TurtleGameMaster WhyWon'tItLetMeNotHaveALastName???

Phil Harwell

Jay Knowles

Marta P

Sean King

Benjamin Chandler

Jacob Sherman

Paz Waz

Chris Dodds

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Chris Baroody

Zoe Becker

English

A long time ago,
In a land called Kentucky,
There once lived a man,
Who wasn't very lucky,
And one day he fell,
Right into a well,
And his situation was very yucky.

‘Twas a lovely spring day, with confidence I say, and the well was crumbling apart. His woman had said, “Our love is now dead,” and this statement broke the man’s heart.

It turned into fall, and she built up a wall, to keep the poor man away. He gave out a call, asked her out to the ball, he just wanted her to stay.

She was appalled, as he was completely bald, and nothing he did could hide it. That is why on the floor she was sprawled, and completely enthralled, by the shine his hairless dome could emit.

“Yes, Madam,” he said. “I am proud of my smooth shiny chrome dome. I embrace my hairless head. My secret? Moisturizing sunscreen applied four times a day.”

"Just what I wanted to hear," she said. "I'm a photographer & I have a series in mind: art's greatest sculptures reflected in a shiny bald head. It will involve lots of travel, but I'm willing to pay every expense. Will you work with me?" He nodded, sun gleaming off his noggin.

This man must be crazy! In fact she was so shocked by this proposal that she immediately accepted it, and off they went snapping photos of great works of art reflected on his shiny bald head all over the world. It went viral on social media, with many replicating the duo’s deeds.

The idea was so outlandish and funny that as originators they made millions. Before long he was spending thousands of dollars a week getting his bald head waxed and shined so that the reflections remained sharp. On the downside the skin on his scalp was now thinning.

As it thinned, the capillaries in it slowly began bursting. This initially left him looking a bit like a young Mikhail Gorbachev, but as time went on the red deepened in color and the entirety of his scalp from his eyebrows up was the color of port.

The colouration didn’t stop there. Over the following weeks it permeated downwards, the pigmentation changing colour every day. Some muted, some pastel, some lurid. Eventually, when two small circles of original skin on the balls of his feet finally closed up the process was over

Full-sheathed in kaleidoscope skin, heart throbbing painful under coils of panic, he steps forward but staggers, slips - now lands, one knee in mud. Like this, he stays. Day becomes like a flashing strobe. In time, his skin becomes keratinous and jagged, but ever more vibrant.

He sheds his crusted skin in a flurry of motion, and all at once his creamy center is exposed. He is now a squishy baby, ensconced in a slimy finish, with wide, wondering eyes, and mouth agape. His metamorphosis is complete.

The Art of the Bald Head

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Emily J

Lisa Veras

Sam Becker

"You like ginger ale, too?" Zuzka asked Binh. "Sprite's too sweet," he answered. Zuzka was a mail order bride & Binh was a mail order husband. They were flying to the US to meet their future spouses. The coincidence made for fun small talk, but as time passed, the convo deepened.

“What made you decide to marry a stranger halfway across the world?” Binh asked Zuzka. She turned in the airplane seat to face Binh. “I’m looking for love.” She gazed into his eyes. Binh replied, “Me too.” He took her hand. “Maybe we don’t need to go all the way to the US.”

“The flight attendant has been making eyes at me,” said Binh. Zuzka instantly rolled her eyes. It was classic Binh to fall in love with any woman who’d acknowledge him at all. Even if he was in a relationship, he could fall in love with a stranger in the blink of an eye.

“No, really. Look, now she’s pointing at me and talking to the other one,” he said. Zuzka was forced to admit that the woman did seem interested in Binh. But he’d misread the situation entirely as usual. The flight attendant began to approach with her colleague looking annoyed.

“Sir, Madam! We’ve asked you 3 times not to eat your durian, anchovy, and Limburger salad during the flight! The other passengers are physically Ill from the scent of your snack. If you open that Tupperware again we’ll make an emergency landing in Akron!”

"First it was masks, then they came for my salad." The crazed passenger unbuckled and stood up in their seat. "Is this what you want?!" In one swift gesture they tore open the tupperware, letting the pungent scents escape—everyone recoiled. "Give me Akron or give me death!"

Love Stinks

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Tracie+L Mauriello

Sunny Anomaly

Physics of Gaming

C. S. Lytal

Lynsie Lucas

Emma Mazzucco

Alice was in trouble. She was floundering. She was sinking. The worst possibilities her friends had suggested were no longer abstract potentials. They were concrete and absolute. Waves of probability had collapsed and now formed the violent landscape she had failed to navigate.

