The lamp wouldn't turn on. Off, yes. around, yes. But on, absolutely not. No matter how many times he flipped the switch, no matter how many times he prodded it, shook it, swung it over his head, he could not get it to turn on. He decided to coax it. First he offered it things that humans like: chocolate, love and affection, sex. The lamp did not budge. Then he offered it things that his cat liked: mackerel, catnip, a laser. Nothing. He tried reasoning with it, but the lamp was dead to his entreaties. Look, he explained, you staying...
I don't know what I'm doing here. I never really have to be honest. Going through that door was the worst decision of my life and now look where I am. Stuck here, in a world I know nothing about, one that looks so familiar and yet so alien. A place where I am surround by people yet so alone.
I'd rather I was actually alone, it's much better than being ignored. Much better than the situation I'm in now.
It boggles the mind what the people are like here. They never stop, they're always moving. None of this makes...
The results were in. And Harry did not like them.
He had signed up for this dating website, which took surveying to a whole new level. It said that it required a DNA sample to help find your one true love. Harry sent a few hair clippings, some dead skin and a urine sample.
They sent back the urine.
As he opened the letter, he stared in horror. It was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. Curves in all the right places, straight lines in the others. A smile with brightness that could blind an eagle, and eyes...
I am breathless. My heart is in my stomach and pounding around like an indoor hockey match. Staring deep into the eye of my accuser I beg: "mercy!"
The clock ticks furiously past the minutes. One, two, suddenly five have passed and I am sure to pass out from the sheer weight of the moment.
Does Miranda find true love in those five minutes?
Oh curse you fickle fate, you demon of home electronics and urban sitcom.
My bladder yearns at attention but suppress its screams I must; the DVR needs repairing. The show must go on.
In streams and,...
It would be a long walk. To no where. Ending some where. A where long off. Tulle of mist. Footage of stage. A wide glow of white pixels condensing to green. Corridors of sparkling black. A long walk but he took it.
She was a goddess.
Her sacrifices were mostly time; her father was procrastination, and through him most of her sacrifices were received. Her temple was the internet, the pub, every conversation which began "I read somewhere - ", or "I saw the other day - ", or "Am I right in thinking - "
Quizzes were her festivals. Celebrations of (arguably) useless knowledge. The glory of simply knowing something, with no comprehension of whether it was to be useful or not, the pleasure based in facts.
She was worshipped frequently, albeit unbeknownst to most.
"Hey! You! Jackass!"
Geoff was trying to make eye contact -- or, failing that, ear contact -- with the ferris wheel operator below. Geoff and Jo had been stuck at the top of the ride for more than five minutes now. And the effort might not have been so much in vain were they not surrounded by a cage.
No response. Of course.
"Will you knock it off?" asked Jo. "He'll get to it when he gets to it."
"It's just. Gah!" Geoff started rocking the ride. Back and forth, back and forth, the range of motion increasing each time....
My feet ached, but it was well worth it. I mean, how many times in your life do you have the opportunity to attend a championship? Sure, I had to park about three miles from the stadium. Sure, I somehow missed that city bus that was barreling directly toward me until it was too late. Sure, once the bus rolled over my feet, I experienced agony beyond anything I could have ever comprehended to that point. But we're talking CHAMPIONSHIP, man!
I had to drag myself the remaining half of a mile, crawl to the turnstile, beg to be admitted...
I sat there every day waiting. But nothing ever happened. I hoped if I sat there long enough that she would come back and everything would be back to normal. I knew that when she was pulled from the car that there was no turning back. I thought maybe if I had her in my mind, it could reverse that awful event that caused so much pain and grief. At least I am not alone on my journey back to recovery with my family and friends by my side hopefully I can move on. But I know truly that I...
Please do not ask me to write some fluffy SciFi romance. Nothing will have changed by 2070. I will probably still be alive, I will probably still have this fucking job.
Remember when you hired me, based on the screenplay in my application? I worked hard on Zilly and Jack. For years, my every step was fueled by the thought of Zilly and Jack seamlessly executed on a Broadway stage. (A production, I mean, not a beheading.)
"Such wit!" you exclaimed. "Such cutting-edge quirks! We love the way Zilly listens to movie soundtracks while she studies BioChem! Dun Dun DUN!"...