Lying
"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 wasn't like that time with the wheelbarrow, no no. This was far worse. It takes ten minutes—at full sprint—to make it from Under Home to the West Sector. During the day. Emma just went down half an hour ago. It's past nine o'clock, so Night Rules apply. That means all three of them, Daniel, Margot and Emma would have to go out to West Sector together. To flip a switch. I mean, do you know how hard it is to get Emma to actually go down? In that moment, holding two giant braided cords in either hand, Daniel had a thousand different thoughts pass through his mind all in unison, like a rapid-fire hit parade of the worst outcomes awaiting him. Finally— "Yeah, I turned 'em on," Daniel said as he looked over to Margot with a slight smile. "Great, you're the best," she returned. It would be the most costly lie he ever told. Please consider making a contribution to my Patreon if you enjoy these weird stories and are able to support them financially. No Happy Nonsense is 100% ad free and your donation helps keep it that way. |
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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...
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,...
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