Claudette Nootka Is Ugly Inside And Full Of Hate

“Seems kinda slow in here today.” Caspian Shipley remarks lifting his glass and glancing around at my empty bar. I should note that it’s 3:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday. What Gentlemen’s Club is a grandiose circus in the middle of the week on a workday? He knows nobody comes in here at this time because he’s always in here at this time. He waits at the door for me to unlock it at 3:00 every day.

Is This The Sound Of Love?

Some nights I wake and everything is just as it was the night before and I’m still okay. Some nights I wake and it’s there. It’s never stopped; not even after all of these years. Decades. I wonder how many people grow up to find that they’re still surrounded every single one of their same high school friends even twenty years later? It’s probably not a lot.

Unhappy New Year

Then that tall thing in the darkness interlaced its fingers and flexed them until its joints snapped as loud as firecrackers. It proceeded to crack the others in its overly-articulated fingers one one. Shadows cast an unknown source of light on the far wall seemed to show those hands like the legs of an impossible boney spider wrapping itself delightfully around a fly caught in its web. My feet were gritty and frozen. That’s how I found out it had taken my shoes.

Delicious

“How’s she doing?” The concern Jake had for Kyle’s wife was genuine so it was always the first thing he said as Kyle mounted the steps to Jake’s porch in the afternoon. “Catch,” was the next thing he said as he tossed Kyle a beer. He and Jake had developed a sort of tradition these past few weeknights.

Sow The Seeds And Give Thanks

Part I Norma Gacy I guess this all started with the flu…or at least that’s what I thought it was. I’m not so sure anymore. I’m hesitant to share this experience with anyone, least of all you because you’re going to think I’m nuts but who better to tell this about than strangers? It doesn’t matter if you judge me. We’ll never meet so your opinion about me doesn’t really matter. I woke up a little over a week ago with a fever. Every part of me hurt and the sun was radiant and blinding through my bedroom curtains. It set the motes of dust that fell between the window and the space where I lay, fresh from waking, on fire blinding white. You’ll think it’s hyperbole, but it’s a fact–in that moment, never before in my life have I wished harder to be unable to see…more strongly even than Read More …

Choice Is An Illusion

I used to think reality was made up of choices. A hundred little choices made every day in a row, strung up like a necklace of pearls. You probably think reality is something like this too, each thing that you do could go a hundred different ways, and the only way it goes is the way that you choose for it to go…but that’s not how it works at all. That’s not how anything works. Reality is manipulative, just like people are and it’s manipulating all of us. It’s even manipulating you. You might not think so. Choices are only binary. Yes or no. True or false. There’s no great big gray areas like they tell you.

Brighter Futures Suicide Hotline Has Been Around A Lot Longer Than You Think

CALL LOGS I’m not the first one to say it and I won’t be the last: I don’t think Brighter Futures Suicide Hotline is what they say it is. The past few weeks, I’ve been gathering as much information as I can find and I’m good at finding things. Damn good. It’s literally my job. I’m a Digital Forensics Examiner. I can’t tell you my name and I can’t tell you the name of the company I work for — I’m afraid of retaliation and not just from my company but others. For the purpose of this post, I’m going Maddox. I’m beginning to see that this goes a lot deeper than a call center and a bunch of strange coincidences. This is massive. Global. From what I can tell, something is attempting to shift the path of humanity itself. They’re doing it unseen. They’re doing it successfully.

Escaping Eden

Part I “Hello!” I said as I approached the bench. The man’s eyes shot up with a start looking up over the thing he held in his hand. “Are you talking to me?” He asked. He looked tired and agitated despite the placid mask of emotionless empty the rest of his face conveyed. I felt my insides lurch, instantly regretting the interaction. I had to keep going so I kept smiling until he smiled back. There was no way he could be like all the rest. If he was, there was no hope. Finally, he did smile and I felt my stomach fall. His smile was exactly like the ones I’d left behind. Fake. False. I felt my heart racing a bit in my chest.

Who Are The Children?

“Hello, my class is taking a field-trip and I’m selling magazine subs—” I slammed the door in his tiny, stupid face. He might have been eight-years-old, and my reaction might have been cruel, but the kid’s gotta learn the world is a harsh place sometime in his life. Why not now?