The teenagers sat side by side. "What is it like to live with a dead person?" he asked. She looked down. Then she looked up again and stared at the horizon. He knew what she meant. He was living with a dead person too but had never admitted it to anyone else. He sat closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'm not crazy," she said. "I know..." he whispered. "She's just dead inside and she doesn't know it." He nodded. That's when he knew he would be the one to take her away from it all.
Sunday, December 20, 2020
Pick one, they said. Yeah. Easier said than done. There were so many wonderful pieces available and he just couldn't choose one. So, he decided to do what anyone else would. Flip a coin, right? He smiled. OK, that one will do fine. Everyone said he was always distracted and this time he would prove them wrong. This was just perfect. A March! There! When he was kicked out, the groom's father was foaming at the mouth and roaring "This is the bloody Funeral March, the Funeral March". He just whispered "Well, the poor bride didn't look that happy anyway".
Monday, December 14, 2020
He looked outside. Nothing... He squinted and felt trapped. The river was still there, flowing freely. But where were they? No boats, no whales, no dragons. They weren't coming after all, were they? He squinted again and thought he saw a... No, nothing. The people here mustn't know he was expecting them. Then the horn sounded. Alarm, alarm. He rushed back to the window, but... "Ronnie, what's going on?" He shook his head. "Come on. It's time. Let's get you bathed." He knew one day they'd come and rescue him. "And don't forget to take your pills," said the nurse.
Sunday, December 6, 2020
|Gehena Vampire Clan|
She hated being a puppet in his hands. What gave her some peace was walking down the pathway with the old trees. One day, she noticed something shiny to the right. A marble perhaps? The next day, she brought some beads and left them there. And that's when the gifts appeared on the pathway. First a bit of glass. Then, a button, an old key. It made her smile. It gave her strength. And she said "no more". She walked away from him, for good. Today, she still walks that pathway, exchanging gifts with her new friend, a very generous crow.
Friday, December 4, 2020
NaNoWriMo 2020 Pep Talk for the Virtual Writers blog. Posted here for my future reference.
Milk Wood, Virtual Writers
November 7, 2020
Time usually flies pretty quickly when we're immersed in a writing project. Yet, it seems to fly even quicker in November! After the fast-paced, highly motivated writing happening at the beginning of the month, your writing pace seems to be slowing down. And you're panicking, right? I know I am... What can we do?
I'm sure you've heard it all before. Write this way, don't write that way, take notes, don't take notes, keep going, take a break. What?! Get me out of here!!
No! Don't go! You cannot give up. Writing is tough. Yes, it is. Life happens. Yes, it does. However, giving up is not an option.
So, here are five ideas to get you unstuck during NaNoWriMo®!
And Then What? – if you go beyond the end of your story, what happens then? What can you bring into your plot from what happens outside its framework?
You Are a Character in Your Own Book Now! - What if YOU waltzed into your own story? Would you admonish one of your characters? Would you encourage anyone? Would you rearrange the furniture? *grin* Would you get annoyed and go wash those dirty dishes in the sink yourself? Get your characters moving around you, and *evil grin* eavesdrop on what they are saying about you behind your back!
Upside Down – what if the good became bad and the bad became angels? How would your terribly evil character act as an angel? What would he do if you told him he has to behave? You can even sneak inside your story again and tell him yourself. How would he react? Would he throw a tantrum? Ha!
A Wombat? A Shoebill? A Glass Frog? - transform all your characters into animals and see how they would relate to one another. Try to think of unusual animals. Make one hate the color of the other! Or love it, and be extremely annoying because he wants to take a photo for his social media!
Who Are You?! – what if a character from your favorite author decides to waltz into your story? How would your main character react? What kind of impact would it have on the other characters? Would all your characters, friends and foes, unite to expel him from your story? And how about the story itself? How would it change? Could there be any secret alliances in the making after this unexpected intruder was kicked out?