Her TikTok views were in the toilet. She should have paid attention to the algorithms. It was clear to Alice that viewers hadn’t subscribed to watch her makeup tutorials but to see Mr. Fuzzy Bottom upstage her. He was the real social influencer, not her. She ruined it all by

making that video where she talked smack about Mr. Fuzzy Bottom while simultaneously showing off how to do a perfect batwing eyeliner. No one cared about her stupid makeup, she realized. She was being canceled for her remarks about her TikTok nemesis. Why did no one understand?

There was only one thing for it, she would have to frame Mr Fuzzy Bottom. Drag his name through the dirt for all Tik Tokkers to see, then the tables would be turned. All she needed to do was hack into his Tik Tok and

Delete the source code, it was fullproof. Only one problem, Elmo The Mob Boss was in town and might be fustrated if I take out Mr Fuzzy Bottom.I'd need someone to take him out before I frame Mr Fuzzy bottom...

"Sir, this is a Wendy's," fluted the voice of the purple-furred, lemon-nosed cashier. "Do you... want fries with that?" I glared at her, just some dumb college muppet clearly unable to appreciate the genius of my grand plans. "You'll see. Papa Elmo's days are numbered, and then I

will be the new boss in this town,” I said in a hushed voice to the pencil-thin muppet with the orange shock of hair tied up on my floorboard. “No fries, kid.” “You don’t want anything do ya?” I asked my former lab assistant. A muffled, “meep,” was all he could muster.

"I know things got kind of smelly on this one, Beaker, and I'm sorry." He just blinked. "I tried to run a better lab than your former boss, but it's not easy. I guess I failed. You are I are the only ones who know what happened here, and that's one too many." A sad "meep" escaped

his thin lips and for a moment, I considered that what I was about to do might not be necessary. Did he really have to die? He might be able to keep a secret. And even if he spoke the truth, how many people could tell a truthful "meep" from a lie?

I was wrong everyone found out. But how? I asked him but he ignored me. Why would he do this to me?

TikTok tactics

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Milo Pittman

Juan Sebastián Escobar

Dawn Rasmussen

KadKad Kad

Rietje Becker

Annabelle annabellechase333@gmail.com

An anthropomorphic whale sat by itself on the beach. It admired everything around: the waves, the cliffs nearby. What a lovely world it had created. That was, until that stupid creature found it’s way out of the water. The whale was supposed to be the only god around here.

But there it was, a self-proclaimed King/God Octopus, a ten foot tall blue cephalopod with 10 times the egocentrism of Kanye. Waiting for the encounter, the whale kept pondering why on earth could this be happening to it, then, the greatest idea came to its head.

“Dance off!” Shouted the whale. For a moment the octopus looked confused. Then, recognising the need for decisive action, it reared up on 6 of its legs and began a sequence of furious locking and popping moves with the other two.

Noticing the whale’s squint, the octopus paused. “Ok. You’ve heard of armageddon, well this is tentaclegeddon” and without breaking pace launched into a four way floss with an Astley head roll fusion. The whales relatively tiny jaw dropped, releasing a cloud of relieved krill

which swam off as quickly as they could. The octopus, striking a ridiculous ta-da pose, grinned at the whale expectantly. But the whale, still slack-jawed, was still attempting to process what he’d just seen. The octopus held the pose, continuing to grin, though the grin

was becoming more strained. Finally, the octopus dropped its tentacles and sighed in exasperation. "Why," it asked the whale, "is this so hard for you to comprehend? I have done a glorious thing!"

"What one creature sees as glory is gory to another," said the Whale. "It is the nature of things for it to be so."

But their own life is cherished by only them and not the other. A fox and rabbit underwater would hate each other for pushing each other in before they drown even if the fault is of no one but the tide.

The bear would not eat meat from other parts than what he would hunt, and so on, but for these small scraps their lives have a meaning in this world. These animals would have only loved for themselves and have no more love for other creatures if they would have survived.

The fully nourished bear would be destined to plumply roam the forest, day after day, until it too was hunted. And not just by anyone, but by Larry Van Hoorn, who needed to feed his family that wretched winter, especially Larry Junior who would one day invent ursine taxidermy.

A Dance of Life and Death

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Banana Bob

Michael Kennedy

Mel S

Laia laughed bitterly. "You're all utter fools," she spat. "I'm the most powerful witch here."
The judge in the center shook their head. "Maiming other competitors is strictly forbidden."
Later, shaken witnesses would say the only warning was Laia's eyes suddenly glowing red.

