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The Spirits Provide

Pole goes in the water.  Pole jabs the bottom.  Push the pole away and pull it out at the same time.  Go forward.  Turning is harder, but goes the same way.  That’s what Pop always told me before he died on a ferrying run gone bad.  He was gone now, so the ferry was mine.

It was a shitty raft, moved by a long pole.  It took a lot of raw strength and quick thinking.  Pop had been saving up for a real boat, but he lost his money when he went underwater.  All I had was what the Spirits let return: his raft, his pole, and his teachings. Read the rest of this entry »

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“To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.” – Bertrand Russell

Marc always stood at the sidelines.

Marc earned his PhD.  Marc’s wife was shot in a midnight drive-by.  Marc’s infant daughter was taken away by the state, and spent her days being fought over by Marc and her foster parents.  Marc remained in  the sidelines when he was among his friends.  Marc’s own demeanor kept him from seeking solace and support from those who remained near him.  Other people had it worse.

Marc was just overreacting.

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Posted by on January 5, 2013 in Modern Fiction

 

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Addiction

Metal music blasted through his speakers.  It was ancient, and the quality was shot, but if he cranked it up as high as he could, it didn’t matter.  Metal from the twenty-first century didn’t have lyrics, after all– just screaming and rage.  The awkward, gangly teenager felt like that lost age of big hair and angry, skinny men was where he belonged.  He wore skin-tight vinyl pants, covered in horizontal rips.  Heavy chains dragged his coat and pants, and the sheer weight forced his shoulders down.  He slouched horribly, and his shirt’s large emblem was deformed by the folds of the dark-colored cloth until it looked like a blood-covered potato.

To top it all off was his magnificent leather coat.  The seller on eBay assured him that it was the blood of Nathan Explosion, from the band called Dethklok staining the collar.  He said it got so big, that the government had to shut it down for good and stomp out every trace.  That was why searches and old newspapers had nothing.  That was why he never found anything.  The internet claimed it was an old, shitty cartoon.

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Posted by on December 4, 2012 in Futuristic Fiction

 

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