Thursday, October 17, 2013

1 sentence Pasta-Red Back

Descending cautiously, I inspected this intruder, livid that my haven had now become a nursery.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013


We've been together for as long as I remember, Rattata and I.

We bonded instantly when he was presented to me on my birthday. Summers spent frolicking and winters of snowball fights blurred into each other. Before either of us knew it, we were old enough to begin training.
Neither of us knew what that meant, really. My gym teacher just paired off the students one day, reading byzantine bylaws before yelling out, "Fight." I watched in horror as my classmate ordered his Spearrow to begin mauling my Rattata, under the approving glare of our instructor.

Malice flickered in the eyes of a child I had considered my friend. With each attack he congratulated his Pokemon on savagery inflicted. When I could take the grisly scene no more I forfeited the fight, earning a failing grade in the process.

That is when I realized, the other trainers didn't care for their Pokemon the way I did. They thought nothing of sending them into arenas, fighting for mere amusement. Their sharp, pitiless hunger for fame and fortune driving them to commit the kind of atrocities remembered by history books. This is why we do it; this is what strengthened our resolve.

There are enough fools wandering around, getting their fix for mindless violence, that posing as one is easy enough. Ask one to duel and they will agree readily - a vacant smile hiding their blood lust Only when Rattata attacks them directly do they comprehend the pain they have been callously inflicting. As his incisors slice their soft flesh they gain the gift of understanding. While they are excellent learners, I credit Rattata for being an excellent teacher, always eager and able to spend a little extra time on the required lessons.

But, no matter how many people we educate on the nature of violence there will always be more willing to engage in depravity against Pokemon. The void is never empty long. Evil finds a way to flourish. Our only consolation is that even if it takes a lifetime to fulfill our mission, there is no where else we'd rather be than by each others sides.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Distress (25 words)

Ship Capsized. Stop.

Cause Unknown. Stop.

Seas Calm. Stop

Crew Evacuating. Stop.

Send Help. Stop.

Time to join others. Stop.

I  Hear Their Song. Stop.

Monday, October 14, 2013


I surfaced from the dive reinvigorated from the desert heat. Jason was dancing on the pier near the waterhole; Full of  both mesmerizing and terrifying energy, he excitedly grabbed my flashlight from the planks. Had he wanted to spend his springbreak at a rave there were less remote areas than the dusty expanses of Australia.

His wild gesticulation drew my attention first to him and then to placid green waters around me. He'd turned on my flashlight and was panning it across the bank on the opposite shore. The tourguide mentioned that it was crucial to always bring a flashlight to the watering hole at night,  but it had seemed a shame to ruin the moonlight landscape with a reminder of modern life. Conversely, Jason seemed to be less appreciative of the natural beauty, with his dependence on the artificial.

A faint red glint shone in the water as Jason's light drifted past a floating pile of branches. As I stared at the illuminated globes I sensed a primal awareness. Just as a I squinted to gain a better understanding of the orbs they began moving towards me with a quick fluid rapidity.

"Get out of the water," Jason strained in desperation.

Paddling, I retreated to the safety of the pier. With each determined stroke I neared the shore, choking on algae as I swam. Jason sat my light down and extended his arm to assist me on deck, but before I could grab him a quick flash of teeth and turbulence wrenched Jason from my view.

Frantically crawling away from the edge, I searched for him by the flickers of the flashlight. The water, once an emerald green was stained with my friend's leaking life. Hands shaking,  I shone the light at where I had last seen poor Jason and, when it was positioned just right, I could  make the out the outline of a pair of glowing red eyes, deep within the depths of the idyllic tourist trap. .

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Webcam Feed

A Slight choppiness disrupted the video stream, indicating the inferior quality of the equipment. Dimly lit, the basement featured a sole piece of furniture, a sturdy wooden table. Deeply grooved and stained red, the table was held only a piece of rope and three severed fingers.

Behind the table, I could make out the edges of a figure tied to a chair. Faint crying suggested the person was likely male, probably gagged. Despite the poor lighting, I could make the right leg of the jeans the person was wearing. Caked layers of dried blood staining the faded denim meant that he had witnessed everything. I could only imagine if he was wondering when the same would happen to him. To demoralize him further, a small pocket knife had been left out of his reach on the floor.

Everything was as I left it.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Urgent: Grant Application for local cable show

Listing the reasons why it was a treat to visit my grandparents each summer couldn't capture the joy of those lazy months. Besides being treated to old war stories, homemade candy, and an untamed expanse beyond the field ripe for exploring they were the first people I knew to get satellite television.

Never in my dreams of pizza mountains and Ninja Turtles could I have foreseen the endless bounty they had received from the channel gods. I delighted in spelunking into the unused parts of the dial, just to see what was there by mapping it one channel at a time. One cool June night, after spending an energetic day swimming, I collapsed into my grandpa's giant armchair eagerly awaiting picking up where I had left off.  Restlessly, I roamed until I was greeted by the pallid man on channel 472

He must have been starving, as his skin hung loosely from his fragile frame. Mesmerized by the intensity of his eyes, I listened as he shouted random numbers, letters, and words from assorted languages I'd never heard before. Eerily devoid of inflection or tone, he dryly continued for what must have been hours - not stopping once for a break. Just as I was reaching for the remote, his eyes summoned a faraway look for just a millisecond and then he whispered my name before returning to his task. I sat, transfixed, watching him until the dawn when I succumbed to exhaustion.

While I've never been able that man or his show again, I have spent my life researching it. The information is everywhere actually, if you know where to find it.  That is why I am writing this. I now know what he's was trying to tell us. And, for the sake of all humanity, I need to get my show on the air

Electrons and Limits

Electrons excite me. Perhaps that is why I took so readily to computers. By the age of 13 I had cobbled together my first computer from the odd bits leftover from the old computers of friends and family. The rush of creation and experimentation that I felt that day has never been matched, but my experiments are getting closer to recapturing that glory.

The issue of any computer is that it is always in the process of becoming outdated. There are always limits on what technology can achieve. This is why my work is so important, I figured out that the best way to make a computer that didn't need to be upgraded, that had few limits, was to harness the processing power of the living human mind. In particular, I harnessed yours.

Peeling back your scalp was the easy part; a circular incision prepared the skin to peel with one swift tug. When the drill met resistance I feared my tools were inadequate for my vision, but that crimson gush of blood and mental ichor provided reassurance. Don't try to speak on my account, I fear this grey, slithy mound here may have been important for that - necessary even.  Each probe and connection slid into place among the raw ridges of your untapped mind with only a hint of disagreement. Judging by your bright, undulating crevasses I suspect you were an extremely intelligent person once.

Excellent, I'd hate to be forced to upgrade again soon.