Went to high school...
By Scott Harmon
Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Womfat, Wizzle Womfat. I know, it's one of those boring names. I wish my parents had named me something snazzy like Waddy Wampum. Sigh...life is unfair occasionally. Sorry I'm rambling. Not! The point is I went to high school today, you know how it is. Got harassed by the peaceful pink feminists. You know, the ones that’s got to be surrounded by their pink chi 24/7? What a drag! Luckily I had a load of homework that I didn’t do. Made my day awesome. I’m being serious fool! Anyways, with a capital Q, I ran into my buddy, but it turned out he was in a semi fluxiant state of high matter disintegration. Dang woman! I can deal with a lot of things, but not that! Told him to go hit up some Karl Marx! That fixed him. And then! You wouldn’t believe who walked down the hall. It was those gosh dang wannabee illegal immigrants, with their ridiculous peasant costumes. All moaning about their parents having too much money and stuff. One claims to be Russian, the other Mexican, and the third Irish. It’s so stupid! Then they get into fights over who’s the best. Man high school is so awesome. I’m being serious fool!
- - -
I'm 31 and I have been actively writing since 2005. I started out doing micro fiction(although not realizing it until later) and poetry. I progressed into longer short stories. I spend most of my time writing screenplays or comic books. I have a feature length written and other shorts, but right now I am outside of the actual business.
Went to high school...
Posted by E.S. Wynn
Your Own Best Friend
By Esme Benet
Forty-eight is a terrible age to find out the truth. You stand in front of the window on a bleary morning, and you look even worse than the world at which you stare. Your eyes are bloodshot wrecks and your hair is scraped back from your face into an ugly bun that shows every exhausted shadow. Your skin feels like it's sliding off your body the way your youth is falling from you. Your shoulders sag with the weight of your life and the need for the medication.
It wasn't always like this. You used to stand and stare into the distance, a little smile on your face, pleasantly lost in a world of your own making. You would listen to the voices in your head, little friends that kept you company through all the lonely days. Oh, of course you knew they weren't real. You knew that the voices were just the way that you thought, just the way you perceived the world. Still, they were company, and you loved them, and they were better friends to you than any living human has ever been.
But now they are gone. The medicine got up in the middle of the night, the terrible sleepless night, and pulled the voices out of your head and flung them against the walls and beat them until they died.
You used to be able to tolerate the world with them, but now you have to live in the world without them. Chicago's a cold place.
You don't want to take the medicine. You imagine yourself flushing the pills away, down the toilet, and you’re gleeful, free. You may not get your skin to stop sliding off your body. You cannot get your youth to court you again. Time can't be undone. But you could be free of nights without sleep, of mornings creeping over to the bottle.
But you don't flush the pills. Times are tight. Salaries are being cut. Jobs are being lost. You take the medication to start your day, so you can walk through the world the way society wants: quiet, focused, subdued, and more utterly alone than you knew a human being could be. The Company will no longer be happy to let you work at your own pace, so long as you get everything done. In the past, the boss lady walked into the room, and if she saw you staring out the window with a faraway smile on your face, she laughed and reminded you that you have a home, and you should go to it, so get your work done. That kindly reminder, that playful acceptance, that's gone. Now she comes in, grim, snaps "What the hell are you doing!" She gives you the proverbial hairy eyeball and you jump to it. You wait until she's gone, and you take your second dose of the medicine and you focus, and you produce, and inside your body, your heart breaks into a thousand thousand pieces.
It's a hard thing to learn you are not who you always thought you were. All these years, you thought you were just dreamy: a pleasant, kind, thoughtful, scattered sort of girl. Your friends loved you as much could be expected in this dark and haunted world, and they accepted you for who you were, and even delighted in the quirky way your whimsical nature inspired you. But now, they are gone too. The childlike nature that came with the dream of yourself has gone to sleep, perhaps even died, and the friends you thought you had were really just your audience. You aren't entertaining any more. You crunch through your life, doing your best to live with having sacrificed everything you love about yourself to hold on to a job in these treacherous times.
When the day is over, and you punch out, and you make your way back to the solitude of your house, you stare out the bus window, isolated amongst the passengers, and wish for the day when you can stand on the shore of the freshwater sea, your toes in the sand and your eyes wet with tears and turned to the far horizon, crying "My loves! My darlings! My dearest friends! Come back, come back, come back! All is done, and I may lay down my burdens. I pray you, don't leave me here, now!”
