# 1st May 2015 LM You Don't See Me



## bazz cargo (May 1, 2015)

May 2015 - LM - You Don't See Me

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*
You Don't See Me​ 

The winner will receive a  badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where  you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.

Have the prompt included in some way into your story.

*The judges for this round are:*
thepancreas11, amsawtell, shinyford, and Folcro

All Judges scores will be PMed to Folcro.

All anonymous entries will be PMed to Folcro



*Rules*





*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum. 
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out  there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry  challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people  wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. 
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there. 
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored. 
*Only one entry per member.* 
*No liking entries until the scores go up.* 
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.*  If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and  Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s  incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for  you and add our approval upon acceptance. 







*There are a few ways to post your entry:*





If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread. 
You can opt to have your entry posted in the You Don't see Me Workshop which  is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there  if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the  story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the  workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread  otherwise your story may not be counted. 
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your  story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in  the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the  release of the score. 




Everyone is welcome to  participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow  judges, but it will not receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*

Sunday, the 17th of May at 11:59 PM, GMT time.
Click here for the current time.


*Good luck, everyone.*​


----------



## musichal (May 2, 2015)

*Bad Jesus*

deleted


----------



## Meteli (May 6, 2015)

*Neighbours*

*Neighbours*

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Me-Workshop?p=1857691&viewfull=1#post1857691


----------



## Sleepwriter (May 6, 2015)

*Sheila 646 words*

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Me-Workshop?p=1857814&viewfull=1#post1857814


----------



## LOLeah (May 6, 2015)

*The Named and The Damned - 645 words*

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Me-Workshop?p=1857961&viewfull=1#post1857961


----------



## KnightPlutonian (May 8, 2015)

*I See You (650 Words)*

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Me-Workshop?p=1858258&viewfull=1#post1858258


----------



## Bevo (May 8, 2015)

Light (650 Words)



Surround it, separate it, cut it off was the order I gave, now the work began. Slowly the specialists on the team brought in equipment, penetrating the walls as no other army has done this lifetime. Breaking through, a rush of defenders brought the fight to us; we are strong, well practiced and merciless. Soon the battle was over, nothing was left, we watched the City die, first it was the sound, the beating stopped, then the colors changed, first it went grey then dark, as my army returned to me I watched it fade to black

Surveying the battlefields in the distance, our second division attacked another city, they as us are merciless and skilled, honed by months of battle. Our enemy was once strong, fierce and relentless, we lost many due to the organized efficiency of which their leaders posses. As we watched them battle our rear guard penetrated the walls rushing into the City, soon the battle would be lost.

The murky gloom of the Over the battlefield suddenly changed, detail was now found where there was blurs, shadows faded, color’s became vibrant. The once dark scene took an ominous tone that vibrated the brightening sky while filling the attacking army with a sense of dread turning to fear then confusion.  

Feeling the light our confused armies turned first towards the glow then towards their leader, a feeling of helplessness was forced upon me as was a sense of rage, who or what is was stopping my march to victory?
Retreat I ordered, our well-trained army made an orderly exit to our base camp, as our advisors and I studied this light. Scouts were sent into the distance to understand what we were against, specialists in war were brought in, meetings were held and decisions made, a plan was provided.

Standing at the podium looking out at my armies I felt a pride knowing the millions before me would fight to the death for what I or we believe in.
Soldiers, when this battle started you watched your teammates die, you lost to our enemy but we overcame that, we are strong, invincible and able to take on what comes our way. Go into battle with this twilight with the weapons we provide you, know this, what comes before us lives, what lives can die. With a loud cheer the soldiers before me turned marching off to battle the light.

Watching them I looked to my advisors and felt the look of contempt, they would not win this battle, we would not win this war but as a leader I as they, worked for a higher power, this power was supreme in all it does, his wish was my command.

