The empires collapsed to rubble. Skyscrapers dragged down to the ground. It was chaos. I could smell the end. It smells of tequila, cannabis, and strawberry shampoo. It's so cold so cold so cold. But I'm not shivering from cold. My own teeth are frigid icepicks. Carved diamond hard, I think I've cut my lip. Maybe it was someone else's teeth that nipped me.
Haha, nipped. What a strange word. N-I-P-P-E-D. Something valid rhymes with it. Ah yes, tripped. That's what happened to me. Why I was on the floor. The floor, I could hardly see it. I stand up. Gracefully I think. Maybe I'm too drunk for that. Ah well. I'm up either way, squashed between two shirtless dancers. One's a woman, I note with vague interest. I need to move.
People were packed like sardines in those decorated tins that you peel open. Tins that you peel back like bananas. A flash of yellow breezed past me. A bunch of bananas?
And someone flies off the 22nd floor. The party rages on, who gives a fuck?
Dr. Lars Adler walked into his underground lab chuckling, his work and ideas had been scorned yet again. He knew that he had been born before his time, it would take centuries before the world was ready for such an outrage of futuristic inventions. ‘Next time,’ he thought, ‘I’ll be back and I’ll shock them for real.’
Suddenly, he smiled. “It is time to take a step outside this world…”
He walked to his latest discovery and stepped inside, not even glancing over his shoulder for one final time.
At the Institution of Technology and Modern Sciences, Wednesday 15th October.
There was a lot of whispering around the institution that morning, everyone seemed to be on the lookout for a ghost. The man who had left behind him a stream of speculation and had become urban legend after his very sudden disappearance a decade ago, was apparently back.
Of the many rumours which had circulated, the most popular seemed to state that he had been so devastated with his multiple failures that he had moved to...
The clock hands ticked to four o'clock. The clock chimed.
The three large goldfish in the bulb-shaped bowl swam around aimlessly, nosing for flakes of food.
The green curtains twitched hypnotically in the near-still stifling breeze coming through the shutters.
Cars on the main road could be heard but went unnoticed as white-noise by the residents of Hampton Lane.
Ms. Vogler was still as a glacier. Cold as one. Dead. Sticky blood pooled around her sliced wrists. An expression of fulfillment took over her lifeless face, glassy eyes staring at the book she had been reading.
It lay open a few feet from her being, looking very noticeable on the flashy, lime carpet.
Under the door, in a pool of kaleidoscopic light coming from a stained glass window, was an accumulating pile of letters and newspapers.
The phone rang. It rang a while longer then went to voicemail.