story by Monsterbat, typed by mom:
"Sit up, please."
She sat up, her hair gleaming, her eyes glistening. She'd gotten these for free since she had gotten the deal. Show one picture of yourself in the magazine, get one physical therapy session free. She said, "You aren't very qualified at this; are you?"
Another arm got wrenched off. "Oops, sorry."
"You know what, that's it. Even if I'm a zombie, I have some rights. And if I hadn't eaten the court, I'd take you to one." Blood started dripping from her lips.
"Why don't you make a zombie court," he...
She slept in the open air, in the windy hills, on a soft pillow. She was covered in the blankets of her mother's mother. She sang God's songs. When she played music, her hands made the strings talk and her voice accompanied. From atop her hill no one could hear her. The would hear her one day. She spoke God's words. When finally she slept, she would always dream. New songs would be woven in her head, on that soft pillow. Her message was the word of God and when she came down off this mountain she would save her...
He laid back, eyes closed, a smile stretched across his face. Summer never felt so good; the sun beating down made him relaxed, and he felt like he could sprawl out on the grass all day long.
With eyes closed, his mind drifted to summers past, lying on the grass with his dog Buddy after catching a frisbee back and forth. His mind was in another place, somewhere peaceful, simple, romantic even.
A place where the sun rises and sets with beautiful colors, where the grass is plush and Kelly Green. A place where the sailboats against the sunset have...
Well, I said I wanted it to be a quiet vacation. You can't get much quieter than this. Even if this atmosphere were thick enough to conduct sound waves, I'm the only sentient being on Mars.
Yep, nice and quiet. Finally.
What have I got, eight more? Ten, maybe?
No, eleven. Eleven protein-carbo bars and four liters of water. The fusion pack is good for another twenty-eight years, so if the waste recycle unit continues at ninety-eight percent efficiency...
That means I can keep re-eating my own feces and re-drinking my own urine for another twelve years.
I guess I...
I had a dream the other night. We were sitting alone in our rooms, all of us, every single one, when suddenly —
The walls just fell away. There was no sound, no pyrotechnics; with a quiet resignation, all the matter in the world, except for our warm, breathing bodies, fell down into the void, leaving us floating purposelessly, naked.
And we all looked at each other, as the psychic frameworks that we etched into the streets, into our homes – our routines, our beaten paths, all the conventions that existed not in the world, but in the world as...
The wise woman quietly opened the door, like a portal to the Other World, where a young woman's fist was held up as if to knock. Whether it was caught by her speed or its own hesitation, Meg wasn't sure.
"Expected was I?" a sweet voice entered the room.
The crone shrugged. "Bess is it?" At least it was mortal kin.
"We both know you would be here one way or another. One day or another."
"Do I have thy leave to enter, Elder One?" the spoken song continued. Sweet insolence lost on the witnesses.
"Do YOU not THOU me!"...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. He clicked it once, and twice. He tapped the bare bulb, once he'd removed the lampshade. He followed the cord down to the wall and unplugged and plugged it back in.
He dug in the drawer in the kitchen and found a new bulb but it didn't fit, so he dug some more and found another, smaller bulb and it did fit but still the damned lamp wouldn't turn on.
At the power box, he switched the breaker, killing the power for a moment to the living room, setting the VCR back to high noon....
Spinning.
The tiny clockwork bird danced (for want of a better term) in a circle, twirling, singing out its jaunty song.
She sat, watching it sing out its tune, listening to the unique tinny sound of the music box - there was something about that music, that paticular brand, which brought her back to childhood. As a child she had watched the bird, watched it in her mother's palm.
Her mother had, briefly, convinced her that this was a real bird, that this was what happened to them when they were caught, tamed. That you could teach them these songs,...
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.
Yeah, wasn't that my typical luck? My day in and day out? Slipping in and out from the friggin' jaws of death like a suicidal mouse playing with a cat? If this was what the rest of my life, which, granted, didn't look like it was gonna be very long, was gonna be, I wasn't so sure I wanted part of it. It got damn old, damn quick.
I'd faced down a lot of things in my...
I came down the stairs after I heard the rumbling in the streets. Something shook my potted plant, the one my grandmother gave me before she died. It shook so hard, it fell to the ground.
Earthquakes don't happen in Chicago, and my third floor one-bedroom was luckily sturdy enough to withstand whatever caused all this motion.
The rumble happened again. This time more prominent feel. The earth began to split farther up the street. Cars rocked on their shocks.
I knew what this was, and I knew it was here for me. The shaking continued, the sky darkened. He...