Soon the reports were coming back from the battles, we had fiercely fought the light, they were retreating, our modified weapons and protection allowed us to slaughter our new enemies as we did our old. With a sense of pride we looked over the fields of battle, victory was ours, are armies surged feeling the overwhelming victory upon us. The battles increased in intensity, great losses were taken on both sides with the balance in our favor.

Confidence once gained in our many battles was lost, this lead to our undoing; previous battles were fought without mercy yet we did not kill them all, those remaining survivors took up sides with the light. As we looked over the battlefield we saw the light getting brighter, our armies fled from the charging enemy, our war over, we lost.

Hi Mom, how are you feeling?
Good dear, the doctors increased my Chemo and it looks like the cancer is loosing its grip on me, I feel a warm healthy glow filling my body.

With a tear in my eye I held my mothers hand, this evil cancer you don’t see lost the war, my mother beat it.


----------



## aj47 (May 9, 2015)

*The Disappearance of Michael Reeves *​(650 words)

“What do you mean, you don’t see me?” I was lying naked on an exam table in the UTMB lab, covered by a paper towel.  Dr. Blaine had turned on the overhead light when he came back in, so I shut my eyes tighter.

“You are, in fact, invisible, Mr. Reeves—Michael.”

I opened my eyes, blinking.  I’d been lying there while the injection of Compound Q took effect.  I looked toward my feet.  I saw a paper cave where my body tented the paper towel.  I was totally invisible.

“Stay here and I’ll return shortly.” The doctor shut the door behind him.  I decided to try some tests.  Yes, if I closed my eyes, I knew where all my body parts were. I could still feel it when I pinched myself, but I saw nothing.  Sitting up, I wadded the paper towel into a ball.  I could still see a depression on the paper-covered exam table where my butt was.  I watched the wadded-up covering float through the air as I took it to the trash can.  Looking into the mirror over the sink, I saw an empty room.

The door opened and Doctor Blaine came in, wheeling what looked like a laptop computer on a stand.  I jumped out of his way or he would have run me down.

“Michael? Where are you?” He looked around and, of course, didn't see me.

I sat back down on the exam table. 

“Tell me everything you’ve consumed in the last twenty-four hours.  It is possible this side effect is triggered by a combination of factors.”  He started typing.

I looked at my watch, 9:47—I’d start with yesterday’s lunch. “Yesterday, I had Chinese buffet for lunch.   I ate so much I skipped dinner, but had two bags of popcorn and a couple three cans of diet soda—root beer, I think, while I watched the game.  I had iced tea with lunch.  Anyway, this morning I had two potato, egg, and cheese breakfast tacos at the gas station. With a large coffee and some OJ.”

His fingers rap-a-tapped the keyboard as I talked. 

He looked up, vaguely toward my face. “Did you take any medication?  Vitamins?  Supplements?” 

“Yeah, I ate some Tums after the buffet, but that’s it,” I said

“Did you come in physical contact with any chemicals, such as strong cleaning agents?”

I thought about it.  “Yes, I put down some fire ant bait last night.  My landlady is supposed to do the yard, but she never gets around to it so I mow and stuff. I washed my hands really good after messing with it.  You’re supposed to use protection, but I ain't got gloves.”

“Ah,” he said, as he continued typing.

“How long will this last?”  I asked.

“I am uncertain.”  Dr. Blaine clicked the mouse a few times. “Compound Q typically lasts 2-3 hours, but this specific side effect has not been previously observed.”  He reached for the blood pressure cuff in its wall basket.  “I’m going to try to take your vital signs.”

After some fumbling, he got my vitals—blood pressure, temperature, pulse and whatever the red light on your finger measures. That one didn’t work, but the rest were normal.

I felt a sudden dizziness.  I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths.

“Well, Michael, you appear to be fading in.” I heard more typing.

I opened my eyes—the dizziness was gone and my body was back. Real quick, I grabbed my boxers off the pile of clothes on the chair and put them on. My watch said 10:03.  I had been invisible about a half-hour.

“I would like to take blood and urine samples before you undertake the scheduled sensory testing,” the doctor said.  “With your permission.”