More sensitive beings, however, could sense the static building for several seconds before Laia released the energy swell, destroying the arena and killing a hundred or so creatures. Witches, vampires and demons scattered like broken toys in a nursery.

Myca, a half-breed son of a vamp and a witch used his heightened senses to escape just as Laia released the energy swell. He rushed to her side through the wreckage she caused and he asked “Are you okay ? That was a lot of energy you let go of.” Surprised & exhausted she said “

"I'm fine," she said, though she looked far from it. She gave him a quick once-over, then scoffed."You've looked better, though."

“Well, I used to be alive,” he said snidely still getting used to the whole “being a vampire” thing.

But what did it really mean to be alive? Being a vampire was like Schroedinger’s cat: both alive and dead at the same time. Sure, you were technically dead, but you were still conscious, sentient, and required sustenance. “Do you really think you aren’t alive anymore?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I know what I am now.” Gazing up at the moon, she felt tortured, chimeric. After an awkwardly long pause the vampire burst into blue smoke and out flew a screeching bat with huge fangs. I tried to duck but I was too late!

It sunk its fangs into my neck. A strange warmth washed over me. I thought about my life. Regret. I should have been nicer, maybe taken up skiing, maybe finished that book I bought months ago. Then my mind grew blank and I was filled with an unending thirst for BLOOD.

Rise of the vampire witch

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Monkey pressed the key with a single dot on it. It had used this one regularly over the last few weeks. But now it didn't feel like typing. Monkey looked up. In every direction, as far as it could see, there were others - all with the same keyboard. Suddenly, a siren sounded and

The others faced their keyboards and began typing furiously. All except Monkey. Some would hunt and peck with one finger, others repeatedly pressed ten fingers down in unison, some hammered the keys with fists. Screeches and clacks filled the room. Monkey typed just one line.

Epp qexxiv mw qivipc irivkc gsrhirwih xs e wpsa zmfvexmsr. Ai evi epp sri gsrwgmsywriww ibtivmirgmrk mxwipj wyfnigxmzipc. Xlivi mw rs wygl xlmrk ew hiexl, pmji mw srpc e hvieq erh ai'vi xli mqekmrexmsr sj syvwipziw. -- he would be a free monkey if they managed to decode it...

Hours later, the scientist looked skeptically up from the deciphered note. "'All matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. We are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death...' Who's been giving this monkey acid???"

And why the need to encrypt an already cryptic message? Something strange was going on, and the scientist knew that this monkey knew more than it was letting on. “I know you can’t speak,” she said, “but here is a pencil and a notepad. If you can, please draw or write anything you

think to help me understand.” Solemn brown eyes lifted from the pencil to examine her face. The scientist smiled encouragingly. Small wrinkled fingers reached out and the monkey began to draw. Holding her breath, she leaned forward to see what was taking shape on the page. It was

an incredibly lifelike portrait of Allison Janney. "This is amazing", she said, "this monkey has only seen one season of The West Wing, yet look! He's drawing her from memory, better than any mall caricaturist possibly could." One thing was wrong, though:

The portrait made it seem like she was of average height; in reality, she was a glorious 6 feet tall.

She ripped her portrait off the wall with both hands and screamed “I am not that short!” as she punted it out a window.

She started to cry as she stoped off madly. And she turned around and said to them, ... I hate you so much

You’re Only As Good As Your Last Mistake

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Tony Rodriguez

The echoing, creaking halls of the orphanage were empty. All the inhabitants were lined up like ragged rows of cornstalks. The Matron glared at them. She pointed with an ominous finger at the thermostat. “There will be,” she intoned, “TWO TEMPERATURES, and two temperatures ONLY!”

Her eyes gleamed as she added with slightly too much enthusiasm “Cold and very cold”. She allowed her rictus to relax and laughed a little before turning to grab a

marshmallow. Then, she ran to the beach to take a swim. At that moment, she couldn’t describe her happiness though the marshmallow was cold. She shouted “Canada”.

“Canada...” the shouted word was lost among the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, and the marshmallows in her mouth.

She dipped below the surface of the water. I kicked off my snakeskin boots and dived in the water after her, following the marshmallows that were floating up from where she sank.

The marshmallows dotted the surface of the chocolate pond as far as the eye could see. Then, a disruption! The calm surface was broken by her sudden emergence—she clung desperately to the tiny white buoys. Our eyes connected and we knew. We were destined to swirl together.

