Grand Theft

The Cadillac hurtled through traffic like the driver was at the controls of a video game. He sideswiped several sedans and ran one SUV off the road entirely as he jumped the median and exited the highway from the on-ramp. When he crashed into the guard rail, he brandished a semi-automatic weapon, shot several innocent bystanders, and carjacked a new vehicle. The carnage continued for several hours.

News blogs later reported that seventeen motorists died, including four prostitutes. Journalists speculated on the driver's motive. No one guessed that he was actually a video game developer who had forgotten his medication.

The Toy Chest

Brian wasn't sure how it happened, whether it was the Christmas wish just before his father's death, or the aftereffects of some magical spell uttered generations before in his attic, but every night, when his mother wasn't around, his toys came alive.

The stuffed bears and jungle cats. The toy soldiers. The plastic dinosaurs and the racing cars.

His life was now a living hell. He didn't mind the work itself, but the beatings and tongue-lashings were, to his mind, excessive. If only the toys would tell him what they wanted in a calm manner, he'd finish everything without complaint.

The Closet

Billy was consumed by fear. Somewhere on the other side of the closet door was the man come to kill him.

Billy desperately sought for some means of egress. All he could find were a pile of hand-me-downs and broken toys. He eventually decided his only recourse was to face the end bravely and he opened the door ready for come what may.

It was not long after the incident that Billy checked himself back into rehab. Three days spent in the closet, hiding from the mailman, finally drove home the point that his marijuana addiction was out of control.

The Greenhouse

Every desert harbors an oasis at its heart. The more consuming the landscape, the more bountiful its sanctuary. The soil squeezes every spare drop into hidden, long forgotten recesses, where it will be conducted to safety.

The great desert of my homeland is no different. For the past thirty years, I've acted as gatekeeper for the lonely greenhouse at its center. I have always guarded its doors with my life, allowing entry only to the meekest of souls.

They've promised me a taste of a single drop of water, a generation in the making, on the day of my death.

A Flaw In His Character

Georghi Kuritsa worked a short time for the Bolsheviks. They were always an unruly sort and Georghi was punctual and well-organized, just the sort of personal assistant that made revolutions a piece of cake.

It was truly unfortunate that a flaw in his character made it impossible for him to continue in their employ. If he had not been fired, the split may never have occurred, and Stalin probably never would have ascended to power. Millions of lives would have been spared had the purge never happened.

So it really is too bad that Georghi was actually a giant chicken.

I'm With The Fashion Police

I'm looking at you. You're sitting on your pulpit, grandstanding and demanding, acting as if the whole world is against you.

I know what you're thinking. You're some kind of Achilles, and we are all Agamemnons hellbent on keeping you from what's yours. You came here pure of intent, and we sullied your name and deprived you of your one and only chance at true love.

Well, let me be the one to tell you: the problem isn't that you're black and she's white. The reason she's not into is that you are always wearing a cardigan with a tie.

We Each Deserve Our Own Bathroom

They lived in a state of perpetual cacophony. They bickered and sermonized, battling each other over everything, from the deepest philosophical questions of their own existence to who should get to use the bathroom first. They lived in tight quarters, and were forced to look at each other constantly. They hated each other. They hated the numbers that served as names and they hated the implied hierarchy of the whole affair.

The scientist who oversaw the entire program looked at his creations ruefully. He should have foreseen the now patently obvious consequences of cloning the Great Leader so many times.

The Magic Bunny Farm

The white rabbits used by over 90% of the working magicians in Europe and North America originate from a single farm in rural Holland. The family-owned estate specializes in churning out the best rabbits in the business. In addition to being fed and groomed, they are taught the many necessary skills expected of them.

They are trained to remain motionless for long periods of time. They are taught not to fear small, confined spaces. They are even conditioned to wrinkle their nose and twinkle their eyes to the sound of applause.

But mostly, they are just expected to fuck like bunnies.

The Grandfather Paradox

They had told Christopher that time travel was impossible, that it violated the laws of physics. It took twenty years of obsession, but he proved them wrong.

Christopher had always been that way. Whatever walls surrounded him, he knocked them down. He remembered what Grandfather Warren had said, that he would never amount to anything. The insult burned at him every day, spurring him on.

So it was with great regret he discovered there was one law of physics he would never be able to break. No matter how hard he tried, Christopher was never able to kill Grandfather Warren.

The Christmas Cheer Brigade

Every year, for reasons of geography and religious practice, children all over the world are ignored during Christmas. Certain men and women, let's call them the Christmas Cheer Brigade, are determined to see to it these children never miss out on Christmas ever again.

The Cheer Brigade meets in secluded offices and hideaways, some of them more than 100 stories off the ground. Like the heroes in comic books, they choose to remain anonymous from the public.

You see, they know that nothing ruins Christmas cheer quite like the knowledge it's being propagated by large corporate interests. Billionaires are not stupid.