“Sure,” I replied.  If I was part of a scientific discovery, I would be famous.  And rich!  I could buy a Ferrari…


----------



## rcallaci (May 10, 2015)

*Godfrey's  Dilemma (650 Words)*

Dr. Godfrey Lourdes Yahwahsen, Director of the Paradise Project, frowned as he looked over the brain and body scans of Adam and Lilith for the umpteenth time. They were supposed to be compatible in every conceivable way: physically, mentally, and spiritually. There was an anomaly in Lilith’s and Adam’s scans that could prove to be the projects undoing. It was times like this when he wished he still had his ex-partner, a brilliant scientist, wife, and confident, beside him, offering support. 

_“Come to me, Woman, I need you to pleasure me,”_ said an aroused Adam as he viewed the naked beauty that stood before him.

_“Go pleasure yourself, you preening buffoon. I’m not your whore or some man juice receptacle. I’m your equal. One more thing, stop calling me Woman, I do have a name”_

_“You are an insolent Vixen; you are a vessel for my seed and a companion to ease my loneliness. I am your master and you are my mate,”_ said a flustered and angry Adam.

_“Who’s feeding you this nonsense? I hope you’re not listening to our Mad Doctor who insists Women should be subservient to Men, in order for humanity to save itself from extinction. Men and Women are equal partners no matter what our supposed creator and benefactor says. You don’t see me for what I am but I see you. And right now you’re a blithering idiot,” _said an equally angry Lilith.

Dr. Yahwahsen listened to this exchange from the monitoring devices he had planted on his subjects. He was quite distraught. His programming had been sabotaged. The anomaly or defect was in Lilith, not Adam. Somehow before He and his wife split, she must have encoded Lilith’s spiritual and mental pathways to align with hers. 

Satanna wanted to slow down the breeding process and what better way than the Equality of the Sexes. He couldn’t allow that, not yet, not for this millennial time line.  He needed for Men to feel like they were in charge and Women to carry out the burden of childbearing, nurturing and farming. He needed a population explosion and it was proven when the sexes were equal, population growth, fell as well. There needed to be a dominant sex. 

He felt that Man being physically stronger and more mathematically minded would be better suited to play the dominant role between the sexes. 

His wife, Dr. Luciferose Satanna Deville believed that population growth should be slow, stable, and periodically culled when it reached unwieldy heights. She believed that the breeders should be programmed with full knowledge of who and what they where and of the previous humanities failings. With full knowledge comes equality of the sexes. She also advocated a intermingling of their biological computational life-forms to that of the indigenous population found outside the protective bubble of paradise. 

Dr. Deville left the Paradise project and formed her own outside the bubble. It was called the Gaia Enclave. 

Dr Yahwahsen decided to banish Lilith rather than reprogram her. Her contamination was irreversible.  He said, “I am casting you out of Paradise where you will join my demon bitch of a wife and her followers. There you will suckle and procreate with those ape creatures, Luciferose champions, and become the mother of all demonic spawn. You are banned forever from paradise”. Lilith was cast out of Paradise with a gentle push. She found herself on the outskirts of The Gaia Enclave. 

Luciferose embraced Lilith with open arms and said, _“We’re about to make history…”_

----

_“Come to me, Woman, I need you to pleasure me,”_ said an aroused Adam as he viewed the naked beauty that stood before him.

Eve approached Adam and opened herself to him. She said, _“Do with me as you will, my master, for I am fodder before your feet”. 
_
_“It’s God’s Will,”_ Adam said

Godfrey smiled; God, it had a nice ring to it…


----------



## tdelozier (May 10, 2015)

*THE BUCK

*A gentle breeze drifts through the pines as I edge gracefully forward.  Walking with stealth I peer through my binoculars in search of my prey.  I hear other hunters in the distance and attempt to climb higher to get away from their noise. If I can hear their voices I’m sure the deer can.  Idiots. It gets harder every year. Fewer areas to hunt and more hunters out here make it very difficult to fill your tag.

