“What We Aren’t:” Short Story (300 words)

   An old man sits by the stretching fire.  The milky moon and stars glance down upon him, but his sight had worsened that year.  His ears begin to simply ring.  He feels sharp pains in his body, years of use. 

    Two children emerge from the mouth of the cave.  They are the old man’s whole world.  He wishes to live long enough to see them until their cycles start.  Then they will leave and become women in another tribe, larger with more meat, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the other animals in the dark, or the burdens he doesn’t want to slip from his tongue.  

  “Children!  Your grandpa loves you.  Little Sahai, what is in your hand?”  The old man moves closer to the girl.  And then he sees it, a piece of metal and rubber.  Only he knows these words.

  Sahai!  Throw that into the under-waters.  You know you aren’t supposed to have objects from before, neither to keep nor climb on.  Those days are past those that lead to destruction, pollution, and a loss of purpose!”  

  Sahai throws them into the black abyss of the dark cave then comes back to the fire, to warmth and light.

  “Grandpa, what do those words mean?”  

   He slapped her across the face, “Words that will never fulfill the world again.  Do not ask.”  

   Sly, the other girl shakes her head, not knowing what he is saying but agreeing, nonetheless.  The night creatures coo and sing a sweet melody.  

  The old man, bits of leaves in his beard, lets out a sigh.  Humanity had done so much to corrupt itself before reasoning they were not created to use machines, to tempt the Earth with its inventions, no, to dream of reaching the stars beyond.  He figures if they stay in their space, he’d stay in his.  He grew tired and laid back.  

  All the wisdom in the universe couldn’t make humans into gods.  

  Death was worth true love, true nature, true existence.   

Back to the Group Home or to Russia

Puzzle number #3433344

I spent some time with my beautiful sister, T. We had coffee at a small shop and got groceries. We talked a lot while she texted, the obsession of our generation. When I’m not with a guest such as her, I bring my nook and read in restaurants. Oh, and I think it’s funny that she does the job my dad used to when he thought he was special and had made it in the world. He’s so dumb that humble people believe they can’t comprehend his genius, and he is manipulative and knows a few tricks. Here, she makes less, but she’s going to move, most likely, and keep going. Since I can’t pay mom’s taxes, she has to wait until she’s 26 to go to school anyway. I love her so much.

I’m probably going to ask to go back to the group home to avoid getting my other sister in trouble, but she doesn’t know the reason. I’ll cry without Mr. Keiko. I’m sure I can find him a home. I don’t mind living in those places. In fact, it’s nice to have some special needs adults as friends. I can’t survive in society due to the high caste members and satellites. I’ve done my second job there, my other life. However, no one has the balls to do what they put me through or to stop what the new “gods” are doing, as they call themselves that.

Welcome to my life: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nm00ehW4Qns

I would like if Durov would save me and get me elite healthcare. I can dream on.

It was nice to be with T today. I loved her so growing up, my baby. She will be the most successful of all of us due to her personality, I believe. I wish I could have been more than “this.” Let us not decide our fates and tempt the “gods,” right?

My fate is but below. I’ve been through mental states worse than death.

Short Story, “The Dream Collar”

Beneath the city, the tireless rodents skirted around.  People, of all colors, stepped over the pests as they worked.  Perhaps their acceptance was implanted in them at birth.  They worked for food and shelter, prayed to the “Wise One,” and slept with each other after the hoses took all the slime off of them, a semi brown and green mixed together.  The lighting made it look black and slick if there was a short. 

Meg ate her hard bread, not knowing any different.  At twenty, it was time to date and marry a man, have his child, and work with everyone else.  At five, the baby would be taken away from her.  

“Do you ever think things could be better?” her friend, Os, asked her one day.  

“Better than what?” Meg questioned. 

“The filth, the lights, the labor, and the food, especially the food.”

“What makes you think are bad? What else is there? The world ended.  Above is nothing but nuclear waste.”

“See, that’s your problem. You have no imagination or creativity.  When they taught us to read signs, I found this book.”  Os reached into her sack and pulled out a colorful book.  She opened it to the first page.

“What the Hell is that?”

“Well, I’ve only gotten to the fifth page, but it is called, “The Dream.”  It teaches children to think outside the box, to question.”

“We are not children, Os.  We have a responsibility to rebuild the world.”

“I know, but try. I also found this circle string that twinkles.”  Meg took the ring of strange colors.  It could fit around one’s neck easily. 

“Is this a kill collar?” Meg asked.  They had those for people who “couldn’t carry the burden of responsibility.”

Os put it around her neck and stared at the front sparkling stone, clear as ice, not anything like the place they were in.  

“Os!”

“Shit, don’t cause the guards to come.”   

Meg grabbed the collar and snapped it off Os’ neck. She barely glanced at it as it fell down the deep drain hole.  

“Meg!”

“Forget it and the book, too.” Meg grabbed the book and tore it to pieces and threw them down the drain.  

Os began to cry, “He said he’d let me out if I gave him the collar.”

“Who?” Asked Meg.  

“The guard.”

“Where would you go? There is nothing up there.  He wanted to get you into trouble for touching a non-essential tool.  Oh, Os, you get yourself into so many messes.”  Os knew it was true. She daydreamed, she hoped, and she was unlike the other but fragile with need. She was fragile.

