I have seen lesser gods dancing on my street. I have asked for their names.
Come again?
The water for the tea is boiling. I hope you don't mind, but I need to leave. I hope you don't mind. I really hope you don't mind. I will stay, I will continue this conversation, but you can't hold it against me.
You don't believe me.
I have heard the wind patter the leaves at my doorstep like the footsteps of tree children playing.
I am nowhere near death. Why do you ask?
This is not about dying.
I have wanted to...
I'm in love with a robot. Thing is, she doesn't even notice. She doesn't even have any feelings, whatsoever. Her positronic net doesn't have the capacity for joy, or anger, or love.
Naturally, this poses a problem.
How do I tell her about my feelings? She knows the dictionary definition of love. But she doesn't know the meaning. I have no idea how she would take it. Would she just acknowledge it, and then continue on with her work?
The worst part is, the fact that she has no emotions is part of the reason I love her. She can't...
The conversation lasted two words: Alright? ...Yeah
It wasn't groundbreaking, it wasn't revolutionary, it wasn't even poetry, but it was all they needed to say.
They had been the best of friends once, closer than brothers. George had had his own room at Jack's house, Jack had had his own shelf in George's fridge. But somewhere along the way, they had lost that.
Was it because Lissy, George's ex-girlfriend had hated Jack, was it because of the fact that Jack went off to uni while George stayed in their hometown, or had it merely been because of the fact that...
Tiny dots of heaven.
That's what they were. Tiny dots of heaven.
Cats had always been the protectors of the gods, their defenders. It was why cats were so often walking abroad during the day; there was no time to spend in the home when one was on protection duty.
Some took their duty more seriously than others, but those cats would be punished.
They would not be given these tiny dots of heaven - a reward from above, a thank you from the Masters.
Of course, you had to put up with stupid names from the earthly ones, but...
The snow had hardened overnight and was crisp now. It wasn't what you would call a cold day and Fran had left her jacket unbuttoned. She was looking at the children off in the distance.
"I'd forgotten that it was today."
Alan was looking farther away.
"I wasn't looking forward to it or anything."
He reached in his pocket and found and empty packet of cigarettes.
"Dammit."
"When did they start doing it?"
"I don't know, maybe 3 or 4 years ago."
"Do you remember the first one?"
"No. It's just a thing that happens."
She felt very bad then...
"Constellation of freckles."
I made a face. "Oh, that's going on the list."
She nodded with a degree of authority - she hadn't needed me to tell her it belonged on our list of paticularly purple prose, our list of phrases that were to be avoided at all costs.
"Can you even get a constellation of freckles?"
"Well, of course you can, it's an arrangement - it's the implication I resent. That freckles are like stars - who'd have starry freckles? You can't wish on a freckle."
"You could. I think that could be quite a romantic scene."
"Depends on...
Snitches Die Heroically, the Rest Burn in Hell
October 2002. As the flames ripped apart the body of a five year old girl, burning her skin into a mass of molten cellular plastic, boiling the red and white blood cells that traversed her barely formed veins, charring her fragile, yet to be developed bones, and exterminating the intelligence, wit, and beauty of a child who never had the chance to be; our generation looked on and cheered. While the firefighters rushed to squelch the blaze and douse the embers of dying justice, we arrogantly proclaimed the righteousness of this row-home...
We come from beyond the stars. We are the Yorkie chocolate bars.
I was in Grade 4 and this giant living chocolate bar was walking around the schoolyard. We tried shooting it and pelting it with rocks. But nothing worked. The chocolate bar was too thick.
"YORKIE!" it screamed and then it tickled me. Or gave me a wedgie.
Man, I hated that thing. But I have to confess that in a weird way, I liked it too. Don't ask me why but for some reason, I sensed that it wasn't completely malevolent. No. Deep down, I knew there was...
In these parts, they could not afford trains. Instead, they strapped the Jews and leftists and gypsies and cripples and social undesirables onto sleds on the back of a Volkswagen and hauled them to the camp, which was really a slapdash cardboard affair. The guards were lazy and disinterested. They really didn't see a point in the whole thing, but they did their jobs nevertheless, smoking cigarettes with the more gregarious prisoners. They resented the prisoners and beat them - After all, they thought, why should I have to waste my life standing around guarding these people that the Reich...
"Ugh," Shiloh said, rolling her eyes over the steaming cup of coffee that she had been holding for the last twenty minutes.
Her boyfriend Micah looked across the table and couldn't help but let out a very quiet laugh. "What?" he asked, still laughing as he did.
"Don't what me," she replied softly, shaking her head as she took a very long sip of her still piping hot coffee. "Don't, Micah. You know exactly what that ugh was for."
After Micah had graduated from university with a degree in chemical engineering, he had convinced himself that he didn't want a...