Inspired by a post on reddit where I was introduced to the concept of FEGHOOTS. Alice crept silently into the tree outside Jane’s window for the third time in a week.
Lou drove. Not like he did when his kids were strapped into the child seats. He drove like he did twenty years ago. Guiding the new roadster into the first curves of Topanga Canyon, his foot pressed firmly to the floor, his heart raced. It was freedom.
“I can’t believe you’re paying me for this,” he said, squinting into the harsh desert sun. Sal’s arms hung by his sides, the weight of the hammer pulling his right arm taught. The handle swayed back and forth, barely perceptible, pulsing with his racing heart.
“How else do we discover our true selves without pushing the limit a bit?” I said. Taking the hammer, I drove the last of the four posts deeply into the dry, shattered soil.
“Please, John, don’t take your eyes off me,” she said, laying her hands gently on his cheeks.
He laughed lightly as a smile spread across his face, his brilliant teeth shining in the afternoon light.
Miranda decided that today was going to be a good day. Today, she was going Outside for the first time. As mission commander, it was her privilege to be the first human to set foot on another planet.
“Nipples,” said Sam.
Will’s hands stopped, hovering above the coordinate lock panel as if frozen in time. “Nipples, what?”
Castagere hunkered down behind the parapet of the ten-story walk-up as he watched the two shadowy figures slink into the back entrance of the nondescript Thai restaurant across the street. He grinned. The effort he’d put forth baiting these two-bit thieves with promises of an easy score had paid off. Tonight was the endgame; he was getting his life back.
From the bottom of the crater they watched the mostly-water bags buzzing about in their tin flying machine. They probably should have positioned the observation lab much deeper, below the mantel. It wouldn’t have been that difficult, and it certainly would have been a more comfortable temperature. No; it would have been impossible to hear the thoughts from such weak minds.
Featured on Ficly.com on November 8th (Anniversary) and November 12th (Stubborn Beauty), 2011.
The diplomas from Harvard and Warton hung over the sleek, expensive desk where Mark Gillroy kept his most prized possessions, including a picture of his mother. At thirty-two years old, he had achieved much in the eyes of others; nothing to himself.
The glass door slides silently over the well-oiled tracks as you pull it open, stepping out onto the 30th floor balcony. Wind whips your long, blonde hair around in a wild dance, thrashing your neck and cheeks, warning you to be alert. You approach the railing only to realize you’ve left the door ajar; being…
“What am I supposed to learn in the next life,” I asked Saint Peter as he sat next to me on the stone bench.
“Well, I know this sounds kind of… trite, but it’s up to you what’ll you learn. There is no magic formula.”
He didn’t know why he flipped the switch, but he was sure it had something to do with the fact he was in an acausal world. If time still existed, Sam Spivack might have said, “It was my job. I had to do something. Didn’t I?”
Sidney felt the darkness first, the road crunching underfoot, frozen with snow, the ice cracking on the trees far above her head, sharp and jagged shards of ice falling on her shawl. The sounds woke her from a slumber that felt more like death than sleep.
The Kappa Deltas gathered outside for a third night in row, singing the same incessantly droll songs, hooting at the fraternity pledges passing by in convertibles, and blathering on and on about how much spirit they had. Scott and I sat at our desks, fretting over an impending deadline racing toward us the following morning.
“Give me your dreams, boy, and I’ll let you sleep another night,” whispered the invader, his fuzzy mouth lightly brushing Jack’s ear as he slept.
“Boys need their dreams,” growled Castagere, the dream guardian sworn to protect the budding imaginations of Jack and his little brother John. Unfurling himself from under the bed, the great monster extended his razor-sharp claws, reaching for the teddy bear across the chest of the sleeping child. “I’ll tear the stuffing from your seams.”
The congregation gathered at the center of the large room, bathed in a dappled light streaming through the cracked and shattered windows; reflecting off the bone-white floors, the light illuminated the faces gathered to pass judgement. A tall man strode to the center of the group, cracking his knuckles and clearing his throat.
Sid sighed as he leaned against the rotting sill below the window, his forehead pressed to the filthy glass, staring at the raging hordes below. It was the third riot this month, although it was proving to be the most violent one since the Columbus Day massacre of 2073.
The doughy, white faces blur together so late in the day. It was astonishing that a tall, black man with dark grey eyes would stop in front of Hakim’s carpet shortly before the bazaar closed.
“I hear you carry Father Blades. Is this so?” asked the Black Man in a crisp, heavily accented English.