Canadian marshmallow

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Leyre Garcia

The blade that lit the surface of my skin ablaze sat there as I bled, waiting for the sweet release of death I held her, I was akin to die here so slowed my breathing, I waited for the call of death and as I answered I said to my kin"

“I am but weary and so weary, I hear the call of the sea birds and the tide turns as the snow falls upon the sea. So it has always been. And all you must carry on, ever onward, for that bright new day.” And as my kin stood about me it was tears of only partly sorrow that we wept.

His words became breath alone. His wounds were hidden now beneath the white furs and garland prepared by his daughters. All wept for the king save Alfhild, the queen. She held a hand to his lips until he was gone. I heaved the small craft from the rocks into the icy waters.

Alfhid saw me throwing the rocks into the water, she asked me to leave, I didn't know why, I left the place confused

I hadn't made it far before I stopped and turned on my heels. As I took resolute strides back toward where she remained at the water's edge, I steeled myself. I would not leave again until I had answers.

But as I approached, her image began to dim. With each step she grew fainter. I began to jog but the closer I got, the more she faded until finally, running, I saw her disappear. I stopped and immediately felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and it was her.

The Death of Rulers of the Land

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Aslan M

Russian

Она вытащила свой меч из его плеча. Он со стоном упал ниц. Она вытерла меч о его плащ и сказала: "Туто квантуто утруто".

He groaned even louder and with more self pity. "Wait, wait I wasn't ready." Lifting his head. he watched as the toe of her leather boot began to tap. "Well?" she asked impatiently. The wound in his shoulder had already begun to knit itself together so he stood and struck a pose.

“I call this pose... the thinker”, he said. The he shifted slightly “the Gritty!” He cycled through his best poses. “Shake n Bake! Gym class! CSI! Tapioca pants!” Slightly winded, he looked at her imploringly. “So, what do you say?”

"Well," she squinted, "'The Thinker' pose looks like you have constipation, 'The Gritty' looks like the opposite of that, 'Shake n Bake' is more like 'I have a head injury', 'Gym Class' I almost puked up, 'CSI' is a take on 'The Teabag', so we'll have to go with 'Tapioca Pants'".

“Good idea - always a crowd pleaser!” With no hesitation he began to roll up a trouser leg and applied the ceremonial balm. It burned a little, as usual, but then all pain stopped and it he felt invigorated.

He died and went to heaven. It was a dream he said. I love it here now. Wait for this I been here before

The Trial of Tuto Quantuto

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Kara S

Sade Andre

Clouds of dust plumed up as sheets of residue fell off the windowsills. Long abandoned, the house shuddered under the force of the bombs as they made impact nearby. It was a pity they weren't closer. They could have drowned out the wails of the sirens and the screams of the dead.

They could have drowned out my unrelenting stream of thought that never seemed to stop. But alas, the bombs never seemed to fall close enough to my house. All day long, all I heard were explosions, sirens, and screams while my thoughts raced around in my head.

I only one bomb — one small munition — would strike in the right place I could collect enough insurance money. No matter what I did my house stayed safe. I would have to find another way to pay for my new face. Perhaps I could do the transplant myself. All I needed was a

I tried to occupy my mind with a book to no avail. Following one of the bomb blasts the power had gone out and sun was fading fast. I gathered candles and glared at the pantry for no-cook dinner options. That’s when I heard a high pitched whistling noise growing louder.

My perception of time changed in that moment. The seconds that followed were viscous as I struggled into the relative safety of the pantry. And then, just as I closed the door, I felt the earth shift beneath me and heard the impact.

The lighting failed as the room shook and I lost my balance, hitting the stone floor awkwardly. The shaking reduced to a low but persistent rumble as I lay there submerged in an oppressive blackness. Multiple alarms were sounding nearby, and an ominous repetitious thud

caused the floor to vibrate under me. Was it a giant creature or some enormous machine? I rose unsteadily to my feet, and with my hands I followed the nearest wall toward the place I remembered seeing the entrance to this cavern.

It was hard to judge the passage of time underground, but it must be long after dark or I would be able to see some daylight filtering in, surely. The walls and even the air were joining in the low deep thrum from the floor. My teeth began to ache. I had to get out of here before

the vibration ground my joints into dust and the moisture and mold seeped into my lungs. My best bet to escape the cave was upwards. I’d take it slow and careful, and conserve my flashlight batteries. Upwards!

I climbed the rocky wall of the cave, I saw a light, I finally know that I escaped from there after so long.

