Capriciously, I repudiated the sky and all its lighting and thunder, snow and rain, and changing colors.
The paradigm wasn't there. Or was it?
Well, if it wasn't and if it were grounded by gravity, then so many Big Things are just frivolous.
Like love.
And losing a lover.
And even being born here, gasping for breath at first, and fighting through a mob just to climb some ranks and "make it." And those were the Big Things, too.
The paradigm here can't hold such Big Things if it was made to only hold such small, ambiguous entities like eating,...
Through the files, there were instances going as far back as ancient Egypt. This creature had been in the human world for centuries. Amut, the Heart Eater, fated to consume the hearts of men who were evil and corrupt.
All across time the demon roamed, scraping its existence into the memory of mankind. But something was off about this log file in particular. 'Encounter Log No. 682-426-1991' it read. Where did this page come from, though? It was not in the database, nor in any files that had been scoured previously.
It had the normal redacted information for security measures,...
"You been seeing the television?" the Guard said.
Huxton squinted, through the bleariness of sleep into the bleach of daylight, he only saw the form of the Guard, an outline of a man, faceless and without detail. Slowly, he sat up feeling as if his bones were brittle to snap. "What?"
He wished he could seem more heroic than a man who has been beaten and tied and imprisoned for days. He felt horrible with a dehydrated mouth that made sticky sounds each time he parted his lips.
"You been seeing the television? They say you is dead, man. They...
I waited on the corner of Drake Street and Something. I shielded my eyes from the bright gray to see the paintings on the panes.
I waited a few feet from the corner of Drake Street and Something and could not see the rain puddles hug the curbs in passing.
I waited on the wrong corner of Drake Street. We all waited on the wrong corner of Drake Street. It was so quiet on the right street, we could have heard a pin drop into a rain puddle and rush ahead of us into the future.
I waited on the...
The day had dragged on. Lari looked around the street as she left work. She felt as if she had just ran a marathon with cement shoes on. You wouldn't think that being a marketing assistant would make someone so tired.
The street was full of the regular faces. People that she saw everyday, but never really looked at. Lari sighed as she waited for her bus. I need a vacation, she thought.
A young girl walked by, licking a dripping ice cream cone and holding a large red balloon. The girl didn't care that she had dripped chocolate down...
I'm not sure what's wrong with the site today, but it doesn't seem to be working for me. When I click for the prompt, the clock doesn't appear. Talk about a pile of rotten potatoes.
Lola, Lola. What have you done?
It was a day like any other, well if you account the slow, lumbering and brain hungry, zombies. Their presence no longer shocking just another danger living the city. I suppose. Well anyway Me and My Sister Lola have been hopping form building to building, only during the days mind you. We are looking for supplies food and water mainly. Lola, misses her friends and Mom. she really miss Mom.
Anyway like I said we were looting and stuff, when this dog comes out of a door I happened to open I knew where...
She turns around, but he has vanished again. She weighs the pros and cons of speaking before opening her mouth.
"I can see you," she says.
"I know," he replies. "I know."
Those two words send a chill up her spine. "What do you know?" she asks.
"I know," he repeats. Out of the corner of her eye she catches a blur disappearing behind a tree. That's where he's hiding, then.
"What do you know?" Now, she must simply be careful. It will be easy enough to catch him.
"I know." These last two words are breathed down her neck....
A Sad State of Affairs
It is three o’clock in the afternoon and she has kept the same position since breakfast, writing in her journal, nursing each fresh drink, drawing it out so that her budget (small) will see her through until she is forced to give up her seat. She is in no hurry to leave, having nowhere else to go, no pressing appointment – except with home, and the house is depressingly quiet and yet still too full, inhabited by a long line of hours waiting impatiently to be filled, the space between now and then too vast...
I tried automatic writing many times, all with obvious results, my inner self responding. However, last night something weird happened. The letter began with 'Dear Santa' which was no way in my mind.
The writing wasn't even like my own. Strange 'A's. Creepy.
Sissie, my twin left the room slamming the door, locking herself into the bathroom. She was gone for hours, eventually after a lot of banging and pleading she opened it and returned to sitting on the carpet, large bathtowel over her head, rocking back and forth, humming.
She is autistic. I knew what was wrong. She was...