“I know,” Os choked, “Thank you for saving me… I, I wanted to believe.”

“There is nothing else,” Meg said. 

The two of them hugged and then left for work while the gem necklace lay in dirt and slime with no purpose.

I’ve Been Procrastinating Lately

Summer came with its passionate heat. The trees turned green, the turtles swam, and the fish hung out by the sewer drain where fresh gasoline flows in, especially after a rain.

Now it’s fall or flickering in and out of the new season. Fall is my favorite season with its chilly wind that creeps into my mind, making me feel the understandings of deeper thoughts.

I’ve tried experimenting with no schedule, just doing timers and what I felt like. I did many activities thanks to this behavior, but I am still behind in my writing. I love to write. To be honest, however, I prefer to read and remember. That is if I don’t write for a time.

A lie, a truth.

When I get into writing, I light up, fingers across the board.

So the schedule is coming back…

With my ass in the chair.

I’m Not a Healthy Snack

My waist was 47 inches, my body fat was 40%, my BMI was 35, severely obese, and my weight was 188. I want to lose weight. It’s not the exercise that I struggle with. I walk miles upon miles, but I have a difficult time resisting sweets. One thing that does help is when I’m busy writing or studying. My confidence goes up, and I can say, “go away, you evil candy bar. You have no power over me!”

So for all the cannibals out there, I’m not healthy, so do not eat me! Your mother wouldn’t approve.

Tomorrow I start my low carb diet.

That’s the only thing I got out of “Work Bitch” by Britney Spears. I still exercise a lot, am very active. I’ve had several eating disorders and problems in my life. It’s not something I like being harassed about. It’s a weakness and deeply personal. I also don’t like when people harm my brain to make me “smile” like in the video of dead things, and I don’t like when people rub stuff I can’t have in my face and dominate me in the video, “No Reflection.” That lead to me becoming angry with bulimia.

Again, I’m disabled and can’t earn those things. Good job, and I mean it, but please do not expect so much out of me, and please do not harass me. If the song weren’t personal, “Work Bitch” is a great workout song.

Well, That Didn’t End Well

I’ve been on a strange sleep schedule. My nurse wanted me to go back to regular sleep, so I did. I slept a long time last night. Then I tried to write at the library for a few hours, read a bit, too. I was too tired because that used to be my evening.

I’m going to tell the nurse that I get up at 12am and go to bed at 4pm. I was much better at completing tasks when I slept that way. Due to a lobotomy and brain damage on the side, I don’t have normal rhythms. My body does strange things.

Opium and Civilization: A Connection?

I have been reading a lot lately and pondering a few dumb thoughts in my head.

I’ve been wondering if drug use helped to accelerate civilization in a broader sense along with the belief in a deeper reality, the unseen. In Islam, they believe the soul is in a flower. Poppies, where opium comes from, are common in areas of the Middle East, the cradle of civilization. Could these be the catalysts for the region?

Did doing drugs cause us to think differently? To value more than everyday life?

I’ve looked at other tribes who are hunter-gatherers, one tribe in particular who found “meat” to be the meaning of life. They have a few spiritual beliefs, such as the body goes back to the sun when it dies, and the boys even laughed at that, but it was mostly a group that only cared about hunting.

Cave paintings usually show hunts, too.

And yes, I’m sure there are many groups that contradict my thoughts. I figure some of those have been exposed to other humans or are behind in development, along with different environments creating different rules.

In the Amazon, for example, shamans take drinks that cause them to hallucinate, smoke stuff, too. They are the healers of their society, primitive priests, I suppose. They have complex villages and tools.

Many groups won’t share their beliefs. This makes analysis difficult.

So what do you think of civilization and drug use? Any connection? And no, I don’t use drugs.

Weird Dream

I was at the Rolla house, which is a usual setting. I went into the basement, which was a giant warehouse that looked like a store. I heard someone talking about giving a bribe to trump, and I took a snake beanie baby then left it. There was an egg, and I held a baby bird that was about to die. Then my siblings wouldn’t run away from the evil people in the house because they were too comfortable.

What did you guys dream?

I had a strange dream, not politically correct

I was in my usual dream apartment. I had a locked room, but in this house, there’s a way to get into the back, which is where all the drama takes place. My dream world consists of common buildings and environments.

Anyway, there was a white, thin man hiding in my closet. He made a big deal about a black male who was after him and “too aggressive.”

I pretended not to know about the closet when the black man came into the room from the back. He had no qualms with me, even when he opened to door of the closet. The white man ran away.

I was in some tropical ocean place and watching people feed sharks from the shore– obviously not a good idea. I walked away.

The white man appeared again. He said, “I killed the black man for being too aggressive.” I asked him where he put the body, and he said that it was in my car.

I go out of the house I grew up in, and I saw the black man decapitated in my car. I told the white man he couldn’t hide the body and to deal with it. I told him I didn’t have a license. This is also prevalent in my dreams, not being able to drive my car or something breaking.

I said, fine, and I got in. I told the dead black guy that I was going for chicken tenders and strawberry soda and the dream ended.