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The television floats just above the entertainment stand, hovering perfectly without any waver or wobble. The soft blue glow aloft in the air, illuminating the room. Hitting Derek in his stupid fucking face, asleep on the couch again. Can you believe this? This fucking guy. Some fucking old guy is on the tele. Dark grey hair, stupid salt and pepper mustache. A chyron on the screen reads "Douglas Hochmann - Borneo CTO" He talks: And that's what a lot of folks don't understand. It's not a...

Grounded 2025/06/21 "Give it another go," the attendant half-shouted. Larry nodded, pushed the launch button. Nothing. "Still nothin'," Larry said, his head slightly leaned out the window. "Alright turn 'er off and let me take a look," the attendant said as he grabbed a flashlight from his tool belt and clicked it on. Larry clicked the power button and his vehicle turned off. The attendant entered the steps next to the bay Larry's car was in, descended down and looked at the underside of the...

oh hey ian

Ray clicked the button inside his garage, the motor hanging from the ceiling turned on, whined. The metal door slowly climbed up the track and opened. "Rain comin'," Ray said to himself as he shuffled a few steps in his driveway. "It's good, we need the rain," he said to no one. A chubby man in a blue t-shirt, khaki cargo-shorts, and white shoes walked down the street. He looked over and saw Ray. "Hey, Ray," the man said, stopping his stride. "Oh hey, Tom," Ray said. "Feels like rain's...

tall brush

Paul pulled hard once, abruptly. The lawnmower didn't start. He pulled it again, not as hard, not as abrupt. Nothing. He pulled that shit twice in a row, and then a third pull failed halfway through. He let go of the small handle, walked away to take a few breaths. "Come on you fuckin'," he said to the lawnmower, his hands on his hips as he walked small circles in the yard. He primed that shit five, six, seven, lost count times. Pew pew pew pew pew pew. He pulled the cord as hard as he could,...

the west sector floods

"Did you turn on the West Sector floods?" Daniel remained squatted, but stopped connecting the wires he was working on momentarily. His eyes widened as the realization that he hadn't turned on the flood lights—hadn't heard that loud "KACHOONG" noise when you flip over that comically oversized switch—hadn't turned on the West Sector flood lights as he was wrapping everything up down at that part of camp. This, obviously, was a very bad thing. Certain death awaited Daniel, undoubtedly. This...

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a telephone

One of the phones rang. Jackson was still shitting. Ring, ring. He sighed out deep, disappointed. Disappointed in what his life had become, in all the individual decisions he made—they seemed good and correct and promising at the time—and yet here he was, in his little lousy office, 48 phones sitting on a table across from his modest desk. Broken and smelly shitter, shared with the tenant in the other unit, some kind of dog grooming or dog mating or dog fighting, dog something-ing, down the...

a conversation

"So what's the scariest part about being a writer?" Henry found the question stupid. Belittling, even. "What's the scariest part about being a no-talent hack journalist?" he replied with his own question. Marcus sat with that question for only a few moments, though the tension in the air made it feel like the moment would linger on for all eternity. "Not finding the truth," he finally offered, the thick air breaking away into a wispy nothing. Henry laughed. This ol' summabitch, he thought to...

a truck

"Maaa!" David shouted towards the house. "Maaa, come out and roller me!" David stood in the driveway, his truck running, lights blasting him. He was wearing his suit, the same old one he always did. "MAAAA!" he shouted again, frustration mounting. His old as shit, crippled old mother hobbled out from the front door. She creaked and stuttered her way through the snaking walkway over to the asphalt. David checked his phone again to look at the time. "Here ye go Davey," his mother said as she...

a spatula and hand, at a hot griddle

The bell sitting atop the jamb rang as the entrance door swung open and then slowly closed. An older man carrying an e-reader walked in, sat at the counter. He looked at the waitress behind the counter, refilling another customer's mug. "Hey Stevey, gimme a sec will ya hon'?" the waitress said, without looking at the man. The man sat down, clicked on his little device and started reading the paper. After a moment, the waitress walked over, flipped the mug that was sitting face down on the...