Len and Ilana’s magic allows them to visit faraway places using ‘thought-speed’. Scientific data suggested it worthwhile to visit Ganymede, Jupiter’s largest moon with a deep salty ocean and more water than Earth. This presents the exciting possibilities for life beyond Earth." They visited scientists associated with the Hubble Space Telescope and told them of their magic skills and plans. The scientists were most interested, and fitted them with the necessary safety gear and sample vials to survive within the salty ocean. Holding hands in the presence of the scientists using thought-speed they were whisked to Ganymede’s salty ocean.
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In 1884 the Mignonette was wrecked by a rogue wave. Four men drifted in a dinghy, starving, and although surrounded by water, it drove them mad for it could not be consumed. The cabin boy drifted into a coma so they slit his throat and drunk his blood. I guess desperate times demand desperate measures yet the sea crazy wild-eyed sailors were rescued.
On arriving back in Falmouth they were shocked by being sentenced to death, later commuted to six months imprisonment. Oh, what terrible nightmares they must have endured... haunted by the blood from that poor dead lad. I bought a large metal chest at local garage sale- twenty dollars as is.
The trunk was empty when I placed it in my workshop. The next morning that same truck was too heavy for me to lift, as overnight 4 strange looking clocks and numerous devices appeared inside it. I flipped all the gizmo’s switches and the clocks began to hum and glow. After a sweep with a Gigger counter assured me of no radiation, I left the chest to have lunch. The delicious chocolate layer cake I completely devoured yesterday, was sitting intact on my kitchen table. I met her in a downtown bar. Blond and beautiful, she was alone, ignoring a half-dozen would be suitors. I elbowed in, offered her a drink.
"Let's get out of here," I said, taking her arm and mentioning the clouts that surrounded us. She spat out a word I understood. Outside, I hailed a taxi, and we climbed into the back seat. "You, too?" I said in High Martian, the same language she had used. She was another Martian agent I had stumbled upon, one who might break my cover. I neutralized her, along with the startled taxi driver. Ducks of all types — Mallards, Blue-winged Teals and Gadwalls — flocked to the lake. They swam there, dove for small fish there, hatched their eggs in nests they fashioned in the soft grasses above the banks and raised their young there.
From the start, though, they squabbled and fought. Sometimes they even killed one another. There was plenty to eat and plenty of space for all to live in peace. But among themselves, ducks see only differences, which they consider a threat. After two years of clashing, the ducks had had enough. Each species left and found its own lake. The manager stood in front of his colleagues – so many had accepted the invitation to his anniversary. The gathering fell silent as he stepped forward to speak, glancing down at the carpet and shuffling a few sheets of paper in his hands. For once, he was lost for words.
He had received a letter from the CEO who expressed “deepest gratitude for 25 years of dedicated service” and enclosed a cheap tie-pin in “sincere appreciation.” His ruthless boss said “make way for the younger generation”, cut his salary and gave him a job with a seat at the window instead. He had seen her the day before, drinking a late and typing on her laptop in a quiet corner of the cafe. She had worn a red beret and a black, high-necked top over blue jeans. Her legs had been crossed, her head turned away from the crowds. Today she looked sad, her typing, faster. He could see the words of an article, for a paper or a journal? Tomorrow she may be here again, maybe not. He walked over to her, sat down and read his paper next to her. Tomorrow she may not be here.
The country has emerged as a regional super-power with its successful nuclear and space programs, while building its own technology hub. Powerful government officials in the capital had been busy in planning a spectacular self-congratulatory celebration for the upcoming seventieth anniversary of independence from its past colonial occupier.
But, a few hundred kilometers away, in a government-run hospital, thirty children laid dead from acute respiratory failures due to lack of needed oxygen. The vendor stopped supplying for nonpayment of past bills by dysfunctional bureaucratic staff. India ponders whether to celebrate the Independence Day on August 15, flying its flag half-mast! It was one of the best decisions I ever made.
