Tag Archives: Standalone

Cold Hearts

“Where is he?” Doris said in a shout that echoed through the waiting area. People bot sick and waiting turned and what they saw were two people, parents presumably, followed by a third, a girl of no more than seventeen, hair dyed black, and anger in her eyes. It was the same anger that her mother Doris had. Mad at the world but scared too. The father, Richard, was in a daze. He looked at the surprised receptionist with no emotion, no anything, like a dust mote just floating by.

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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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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 To Rock the Cradle

If I Had My Own Spaceship, I

If I had my own spaceship, I would travel the stars. I would be the first to name each one. Name them something beautiful. Something that captures their essence. Their terrible destruction. Their creation. Their color. Their hue. I would look at all of their little ones, and I would name them too. Maybe, just maybe, I would find one of blue. Continue reading If I Had My Own Spaceship, I

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 Nowhere Highway

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 It Burns Just the Same