We still dream of the 4-hour workday

The loudest thing in the room was the ticking of the clock.

The air conditioning was a drone that easily faded from notice.

The people were silent, distant. Barely murmuring, only heard between the clock ticks.

A small cluster of people drifts closer; on the way to the printer? The copier? To talk to you?

You can't hear them any better.

They are drowned out by the clock, the ticking, ever muffled.

You stare at them blankly, waiting for them to pass or to make their demands.

You stare at them.

Waiting.

They don't notice. They pause, chatting amongst themselves.

You can't hear them, and don't care about anything they'd have to say.

The clock ticks.

Time passes.

Inspiration need only strike once

There... now no one can have it! No one will ever have such power!

BWA HA HA HA! Are you serious?

I've sabotaged the device! I've destroyed all the plans, the notes! No one will ever be able to use them again.

You fool! You blind, condescending FOOL. Don't you get it?

Get what?

The same thing that brought you here, that let you win... THAT will ENSURE that we'll have this again. Maybe not now, but someday.

What?!

Your blind, unrelenting stubbornness, your refusal to let go... don't you see? The barrier's been broken! People won't need the notes or the prototype, the fact that IT CAN BE DONE is enough!

No... no!

Yessss. People are relentless in pursuing impossible goals... now that they know that there IS finish line, that someone else has done it... they'll never let it go. They'll figure out OTHER ways of doing it. More efficient ways. Cheaper ways. More powerful ways. Safer ways. In a sense, I should be thanking you... with the plans gone, people will find other methods, ways that aren't so easy to destroy. Rather than cribbing off the notes, they'll make up their own prototypes.

Even devotion must know limits

She wandered through the desert, eyes closed. Direction didn't matter. The position of the sun didn't matter. Following dunes didn't matter.

Sand. Heat. Being alone. Those mattered.

She burned, under the sun, on the sands. She never stopped walking, never slept, never drank.

Eventually, inevitably, she ran out of desert and hit the coast.

She'd ignored the sound of the surf, but when she stepped in the water, she stopped. Forcing her eyes open after so long was painful, but necessary.

Seeing all that water, seeing that the desert could end... she trembled for a moment. A furious, horrified wail tore itself out of her throat as she stared, minutes stretching out. Before her breath gave out, she spun around and fled back into the desert.

Prevarication is, today, an example of equivocation

He lied.

He tilted his head to one side, listened to them, and consoled them with all the sympathy in the world.

He tilted his head the other way, and promised the world to those that wanted it.

He lied, and they loved him for it.

He nodded and swore he could make it all happen.

He lied, and lied, and lied.

He was caught out, and forgiven, and believed again.

He never changed, though. He did nothing, nothing but lie.

Coercion and focus

Look over there.

What is it?

Just look.

I'm busy.

It's right there!

And I'm busy! Just tell me about it.

No, you have to see this.

No, I don't.

Come on! Look!

Just use your words. I'm in the middle of something here.

It'll only take a second!

I don't care! I'm not looking!

Marks of ownership

She wandered up and down the streets of the city, fingers brushing every building, lamp post, street sign, bench and trash can.

"You're mine. I own you. I love you." she murmurs to each thing, before hacking and spitting a gob of phlegm and blood on it, marking it, claiming it as hers.

At night, the shadows came and glided over the city, unable to find purchase. Hissing. Scrabbling. Passing. Gone.

Again.

"Viable" was not one of the listed requirements

What can I do? I just don't KNOW.

Well, there's a lot you can do.

But it seems like I only have two options!

Nonsense! You can do ANYTHING.

Like what?

Well, you could kill them.

... what?

You could kill yourself.

Um.

You could go through with it. Stick around, maybe you'll grow to like it, or realize you always wanted it.

Wait-

You could go through with it and then pull a runner. Really, you're not obligated to stick around after the fact.

No!

You can just run now. Pull up stakes, don't tell anyone, just take everything and go, and never look back.