These are only a few fun activities that will trick your brain out of being stuck. Will they help increase the word-count? I don't know. Will they trigger fresh ideas for your plot? I really don't know. But one thing will happen for sure. You will not give up!
Keep writing. You can do this!
See you at Milk Wood. :)
Lizzie Gudkov is a fiction writer born in Portugal. After a career as a teacher of English, she rediscovered writing. In her blog http://lizziegudkov.blogspot.com, she features fiction mostly (micro, flash and short fiction), but also poetry and a few opinion articles. She is also a six time winner of the NaNoWriMo and a five time winner of the Camp NaNoWriMo. As part of her writing path, Lizzie hosts and takes part in multiple writing events, largely in the virtual world of Second Life®.
Social Links: Blog | Facebook
Sunday, November 29, 2020
|Candia Urban Lounge|
Throw it in the bin and forget about it.
But this area is a cluster of infected cases.
Throw it in the bin and forget it.
Walking away is not an easy task when your conscience nags you.
He had to go back. He grabbed the bin, dragged it away to the dump area and chuck it into the fire.
The bin was closed the whole time. He made sure of it.
When he got ill, he was tossed in that same neighborhood, forgotten.
The others, they kept throwing infected stuff in the bin, carelessly, just like they did before.
Sunday, November 22, 2020
Grasp a line of thought. Or try to.
And those animal heads mounted on the wall. The moody embalmed fish that was supposed to look alive and looked even deader. All conspiring to kill.
The door swung open and there it was. They dumped it on the table.
The chainsaw slashed through the skin, the meat, the bones. Cracking sounds signing the final surrender.
A leg, another leg. An arm, another arm.
The head... Oh, the head... That grimace of anger.
Good thing they didn't have to mount her head on the wall. The fish wouldn't like it.
Sunday, November 15, 2020
The herb expert always had a suggestion and a word of advice.
“And to lose weight?"
Herbs. He took them all.
And then the cramps, the headache, the nausea, the vomiting.
He went to hospital.
"What did you take?"
“This and that,” he replied uneasy, “this and that.”
When he got home, he took some more. He wanted to be elegant and fit into those tight jeans he bought by mistake.
More cramps, more headaches. The nausea, oh, the nausea.
Herbs for this, herbs for that. Enough.
"Fuck the jeans," he cried out loud. "Fuck the expert. I like plump!"
Sunday, November 8, 2020
A giant creature moved forward sluggishly, its head bowed down.
They knew it was coming. They thought they had enough time to prepare themselves.
They drafted a plan. They created the trap.
They didn't monitor its growth. It's OK, some said, it'll be fine.
When they saw it, they knew they were in trouble.
Who'll be the sacrificial hero? Who? No one wanted to be a hero.
Arguments, fighting. Some died. Let's feed those to the beast. No, no respect for the dead.
Some were imprisoned.
Yes, let the revolution begin now... before everyone gets killed, one way or another.
Sunday, November 1, 2020
The faint sound of a piano reminded her that she had to change...
From her tower of self-righteousness, she knew everything better than anyone. But she felt hopeless. She couldn't reach out. Pack up your past and put it away now, she thought. This is not what you want. You want to be happy. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. It was far too late. She had to put up that front. She knew better, she was smarter, she just was.
The faint sound of a piano made her cry. She was so lonely and it was everyone else's fault.
Sunday, October 25, 2020
I dream of you in colors that don't exist. In sounds that are as silent as a forest full of life.
I dream of you sitting next to me, cloaked in shiny certainty, wrapped in playful energy.
I dream of you being you and jumping and running.
I whisper a thousand moments of you.
I whisper and smile, desperately trying to keep you here.
I breathe the past to escape the now. But you're not here anymore.
And you'll never be here again. Never again.
I have to let you go, don't I?
I just have to let you go.