I’m feeling pretty confident, other than that. I’ve scouted this area twice a week for the last two months and I know just where to find the bucks.  I’ve seen several of them right over the next hill.  One thing I’ve learned is you never know what’s over that next hill. I’ve climbed hills that looked the same as the next and found a picturesque view of a creek at the bottom.

I breach the next hill and crouch down to wait.  With my camouflage fatigues, face paint and hat, I’m like a phantom out here. A snapping twig captures my attention and I look to see a squirrel scurrying up the tree next to me.  I reach down at my feet and pick some sticks up off the ground and start to pick them apart. Something to do during the quiet of the hunt.

After several hours and right before dark I see the buck I’ve been waiting for walking less than 10 feet directly in front of me. I sit very still in hopes that the deer might put his head down to graze or possibly look the other way to give me a chance to get my gun.  And sure enough the buck hears something and starts to turn his head. With this, I slowly and quietly pull out my rifle. You don’t see me, I think to myself, and then hold my breath as I put him in my sites and get ready to take aim.

But, before I can pull the trigger a loud shot fills my ears.  I see the buck bolt and feel a warm burning sensation emanating from my chest. I drop my gun and reach for my chest only to see blood come away on my hands.

I hear a scream, but it’s not mine.  “Dude I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. Help! Help! Someone come quick - a man’s been shot!”


----------



## Folcro (May 11, 2015)

*Anonymous Entry*

Lodger (mild language and violence)
649 words


Alice opened the door to her basement and stared into the void.
“Well, thank you, Doris, you didn’t have to call,” she said into the  cordless. She reached into the stairwell and flipped the light switch.  The basement remained dark.

Frowning, she listened to her friend prattle on about how special birthdays were, especially 80[SUP]th[/SUP] birthdays.

_How old was the bulb?_ She wondered.

 “Yes Doris,” she said, switching ears. Looking down at the orthopedic  boot on her left foot, she frowned again. Doris had gone quiet for once.

 “My basement lightbulb must be out, it won’t come one,” Alice said.  “There’s a box of photographs I was hoping to bring up from down there.”

                … “I don’t trust my foot going down those stairs, not in the dark.”

                                … “Oh, Henry’s old war photographs. I’ve been meaning to get some framed again for a time now.” 

She closed the basement door, and rolled her eyes at the phone, “I would  have told my son if he’d bothered to call me today. No, sure didn’t.  Moved to the city and forgot about his old mom.” She grabbed her cane  and walked back into the kitchen. Looking out her window, she covered  the mouthpiece and shouted, “Hey! Get out of my yard!”

  The hunkered-over boxer looked up in surprise.

  “Doris? That bastard Henderson’s dog is crapping in my yard again! Get out!”

  The dog ignored her. She wished she could make it down those basement  stairs, dig out Henry’s old  .45 and plug that no-good rotten dog a few  times.  Then she’d see who had the nerve to crap in her yard again.

 “Doris, I got to let you go,” she hung up and, grabbing the broom,  limped out her back door screaming, “Get out, you sonuvabitch!”


 She was sad that night. She held back tears as she made dinner. When  she sat down at the table, she wondered suddenly why she had cooked so  much food. Looking at the table, she realized she had set the table for  two; herself, and Henry’s long unused place.
The tears came, and she let them fall.
 She went to bed without bothering to put the food away.

When she went to get her paper on her driveway the next morning, Martha-from-across-the-street was standing at her mailbox.
  “Alice?” she asked, “Did you hear anything last night?”
  “No,” Alice said, picking up the Daily Trumpet, “why?”
  “Mike Henderson’s dog was killed last night.”
  Alice paused, “That boxer?”
  “Yep,” Martha said, taking a slug of her coffee.
  “How?”
  “Someone shot it.”