But I-

You could run later! Announce to one and all that you're not staying, and say your goodbyes.

What?! That's- that's just awful!

YOU COULD TALK TO THEM. You know, actually explain YOUR position, where your head is at, maybe make sure you know what they want or are expecting, discuss and negotiate this like two rational, mature people...

Well, after everything else you said..!

Shut up, I'm not done yet. You could do something to ruin your eligibility. Sleep around a lot, steal stuff, set something on fire... lot of options down that road. You could beat them to the punch, and just do it yourself. You could ignore it, pretend it never happened. You could say no, and just. Not. Do it. You could do it, but force it to be on your terms. You could bribe them, pay them off. You could do MANY things. So don't tell me you don't know what to do, or that you have no choice. You DO. You just don't want to pick any of them.

...

So. What do you WANT to do about it?

Third wheels and kidney punches

I turned the corner and practically ran into him. With a bellowed accusation I lunged at him... and right into the attack he was dodging from the fight he was already in. I swore, a little from pain, but mostly at him.

This always happens. ALWAYS. Whenever we manage to track each other down, or more usually, stumble into each other, one of us is already busy. Well, "busy." It's fighting. It's always fighting.

I know I don't fight all the time. I assume he doesn't either. From what we've actually seen of each other though, it'd be impossible to tell. It doesn't help that we try to kill each other the moment we see each other, 

It's just... so incredibly frustrating. There's ALWAYS someone else! Or something else. Whatever. We both want to kill each other. I want to kill him. He's always attacked me on sight, if I don't see him first. And EVERY SINGLE TIME, one of us is already fighting!

Neither of us will follow through while there's a chance that it lets the other get killed by a third party. It's supposed to be US. One of US kills the other. Or, I don't know, beats the shit out of them. Who knows how far it'd go? We never get a chance to see!

One day though... I know, I just know, one day one of us will snap and not care. We'll won't care about anyone else and just FOCUS.

I really hope it's me. I do.

Not all relationships are mutually beneficial

Whoooo ha ha ha!

Damn it! Leave me alone!

Come ON! This is great!

No! It's not! GO AWAY!

Never! I am NEVER giving this up! Whooo!

Grah! I hate you! I hate you hate you hate you!

Bwa ha ha!

I hate YOU, I hate THIS, I hate that I can't DO anything..!

So... awesome!

HATE.

Seriously, you know I'm never going to leave you now, right? Ever.

I can't touch you, but maybe if I focus all my rage into a single point, it can set you on fire.

You can't. I know. It's been tried.

ARGH!

Mmm... music to my ears.

Endless variety of life

She takes a week to just watch people.

The first day is her watching herself watch people. She just goes into a crowd and focuses on not looking at the ground and noting what she notices. She learns, first that it is harder than she thought, she is so unused to the endeavor, and second that she notices clothes & butts first, followed closely by hair. She considers that staring at peoples butts is a compromise, staring is easier when people are turned away, that it's halfway between the ground and their eyes. She suspects she's just staring at their butts.

The next day she tries to focus on faces. They pass quickly, and it's uncomfortable, so the day becomes a jumble of pieces and impressions. Cheekbones & boredom. Bags under the eyes, a thin jaw. Wisps of hair above pouty lips. A skewed hairline & pale, pale eyebrows. A mouth twisted and wide in laughter.

A new day, a new focus. Hands. Shoulders. Posture.

By the end of the week, she realizes she has never seen the same person twice. She has drifted from place to place for lunch, and people don't usually go to the park every day, but still... she rides the same buses at the same times. She loiters in the same cafe after work hours, the same bar after dinner. No one, driver, customer, staff, no one is the same.

She still watches people, scared to stop now.

The process is paramount to the results

No one's here.

We don't know that.

Yes, we do. There's no where to hide, there's no doors, there's NO ONE here.

We don't know that!

Where?! Where could ANYONE be here?

