Friday, October 9, 2009

Coincidences... not really

Challenge: Failing at a ridiculously simple task.
Extra points: This turns out to be a positive thing.
Word count: >1000 words


"So how have you been, Mack?"

I turned. It was George, a man with a simplistic view and enough stupidity to not notice my annoyed expression. He had always been the Curly of our Stooge trio back in highschool. I hadn't seen him since, and frankly I'd forgotten about his entire existence until he addressed me.

"What? Fine," I said. "Just dandy these days."

"That's good." Apparently he still couldn't read the sarcasm in my voice. "Still in the business?"

"What business?"

"You know," George said, making an odd gesture I did not recognize. At my blank face, he was shocked. "You aren't in it?"

"In what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh. I was sure I'd heard... well, nevermind."

George was not making any sense, and I dared not to be near him any longer. I of all people knew how clingy and irritating he could be.

"Let's walk outside," he suggested. "You're turning right, aren't you? I"ll go with you to Market Street."

I stared at him. "How did you know that?"

"Eh, no reason," he said, but there was an odd gleam in his eyes.

We reached the door. I pushed against it, expecting it to swing open easily, but nothing gave way. I rattled the handle, but it seemed securely locked.

"Must be locked," George said, not sounding dismayed at all.

I risked looking back at him and saw an expression I'd never seen before on his face. It was some sort of demented amusement; eyes squinted and laughing, smile wide and bland. It made me furious.

I grabbed his necktie. "What'd you do?"

"Me?" asked George innocently. "Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. You saw me; I've been standing by you this whole time. And I was also in the conference you were in just now."

"You - no you weren't. I would have remembered."

"I was right behind you, Mack," George said quietly with his same huge, stretched smile.

It was creeping me out.

"Shut up," I said, and rattled the door's handle again as hard as I could. I was so close that the handle might have broken out of the door itself, but it was useless. The door remained closed.

I looked at George. He had the same infuriating expression on, as if I was his plaything or something. "George, you - "

A lady screamed.

I turned back to the door and stared as a massive balcony came crashing down right in front of the door, literally three feet away from my face. Pieces of concrete flew towards the door and little spiderwebs cracked all over the glass. Dust flew everywhere, clouding our entire view of the outside.

At that moment, the door swung open.

I stared at George, who shrugged. "Divine intervention, perhaps?" he said, passing me and walking outside as if nothing had happened.

I felt a chill up my back and it wasn't from the cold.

Monday, October 5, 2009


The light clicked on. A scraggly, starved man was sitting under it, looking sullen and depressed like a man in chains should. His posture described surrender; but his quietly fuming eyes were tracing a crack that led from his chair to the door.

“Gerald Davis. You were found guilty of multiple attempts of mass murder, the deaths of five people, and the custody of fourteen bombs and three machine guns. You have pled guilty already. Why did you do it?”

The man did not respond.

“Did you hear me? Why did you do it?”

“I was angry,” the man said slowly.

“At who?”

“Everyone. Everything. All of it. I was angry at everything.”



“I don’t believe you. No lovers? No grudges? No unpaid debts?”

“No. I was just… unsatisfied. With everything.”

“Why were you unsatisfied?”

“They were all… Everyone was hypocritical. They contradicted themselves daily. ‘I gave that homeless man a donut, isn’t that nice?’ And then, ‘Give me the money, or I’ll do something you won’t forget.’ It was all so… ridiculous.”

“Not everyone is like that.”

“Oh, no. Everyone is.”

“How do you know? You haven’t seen everyone.”

“I’ve seen enough to know.”

“Well, what about you? If you say everyone, aren’t you including yourself in that?”


“Well, it explains the suicide note we found at your house. But why would you leave your wife and daughter behind?”

“They were part of it, too.”

“The whole contradiction conspiracy thing?”


“You were going to kill them, too?”

“They were part of it.”

“That’s ridiculous.” And then softly after that, the officer muttered, “You’re mental.”

“No. They were.”

The officer sighed and paced around the room. “This whole dialogue is going nowhere.”

“No,” the man said. “It isn’t.”

“What’d you say?”

The man rose slowly out of his seat, ropes unwinding by themselves, and clamped his hands around the officer’s neck. The officer tried to call out, but there was no noise; then he struggled and fought and kicked, but his attacks on the man’s brute muscles deflected off harmlessly.

“Except this ain’t a dialogue,” the man growled. “It’s a monologue.”


The End.