"It's simple," he said. "A simple plan for world domination. The Moon is the key. People need the Moon. So if we threaten to destroy the Moon, everyone in the world will have to do what we say."
This guy was ranting and raving. I sighed, and continued to humor him. "How the hell are you going to destroy the Moon? It's massive. Do you have any idea how massive it is?"
He waved his hands dismissively. "We don't even need all that much destructive power, just enough to produce a credible threat."
"Even if you had a credible threat,...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "There'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead. I am out of food, out of electricity power for the radio, and abandonded in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. I do not know how or what happened that led up to the plane crash all I know is that I managed to survive two weeks on the scraps I found in the plane and a nearby pond. This is my last statement to the world if anyone finds this, I am going to travel north...
Woof woof. Woof woof woof woof woof. Woof. Bark woof. Woof. Woof woof woof. Bark bark woof bark. Woof.
The lamp wouldn't turn on and I had to sleep in the dark. I had to imagine what was lurking without light. I was afriad at first and then my eyes adjusted. My pupils opened up. In the morning the sun came in a few strands at a time and I realized that I was still alive and the monsters, goblins, all the things I'm afraid of didn't get me. The light doesn't have to be on to feel safe. Safety is still there with light. I listen to my dog snore and she snorts. She is fat and I...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
The warm dirty mist saturates every poor. Across the street relentless construction of new industry raged on erasing the remnants of an older time.
The girl tries to imagine the world as it was, as she has learned in her history books. But now only progress and drives her world. She can not hear or picture the silence or the wildernesses she imagines and longs for. She grows weary of the diminishing magic of the unknown.
The last time she'd seen pink butterflies, she'd burned down the church.
She told them the headphones helped with the hallucinations.
She lied.
Dr. Weber had first suggested the headphones, and he'd told her to compile a playlist and to choose the songs based on certain lyrics and words, and to use those lyrics and words as cues to control the hallucinations. If she couldn't completely erase them now, she could at least learn how to hold them back, get that subconscious moving until the scary ones became mildly disturbing and then from there they would lower in degree until...
There was blood on my pillow. A lot of blood. A ton of blood. Where did it come from? It seemed to be dripping from somewhere. I looked up. The celing was dry. I looked around, I felt my own face, hair, ears, nose...all dry. What the h*ll was going on? Then, I heard something. A step. Two steps. Steps moving across the wood floor near the staircase downstairs. Was this the source of the blood? Was it the cause of the blood? Am I next? I was not injured, but I was still terrifyed. Suddenly, something came bounding around...
You're forgetting what happened and remembering what didn't
I'm now your memory and have given up mine
When you're gone
Will that be a blessing or a curse?
I lash out in frustration
But the strike is soon forgotten
And I'm the one left wounded
Twice over
You forget what happened
And I remember for you
And in doing so
I have given up the last pure memory of childhood
I'd trade, you know
You take mine, I'll take yours
But I think you'd find my memory
A bitter thing
You forgot
I remembered
What happened?
I saw the thing. It was preserved in the glass case, the only one of its kind. So faithfully had the curators touched it, applied the special fluids, made sure that never again, never again would it be forgotten. It had been once before, after all. After all, memory is a sieve. And this was memory itself. It shouldn't have been forgotten.
I can't remember the thing itself especially now. I suppose that's expected. My memory's not special in anyway, no, not at all. It doesn't matter, anyways, just that it was a record, so that people wouldn't forget, wouldn't...
The moon was up and bright, I would hear the trees sing to it's glory and sight. I always wanted to go to the moon, and uncover it's mysteries that it holds. I walked down the street as I glance up still. "Oh moon so bright, where do you do after the night?" I didn't know much about the moon being only a small fairy but I like to dream big. I flapped my small wings like a humming bird and sit on top of a small branch of an old ancient tree. "A girl like me will never know...