TheLightsWentOutIn99

Genesis 1 The ocean waves cradled and carried the sea otter as it balanced the sea urchin on its furry chest. In its mind, the otter saw a rock of the perfect size and shape to smash the urchin's tough carapace. This rock did not exist, but numerous others littered the beaches and seafloor, all of which could easily stand in for the ideal. Yes, the sea otter visualized its perfect rock. Men dozing on the beach conjured their own visions of the perfect woman, to each man his own. Some of these phantom women were strikingly beautiful, others surprisingly plain. Some of them lived only to give pleasure. Others took all pleasure for themselves,

The window-washer began to think of his life since graduation from high school. He had refused to follow his parents in their chosen profession: cashiers. He had insisted that he would find something better for himself. So, here he was, two years later, and his summer window-washing job had become full-time. He was Charles, the window washer. It hadn’t been his parents’ fault that he had ended up this way; they had warned him to stay in the safe zone, the store. It wasn’t his teachers’ fault, they had warned him, too. It must have been his fault that he became a full-time window-washer. Still, what had stopped him from t

Cytel awoke with a start, a sort of shudder that started at his ears and ended at his fingers. He jerked his torso upright, but his bloodshot eyes were still only half-opened. The noise outside his room was deafening. Cytel braced himself and rose from the beige bed-sheets. He crossed the room and opened the flimsy, plastic door. There was a racket of screams, shouting, and thing breaking, wooden things, glass things, plastic things. Utter chaos described the sight that met Cytel’s eyes as he stared from the doorway. Stocky, grey-clad men were laying waste to the sparsely-furnished lobby of the cheap flophouse. Cytel came to full awaren

The Broken Bottles Gang attacked us that winter. They had come every year for the past seven. They always attacked when their food ran low. The raids usually followed the same pattern: they stole food and some weapons before being beaten back. This time, it was much worse. Like other Gangs, the Broken Bottles built nothing, only inhabiting the ruins they controlled. They were uncultured and honorless. The Gang was not even known for its weapons; using only spears and slings, instead of the crossbows and bombs that are common. The only thing that made the Broken Bottles a threat to us was their ferocity; they had destroyed several better-equi

the blue skies above watch the planes soar you are no docile dove Move the others, push and shove from them always wanting more the blue skies above violence fits you like a satin glove misery and brutality from you pour you are no docile dove you dream of wars and grooves, calibers, and bores for the blue skies above your one-ton bombs, huge malatovs the bullets rain through earthly pores you are no docile dove can it be stopped? you only shrug this clashing steel world tour of the blue skies above no more pastures, no more groves blood and mud is what you speak of and death in the blue sky above you, commander, are no d

Recipe for the Perfect Writer's Block: Start with a word-processing program Add three pints of distraction Dash in a handful of additional work Glaze with a coat of diminishing time Finish by staring at the sun for hours Tastes horrible, feed it to the dog

I was out for a run in the rain, nothing unusual. It’s been done before. It was a storm night, though. Lightning and thunder were coming down pretty heavy around me. I was just making laps around campus, but I was also on another run out in the rain. I was still in high school, out with my teammates. We were still hurting from the workout in the Ridges, and all of the guys were strung out on the length of the bike path. Hell, the girls were still running down the Ridges-path, still pounding away to get to the bike path. There wasn’t even a wisp in the sky when we started the cool-down, but once we were past Peden, conditions chang

It was the first day of Landing Week when the Earth machines touched down. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it, that an event commemorating an escape from Earth would be interrupted by old, inescapable Earth? Most cities had only a few watchers on duty, as the rest were allowed to celebrate that Week. It was a kind thing to do; there are few holidays, few reasons to celebrate, here on the Moon. These Earth machines, these arrivals from the home-world, were extremely formidable. Descriptions from the other cities described ten-story walking monstrosities, human-shaped horrors composed of steel plates and plastic harder than granite, thicker

The Killing of the Dragon-Turtle Introduction: It all started with the Dragon-Turtle. Older than humanity and as long as ten humans, the Dragon-Turtle had gone about its life in the Gulf for untold centuries, neither happy nor sad, for it was still just an animal in the end. The Dragon-Turtle had always lived in the Gulf, but things were changing. Strange toxins had been polluting the waters, prey was harder to find. The Dragon-Turtle went hungry for days, and then began a long swim, not away from the toxins, for it could not detect those, but towards a new source of food: two-legged, two-armed, mostly hairless, and very easy to catch. The

When I was four, my grandparents’ house started sinking into Halfway Bay. It was a slow process, but it started with a bang. I was playing in the front yard when a horrible sound of sliding stone hit me. A four-inch-wide crack had split the ground in front of me, leaving the house separated from the rest of the land. My grandmother was busy removing the blooms from the annuals when the yard split. She jumped up and ran to me when the ground broke. “Are you all right?” she gasped. “Yes,” I said. I was fine. It was grandma that didn’t look all right. Her face was too pale and she was breathing hard. I thought s

Alfred the mime was not particularly successful at his career, that is, the mime part of his career. He was not even an average mime; people didn’t pay him much attention, except to laugh at his poor technique. He was, however, a brilliant psychopath. If he ever talked, he could tell you of numerous gory deeds, but, just as they were committed, he was committed to absolute silence. It had started with birds in the park. People started to find feathers, spots of blood, bodies with the beaks ripped off, and other examples of mutilation. It had escalated from there, with neighborhood cats and dogs disappearing. Scraps of fur, some whiskers

Limited by the lack of toothbrushes, combs, and other hygienic tools, Eric and Steve did their best to clean up with what was available. While Steve splashed water on his face and under his armpits, Eric meticulously washed his hands twice over before drinking straight from the faucet. "Are you sure you should be doing that?" asked Steve. He had stopped washing and was watching Eric drink. Eric noticed his hand hover near the baseball bat, which he had propped against the base of the sink. "What?" "I mean, what if there're drugs in the water? Maybe that's what made all those people go crazy last night. You might not want to drink it." "I