I don't know! Okay? Maybe there's a trench, or a secret passage, or an optical illusion, or-

Or they're INVISIBLE, or TINY, or or or what? There's no one HERE.

We're going to look.

Why?

Just do it.

But there's-

Just. Do it.

Fine. Fine! But there's no one-

Here. I know. But we're going to look, so shut up and get to work.

Ugh. Whatever.

Yes. Whatever. Now LOOK.

The hirsute shores

Hair.

He maps the borders of his body. Where the hair gives way to skin; the continent of his chest, the islands of his knuckles. His forehead grows every year, but his beard makes its own advances in balance.

He completes his surveys, and nods.

The unstoppable message

So, that's why I think we'd be better off-

Rauuaghg!!

No, no, hear me out, it makes sense.

Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up and DIE!

Seriously, just let me explain!

... what? How are you- stop talking!

Look, if you'll just give me a chance to explain...

No! No no no! I can FEEL your windpipe being crushed under my fingers!

It'll only take a couple of minutes, I swear!

I'm- I'm CHOKING you. I am squeezing as HARD as I can. Why are you still talking?

Okay, maybe more than a couple, but not much more. I can cover the important points quickly, I swear.

HOW? How are you still talking?

First off, and you're going to love this-

I'm in hell. This is hell, isn't it? Oh god.

Body as a second language

Hands waving, the speaker talks. They talk with their mouth, saying things of fire and passion and no importance. They talk with their hands, flourishes and gestures to the uninitiated, a second speech to the speaker's cohorts.

Look how the fingers curl when the speech calls for action! Our numbers have been counted, the hands say.

Look how the arms swing wide as the speech describes a shining utopia! We are scattered but still connected, the hands say.

Look how the hands are clasped in a fierce and rousing crescendo! They will never find us all, can never find us all, the hands say.

Polite applause follows the speaker away from the podium. Eyes hooded, ears closed, the speaker counts who slaps their hands together, who golf claps, the rhythms and cadences, left against right or vice versa...

The speaker counts their numbers.

Canonical Debate

It doesn't make any sense!

No, no, it does! Listen-

What? How? How does ANY of what he did make sense?

Look, it all works if you assume that he DOESN'T work for them!

... oh my god.

Think about it! The disregard for procedure? The incompetence for most parts of his job? The wanton violence?

But, then... who is he? Where'd he come from?

Some fans say he's working for another group, and was put in place to cause trouble for them as much as to find or do something specific. Personally, I like to think he's an independent agent, who came from nowhere and is doing everything for himself.

... really?

What?

That's just a bit involved, isn't it? I mean, it's very elaborate!

Maybe, but come on! Admit it it. It totally makes sense now, doesn't it?

Everything will be weighed and decided

Faceless, voiceless, the figure groped blindly. It wasn't quiet in its search, knocking things over as it ran its hands, its impossibly oversized hands, over everything in the room. It wasn't careful, no, but it was thorough, fingers caressing and probing every thing that its hands came across.

Some things it set aside, some it lingered over before crushing with a slow and careless ease. A few things made their way back into those awful hands, picked up again due to the random way it covered the room. Some were crushed in this second round of the search.

Reasonless, emotionless, the figure moved and judged at random, following patterns and criteria unknowable to anyone else.

One last go around

Come on, this is going to be FUN!

No! You know I hate these sorts of things.

Please? For me? Come on!

Look, really, can we... can we just not go? I really don't like it.

It's the last one of the year, it'll be be months before I can even ask again. Please, can we just go one last time?

Can't you go by yourself? I really, really hate this.

I- no.

What?

If you really don't want to go, I'm not going without you.

No, no, go on. It's fine.

It wouldn't be. It's not right without you.

But-

No. We've gone a lot already this year, and you've been really good about it. I'm sorry.

Behind closed doors, who's to know?

The monsters were quiet at first.

Subtle, even.

