Watch That Last Step Archives

October 18, 2005

Stacy: The Star Chamber

“Let's focus on YOU?? You do understand this is a committee, don't you? We all have an equal vote.”

I curled my lip in a delicate sneer. “Committees are for the bourgeoisie, Anton, you know that. What ever made you think your vote was equal to mine?”

I glared around the room. “Or any of your votes, for that matter.” None would meet my gaze.

"You're weak, all of you,” I snarled. “Too weak to hold power, to weak to even be near power.”

I stalked to the door and unspooled the rope ladder. “Now get out of my treehouse!"

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October 2, 2006

Stacy: Beauty Sleep

Poundin’ at the door, sounded like it was gonna to cave in. Just as I had finally gone ta asleep, too.

It wuddn’t like I hadn had a shitty day already, what with Joey Donuts buyin’ it like he had. I mean, c'mon, who had that many sheep in da city, seriously?

The poundin’ kept on, the door creakin’ as the hinges worked loose. Whoever dese boys were, they weren’t smart, dat was for sure.

The door finally gave up and two Sout Joisey punks fell in, waving der little .38s around. I shot ‘em and went back to sleep.

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October 3, 2006

Stacy: Addiction

She lay in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling. Her husband snored rhythmically beside her. Why was she still awake?

She tried turning over. Her husband snorted, rolled himself tighter into the blankets.

She kicked one foot restlessly. One of the cats pounced on it, mock-growling, and she gasped as claws bit into her ankle.

“Screw it,” she grumbled, staggered into her robe, and to her desk. The computer booted up silently, her pulse quickened as she navigated to the familiar red, blue, yellow and green.

Her husband found her there in the morning, inbox overflowing with successful bid notices.

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October 4, 2006

Stacy: Thrall

It came on suddenly. She was turning the earth in her garden, making ready to plant the new season of vegetables, when the taste of licorice overwhelmed her. She woke up in a muddy soup of her own vomit, flowers everywhere.

In the shower, the water was music, delicate tinkling bells, harps. The towel on her skin tasted like candy fluff.

She wandered though her home, enraptured. Favorite books had sounds, flavors. Old paintings had scents, vivid colors she’d never seen before. Even nightfall had its glamour, shimmering lights and sounds.

They found her emaciated body a few weeks later.

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October 23, 2006

Stacy: Colorful

Red was pissed.

"Why am I the color of anger?" he muttered. "Look at me… I'm gorgeous! On flowers, I set hearts aflutter! On underwear, I positively sizzle!"

"Oh, shut up," groaned Blue. "How much longer can you complain about this? Just look at me... I'm the color of depression, for fuck's sake.”

Red grumped. “Whatever. I need a change, to go in a completely different direction.”

“Call Yellow,” suggested Blue. “I hear he’s kinda bored with himself, too. His number is 565-590.”

“A switch, an alteration, a metamorphosis!” mused Red.

"Well?" snapped Blue. "Orange you going to call him?"

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November 2, 2006

Stacy: Uniform Angst

I don’t want to look in the mirror...

Christ, why can’t they actually make these damned things to fit. I’m a girl, dammit, I have hips and tits!

I know this thing is sagging in the crotch, I just know it. Won’t look.

And this helmet, what in the hell is that even for? This is a cheese factory for fuck’s sake… I can’t just wear a hairnet?

Stupid bureaucracy. I bet this is all because of that jerk over in Wrapping. Some idiot gets their crank folded into the gruyere and we all have to pay the price. Typical.

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November 6, 2006

Stacy: Your "Lost" Is Someone Else's "Found"

Bright lights, rending metal, and I knew nothing else.

I opened my eyes to a bright, warm place. Stretched to the horizon was a line of people, silent, staring ahead.

I walked for a time, past the neverending queue. Occasionally, I’d look into a face, but all eyes were on the misty horizon.

The line ended abruptly next to a pair of gates, one white, one black. The old gentleman standing between them peered at me curiously over half-glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he said, mournfully, “but you’re lost.”

“Not really,” I said, slipping back through reality to the land of summer

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November 9, 2006

Stacy: Initiative

“Jerry! Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?”

“Jerry, come on, quick fucking around! You’re going to get hurt doing that…”

“Run, you're supposed to RUN!”

“What the…? Jerry, turn around, RUN!!!”

“WHOAH! Hoooly shit, did you see that?”

“Quick, somebody call 911! Man, give me your shirt, I’ll see if I remember how to make a tourniquet…”


“Damn, would you just look at that mess.”

“I know, that bull really did a number on him, didn’t it.”

“What the hell was he thinking? We’re supposed to run with them.”

“Who knows? Jerry was always so goddamned literal.”

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November 28, 2006

Stacy: Til Death Do Us Part

“Poison?? You mean like that really bad 80s perfume?”

“No, love, real poison…specifically fugu, the Japanese blowfish. You just ate it.”

“I did? Oh, that nasty raw fish appetizer. I wondered why you suddenly wanted to have sushi, after all these years.”

“Well, darling, it wasn’t until now that you were worth quite so much to me dead. You see, your aunt died yesterday. The lawyers say you’re going to inherit ten million.”

“Wow, Aunt Tinkie died? She was my favorite aunt, too. Oh well. It’s a good thing I had the cook put tetradotoxin in your champagne. Cheers!”

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December 22, 2006

Stacy: In Good Hands

“Look…” Hicks pointed at the monitor. “See the shape the waveform is taking?”

Jurvis peered at the 3-D image on the screen. “What is that…a twinkie?”

“Nah, it looks more like a cigar. You know what this means…”

Jurvis ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“It means we’re dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “When it reaches critical, it’ll tear the planet apart.”

“How long do we have?”

“A year. Maybe less.”

A muffled voice filtered through the door, “Boys, lunch is ready!”

Hicks flipped off the computer.

“Don’t worry, Timmy, we’ll solve it before the end of summer vacation.”

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