Sunday, October 18, 2020
Heal. The pain. Some pain. No... The darkness will stay for as long as I live, he thought. Fight for money, fight for food. Fight. Be nothing but a smashed up face everyone will have forgotten by tomorrow. Move on to the next town. Fight some more. The posters plastered all over. The money. The food. And onward he went. Town after town. They all looked alike. Until that day. Her kid, her dog, her smile. It's complicated, she said. He didn't think it was. It was actually quite simple. Heal. The pain. All of it. Just heal. And smile.
Sunday, October 11, 2020
Just doodle a few things on that piece of paper and you can charge a million for it. Just throw in something strange, something mysterious, something... unusual. They will buy it. We can pretend we're millionaires. And we can sail around the world. It's not that easy? Come on, don't be like that. Here, a paper and some crayons. Just draw something, anything. I want the money. We can go on a shopping spree, buy jewelry until we drop. Oh, come on, don't be like that. Don't walk away. Don't you dare. I want the money. You can do it...
Sunday, October 4, 2020
“Indigo, wash those windows squeaky clean, you hear?”
“Indigo, those windows are our money-makers, you hear?”
“Indigo, look at those mountains. Aren't they magnificent?"
“Yes, 'mam, they are."
"Indigo, have you ever been up there?"
"No, 'mam, I haven't. You?"
"Don't ask questions. Work, work, work."
He stood by the windows and looked up. If he did leave right now, would he still have a job when he returned? Indigo this, Indigo that.
"Where are you going, Indigo?!"
He waved and left.
The mountains would never be stifled by window frames for him again.
Sunday, September 27, 2020
The shipwreck sank more and more each day. It anchored fears and doubts at the bottom of everyone's hearts. Everyone in town witnessed the shipwreck sinking with hopeful expectation. The future would be better. The future would be much better. But the shipwreck decided to leave the main mast above water like a breathing tube. And the future wasn't better. The future was a wreck, just like the shipwreck. Many stories were told about the ghost. It was there, breathing, making fun of the whole town for having had that stupid idea of sinking a ship to kill a ghost.
Sunday, September 20, 2020
Deploy your hopes and your dreams. Organize them in squadrons. Make sure they are well armed and motivated. Follow the rules. The rules? The rules to neatly line up your dreams and your hopes, the rules. Dreams and hopes line up neatly? Neatly and obediently. Those are not hopes and dreams. Those are not... Shut up. Deploy your hopes and dreams like an army. Organize them in squadrons of nothingness and the future will be yours. And then there was silence. That stifling silence that hits you when you know, you suddenly know. You close your eyes and you know.
Sunday, September 13, 2020
|Amar en Meleth|
What if I lived right there where the butterflies swayed in the air?
What if I lived right there?
The birds chirped, and flew away.
What if the narrow streets were alive to the brim with color? And not gray with emptiness?
What if the tears didn't rain down the walls alive with the whiteness of summer?
What if the butterflies weren't gone, and the birds?
What if I lived there, right there, and not here in the middle of the forest by a sizzling fire?
I want to go back to that small town where the narrow streets smiled.
Sunday, September 6, 2020
The deal included shipping the stuff across the ocean and delivering it safely.
But the stuff wasn't delivered.
"What's going on? You don't know where Hong Kong is?"
He got off the phone and... there it was, the ship. Empty.
"Where's the stuff? It's worth millions."
No one knew.
Well, the source did. They were testing everyone's loyalty.
Hong Kong didn't like it.
Updated offer. "Incoming delivery. Free."
A new crew had to be hired because heads were removed from their respective bodies and shipped back.
"Now, send us the stuff. Hong Kong has more brilliant ideas. Yes, we do."
Sunday, August 30, 2020
The postcards came from everywhere in the world.
The director thought of finding pen pals for the residents of the home.
"Pick a card. Any card!"
Everyone was thrilled.
Everyone, except Mr. Morris whose card was the only one left. An unknown town in the middle of nowhere... "I didn't get to pick. Now I'm stuck with this..." He waved the card in the air dismissively.