The Best-Laid Plans of Rats and Men

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Josh Crawford

Suddenly the room went dark. Sam, Miguel & Michael were all alone now. The visitors were gone. An eerie quiet settled in the bedchamber. Then whispers began “Do you guys hear that”? Asked Michael. The two nodded in unison. They listened together as the whispers turned to chants..

“Uh oh,” Michael said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That doesn’t sound good. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were about to be sacrificed to some ethereal being.” The chanting continued as the three brothers looked at one another in horror. “Any ideas?” asked Sam.

"Well," declared Dave. "Start screaming and thrashing?" Michael gulped as he looked around. "They're screaming louder than we ever can..." "Then start uttering curses. If they're religious maybe they'll stop in fear or something." Sam started uttering the foulest words he could

but to his and Dave’s surprise, Michael started singing. “Oh these be seven curses, on a judge soooo cruel...” Sam broke off swearing to stare. “Is this really the time for Bob Dylan?” “No, no, keep going; I think it’s working!” Dave said, peering into the gloom surrounding them.

Michael began again but, unsure of the words, he had to improvise. “That one doctor will not save him... errr, that two something will not something. Oh Christ - I can’t remember!” He looked to the others but no help came. “Try something else,” said Dave. “How about Paul Simon?”

He Screamed out, "Rosemary and time!". And collapsed to the floor

Whose line is it Anyway !

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Roxanne Garofalo

They sat at the table, lit starkly by the bare bulb overhead. Between them the deck of tarot cards. Two cards face up; three of swords, romantic betrayal, five of swords, victory through deceit. The last card, face down. Licking her dry lips she reached out, flipped the last card

Suddenly, the lights flickered and the windows crashed open. The final card she’d drawn was Death.

Someone cackled cruelly behind her. She whipped around to see a shadow, black as night, with a vaguely humanoid form. "As they say, the end is pie," the shadow hissed in a horrible, raspy voice. She was somewhat afraid, but couldn't take it seriously after the mention of pie.

“Sorry, did you say pie?” The dark figure nodded. “The end is... pie? Not nigh?” Non-plussed by the enquiry the demon doubled down on the scary voice. “Yeeessss - it’s a metaphoooor”, he spat. It was no use; the moment had gone and

the pie had clearly gone bad. The dark figure’s posture became sullen and disappointed at the lost opportunity for grandiose pastries.

“Common mistake,” came a voice. The dark figure looked around concerned. Slowly the pie rose up on its tin and glared menacingly at the dark figure. “I may be spoiled,” said the pie, “but I’m not evil!” With that the pie fired a torrent of rotten berries toward the dark figure.

Pie-Died Death

DOUXSKIGAMA HANMA

“Ed Every - Twitter superhero. Hire me to sort out your troll problem”. Too long - brevity was key for Twitter bios. “Ed Every - troll crusher”. Catchy, but maybe he needed a superhero name. Wait... “Everyman, your friendly neighbourhood troll crusher.” Perfect, now for some

backstory drama. ENTER: EVERYMAN-TROLL SLAYER! Not long ago the age of "the net" was born. Not the one with Sandra Bullock think AOL, discs of over 100,000 hours of free net! More man hours await of download time. Here, I had almost been duped by my first baby troll THE CATFISH

and I would not be duped again! I took my thick stack of CD-ROMs, many of them covered in Cheeto dust, and began exploiting this new ‘world wide web.’ I could only imagine the type of hidden troll knowledge I would discover, ingredients to make me the perfect troll assassin.

I had a new monitor, with magnificent 1200x800 pixel resolution. I had a new 2880 modem, the fastest on the market. I was ready to face the future.

Cackling maniacally to myself, I began to type my code into the DOS box. Once I could hack into the troll’s social media, I could easily begin the assassination process with reverse-trolling. It would be beautiful. I imagined the look on his face when all his nudes were posted

and all of trolldom would see his secret! Not a wart nor horn to be seen on his disgustingly unblemished skin. He was no troll at all. He was HUMAN!

Of trolls and men

KW Taylor

Never leave a container of mint balls next to a witch's cauldron. But the trick to this is, what exactly is a witch? When I first came across this warning, I avoided every kitchen of every woman senior citizen that I came across. I even avoided my grandma. But a witch is nothing

if not surprising. Whatever you think a witch might be, she is probably not. Whatever you think she couldn’t be, she almost certainly is. And she either hates to love mints, or loves to hate them.

However, even a witch is not immune to the disgusting flavor of orange juice after toothpaste. In fact, it’s been speculated that witches are even more sensitive to this taste than your average person. This is how I hatched my plan to take down the witch on the hill.