 Alice walked back into her house in a daze. She sat down at her table  and spread open the paper, and realized her table was clear. She jumped,  seeing last night’s dishes in the strainer. She stood, breathing  quickly as panic filled her.  She reached for her phone and started  dialing the sheriff’s office.
  She stopped when she looked towards the basement. Sitting on the  landing, just outside the door, was the shoebox of pictures she had  wanted yesterday.
  She set the phone down, and approached her basement door slowly. She  turned the knob and pulled the door open, looking down into the dark.
  “Hello?” she said.
 The darkness did not respond.

 She went to the market and bought a whole fryer chicken and plenty of  fixings. She spent most of the day making a big Sunday dinner. At five  o’clock, she fixed herself a plate, and opened the basement door.
  “If you’re down there, I made supper. It’s still hot.  I’m going to watch some TV.  Wheel of Fortune is on.”
 She sat down in her recliner, sitting her plate down on the TV tray.
  In the kitchen, she heard a basement step creak, a glass clink a few  moments later. Someone sat down on the couch behind her and cleared  their throat before eating.
  Alice grinned, lifting her glass of tea.


----------



## Euripides (May 12, 2015)

*Harbringer* (643 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Me-Workshop?p=1859545&viewfull=1#post1859545


----------



## godofwine (May 13, 2015)

Green River - Godofwine (648 Words)


----------



## T.S.Bowman (May 13, 2015)

*GHOST*
  T.S.Bowman
522 Words

                        I’m really not sure how I got here. No one here knows how they came to be in this place. I guess knowing is not part of how it works. How long have I been here? I don’t know that either. Time is pretty much irrelevant now. Let’s just say that I have been watching you for a while now.

     I see everything you do. Everything. From the time you wake up in the morning to get yourself prepared for work and the kids off to school, until the time you lie down after tucking them in for the night. I watch while you are sleeping too. I have seen the nights when you cry yourself to sleep and wonder why. 

     I try to let you know that I am here. I’ll occasionally move something small, like your ring, and see you look around in confusion when you realize that it’s just a little bit out of place. I always think that the next time I do it will be the time that you finally see me. But you don’t see me.

     As the days roll by, I see the children grow. From Kindergarten, through Middle School and High School. All the graduation ceremonies. The girl’s wedding. But why was there such sorrow mixed with the joy of those days? 

     I watch as you handle all the milestones of a child’s life on your own and I long for a way to help you. Through it all, you have handled yourself with a grace and dignity that defies all the troubles you have seen. You have been constant, solid presence for the children whenever they needed you. I just can’t understand why you have chosen to keep doing it all alone. You are so beautiful. Surely there have been others who have wanted to be a part of your life.

     Eventually, I see you getting older. The light in your eyes starts to fade as the aging process begins to take its toll. I see all the lonely days when you just putter around the empty house, finding small things to do to while away the time. During those days, I will sometimes put my hand on your shoulder to let you know that you aren’t alone. But, still, you don’t see me. I really don’t do it very often anymore because it seems you almost always cry. I’m not sure if I am the reason you are crying. I think I am, and I don’t want that. So I just keep watching and waiting for you to see me.

     Then, there comes the day when I see you lying in a hospital bed surrounded by your children and grandchildren. You lie there with your eyes closed, your breathing slow and light.  I see the parents, except for your son and daughter, herd the children from the room. Then, I hear your son tell you that it’s ok to let go now. I see their tears as you take your last breath. 

     I feel a hand on my shoulder and know. Now, at long last, you can see me.


----------



## Pluralized (May 13, 2015)

*Warmth - 650w (Language and Gross-ness)*

_You have got to stop eating all that cheese, Allen. It’s already hard enough to survive in here. Remember last week, when you had that milkshake and fries, and some kind of hamburger? I had my fill, and you were rumbling for more an hour later. 
_
_In the mornings when you guzzle that hot coffee, you burn the whiskers off my mandibles. It’s so hot. Can you cut that out please? I’ll stop biting your insides in return._

Allen sat down and braced himself for what promised to be a thunder-bucketful, but all that came were a few buglings and what sounded like a dying moose trapped inside a French Horn. *Honk! Honk!*

“Oh,” Allen cried, clutching his belly on the train across town. The crowd cleared out from around him as the gurgles echoed above the clattering and bounce of the mid-day subway. “Help me,” he shouted, but people just covered their noses and turned away. The back of his pants darkened and he moaned as the train jumped along toward Bushwick. 