"Be grateful, Mr. Morris."
Grateful, huh... When the police found the card Mr. Morris hadn't picked shoved in the director's throat, Mr. Morris was long gone... That unknown town would now become quite famous.
Wednesday, August 26, 2020
|Photo by Miguel Pires|
I left the door open for you to sneak out as you always did, cries of Gaspar, Gaspar chasing your cheekiness.
I left the door open for you to go and explore the terrace and its mysteries that so fascinated you.
I left the door open and tiptoed behind you for a bit, not wanting to let go, and you looked back and my heart broke in a thousand pieces.
Now, each time I go to the terrace I see you, sneaking around behind the flower pots, trying to play a game of hide and seek, your tail swaying right there where I could see it.
And I'd walk slowly towards you and you'd run behind another flower pot, the game of hide, but not completely, and seek and run and giggles from the silly humans who always fell for your charm.
I left the door open to the terrace, and walked outside. And for a split second, I thought I saw your tail, swaying playfully in plain sight.
Go now and be free, my beautiful kitty.
But you'll always come back to your terrace, won't you?
I'll be there too...
1. October 2007 - 26. August 2020
Sunday, August 23, 2020
|Chang High Trinity Sisters Show|
He had copied those documents. He was a traitor. And yet, he was enjoying the show, drooling over the obscene amount of money hidden in his backpack.
The head dancer had tucked away the papers under the mattress with a nod of indifference.
He tried to kiss her, but she blocked him with an assertive arm.
On his way home, the security goon beat him to a pulp. "She is mine."
When he got home, the cops had a search warrant.
Good thing the goon had robbed him of all his money.
Being a traitor often has its lucky moments.
Monday, August 17, 2020
A few years after creating my current Second Life avatar, I stumbled upon an event where someone read his own stories. The stories were very short, only 100 words long (drabbles).
When I checked his profile, I realized this writer had made a commitment, to write a story a day until the day he died. I found this both intriguing and remarkable.
Later on, I found out he not only wrote a story a day, but he wrote a bunch of them ahead.
His name is Laurence Simon (R. Dismantled in Second Life). He keeps a website where you can read all his stories. I strongly encourage you to drop by for a visit.
After reading dozens of his drabbles, I thought... Could I do this? And there it was, the answer. Laurence organizes a weekly challenge. He provides a prompt (a word or expression) and we write a drabble, record it and send it to him. With these files, he creates a podcast.
My first story, back in 2012, took me hours to write. It was about 500 words at first. No freaking way would I be able to cut off 400 words... No way.
Well, that was the challenge, right? And I did it! I recorded it and... hesitated for such a long time, the mouse hovering over the Send button. I finally mastered the courage to click that darn button and off it went.
Practice made me faster. I don't take hours to write one single story anymore. It became much easier. The hesitation is often still there though. “Is this good at all...?!” But eventually, I click the Send button and that's it.
I've been taking part in the Weekly Challenge since 2012. Eight years. Hundreds of drabbles written. That's a lot of oxygen!
2020 hasn't been an easy year. Writing is not my priority now, I must admit. However, I've never stopped writing those drabbles.
Confucius said “It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.”
Well, I... I do not stop.
Sunday, August 16, 2020
Beans, the shark, swam across icy waters, happy to be alone.
His buddies preferred the South. They also enjoyed scaring people.
Beans didn't. Too bloody, too messy, too loud. He could chew a leg as an appetizer, true, but the chaos was unbearable.
One day, Beans spotted a diver.
"No, don't," he thought.
He looked away. He looked away some more while swimming towards the diver. Then that scent of the diving suit...
When he swam away in shame, he decided to go farther North and become a hermit. That decision lasted... 3 days. That's when he spotted another diver.
Friday, August 14, 2020
Now that we have established I am not a writer, we can safely move on to less dangerous territory.
