Same Again Next Month

Disbelief is a lady with a mirror. Ergo, my salon has none. They enter and demand a new look, same as the old look. I say, “Madame! As lovely as ever, but what catastrophe has overcome you?” Le catastrophe c’est moi. They love the sound of scissors and flattery. “Madame, How dare I violate perfection.?”

Clean

He reads by the light of the blazing fire. He doesn’t feel the heat. He feels very little nowadays. At first, a shovel, a short prayer, quiet dignity. Then, house by house, body upon body, even mass graves overflow. He considers walking into the fire, but there’s so much left to do before he’s done.

Vehicle

I hear their voices first, musical and confused. There is a crack and the light floods in. I squint and cover my eyes. They tell me they're archaeologists and that they’re surprised as hell to find me. They ask me questions. No, I don't thirst for blood. Would love a curry. Are there still curries?

Midnight at The Boring Ape Tavern

The sign swinging above the door is more confusing than enlightening. Enter and the beer is bland, but cold, at least. Onstage, the ape sighs. He’ll have to start his story over. The sparse audience groans. They’ve heard it before. Suddenly, stale pretzels and watery beer seem much more attractive. That’s the secret, of course.

But if you go

I’m riding the same bus that we met on. Looking out the window, the world is more or less the same. Only you’re not here. I didn’t have a cigarette when you asked me. But you kept talking to me anyway. Why me? How did I get so lucky? And how did I lose you?

The Axe and Shiv: Peacetime Use

“Master, is this the book?” “No, not that one. It is a thicker tome than that.” “I thought we were only looking for one spell.” “Yes, but it’s a complex spell, isn’t it. Nestled in a spell book with other spells.” “Good God! It’s burning! I think it just ate my fingers!” “That’s the one!”

Final Frontier

Sure, space is infinite, but fuel isn’t. The hard part is striking the balance between far enough away from authorities and close enough to customers. It’s an endless cycle of very squeaky wheels. Sell enough drugs to buy enough fuel to stay one step ahead. Eventually, blasted to stardust. It’s called living. It’s called freedom.

Purple Glasses

I don’t remember refilling my cup. Rather, filling, drinking, and refilling it all seem to happen at the same time. Ice, Sprite, luminous opioids and I am cut loose, a lifeboat adrift in a purple ocean. I can’t tell if I’m drifting towards something or away. My heart is a butterfly, stuttering to the beat.

Act I

“Any more survivors?” “Just us, Sarge. And the … Android.” “I remain functional, Sergeant.” “A dragon. I can’t believe it. The king’s a wizard after all.” “What will we do, Sergeant? We cannot fight it.” “Sure can’t. But we’re going to. We have to.” “You said it, Sarge!” “I will fight alongside you.” “There’s the heart!”

Remedial Political Nanotechnology

Too many planets reduced to ruins to make diplomacy the preferred option. Of course, talk is cheap and fails too often. That’s where we come in. The sickness is mild, most of the time. Assuming they survive, they are guaranteed to be pliable, open to negotiation. Then we work quickly, before brain rot sets in.

Grey Coat. Yellow Scarf.

I sell them quality intel. They don’t ask any questions. The answers wouldn’t make any sense to them. Give grains of sand the ability to hear, then speak. Wait until the mark walks by, drop some sand in their pocket. Once the gold runs out, you’ll take dollars. Hufflepuff don’t open many doors out here.

Set a Trap

He sips the drink slowly, fine tuning the chemical balance in his head. Follow her directly and she will wriggle away like fish. So he has to come at her sideways. He swallows another pill. The door clicks open, both metaphorically and literally. “Buy me a drink, stranger?” she says. He knows her very well.

For the Revolution!

He took his life in his hands with every mission. It’s not the life he would’ve chosen. Given options, he would’ve continued fucking rich women for money. Then the Dictatorship started to crack down. Mass arrests. Disappearances. The Resistance turned him from a gigolo to a thief. The bored wives of oligarchs had such secrets.

Emuwarts College of Remedial Sorcery

The door to the teachers’ lounge creaks as I slouch in. I sigh and pour a cup of coffee. The pot is cold so I wave my wand over it. Lukewarm. I suppose I belong here. “Strike vote tomorrow,” says Pastorius. “I know,” I say. Hazard pay. Better health insurance. It’s not easy to teach.

The Skin Fighter

The fighters’ silk robes drop to the ground, revealing glistening skin and lithe limbs ready for combat. The warlord applauds with delight. “Now, my pretties: Fight!” The brunette lashes out with a kick directly below the blonde’s breasts. Driven gasping to the ground, an ugly bruise begins to form. “Oh. Gross,” he says. “Never mind.”

Motives

He winces as the visitors pound another ball into the sparsely defended goal. “Tell me again,” his companion asks, “why you wanted a football team? There has to be a better way of making money.” In fact, on their descent towards relegation, sponsors were bailing out. He sighs. “My daughter likes to watch them practice.”

Japanese Hot Rod

The engines rev up and the glass forest echoes with their thunder. Nearby, more engines roar in response. The chief nods to his men. Hands tighten around crowbars, tire thumpers. Lights stretch out in bright white lines as tires grip asphalt and pull into the night. How beautiful to kill or die at high speed.