“Hang tight, my man.” The paramedics wheeled him along and inserted him into the ambulance. They raced, lights and sirens frantic, toward the Emergency Ward. When the door opened, something broke on the gurney and Allen was dumped into a pile on the hard cement. “Damn, so sorry,” said the younger of the two, glaring at the driver who’d run up to help. 

“Go for another gurney,” said Young-in. 

“There ain’t time. He’s got an impacted bowel, and he’s looking septic. Grab his arms.”

They swing-carried him in through the sliding doors, and Allen’s consciousness flickered. 

_You knew this was coming you sick bastard. Can’t lose a hundred pounds in two months the way you eat. C’mon, boo. You know I love you. _

_*BITE*_

_This shit is forever, son. This shit is all me, and all you, my brother. I live in here, you live out there. You feed me and I keep you trim. Keep you attractive so you can get some action with the ladies. Of course, last time was anticlimactic, eh? All that gyrating and what-not, only to rip a stenchie-one and scare the poor lass away. Or maybe it was a dude, I don’t know. All I know is you were all excited and I heard booming coos, echoing compliments. Thought you were gonna lose me there for a while, but then we were walking again, and I knew food was coming soon. _

Allen grabbed the sides of his face and tore blood from his flesh. Spotty, dizzy connections worked their way through his dry brain. His attention circled around to his gut, which towered above him on the gurney like a scale model of Kilimanjaro made from mashed potatoes. His fists landed in doughy ripples, and with all the energy he could muster he pounded and thrashed at his belly. Satisfying cries came out from within. Tiny screams like cities flattened beneath boulders squealed out from beneath his navel. 

“Mr. Lester, I’m Dr. Magdalena.” A stern man stood above him, not looking him in the eye. “We’re going into emergency surgery. Have you any allergies, conditions, or other maladies we need to know about, sir?” Allen couldn’t quite comprehend what the doctor was saying, but caught the word surgery and felt a wash of relief. Get that thing out of me, please gawd. Mr. Lester? His name was Allen Young. What the fuck was going on?

_Allen, I have been with you a very long time. And now, we have light, so I guess they’re opening you up and coming for me, aren’t they? I’ll fight to the death. I’m sixteen feet long now and have the teeth of a piranha. Just let them try. What’s this, daylight? It’s so bright! Oh, and the doctor’s feeding me something delicious; what is that? It’s lovely! I have never tasted anything so delicious. Allen?_


----------



## midnightpoet (May 14, 2015)

Death's Game


----------



## inkwellness (May 15, 2015)

Neither Here Nor There (636 words)


----------



## joshybo (May 16, 2015)

*
Buried Deep** (584 words)*
by joshybo
​


----------



## W.Goepner (May 16, 2015)

Wrong place!


----------



## bazz cargo (May 17, 2015)

*The Pootle Effect.*
  by
  Bazz Cargo


  Very gently, Barbara slumped and lowered her forehead onto the desk. _Why me?_


  In her left hand was incontrovertible proof that a Sci Fi writer, dead for sixty years, was about to share her Nobel prize.


  Her free hand banged the cheap, wood substitute causing an echo in the two metre, concrete cube of an office. Every cent, penny and rouble had gone into the LHC, the other bits were done on a shoestring on a diet budget.  


  Expanding Universe as a crumpled, multidimensional  paper theory. Matter as text, energy as form. It was all there.


  Thirty years of her life, a team of over three hundred scientists, engineers, students and theoretical mathematicians - in both senses -  all overshadowed by some guy writing about aliens.


  The Matter/Energy barrier that can't be seen. The time paradox. Same space occupation. Steady state.


  Heisenberg exploded, Einstein improved upon. FTL drives a certainty.  


_Aliens? Ghosts?_


  If magic has rules does that make it science?


