dreamszilla

A vainglorious landlord is mortified to find his property defaced by amusing graffiti. Image generated with OpenAI I've always wanted to be a hero. That's why I became a landlord. This country is in the midst of a housing crisis. Such trying times demand a champion, a man of noble intentions. And what could be more noble than providing a home for the downtrodden at fair market rates? So, when my father asked me to manage one of his apartment buildings in Lexington while he attended to important business across the fairways of Florida, I leapt at the opportunity. In the end, I suppose I didn't seek greatness... it was thrust upon me. My job requires many talents. I must be a master of duct tape and patchwork. I must be able to paint a two-bedroom apartment in less than twenty-five minutes - electrical panels and kitchen drawers included. And I must be relentless in the pursuit of rent, ability to pay notwithstanding. But today calls for a new set of skills....

A detective visits a woman connected to two missing persons cases, and finds something shocking. Image generated with OpenAI My suspect lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in a two-story bungalow surrounded by similar small houses. Two children were out front playing - a boy and a girl - enjoying the summer weather. The boy had a yellow plastic dump truck in his hand, a load of pebble gravel in the berth of the dump body. The girl, meanwhile, was clutching a piece of chalk and busily etching out a hopscotch board on the concrete. Kids . That could be a problem. I parked my Crowne Vic in the driveway behind an old Econoline van that didn't look like it had been washed or driven in years. Neither of the kids took any notice of me. I imagined they were used to seeing strange men enter and leave their mother's house. Or maybe they were just some neighbor's kids, but comfortable enough to encroach on Ariadna's property without fear. For all I knew she had a re...

An aspiring author moves in with a washed-up artist and they both try to find direction in their lives. Image generated with OpenAI Freya dreamed of a book launch for her debut novel A Bower of Myrtles . A bookshop converted from an old church. Stained glass windows cast speckles across animated faces. She saw her short blond curls, usually so unruly, now perfectly classy; her nose pert, not flat. Her long satin dress reflected the blue of her eyes, folding and flowing, capricious as the sea. "Could I get a signature?" A woman approached, strangely familiar, "Your writing captures the female struggle so poignantly. It's given me courage to face my life." She looked like Mum, Freya thought. "Thank you so much! You've no idea what that means to me." She found a Montblanc fountain pen in her hand and signed the title page. "Sorry, where did you sign?" Freya looked down, and couldn't find her signature anywhere. She wr...

Ben is part of a trio who have been live-streamed since childhood, with every waking moment manipulated for the sake of views. Image generated with OpenAI The camera clicks on again, all of us moving through the room in a hazy bliss, pretending we do not notice as it hovers nearer to our heads. The room is done up to exemplify George, a conceptualization of his bedroom: the shag carpet, littered with toys that we 'love', chipping sailboat wallpaper, graphic T-shirts some hard-core fans might realize none of us have worn, a meticulously intimately messy bed. "Georgie, you're such a nerd," Lily laughs, shaking her head, "isn't he such a nerd, guys?" She'd found an old poster hanging up on the walls, which was shimmering in her hands, switching between a few different movies. Her nails, red for the time being, crinkle against the poster paper, crumpling it. I snatch it away from her, peering down at it. "These movies are, lik...