I spent many years on a copy desk, many of them as copy desk chief. Discussions of finer (often trivial) points of grammar. These were mostly unproductive wastes of time, IMO – but some people just can’t accept that English grammar does not yield to logical examinations. Often the only possible answer is that of all Mommies – “Because that‘s the way it is.” I got really fed up with petty quibbling. So when I retired, I made one resolution. I will never be drawn into any discussion of the Oxford comma. The excited bull snorted, beneath a clock shattered at some long ago one seventeen. It`s roar echoed through the ruined station and out along tracks rusting off into the distance. The animal tensed, nostrils steaming, stamping up dust from the derelict platform. A pungent musk announced the arriving heifer.
The cow approached, crunching glass, and rocking slightly as it thumped over a fallen door. Faded times and destinations provided a backdrop to their furious rutting, before the bull dismounted and strode away. And that`s it really, just an apocalyptic Cornforth Station and another beef encounter. Renowned historian Prof. Nakamura, enjoying a pint in a pub, was watching a baseball game on live telecast. Suddenly flashed a “Breaking News” of a riot from a quaint university town. Right-wing white extremists, waving confederate and swastika-emblazoned Nazi flags, were pounding on the peaceful counter-protesters. “Nazi flags on our soil in 21-st century! Do they know how many past citizens sacrificed their lives to get rid of that evilness?” pondered Prof. Nakamura.
But, it was inevitable. To win the presidency, the strongman preached hatred laced with racism and xenophobia to his base. The base was now returning the favor. Strong feelings of nostalgia and regret welled up within him, causing his chest to constrict.
Looking at the picture of them on their first date was a mistake. The happiness that gleamed in their eyes at that time have long since faded, and it was all his fault. He pushed her away. He wasn’t ready for the commitment of a serious relationship, but that’s what she wanted. They grew too close, too quickly… and it scared the hell out of him. So, he broke it off before it could even truly begin… only to realize that that’s what he wanted all along. Awakened by the sun, he lay there a moment, worried he was late for school. Then he remembered it was the first day of summer vacation.
For a ten-year-old boy, what could be better? Waking up late, eating Frosted Flakes, playing baseball, stopping home for lunch, fishing, heading home for supper and watching TV until bedtime. When you’re ten, you can venture out on your own. You don’t care what you wear or pay much attention to girls. You don’t have a job. All summer vacations are a blast. But none can match the one when you’re ten. Edward had been pounding virtual warriors for hours. Now he’d reached the final level of the game, against the ultimate rebel leader. Intimidating as the leader was, Edward was confident.
“Wish I could show this dude what’s coming.” He smiled. A blinding light flashed, and Edward gasped. His jaw dropped when he saw the leader before him. He’d been transported into the game! “Bring it on, big boy,” the leader taunted, grinning evilly. “A, A, B, left, B,” Edward replied. “Huh?” Edward sailed forward, the corresponding attack moves coming automatically. The leader toppled, stunned. “Gotta love video games.” Edward grinned. “Delia, you’re getting married?!” said Sandy.
“Yes. Roy and I were computer matched.” “Does that really work?” “We’ll soon find out. The wedding is set for next week, and you’re invited.” The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and the couple honeymoons in Hawaii. When the newlyweds return, Delia again meets her friend for lunch. “How’s the bride?” “Disillusioned.” “Already? Give him a chance.” “There aren’t enough chances in the world.” “Did you complain to the computer matching service?” “Yes.” “What did they say?” “They told me to put him into the recycle bin.” “And …?” “Then they emptied it.”  Image: Nic Simpson Elsa sat at the breakfast table, reading.
"You know, Albert, it says here that treating leukaemia with crushed orange pips and Marmite improves 5-year survival rates by 35%." "Huh?" "It's by your old colleague Professor Katie Hopkins. It must be true." "Her?" grunted Einstein. "⨍(∜(e=mc2) + 2ab + ⫒5y)" "Now dear, just because she has a column in the Daily Star, there's no need to swear. More tea?" Albert passed his cup. "You're behaving like a baby," she added. Einstein grinned. "You're totally obsessed with this relativity stuff," Elsa said sharply. "Look at the mess time-travel has got us into." Jack concluded that his life was just a prolonged conspiracy, based on the compromise of his dreams. He also believed this concession of his existence leaned heavily on his imagination’s innate ability to concoct and conjure endless illusions, to combat, confound, confuse and abuse any aspect of the reality that engulfs him.