----------



## Ephemeral_One (May 17, 2015)

*At the End of the World*

    On a misty morning above a frothing sea, two figures walked upon the air. Their great, feathered wings contrasted of slate and marble. The boiling ocean below filled the air with toxins yet mattered nothing to the angels.

     Dressed in a dark suit that turned blue when the light hit it at the right angles, the Fallen one said simply, “It lasted longer than anyone expected.”

     “That is entirely your side's fault, you know,” sighed the holy messenger, draped in a ivory suit.

     “I beg your pardon,” The Demon gasped in astonishment, “You all decided to use this Eden even after the Great One desecrated it on his way out the door.”

     “Well, we couldn't very well let a million year project just sit in the closet to be forgotten about, now could we?” Demanded the angel placing a hand on his hip. He poked the demon in the chest saying, “If you all had just gone along with the plan...”

     “Oh, stuff it with your 'plan',” Mocked the demon curling his fingers on the last word. He scoffed, “Make God happy isn't a plan, it's a bunch of insecure children looking for daddy's love. I've spent enough time around humans to see that never works out. So, we went out and made our own place!”

     “Yes, and that has worked out so well for you all,” the Angel replied sarcastically, “To keep yourselves alive, you have to feed off souls! Great Father above, not to mention the endless bickering between you all just to have enough to survive! It's unsanitary to say the least!”

     The demon pretended to pick his teeth, “Only if you don't know how to cook it right.” Both sides of the argument, with their annoyance spent, continued to walk in silence. Side by side they looked from the sea to the horizon.

     “This really is the end for this place, isn't it?” The Angel sighed to himself placing a hand upon his cheek.

     Drooping his shoulders, the Demon let out a groan, “Yes, it is. That's why we're here! Last ones out to make sure all the lights are out and nothing was forgotten. Not that anyone could have left anything that would have survived in this.”

     “I suppose you're right. Let's go.” The Angel nodded and vanished in a flash of light while the Demon seemed to melt into it's own shadow. Thus, the Earth did close its eyes from its final visitors. Just a short time later, the main star would swallow it whole.


----------



## Ibb (May 17, 2015)

*Shooba Dooba, Bad Language, Other Stuff (And Bad Language) (Seriously, Language)*

A man decided to leave his wife. Now, he felt terrible about the whole thing—he wasn’t really that mean a guy, being honest—and because he didn’t want to leave his wife without a boat, seeing as he brought the butter home, he laid on the table next to his letter farewell a sum of about 10,000 dollars. His hope, one has to guess, is that she would make smart use of the money and pay off the remainder of their lease as well as use her own income plus the leftovers of his to substantiate whatever finances they’d become used to alleviating together, alongside perhaps a latent desire to be thought of as a Good Person when all was said done; the emigrants of these things rarely get the sympathy that the abandoned enjoy, deservedly or no. People are pricks. 

                Anyway, shit went south. Unfortunately for the husband, a robber broke into his home just minutes after he locked the door behind him and drove off into the sunset. The robber, finding 10,000 bucks, did a whoop and dance before giving the letter a read; what he lacked in fiscal fortitude he redeemed, oddly enough, through a dedication to frequent use of his library card. It’d gotten to the point that on his days off from stealing people’s shit he would stop before every sign, scrawl, and scribble he encountered, enjoying the act of reading as much as he enjoyed the pleasure of deriding everything he himself hadn’t written, a trait he’d learned and perfected while reading articles in The New Yorker and Pitchfork. The letter itself? Hackneyed, derivative, cliché, total bologna, indeterminable as being either a contributor to society’s decline or but another sad product of its already confirmed descent. Please Forgive Me John was a talentless hack. The robber pocketed the 10,000 buckaroos and whistled all the way home.