It is said that what really matters is not reaching you destiny, but the path you tread to get there. This is exactly my philosophy regarding writing. I'm on a learning path, a continuous learning path, that will eventually take me to my destiny. I don't know what my destiny is, if it is a place or a circumstance. If it is a feeling or a certain amount of knowledge. All I know is that I am on that path.
Years ago, to document the route I'm taking, I decided to create a blog. It's an uncensored workshop where I store everything I write except the long fiction. My novels are not online. They are stored away in folders, and flash drives, and external drives. I'm not sure if the first ones are backed up in the good old floppy disks!
When I created the blog, I decided it would be for myself. It would be open to visitors, yes. Everyone enjoys visitors! But it would essentially be for me. On a regular basis, I go back to what I have written a few years ago and compare different texts, different stories, different styles.
It's remarkable how some of the early stories, written by a very inexperienced writer, are actually pretty good. Sometimes being inexperienced is an advantage. Your brain is free to travel in all directions. Experience brings technique often at the expense of creativity.
Ever since I started to write long fiction, the blog became less active, making it look like I haven't been writing. I have!
Well, this year was miserable. The only stories I have been writing on a regular basis are the 100 word stories. Those keep me afloat! They are my oxygen! I'll write about them in another post.
I have struggled with the idea of posting snippets of my long fiction in the blog. I am totally against showcasing something that has not been polished. Enough bad material is already posted online.
Would the blog benefit from having bits and pieces of my novels, as they are being written, posted online? I seriously doubt it especially because those bits and pieces might not even be in the final version of the story or they might be heavily changed.
I could post the statistics of what I write every week/month. But, again, would that be useful in the long run? Would it bring any interesting data to my writing when I look back on it a few years from now?
Einstein said “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”
So, I... I keep moving.
Wednesday, August 12, 2020
A writer who doesn't publish is not a writer.
I have heard this over and over again, even coming from people who should know better.
Am I being judgmental? Yes, a bit. However, saying a writer who doesn't publish is not a writer is the same as saying an athlete who doesn't go to the Olympics is not an athlete.
I have been writing all my life. First, I wrote on and off. Then, a few years ago, I started writing every day. Have I published anything? Apart from this blog, I haven't published anything, no. I did take part in a book that was a compilation of stories, non-fiction. Does that count?
Regardless, I have written hundreds of very short-fiction stories, a few short-stories, a few novels, and a bunch of poems. But I'm not a writer. I'm not, because I didn't go to the Olympics of writing.
A while back, someone mentioned my blog's low traffic. I'm sure the remark wasn't mean. I'm sure what was meant was how can such an extraordinarily awesome writer have close to zero clicks on her blog? I jest!
The fact is that this remark once again showed what people think. If you exist as a writer but your blog doesn't have clicks, your social media doesn't have likes and you don't have anything you've written being sold out there, you're not a writer.
You write to tell a story.
You write to vent.
You write to bring out the best and the worst in you.
You write to please an audience.
You also write to have a lot of success.
And, finally, you write to be famous.
Some people do all this.
Asimov said “I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die.”
I... Well, I write to breathe.
Sunday, August 9, 2020
“Who’s blood is that?”
He tilted his head, wriggling his nose. Strange card.
The monthly dinner party was a scrumptious meal seasoned with intelligent conversation.
Who'd written this? Certainly not the host. Mrs. Bates would never make such a blatant mistak...
He folded the card. “Who's that?” Makes sense. These dinners were always slightly mysterious.
He folded it again. “Who's blood?” Ummm...
How about “Blood that?” Too much folding.
He set the card aside and dinner proceeded as usual.
At midnight, the letters on all cards turned red.
He was the only survivor. Apparently, folded evilness doesn't work properly!