The first hints that they had gotten to your neighbor weren't shrieks in the night, or blood splashed on the windows. No, it was the smell. The pervasive, growing smell of things rotting. Rotting.

At first you didn't realize it, were grateful even, your neighbor had always been loud and inconsiderate at night and you needed your sleep. It was so, so quiet now. You were willing to overlook an odd smell for a couple of days.

After a couple of days, the scratching started.

You wondered if your neighbor had gotten a pet... no, pets, that couldn't be just one thing making that much noise. Or if the smell had attracted raccoons or something. Something! What was making that noise, what was clawing at the walls at all hours? When you started your day, when you came home, when you woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, always, in some corner or other of the apartment, you could the scratching. Sporadic, frantic, scratching.

You called the landlord, you left notes for your neighbor, you did all the... polite... things you could think of. Some of the notes you left were less than polite, but you never pushed for direct confrontation. Not that you could, anyway.

The smell got worse.

The scratching got louder.

Sometimes... sometimes you heard muttering during the pauses in the scratching.

You would only wrap your pillow tighter around your head and whine, then.

Symptoms present early in all cases

... jesus christ, is it really you?

No, it's someone else. Of course it's me!

Look, screw you! It's been fucking forever, man! You don't have to be an dick about it.

I- yeah, no, I'm sorry. It's just... you know.

Yeah, I... I guess so.

So...

Uh.

Yeah, been a while.

Yeah, yeah... uh... how're you holding up?

It's- *cough* It's, uh, been rough.

I- jesus, man, I'm sorry.

*cough cough*

Here, come on, tell me about it. I know you have places to be, but... hey, fuck 'em.

Heh! Yeah... yeah, fuck 'em.

Privacy, please

He clawed at the walls, digging his fingers in deep, clinging tight, pulling himself up near the ceiling.

He dared not waste the energy to turn his head over his shoulder, so hissed with all the venom and bile he had, directly at the wall.

A few quick motions, the movement placing strain on other muscles, a relief in itself, and his fingers were digging into a stud, easier to hold him than the plaster and drywall.

Now, now, he could look back and curse and spit at them, relax his grip and focus on invective.

His mouth opened, wide and vibrant, his words vile and blistering his tongue already, perched on his teeth as they were, and blackening, burning the skin around his lips.

Merciless

Please... help me!

I can't!

You have to!

I can't! I CAN'T!

Something... anything!

There's nothing I can DO!

Why won't you help me?

I want to! God, I wish I could do something!

So help me!

I! Can't! Leave me alone!

HELP ME!

Please, god, go away!

HELP!

Just... go! I can't help you!

HELP ME!

Take your time

Ithk was immortal.

So.

Ithk was immortal, but that was all. No wisdom of the ages (not enough ages under the belt). Ithk could not move mountains (other than with patience and a hammer). Ithk would simply go on forever.

So.

Ithk was immortal and needed a hobby. Ithk decided on making stained glass windows. Shaping the frame. Picking the glass. Picking the color. The clarity. It took time, so that was good.

Ithk had no aspirations. Nor inspirations. Ithk worked mostly from still lifes or photos.

So.

Ithk focused on improving skill. More finely shaped frames. More exactingly colored glass. More, more. Planes on the back so as to change the image with the shifting light. Ithk could take the time to hone and refine endlessly.

Ithk was immortal.

So.

So.

Mind Blown Like Glass

He dragged his fingers through his hair, and left furrows along his head.

He pinched and scratched, tugging his flesh like clay.

He broke scabs up, mixing them back in, ignoring how gritty it was making him.

The blood... there was so much blood... and as water on a potter's wheel, it was welcome.

He dug out his bones and broke them to splinters, to better support the delicate structures he wanted.

He pulled himself into the kiln, and hoped he'd done the glaze right this time.

Wide Open Range

He stayed close to the walls, and tried not disturb any of the debris that was everywhere these days. Windows were blocked, boarded up or outright avoided. It was never proven if... it... operated more by sight or sound, but either one seemed able to draw it near.