Still in lockdown mode, I had acquired copious amounts of both items, grabbed as much and started mixing. Problem was how would I get the witch to take it....

After the crude potion had time to seal itself to the sleep cycle, it was ready to be applied. The

lockdown would end, and I would be the one to do it. I pulled out my spellbook and began the incantation.

I read the lines like it was second nature, almost absentmindedly. “Diabolus autem minimum…” 

The uninitiated would be surprised to learn the words aren’t magical. 

“…reditus infernis vestris…” 

It’s the intention that works wonders.

I put down the spell book and waited. Nothing happened. Maybe my intention wasn’t strong enough. Maybe I didn’t want it badly enough. Maybe I didn’t use enough tiger whiskers. I dropped one more into the potion and the cauldron bubbled.

I stared into the vile broth with glee, it was working! The shapeshifting scum floating on the top took the form of various catlike beasts as the shadows in the room drew closer. A sound above caused me to glance at the ceiling, a cat peered down at me through a small square hole

but then disappeared. Now the scum writhed again and more feline shapes emerged, all but one showing a cat about to pounce. And then, with a growing sense of unease I saw, in the middle, a crude human form. I slowly looked up to where I had seen the cat moments before and gasped

"You've been defenestrated!" The sound of maniacal laughter covered the soft footsteps coming up from behind. Alas, no more applied spellcraft for this one!

Witches and Toothpaste and Cats, Oh My!

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The children heard the sudden gritty rubbery traction sound of approaching tyres and leapt off the narrow woodland path with only a second to spare as a sleek bike thundered past at full tilt, riderless yet with a crash helmet sat on it's seat, the pedals blurred like propellers

The riderless bicycle spun toward us as it stopped, scattering forest rocks. The helmet just sat there on the seat. The children looked to one another then back at the bike. Jasper began to cry. His older brother had told him about a child lost while biking in the woods.

Until now, he had always assumed that, like most stories, it was pure fiction designed to thrill and excite. But this was a whole new level of thrilling. This was real and happening. The empty bike remained where it was, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear the footsteps coming

from behind him, shaking the ground with synchronized stomps. He was at the center of a modern city and yet- he turned around to see the legion upon legion of soldiers all dressed in full ceremonial uniform. Everyone else just slipped by like blind passerby as he gaped. It was

awe inspiring and surreal in equal measures. I need a drink he thought. At once a passing legionnaire handed him a leather flask without breaking stride and continued. Shocked, he took a long pull. It was pleasant but he felt the brew compel him to turn and join the march.

Where were they going? He didn't know. He wanted to ask the man next to him, but the drink had locked his jaw closed. Suddenly, he wanted out of this march, but it was as if his body was on autopilot. He couldn't stop or change course. This was a march to the death for them all.

Metaphors of Impressment

It's said there's a fine line between doing what you're told and getting what you want. But it's not a fine line. It's a sheer, icy crevasse. Greed, and curiosity draw many to the edge to steal a glimpse into it's bitter depths and many get too close. Yet some take a running jump

and clear the divide by several yards. However, unable to stick a landing on the treacherous ice, momentum takes them on and they are lost to the margins - either paralysed rules or never able to take guidance again. To avoid such outcome I advise

wearing cleats. Common sense will save you every time!

Science Friction

My partner and I pulled up outside the scene of the crime, annoyed to find the news crew had already beaten us there. It was the third time this week at the same location which was, rather conveniently, just across the street from the news station. “This can’t be coincidence,” I

fumed, nibbling on my fingernail. "The murderer is determined to embarrass the police!" "Or just provide convenient scoops for the news. Come on." We had to brave our way through the crowd of reporters and cameras waving our badges and saying the standard police press lines. Once

we were were out of range of the cameras it was safe to talk about what we’d seen. 

“Double homicide, my ass,” Sgt. Lopez said. “There’s way too much blood.”

And way too many legs, I thought. I counted five surrounding the two dismembered bodies in the foyer.

“When I used to hunt with my dad, the garage would look like this after he cleaned several deer,” Sgt. Lopez continued. “He’d cut down the meat and haul off the waste….” We looked at one another. My stomach turned. Someone was hunting people and doing something with… the meat.

"Cannibals?" I said almost convinced "Sgt.Lopez nodded" and frownedYeah Cannibals"

“Well, that’s fine and dandy,” I said. “Shit Lopez, I eat cannibals. They bring out the animal in me.” He laughed but I could smell his fear.

Paz Waz
@pazwaz

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