Sunday, August 2, 2020
The greenish sky wasn't a good omen. My grandfather said when the sky's like that, don't chew the air. I laughed. Chew the air. OK! I won't! As time progressed, the sky got worse. It looked poisonous. Some people wore gas masks. It looked quite dramatic. I wondered if I should too. And then the teeth. People's teeth became green. And in a matter of days, they were dropping like flies. Earth was condemned. I moved to P205. There's plenty of work here. But they pay close to nothing. Too many people... I wonder if I should've chewed that air...
Sunday, July 26, 2020
Sprinkle some magic powder on the black cat. No. Stretch and stretch, and stretch some more. Grab the shiny star and place it next to the jar. The cat will look, the star will stretch and the jar will smile a sparkly smile. No. The next time you reach for that magic powder, think that it is safer not to reach for a lighter. A lighter? Where did that come from? The cat will stretch. The jar will sparkle. The star will shine. Yes. That's it. Everything is back in place. Neatly. Yawn. I prefer to see the jar smiling.
Sunday, July 19, 2020
At the top of the mountain, all we could hear was the fire, burning the logs. And we waited. For a sign. One day and another. Time went by. No sign. Our children waited and their children. And when there was no hope left, I stood up.
“I've been here since the beginning. I'm tired. I'm leaving.”
I raised my hand. Silence.
“We have burned everything around here. Look! It's ridiculous. Enough is enough. We don't even have a twig to burn, a twig.”
Someone at the back whispered “What was the sign all about again? I forgot.”
Sunday, July 12, 2020
The impressive statue filled the room of the museum. It held an ax and a noose, and also a plate of fruit.
Strange combination, he thought.
“Whatever you do, don't touch it,” said the security guard, walking away.
He touched the plate, of course. Nothing happened. The noose. Nothing. The ax. Still nothing.
Suddenly, something hit him. He got snatched back by the neck and was gone when his back got slashed.
Before the cameras, the director promised he would find the culprits.
The security guard hid the noose and the ax away, and calmly enjoyed his apple.
Sunday, July 5, 2020
The entrance to the ship was locked because the entrance ramp got stuck.
"We're in the 25th century, the most modern, developed world anyone has ever experienced, and the ramp is stuck," he mumbled.
He tried everything to fix it.
He was so focused, the speakers startled him when they roared "Time Travel Tomorrow."
"Right, but the ramp is stuck... Stuck."
"We're looking for volunteers."
"Stuck. But... OK, pick me!"
The command center received his telepathic message.
The next day, he was in the 21st century.
He landed right in the middle of the famous 2020 pandemic.
Everything was... stuck.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
The dot on the screen appeared and disappeared. Damn radar. The next shift would take care of it.
Everyone had turned in for the night and the city lights had been dimmed down. His favorite time of day. He walked by himself. And that was the last walk he took.
They appeared in white robes and masks. They treated everyone like cattle.
They always said this was a planet... It wasn't. It was a ship that had completed its mission. The people were nothing but lab rats. And life would never be the same again. The radar was shut off.
Sunday, June 21, 2020
She found a small jar in her granny's attic. Something sparkled inside.
She placed it back on a shelf and left without telling anyone anything about it.
When her granny died, she went back to the attic.
When she opened it, a swirl of light turned everything into a neon palette of greenery.
She read the small paper stuck to the bottom - "Mushrooms, theirs."
The following night, she was visited by them. The weird ones no one knew about, the aliens.
The attic... well, she turned it into a museum where everyone would see... things that didn't really exist.
Sunday, June 14, 2020
"Where did you get the wound?" asked his boss as he closed the garage door.
The young man shrugged.
"It looks bad. Go to the hospital. Get that checked."
He nodded and walked away.
"Weird kid. I better check if anything is going on in here."
The boss opened the door and looked around. Nothing was out of place.
As he closed the door, he saw it. He walked closer.
It was the kid.
Before the night was over, there would be two of him as well.
This was just the beginning of the end.
Sunday, June 7, 2020
The basement of the cathedral was off-limits.
"Is this it?" His voice echoed through the web of archways.
