All Stories

The cell held three, Element, age fifteen, loved explosions was working on an escape now. Greenie, the newest, still held on to the outside world. Still screamed at night. And me, I’d been here the longest and knew things, the terrors and experiments weren’t new anymore. By force or choice they would learn. We were captives here. “Hey man you got it?” Element asked nervous but excited. I toss him the metal and wait. The explosion comes, too loud, not enough power. Greenie whimpers, Element stares at his failed explosion, afraid, I watch. It didn’t matter, they’d come for him.

Shame.

There were days he woke badly, followed by a series of misfortune. He woke up to see his pet fish dead, received a text from the office fining him three days without pay for consecutive tardiness, and, most unfortunately, his work clothes had not yet arrived from the laundry.

He hurriedly wore yesterday’s clothes. He checked his time: late.

He scurried off to work.

He closed his eyes. A loud familiar sound came nearer.

His eyes opened. The familiar sound was a car’s honk.
His day ended, and so did he.

At least though, no more having to work without pay.

She told me what happened to her.

Despite being bruised, bullied and yelled at, no one came to save her.

She said I’m the only one for her, even when there’s really nothing I can do.

Neither can I save her, nor can I wipe her tears.

She punched me and kept on punching me in every part of my body.

I felt her anger and continued to smile as I see her crying her heart out with every punch she gave me.

I fell down with my insides gushing out and that’s when she stopped.

“I’m sorry, Teddy,” She said.

She pulled the cigarette from between her cracked lips and blew grey waves of smoke. He hated when she smoked but she could not help it. She craved the burning in her lungs and the nicotine buzz. Suddenly, fingers from behind her wrapped around the wrist that held her cancer stick and ripped it from her finger tips. She cried out as he snubbed it’s glow. “I told you to stop,” his voice was angry but also almost pleading with her. “I told you I can’t,” she whispered in shame. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist. “I’ll help you.”

Peter made Jesus a boat with a special seat to preach from. The next time he gave a lakeside speech, Jesus kept the boat ready for when he wanted to move out onto the lake.

He started to preach.

When the time came, Peter pushed Jesus out in the boat. Half way into a story the chair gave way, toppled, and scuttled the boat.

That’s when he would have turned the waves to sand, but his mother had told him the night before: “Tomorrow, why don’t you keep it simple. No healings. No show.”

So Peter had to fish him out.