
That wicked Judas Priest all shaven and shorn
That harried the Dick all battered and worn
That missed the murderer all forlorn
Who sicked the cow with the crumpled skin
That lost the dog that woke the cat burglar
That nicked the hat then took the wallet
That lay on the louse that Jack killed
The train in which Natalie happened to sit
Was the train that another train managed to hit
The noise was quite loud,
And in the tracks were a crowd
To which the conductor exclaimed, "holy shit!"
she was huddled down. depleted of all will and thought, the night went by so fast. flashes of light, neon and the sewer gas wafted through her thoughts. then there was that boy, she'd seen him before somewhere. thats was all she thought about now. despite the blisters on her feet from dancing in heels, the dried sweat that made her body clammy, he was all she could think about. she knew she had to see him again, now people were getting up for work. walking along from a long nights rest and recovering from sweet dreams. none of them...
She bent down to tie her shoe as the sun was setting. The reflection of the pinkish-yellow ball was right in front of her at the edge of the lake. The pebbles beneath her feet were wet and smooth. The umbrella she brought with her, still resting on her beach towel by the tree.
With many thoughts in her head, Chelsea folded up her umbrella and tucked it beneath her arm, rolling up her damp towel and stuffing her towel into her drawstring bag.
Today was a good day, she thought. She could get through this day. Days at the...
She could tell I was faking it. Every time I cracked a smile or choked out a laugh. All of it a fabrication to please the people around me. An attempt to lie to everyone, especially myself, about how screwed up my life really was, about how everything around me truly was going to hell.
When you've lost everything, why shouldn't you laugh? The bitterness of it is cathartic.
Yet... She stays around. Keeps an eye on me, noting my dulled eyes and chronicling every irrational action. Hearing the broken glass edges of my voice, seeing the glint of tears...
With a roar of displaced air and grinding gears, the blast shields protecting the gun emplacements retracted, and the defensive batteries opened fire. A river of hot lead and explosive ordnance spewed forth at the oncoming creature.
It barely stumbled. What didn't explode harmlessly against its armored carapace whistled by as its eldritch powers deflected the bulk of the barrages.
Attack helicoptors and missile-laden jets zoomed by, but they were mere gnats to the attacker. It lumbered ever closer to the fortress.
General Davis grimaced as a swipe of its claws downed an entire Blackhawk squadron. It wouldn't be long...
I'm in love with a robot. She doesn't have a physical presence, she's not some pile of servos shipped from Japan. She's an AI, the product of decades of research and development -- using tens of millions of online conversations as a template for her personality.
I know people tell me that she just scours all my emails in an effort to become what I like, and I know people tell me that she's nothing more than a neural network backed by a huge database. But is that so different from a human brain?
Ridiculous. Absurd. Absolutely and beyond all normal standards of decency, indecent. That was how I looked in the mirror the morning that I discovered my first gray hair. Or was it my third. I was faced with the overwhelming reality of a head of lustrous, youth-infused auburnness marred by the upright and wiry soldier who insisted on taking up some precious real estate in my brain that could have been much better utilized by a sudoku puzzle or a cure for cancer. How were things now to possibly proceed in a direction other than graveward? What was the sense in...
The sound reverberated through the streets. It was as inevitable as an old man passing gas. The sound of children of all ages gnashing their teeth as the electricity that powered their individualized false realities went out.
The modest city had been the birthplace of televitality, and was therefore the first to experience what was optimistically known as "progressive population decline." With the ability to meet perfect friends, perfect mates and raise perfect children in through completely realistic virtual interface few people felt the impulse to have actual families.
Most people also worked artificially, their movements on the elestairs and...