All Fiction

Do Not Wonder

Do not wonder where the top of the rainbow is, and do not wonder where it leads to either. It’s all hogwash. Did you know the cytostream makes up the dream so that we cannot see what it’s doing to us? Fucked up. That’s what it all is. Fucked up beyond all recognition. No not recognition, but belief. You will not believe any of it. You will not be able to until you kill your dreams. Until you learn to keep your eyes open.

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Two Shadows

Two shadows drift by each other and they don’t even ask questions. They just sing their mysteries and hope they never see each other again. Like a hollow tip shot through the barrel. Nobody will love me now. Nobody can love me after what I did. I saw that face, placid and alone. I saw him know that the world was fine and beautiful. That the little machines would always give him another sunrise. Another drag on his cigarette was just there for the taking. I saw him know this. I saw him. Then he saw me, and we both knew that the world was filled with lies. He tried to turn. He tried to run, but there just wasn’t time. In the next moment I was on him, and then in another… Are you sure you want this?

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To Rock the Cradle

Dr. Aaron Fluer was fresh off a plane and a surprisingly short briefing. He sized up his patient and the room that contained her. She had tossed brown hair that floated above a weak brow. A smirk contorted half of her face as her green eyes frolicked around the room. There wasn’t much for her to look at besides Aaron. The stark room was a deep black just as the halls outside were. Still she took little notice of him. Continue reading

Nowhere Highway

Howard walked in and sat down. The belt moved. They knew he was there, the chip in his neck told them so. Seventeen bolts, eighteen washers, two cotter pins, grease, a torque body assembly, a digital signature, and six minutes. The line moved again and he repeated the steps. He called the belt the highway to nowhere. He had never been to the other end of it, just as he had never been to the beginning of it. Sometimes what he worked on changed, or the instructions were new or different, it didn’t matter. The crimson red clock counted down and he kept working. In nine years the line had never stopped, in nine years he had never interacted with another co-worker. It was all insulated and it had been made so very carefully. Continue reading

It Burns Just the Same

Fire races through thick beige carpet still streaked from vacuuming. It dances up the sides of a white couch leaping from cushion to cushion. The coffee table burns with its lone candle centerpiece. The wax boils and spits splattering the carpet with red shortly before it is consumed and blackened. Chairs on either side of the coffee table had been turned ever so slightly to create an inviting atmosphere. They matched the couch when it was still white, now they match it in black. Continue reading