Dan Christmann wrote:
I think my body makes me more anxious than anything. And I don’t mean in the literary, postmodern sense, like Kafka or most fourteen your old boys. I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and though it’s held back by an ingenious cocktail of drugs, every once in a while something strikes me and I just can’t let it go. It’s usually something to do with writing these days.
When I was a kid, I read the Animorphs books obsessively. My parents probably should have seen this one coming. But no, they encouraged my reading. And so I , of course, like most young boys my age would do, became concerned that there actually might be an alien race of intelligent slugs invading earth looking to insert themselves in my brain via the ear canal. I cleared my ears whenever something touched them.
Then, a bit later, I realized that I was God’s instrument in choosing the elect on earth, and separating them from the damned of the generation. The way I did this was facing in one direction and clearing my ears. So, in addition to defending myself against vicious brain slugs every day, I had to make sure that the people I cared about were in the direction that I was facing when I dealt with them. When that was impossible, say my parents were on different ends of town, I used to go red from trying to choose. North, or South. Mom, or Dad. And all the while, closer and closer, the grey slug inched its way down my ear canal.
I’m glad I don’t have to deal with any of that anymore. We’ve finally repelled the Yerks, and the archangel Michael inhabits some other form.
Prompt: Write about the pursuit of a cannibalistic robot.
Dana Lee wrote:
My name is Xeron. I eat humans. It is not my fault. They provide me my nutrients. I need them to survive. If I do not eat them I will die. This is a problem I must face. I could use some assistance. I do not want to danger anyone anymore. There has to be a better way. I will go in pursuit of a solution to my situation.
3 days later...
I am in a hospital in Detroit. I have not eaten for three days. It is time for me to eat again. I can feel my batteries running low. I need to be recharged. All these nurses and doctors look appealing. No. Must not eat them. Must find alternative. I shall keep on searching.
10 minutes later...
Morgue. What is morgue? Must research my internal Google. Oh dead people. Surely I can eat them. They are dead. No one needs them. No need to waste precious food.
5 minutes later...
Burp. Yep, I found my solution. That was tasty. Good night.
Prompt: What is your favorite shape? Describe a room where all the furniture and decorations are in that shape.
Pope Jon wrote:
Without a doubt, my favorite shape is "out-of."
First off, every scrap of wallpaper, every pile of furniture, and every misplaced "decoration" has origins that should only be questioned by those who wish to flee from the room screaming.
Have the couches had only beer and urine to stain them? We can only hope.
Each has a random assortment of pillows and blankets that cannot possible perform their original function. The blankets are holier than the Pope, and the pillows are flatter than an open bottle of pop from last New Year's Eve party. Oddly, the combinations seem to match, but only because they have absolutely no chance of actually matching. Like a ragtag team of heroes, except in this case, you don't want them to win.
Is the wallpaper just torn and ragged because of age? We'll pray it wasn't wild animals or wilder humans. We don't want to start identifying the differences between what a knife and what a claw will do to the wall. There are so many dents and chunks missing from the wall and ceiling that it seems intentional, and a smooth, unmarked section looks foreign and out of place.
Is that picture haunted?
How is that plant still alive?
What color was that carpet originally?
How do I end this post?
Many questions, and none have answers with which we are comfortable.
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