The room was empty. A small stand at the back seemed to have some dry red on it.
"Sacrifices," he whispered, thrilled.
The adventure was becoming a lot more interesting than he expected.
Something sparkled in the corner. A button. Press it, press it.
A heavy stone door opened. He walked in. It closed behind him. The sun came through some small windows.
"What is this? The basement?"
The stone door didn't open again.
Never seek what you cannot handle.
Sunday, May 31, 2020
A few photographs hung from the string of lights. She couldn't remember them. Who was this guy? Where was this photo taken? Her gaze floated from photo to photo, her perplexity increasing.
But then she stopped. The beach. The pebbles. She remembered that.
She looked at the stranger standing beside her.
The stranger nodded.
"You're my son," she said, smiling.
The stranger teared up. "Yes, Mom, I'm your son. We used to go to this beach when I was a kid."
"And you used to pile up the pebbles and say Look, Mom. You were so proud of yourself!"
Sunday, May 24, 2020
I found the page of a book in the forest. I read it. It didn't make much sense. Then, I found another page, and another. I continued down the path and found more pages. I sat down and ordered them. Damn... No page one... I wandered about, trying to find it, until I reached a cabin. Page one was right there. I picked it up and was about to leave when a voice, coming from inside, said "I was expecting you". I've read many pages since, and Old Patrick, the voice, always closes his eyes and smiles while I read.
100 Word Stories
Sunday, May 17, 2020
The three brothers were alone. The conversation started amicably, but it became bitter very quickly. Accusations flew. The past came back to haunt each one of them. "It wasn't my fault," each would yell. And time went by, the hours long and heavy. No solution in sight. "Nobody gets out of here before we reach an agreement," said the eldest. And no one did. At least, not alive. The widows sobbed, and winked. That bourbon was great. Then, they went on a cruise, enjoying the money their husbands weren't able to divide. Unfortunately, the cruise sank. Karma is a bitch.
Sunday, May 10, 2020
|Amar en Meleth|
In a nutshell... The chemistry wasn't right. So, I decided to burn it all, but burn it with style. The documentary didn't make justice to the whole process. It was a masterpiece! I tried to make it as simple as possible. I drew the lines. But it wasn't easy. Everything was a bit wiggly. The actual procedure only took place afterwards, of course. And.. It did burn for quite a bit. I had no idea it would take that long. On top of it all, it didn't work properly. If it had I wouldn't be here, would I, your honor?
Sunday, May 3, 2020
Lessons in Ecology? No one would dare. He knew far more than all of them put together. He'd spent decades studying the subject. He was "the expert". And he was damn proud of that too. He'd lectured all over the world. He had written so many books that he'd forgotten most of them. These books had been translated to languages from all over the world.
So, when that rash started, he blamed it on the new exotic plant, a gift from a colleague.
He was certainly not an expert on Psychology. He didn't count on something as simple as jealousy.
Sunday, April 26, 2020
|Candia Urban Lounge|
"Sanitize this, sanitize that, that's all we hear these days. How about sanitizing at a larger scale?"
The staff sat around the oval table in the meeting room, motionless.
"We just have to have political courage, that's all."
No one uttered a word.
"We start small first and see if anyone complains."
A few people shifted in their chairs, the discomfort growing.
"If the media don't pick up on it, we go bigger. It'll save money too."
The silence was overwhelming.
"OK, then. It's decided. We'll start next week."
They started with the old and the lonely. No one noticed.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
"...neurotransmitters that communicate with the dendrites," said the professor standing in front of a large group of students. She didn't need a class on Biology, but she didn't feel like having to wait in the cold for two hours. So, she'd joined that class. Things took a bad turn though when the professor asked her about the damn dendrites and the only thing she could think of was "...stress induces atrophy of apical dendrites". She had no clue where she had read that, but everyone seemed impressed. She smiled and decided that, from then on, she'd wait in the cold.