Being both pious and a hypocrite, Jack arrived at an epiphany that brutally revealed him as just the hollow shell of glory and defeat, charged to retreat into the dark basement of his parent’s home, where he was destined to disintegrate in the wake of a video game. He tilted the screen of his laptop forward slightly to eliminate the glare of the morning sun. He liked to skim the headlines in the morning, especially business news.
After nearly four decades in business, it was hard for him to pull away entirely. He liked knowing who was winning and who was losing. As he sipped his coffee, he thought of how he had longed for peaceful mornings like this for so many years, how he had thought he might never break free from the stress. Now he looked down at his cell phone and wished someone would call. We ran to our fort in the woods that was little more than a rut in the ground. Our imaginations made it something more, though, and it suited us fine.
My baby brother in the pine needles. He spoke to me, but I hadn’t heard, distracted by birds. “What was that?” I asked. “I hope he never comes back.” I imagined I could hear a bird expanding its ribcage in song. I took my brother’s hand while he wept. We ran home. Dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. Thankful, we ran some more. Our chests extended, vibrating, in perfect harmony. Mother hedgehog was heading home to her babies. Reaching the grassy verge of the busy road, she suddenly felt a sharp pain. She struggled there for hours, strength fading, until the dog discovered her. The little girl, his owner, begged the people at the nearby Nature Conservancy Center for help; but to her dismay they just said “There’s nothing we can do; let nature take its course.”
Next day the little girl returned to the tragic scene, where the spiny cadaver lay at the bottom of the hedge, one of its hind legs still snagged on the barbed wire fence. Kindergartner Timmy jumped when he felt something tickle his feet. Looking down, he widened his eyes as he saw a small, furry creature smiling at him. Timmy grinned back. A new friend! How exciting!
Timmy and Furry explored the yard, laughing and having fun. Best of all, no one but Timmy seemed to be able to view Furry. The gears in Timmy’s head grinded as he imagined all they could do together. Then Timmy woke up. Only a dream? NOOOO! His lip quivered, when he felt another tickle. Pinching himself, he laid eyes on Furry--for real. Life was good! Donald Trump loves to call Washington “a swamp,” but that
land never existed outside of political fiction. Another city exists beyond Official Washington. For natives, the city limits are set by two rivers: the Anacostia and the Potomac. The terrain consists of hills, parks and forestland. The city even has a wealth of urban gardens and some urban farms. Rock Creek park holds the zoo, a nature center, stables and trails. East Potomac Park is where locals go to play. Every neighborhood has its own history. Ultimately, Washington is a series of schools, churches and households where ordinary people live. We'd been anticipating the Hendersons' dinner party for days.
"You'll get the chance to enjoy your neighbours the Walkers," said Mary Henderson. We looked forward to meeting people from our quiet cul-de-sac. That evening, Dan ushered us in. "Come! The Walkers are in the dining room." We'd expected two others, but Jane and I were the only guests. Our meal was heavily meat-based – a terrine, then a tasty pie. Eventually I said, "I'd understood our neighbours would be here?" "They were," Dan said. "On the table. The Davidsons are coming tomorrow." Jane and I shivered. We heard the lock turn. My brother and I would meet sometimes at night on the floor of the hallway between our bedrooms—out of sight.
Once, we fell asleep that way. Mom found us, of course. She roused us with the smell of cooking coming from the kitchen. We were soon eating breakfast with her at the dining room table. The sound of forks scraping plates. The low-hanging smell of freshly-sizzled bacon. A memory I can still shape. She never once asked us why we were lying in the hallway like that, and we never once brought it up. Now, I think she knew. The elderly man from across the road approaches.
"Hello. I'm afraid I've forgotten your name. You've only just moved here, haven't you?" I have known him for almost 20 years. I stroke his dog who walks him nowadays. Every evening at 9.30 the woman enters the suburban pub for her 4 pints and numerous cigarettes. It is a particularly sad sight on bleak Monday nights when she is often alone at the bar, apart from me watching. I could mention others. I sit on a bench outside my house, perhaps people believe...I'm a lost soul of suburbia too. |