It made no attempt to disguise it's approach. That always unsettled him.

He'd seen it across town once, drawn by someone else's carelessness. It spotted him immediately, but made no move. It just cocked it's head a little and once it was sure he was frozen in fear and watching... it began stalking whoever had drawn it, impossibly silent for anything of its size.

Unable to move, to breathe, to blink, he could never forget how the thing was able to sneak up on the poor bastard. It was the first and only time he'd ever seen it not just stomp a straight line to it's victim. It was so unusual for it, so perfectly done... he shuddered. It wanted him to know that it wasn't even playing with them.

He felt a warmth on his ear, and his breath caught in his throat.

An Impressed Hero

Why am I here?

What?

I said, why am I here? Why did you bring me here?

We needed your help; I thought that was obvious.

No, that's why you brought SOMEONE here. Why did you bring ME here?

We– what?

Anyone. It could've been anyone else. Out of all existence... why ME?

...

There must be a reason! There are stronger, smarter, BETTER people out there! What made ME the best choice?!

We... we–

WHY DID YOU RIP ME AWAY FROM MY LIFE FOR THIS!?

We– we didn't! We would never!

You did! YOU DID! I had family! A job! I wasn't some lonely orphan or hermit, that no one would miss! Do you understand what you've done to my loved ones? Best case scenario, they think I'm DEAD. Worst case, they think I CHOSE to leave them. That I just ran away to do anything... to be anywhere else that wasn't with them.

But... we...

Who's going to take care of the kids while their mother is working all the time? What's she going to be able to tell them when they ask about their father? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with a single parent family... but they shouldn't have to be one.

...

Are you getting this? I am hoping, PRAYING, that my wife is able to find someone to love her and help raise my kids, and quickly, because I don't believe I'm ever going to be able to go back. And even if I am, when? If your problems could be solved quickly, you wouldn't need ME, now would you?

... I...

Nevermind. Let's just keep going.

Up, Up, Reach Up

The tree grew in the middle of the downs. Not the exact middle, nothing so obviously significant; the fact that it grew at all was enough. After all, nothing else in the downs did.

Things lived in the downs, true enough. But they didn't grow. They ate, slept, killed, died, went through all the motions of life... but nothing aged, nothing got bigger. Whatever they were when it happened, so they'd been ever since. Except for the tree.

The tree flourished. It towered over all else for miles around. It had no competition. Only the desperate even went near it, and they rarely came back.

True, the tree would get hit by every lightning bolt to come down during thunderstorms, but that seemed to mean nothing to it. It shook. It steamed in the rain. It grew.

Learning through Teaching

The goal here is to sound natural.

That... that's it?

Yep. It doesn't matter what's being said, as long as it flows like a real conversation.

Seems kind of unimportant.

Not at all. For that sense of realism, it's far more important than any amount of accuracy in physics or protocol.

Surely not!

Oh, yes! The audience is people; that is what they know, what they are most familiar with. Some people may know the science behind something, and will go "it doesn't work like that!" when they see the impossible. Some people are familiar with organizations, and will go "you could never get away with that!" when they see a Lieutenant getting orders from a Major. But many will not.

And speech?

Everyone knows what people talk like. For instance, no one says "unimportant" in casual conversation. They'd say it "doesn't matter"

Oh, come on!

I know, it's terrible. We have all these words for things, very precise words, but unless it's a formal speech or written down, people use the same, small common words for everything. Anyway. The audience can accept anything, if the people are still acting like people. It's only when they go "No one would ever talk like THAT!" that you've failed, since everyone knows what people should sound like.

So how's this going so far?

Well, it could be better. Real people interrupt each other, pause in the middle of thoughts, say um and er and that. Honestly, real conversation is like a poorly made engine. Stops, starts, revving up and hiccuping all the time. People's minds are rarely organized enough for smooth dialogue.