                On said way home, he was overcome by pangs of throbbing conscience. The problem with extensive reading neither schoolteachers nor librarians will tell you is that, after wetting your appetite with the softer pages, the adventures towards Dark Towers and the romps through magical schoolyards past slick haired blonde kids preternaturally gifted in the art of never shutting the fuck up, you eventually stumble towards the Hugos, Melvilles, Dostoevskys, Turgenevs, Faulkners, etc.—and you can’t spend time in their sort’s company without eventually finding yourself contemplating and despairing the same junk they did. The robber contemplated; he despaired; he tripped over a pile of junk laid outside someone’s porch and fell nose-first into the stump of a tree, which he perceived to be the tree of life, its white bark the vast enormity of imperceptible oblivion, the blood trickling from his nose and—Jesus Christ—burning like a motherfucker, the blood of his fellow man, guffawed toward and mocked for no more than the infinitesimal blip of self-satisfaction at one’s own eloquently enunciated derision. 

                 Without a coherent thought to guide him, buoyed on the exaltation of idealism and dipshitery, he returned to the place of thievery hastening to surpass the wife on her journey home. But he was too late: the bitch was dead. Having come home to the husband’s letter, and not the heavily referenced and sentimentally regarded fat wad of cash, the wife perceived his written departure as one of strange irony and cruel condescension, and decided right there and then—after contemplation, despair, etc.—that she could not go on. A rope, a cadaver, and an upended chair dictated the scene; the robber need only use his literary experience to fathom the rest. 

   I’d tell you what happened afterward, such as the patrolling officer who spotted the robber just then, but I tell long stories, I’m not really good at this short thing, also I’m a fucking bird who eats worms and shits on people’s cars all day, _you don’t see me,_ etc. and—


----------



## W.Goepner (May 17, 2015)

*Chaos (504 words)*


We have always lived in a chaotic state of being. From the beginning we have used the resources around us certain they would never deplete.

Today we doubt magic ever existed, the things we understand about the so called magic of old, have been explained away as science. Odin's fire, known as the unquenchable flame, simply a refined oil, which once started burning would float on the water that had been dumped on it in an attempt to extinguish it. 

Gunpowder is the excuse for the fireball. Take the indigents from the game "D&D". The fireball needed components of Bat guano and Sulfer. We know today Bat guano carries toxins and other properties. Acids from urine, other matter from the feces, which when combine with sulfur would make a very volatile substance, similar to gunpowder, or possibly like a white phosphors.

Thus logic took over from the basic belief of magic, but chaos has stayed behind. Chaos is the driving force for peace. Peace can only be achieved when all chaos is deleted. To delete chaos we have attempted order, through religion, laws and war, but order is only an illusion, because order mimics peace.

Order, in and of itself is a force which drives chaos to greater growth. Order is a control of chaos not a cure. Chaos is a natural force, it is the unpredictability of the wind, the direction of a projectile from a volcano. These things can be plotted based on our knowledge of them, but they are the embodiment of chaos.

The definition of chaos is simply, lack of order. Not so simply put though, chaos is the embodiment of everything around us to include and not limited to the universe. If order were able to be brought to the universe... I simply could not or rather not, think of the end results. Every thing would have to stop, literally. No movement what so ever. No spinning of the world, no turning of the solar system. 

Let's get personal, more direct to the truth of the complete loss of chaos. You would not exist, because you would have to stop living to end the full effect of chaos. Chaos within the universe starts within our own bodies. Our creation is a example of such chaos, even within religion. Our creation was to relieve the loneliness of our creator, or possibly their boredom. The simple cells, which is the make up of our bodies, are in a constant state of chaos, defending, growing, feeding, replicating, and dying.

Therefore you, me and everything play a part in the chaos theory. We are all unseen elements. Just like bacteria is to the cell, we are to the earth, the earth is to the galaxy, the galaxy is to the universe. If one divine being created it all. How can we hold ourselves to be great in their esteem. Because simply put, if we cannot believe in a greater being, a reason of existing, chaos would take full control and we would...


----------



## bazz cargo (May 17, 2015)

This thread is now closed.


----------



## bazz cargo (May 31, 2015)

This thread has been reopened, you may now 'like' until your heart is content.


----------

