Tag Archives: writing

A flaming bus speeds through the night. Inside it are two men. One is Jack Friendly, a man in his late 50′s with an Ernest Borgnine somatotype, blonde hair, and one eyebrow, black. His other eyebrow had vanished, mysteriously, a … Continue reading →

The elevator smelled like a fart had slipped in at the end of the workday Friday, and had camped there all weekend. At this point, a little before 9am Monday morning, it had either died here, or managed to sneak … Continue reading →

This is serious, he thought. It always had been. For weeks, he had tried to deny this, but had always known it was true. The papers had told him so. By age 24, Hermreiche Meyer couldn’t walk past a stack … Continue reading →

I had to trade books hate to trade books. Keep. I wondered if time was mapped out with little circles along the way, and checked my watch. A fucking circle. Goddamnit, they’re good. Now they fucking had me. This is … Continue reading →

He was the tallest black man any of us had ever seen. Towering there like the sort of shadow you don’t want looming over you. His legs are like spiders. Spiders themselves, not like spider legs. What I’m saying is … Continue reading →

The toxic mould told its children to stay close. They were also toxic mould. This irritated their parent, the toxic mould from the first sentence. Scientists did not approve of them, but later changed their minds when they found that … Continue reading →

If I keep talking to myself psychically, I won’t have to pay attention to the hideous violet man outside my window. I say “violet” like I know. Like I’m some sort of expert. A wild haired colourologist would tell me … Continue reading →

I shouldn’t say I ate something I didn’t eat. Like its rude to do that or something. Some. Thing. Like everything can just be explained away like that. A famous economist was once developing a business model for such a … Continue reading →

Burson McNab’s squinty little eyes made other people angry. If not for his eyes, Burson might have been considered an attractive man, but now, in middle age, his face was a puckered bruise. People in general would often become so … Continue reading →