The Little Things

Tiny micro explosions, one after another, lit up the night sky in a cascading array of magentas, periwinkles and mulberry, accented by warm yellows and golds, a momentary distraction utilizing everything that is beautiful living inside the fire. Even the soulless ones, with clouded empty eyes, were taken aback as their heads tilted towards the heavens unblinkingly.

The degradation of pathways in their once human brains would soon enjoy their form of pyro techniques as neurons started firing once more. Reminding them that we were now their food source while simultaneously forgetting that once we would call each other family.From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Bass Fishing In America

CONTEST WINNER:

The bass must talk to each other.

“Hey, I’m not going to chase those chartreuse spinners today. Are you guys with me?”

It’s amazing that creatures with brains the size of a split pea can outsmart other creatures that are supposedly the pinnacle of creation, or happenstance. Anglers driving hundred-thousand-dollar boats equipped with underwater cameras, sonar, and drones occasionally get skunked.

“Let’s follow those surface poppers right up to the boat, then suddenly dart into that network of rocky crevices.”

“Okay.”

Stealth trolling technology, GPS markers, anise-scented lures.

I’m really not surprised that the war in Afghanistan didn’t go better.

From Guest Contributor Mark Thomas

Robot Monkeys

“Daddy, why are there bars on the robot monkeys’ windows?”

Roger picked a bit of cotton candy off his son’s nose. “Danny, it’s a zoo.”

“But Daddy, they aren’t wild animals like the others. We don’t keep our robots in cages.”

Roger laughed and tousled Danny’s hair. “Well, Buddy, our robots have Gen IX brains. These little guys are first generation. Nobody wants them and they could never survive on their own.”

“But why keep them then? Why aren’t they just recycled?”

“Daniel. We’re not barbarians. We gave them life. We can’t just throw them away. Besides, aren’t they cute?”

From Guest Contributor Simon Hole

Somewhere Along The Line

I used to believe that villains didn’t exist. That wrongdoers were victims of their circumstances, victims of their upbringing, or victims of their own tortured brains. I thought that ‘bad guys’ were just the people who didn’t get to frame the narrative; that ‘inner demons’ was code for the same primal and chemical conflicts that we refer to as depravity when found in those who fail to conceal them. I thought of the dichotomy of good and evil as merely a crutch for those who wish decisions were easy.

I never believed in villains. Until I realized I’d become one.

From Guest Contributor E.F. Boehm