The thickly applied make-up became grotesque beneath the unforgiving fluorescent lighting, illuminating the horror lurking in the face of a thousand nightmares. I wondered then how I’d managed to wind up in the staff toilets at the Spurling Brothers circus.
Robotic computers annihilate mankind. Earth reboots.
Just look at me, I’m rolling over in my grave. What ever happened to writing the old-fashioned way, with pencil?
I love you…I love you…I love you. “Right, you, ya little twat – clean it off, I’ve just painted that fuckin’ wall!”
“Lars, the sheep was one thing, but that goat’s hoofs are puncturing the waterbed.”
“But, honey, you said you liked animals.”
Sitting on a stairway, sweat turning my skin into a shiny sheen, I see the light.
“You can come home now.”
She chortled when she saw me, so I shot her in the heart. But as she lay dying, the look of amusement never left her eyes.
When he was given the green light by his government to travel back in time to the dinosaurs’ era, he was so proud of being given the chance to eye-witness an event that beggared description that he forgot, under a state of confusion and bewilderment, to take with him the most essential device.
He forgot the coming back mechanism—a small box that sends signals to the time machine to teleport him back to his era—and was consequently stuck with the dinosaurs without the slightest chance of coming back to the twenty third century, but he kept hoping that the rescue team would show up any time until he realized, after some days of harsh survival, that the time machine, he invented, was holding a tricky device that would ruin its circuits after twenty four hours of his departure.
She got the job because of something beginning with the letter ‘b’. It wasn’t brains.
Impossibility is not a fact. Impossibility is an opinion.
Her beauty was her only currency and by the time she turned 20, she was morally bankrupt. When she reached 23, she had been in a series of relationships with both men and women; though later on, she was never quite certain if this made her bi, lesbian or just a good opportunist.
He heard them saying something about an accident and a time of death, as he lay there staring helplessly at a host of people, doctors and nurses he assumed, with masks on their faces and gloves on their hands.
As a noisy, whining machine was powered off above his head, and as the doctors and nurses walked away discussing what would be for lunch, he lay there, unable to move, breath, or even blink, trying to scream, “No wait, don’t go away!”
Morning coffee brought out all the secrets they had been keeping. “The silence,” he said, “is me thinking.”
If you were to tell her how sweet her expression looked, how cute SHE looked, she would just vehemently reply: ” I don’t want to look cute or girly, I am strong and can fight with the best of them.”
Yet, in sleep’s embrace her softness shone through, no matter what she said.
“I don’t get why micro-stories always have to shock or amuse or have a twist,” she said. “Me neither,” he said, putting the knife back in its sheath.