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June 14, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 14

More book-bound randomness:

"It occurred to him that he might see scenes now that would shatter him forever. No matter: he had to know."

Ooh...

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David stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, then began to creep slowly down the pitch-black hallway. He stayed against the wall to minimize the chance of the floor creaking, except where he had to pass the small table at the head of the stairs. The strange noises coming from the room at the end of the hall had awakened him, and he had to look. It occurred to him that he might see scenes now that would shatter him forever. No matter: he had to know.

He opened his parents' bedroom door...

Posted by: hnumpah at June 14, 2005 5:55 AM · Permalink

He remembered every call crying about the cheating and the abuse, emotional, now physical. Every time he would tell her how wonderful he thought she was while being reminded that for her being treated like this by yet another guy was still preferable to him. Always knowing she'd go back.

Out that night he heard her laugh. Not a true laugh, a fake "I'm drunk enough now. Let's go fuck" laugh. And he had to look. He had to see her with him.

Days later, sober with her walls up, she gave her usual excuse. "At least I'm getting laid."

Posted by: marc at June 14, 2005 6:28 AM · Permalink

He ran as fast as he could. No matter what he did they were always right behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and never saw the rock ahead. He stumbled and fell. He tried crawling but they were on him now surrounding him. Hundreds of naked women with breasts sagging to the ground. They gathered close around him so that he was held down by their breasts. He couldn’t breathe…

Josh awoke with a yell. The nightmare was already a fading memory. He tried to forget that he had seen his grandmother getting out of the shower that morning.

Posted by: DocMac at June 14, 2005 6:37 AM · Permalink

He was a fanatic, so he knew he couldn't avoid watching it. All the hype he could ignore, but he had to watch it. Despite his fears. Despite the horror of what he knew was too likely to happen. Despite knowing all the forthcoming hypocritical glee shining down under fair weather skies from that damned bandwagon.

And there it was. After a past that included four spectacular failures and a shameful, shameful dome, the Vikings won a Super Bowl. And those damned plastic horns sounded all around as thousands of NICE!, pale people pretended they were faithful fans all along.

Posted by: marc at June 14, 2005 7:39 AM · Permalink

When he first heard the news, he immediately thought of Orson Welles and Martians.

The oldies had stopped. Now, the morning host, a normally cheery soul, was wracked by emotion. His voice wavered, choking back both tears and disbelief. This was no stunt.

He had to see. He ran to the window. Just then, from the left of his window came a jetliner, roof high. Cutting the New York sky like a knife, it eventually found its target: the other tower.

It was only a few seconds later that he heard a roar. Dazed, he stumbled backwards onto his bed.

Posted by: Shawn at June 14, 2005 7:58 AM · Permalink

It occurred to him that he might see scenes now that would shatter him forever. No matter: he had to know. He had worked hard to gain access to these Internet forums over many months; developing contacts, paying bribes, cultivating trust – and now it was time to take out the trash.

He clicked on the Yahoo! forum: Candyman.

This is a site for people who love kids...

Oh God...

The grizzled agent gasped as he viewed the forum's many listings. There were links to pictures everywhere.

He clicked on one, and when the JPEG loaded, he stopped believing in God.*

Posted by: j.d. at June 14, 2005 9:04 AM · Permalink

He’d spent the past week working his way back to the city; traveling by day, hiding by night. The day still belonged to the living. The night, however, belonged to the plague.

Earlier that afternoon, the outskirts of the city came into view. Although he knew he shouldn’t approach this close to sundown, he found himself moving forward, sliding from shadow to shadow.

It occurred to Mahbib he might see scenes which would shatter him forever. No matter: he had to know.

Mahbib soon learned there were things far worse than the plague. There were nails. And bone. And teeth.

