Ripped To Bits By Ghosts

I moved into my workshop, with a gas-ring and pair of chickens in a cage. I needed no assistants. I watched the sky from a hilltop laboratory, harnessing the lightning.

In reality I sleep under the stairs in my friends’ flat. He’s a motorcycle courier, she’s a receptionist. I work where I can, wherever the agency sends me, seven days a week. If I’m ill I rely on her noticing and bringing me soup or something. I have a notebook to record my dreams. Huge flights of geese turn furrows through the red November skies. Worlds can barely contain me.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers

Quantum Time Travel Agency

Quantum time travel agency. Opened? Depends on how you look at reality. Is it really 2023? Or 2015, according to Ethiopian? Or if you pay attention to 1600 thought 1900 century, are we really in 1769? Say what? If you pay attention to numbers. Chinese calendar, along with other calendars there seems to be three hundred years missing. How? Or why? Again, several features say you are wrong. I smile. Pay attention to calendars appear to be a mixture of lies and falsehoods creating what, exactly? Chances to change time. Doubt me? The Dyson sphere is real. Heaven or hell?

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Introduction

I hate going to the Introduction Agency to get a date. There is a certain sense of shame and failure.

This time it’s for a skiing, long weekend my boss has arranged. I can’t attend another company weekend alone.

“My screen has a record of your preference,” says the receptionist. “You last used our personal services four months ago. Your good credit qualifies you for bronze level membership. Would you like to join?”

Tempted, I nod my head.

“We can introduce you to Amber, model looks, brunette, elegant. Amber will be fully recharged in about ninety minutes. Care to wait?”From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories, and here at A Story In 100 Words.