In September 2212, the artificial intelligence running the Near Earth Object Observation Program at Big Pine, announced impassively that it had discovered a new asteroid that would impact the Earth in about five years’ time. It estimated its size to be similar to that of Australia. I’ve often wondered who it told first, and how they reacted.
Rags, her son Greg’s dog, was a mutt who came home one day with her 12-year-old son, probably after being lost or dropped off by some callous owner and most likely hungry and attracted to Greg’s demeanor, soft voice, gentle hands, and a whistler, and that for much of his days when permissible.
The baby had gone to sleep and the boys and Eva, her daughter, had gone to watch Manton drill with the other men in the exercise/muster the village held each month. She cherished the silence. It reminded her of the quiet of the convent—not a pleasant memory, but she did experience some beautiful moments in the years she lived there. She hurried to the kitchen table, wiped it clean, dried it, and spread out the fine linen cloth she had spent too much money on, opened a bottle of ink, got out a stylus, and began to write.
It was in the eighth year of her life that Becky truly became obsessed with The Tall Man. His coming, his arrival, was all she had to fear in the world. He could be upon her at any moment. Becky turned her mind away and sat Indian-style on the floor, playing with her dolls. She wondered if she would ever feel safe.
The unerring radar of Leila Allison has rooted out this strong and moving piece from our very own Hugh. This is what she said: Continue reading “Literally Reruns -The Perfect Personification of Religion by Hugh Cron”
Well another terrible week of plane crashes, shootings and Bieber and Kanye still subjecting us to them being them.
None of that gave me any inspiration but there were two other news stories that did. And both of them had a link to my home country and The USA.
Continue reading “Week 198 – Easy Targets, Easier Targets And PC Nonsense That Should Be A Target.”
At first it was thought to be an isolated case. A loud, self-important person said that his cell phone had overheated and mildly burned his ear while he was talking about his proctology exam on a crowded bus. When several others related incidents while talking loudly about work, grocery lists and fights with spouses or bosses occurred, the phenomenon quickly passed through urban legend into a genuine mystery. Because the cell phones only overheated in certain situations, no one could find any problem inherent in the phones themselves. The problem had to be external.
After the hot cell phone cases became well known, the long-suffering public began to cheer each burnt ear and was happy to lose the distracting and irritating chatter of the cell bozos.
I sat a long time before going up to the house. Vanessa lived on the left side of a duplex behind the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge. There was a pink beauty salon chair on the white paint chipped front porch. Weathered cardboard boxes filled with National Geographic magazines and empty Marlboro 100 packs were stacked in the corner. After I knocked at the door, it opened and I saw Vanessa standing there before me. I knew her as the regular who always asked for extra soymilk in her reusable coffee mugs but my manager called her Fat Madonna. I didn’t get the joke until he showed me a picture on his phone one day.
On impact, the demon exploded out of the steering wheel airbag and ripped my husband away from this world.
Was und warum bist du? asked the Invisible Rain of an old man seated at a small table, on which lay a bottle of vodka and a snub-nose revolver. The Invisible Rain tapped out its ceaseless question on the window, roof and eaves, the walls and even on the underside of the floor. The old man refused to answer. He never did. Although the Invisible Rain already knew everything there was to know, it was greedy and insatiable; it increased exponentially with what it devoured, thus always hungry. Why feed a thing that can never get enough? The old man imagined himself as a drum in outer space: “Beat me as long and hard as you can, you’ll never hear a thing.”
literally stories 