Posted by: copygodd at June 14, 2005 9:36 AM · Permalink

Soft swirling snowflakes caught the sunrise, becoming pink and orange dancers before settling onto the ground and mixing into the bloody slush. The bodies of fallen soldiers were being retrieved for shipment back to Mother Russia. Good men had died but the camp was finally liberated.

“Now I come to get you out, Papa,” Aleksei slung his rifle over his shoulder and trudged past the gates.

A few gangly men in prison stripes cried in the courtyard, barefoot in the January cold. Aleksei went to the first building of Auschwitz prison, bracing for the horror and praying for his father.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 14, 2005 9:46 AM · Permalink

The case ends the same old way: he hands me the money, I hand him an envelope full of photographs, he takes one look and staggers out of my office, shattered.

It's two hours later I realize my gun's gone; bastard must have filched it. Whatever he did's done by now. But what? If he offed himself, that'd be a headache. More trouble if he capped his wife. But I've a blood-chilling suspicion that it was the man in the photos he'd be after. A dead chief of police, with bullets from my gun.

There's a knock on the door.

Posted by: Jeff R. at June 14, 2005 9:59 AM · Permalink

It had taken him years to get this far. Building a false identity, getting hired on and then working his way into a place of confidence.

It had all been designed to lead to this day, to this fateful hour. The anticipation was almost painful.

He began to have second thoughts. It occurred to him that he might see scenes now that would shatter him forever. No matter: he had to know.

He slowly pushed open the bedroom door. He stepped around a pile of fresh chimp shit.

So that was what Michael looked like under all the make up!

Posted by: Gahrie at June 14, 2005 10:08 AM · Permalink

"Just sit still, Mr. Baines. They only hurt when you struggle.

"Eyes forward, Mr. Baines. We can put screens on the sides too.

"Oh, do stop trying to blink. The nurse will ensure your eyes stay moist and clear. And, please, there is no point trying to scream through the gag.

"You see, Mr. Baines, there is no avoiding it. Look at it. Watch it. Accept it.

"I think enough time has passed. Nurse, loosen the gag so that we can check on our patient.

"Now, Mr. Baines, I ask you again: Who shot first?"

"Greh... Greedo."

"Excellent, Mr. Baines."

Posted by: marc at June 14, 2005 10:24 AM · Permalink

"You... don't want to see *that*, your malevolence."

"I do and I shall. Now!"

"There are... other things I can show you, your viciousness. Secret entrances to the Castle treasury? The hidden diaries of the witch of the east wind?"

"Fah! Trifles do not concern me. I will have obedience..."

"Surely your perfidiuousness can see that such charms are fleeting, ephemeral. I could show you the most ruthless, most cunning..."

"I tire of your stalling. I invoke the charm again. Mirror, Mirror, once and for all, who is the fairest of them all?"

*sigh* "No good will come of this..."

Posted by: Jeff R. at June 14, 2005 12:17 PM · Permalink

There it was - no man's land. That place that all men feared. It looked harmless as it rested there in his shaking hands.

He grabbed the smooth leather handle and tried to pull it open. But years of late night stories and childish speculations sapped the strength from his fingers. What was in there? Treasures, horrors, certain death, his worst nightmares or his wettest dreams?

Suddenly his wife snatched the purse from his hands, pulled the handles apart, reach in and grabbed her car keys. She tossed them to him with a contemptable sneer. "You Men, you're all such babies."

Posted by: David at June 14, 2005 1:27 PM · Permalink

Oh, how could anyone use that as a platform for creating fiction? It's so half-baked! the dramatist thought. He had nothing better to do, so, chuckling gamely and expecting the worst, he clicked on the Comments link. The worst revealed itself: the commenters either diverged from the topic or made the terribly amateur error of describing the "scenes," robbing them of their power to horrify and compel. Especially obnoxious was the self-referential contribution from user "G-Do."

He drank for two hours, then swore loudly to his wife and two frightened children that he does not believe in fiction any more.

Posted by: G-Do at June 14, 2005 3:45 PM · Permalink