But that day is not here yet. Maybe it will never come. The bus rumbles and shakes and you hit your head against the hard glass as the rough streets destroy your balance. All this time, you haven't been who you really thought you were. It was all a lie. Those dreams of your heart were just out-of-control chemicals, and all these years you've been living a delusion. You close your eyes, rest your head on the bus seat, and smell the stinking diesel of conformity.
- - -
Esme Benet wanders the corridors along the southwest shore of Lake Michagan. She likes reading and writing, and is just now starting to try Things Experimental. She's probably too educated for her own good, but that doesn't stop her from trying to be a perpetual student.
Posted by E.S. Wynn
Traffic Signs You Might Come Across
By Miles Gough
Stop Sign - Make sure your vehicle comes to a complete stop. Check to see if it is clear before reinstating movement.
Yield Sign - IF the road you are entering is clear, you may proceed without any adjustment. If the road is occupied, cease movement until you can safely enter the flow of traffic.
Slow Children Sign - This is an area where children live and might run into the street so you must slow your speed and drive cautiously.
Rock Slide Sign - Dive with caution due to the possibility of rocks impeding your way.
Exploding Road Sign - Drive with caution due to the possibility that the damned rebels have mined the road.
Solid Double Lane Lines - Under no circumstance can you pass the car in front of you.
Perforated Lane Lines - You may pass the car in front of you if there is no traffic coming from the opposite direction.
Solid Double Lane Lines with Red Arrows in the Middle - If safe, you may fire bomb the car in front of you.
Ped X-ing - Stop your car if a pedestrian is in the walkway and allow them to cross completely.
Ped XX-ing Sign - Accelerate you car if a pedestrian is in the walkway. It is not proper to back up if you miss, please follow logical rules of the road.
No Hitchhiker Sign - If you pick up a hitchhiker in this designated area, you will be fined.
No Hostage Sign - If you pick up a hostage in this designated area, you will be fined. It should be clarified that you are allowed to have a hostage you previously obrained, but you are prohibited from taking any new ones.
No Littering - There is a fine for throwing trash from the car onto the road.
No Dumping - There is fine for throwing a body, dead or otherwise, from a car onto the side of the road. You won't see this sign much anymore, because it is felt that a no littering sign should take care of this as well.
Toll Ahead Sign - Slow you car and prepare to pay the assigned fee to use the next stretch of road.
Tribute Ahead Sign - Slow you car and prepare to pay the assigned tribute to the local warlord or overseer. You should know the price of the tribute before traveling, be it gold, diamonds, wheat or transplantable kidneys. It is your responsibility as a good driver to know this and other rules of the road.
- - -
Posted by E.S. Wynn
A Eulogy for Edwin Bogardus
By Henry Lu
- - -
Henry Lu is a computer programmer by day, a painter and writer by night. Some of his paintings are installed in certain Federal Government buildings in DC. His fictions have appeared, or are forthcoming, on Postcard Shorts, Nanoism and Absinthe Revival Press' Summertime Anthology.
Posted by E.S. Wynn
How I Found Out Who Killed Kennedy
By Edward T. Keller
I used to play the bagpipes when I was a Scotsman, to this day I sometimes try to blow into cow’s udders to make music. In fact, they arrested me just a month ago - charged me with milk theft. I challenged them to check the contents of my stomach, to prove that I hadn’t drunk any of the milk.
The medical examiner used to be an Ancient Egyptian, to this day he tries to shove pencils up patient’s noses – an atavism from his days of mummifying. I told him Scotsmen never surrender. In desperation, he shoved the pencils up his own nose.
I offered him a hankie to dub the brains running out of his nostrils. “Zang you” he said with a nasal accent. But wait! I thought. Maybe this is not a nasal accent - maybe the pencils have activated a German matrix?
After a few experiments I found that if I gave the right pencil a gentle twist, the good doctor spoke Dutch, and if I gave the left pencil a twist, the Dutch was slowly superseded by Norwegian. If I twisted both pencils, and angled them slightly to the left, I could catch shortwave radio transmissions from the early sixties.
And this is how I came to know who killed Kennedy.
- - -
- ► 2014 (51)
- ► 2013 (35)
- ▼ May (5)
- ► 2011 (25)