101 Words

The elephant floundered blindly into the pool table. He fell and crushed the hobbit feet of the hostile fleas that surrounded him. Suddenly, the warlock reappeared and gathered the insect remains for further medical usage. He returned to the circus hospital. But alas, within the structure was an orgy of love, hate, and fluids. Modernism, post-modernism, existentialism, and sentence fragments! The fleas forgotten, he turned to the ringmaster. “You fiendish boogerhead!” Immediately, glowing globs of mucus skyrocketed from most of the ringmaster’s orifices. The grotesque snot splattered like a sweet spring rain onto Merlin’s eyes, igniting the elephant bloodlust within him.

The second woman I ever loved, I loved her because she was little and impudent in a way that made you know she was scared of everything (when I think of her all I see is superman shirts and lollipops and converse). I stopped talking to her when I couldn’t stand to see her, all of sixteen and still crooked, smoking and drinking and drugging herself up, and after that, I never loved a woman again. I hated many though, and I wanted to fuck them all, so that they would love me deep and I would own them ever thorough.

I needed more dopamine. Desperately.

I knew the effects of my last dose, taken by syringe early that morning, had begun to wear off. The implications of what we were about to do had begun weighing on me again.

F-ward housed the dopamine embeds, the featureless slugs of DNA and tissue that were supposed to output enough golden eggs to inhibit the entire district. I scrambled through the remains, but there was not a single usable drop remaining. Security had already ransacked the place.

The last thing I needed as I was about to abort the human race was a hangover.

I was walking across campus when it happened. I heard live music and, stopping to listen, quickly noticed two young women dancing not far from me.

Radiating health and vibrancy, they entranced me with their rhythmic grace. These full figured Latino women captured my soul.

And that’s when it hit me. I wanted to live every moment just as free from care as they danced. I wanted to be creative and physical and hip and young and I wanted to surround myself with people who felt the same way. And that’s when I knew that we could no longer be together…

She is infatuated with her boyfriend’s best friend because he is deaf in one ear. No – not because of the affliction specifically, but because of how he carries it, so dignified and endearing and easily, and turns his head with such practiced comfort to be sure he can hear her well and fine and never notices that he does it. He is deep voiced and soft. But because he can never know, she sits on his deaf side and while his attention is distracted, whispers “I love you, I love you, I love you,” into an ear he will never lend.

They are faint echoes coloring every moment of my continued existence. You can’t call them memories, not exactly, because they never actually occurred. They are more like dreams. Or possibilities.

Either way, I am haunted.

They say–and by they, I mean the quantum physicists–that prior to its observation, a particle exists in superposition, in every possible quantum state simultaneously. I know this to be true. My world, ever since the moment of the accident, has become superpositioned. There is the reality in which she died, or the reality in which she’s still alive, and they exist forever in parallel