dreamszilla

A man goes to great lengths to avoid a dental procedure, and his dentist is unwillingly complicit. Image generated with OpenAI My dentist retired and Dr. Sorensen took over his practice. I went in for my cleaning and she told me unapologetically that my lower left second molar was cracked and that it needed a crown. "Can we just keep monitoring, and if it gets worse, we do the crown?" I asked. "We could, but it may crack completely and then you lose the whole tooth. Then we have to do an extraction, and put in a new tooth, which is much more drastic." "Oh," I said. "I don't do drastic." "OK. Then the crown is your safest bet." "What do you think caused the crack? I mean, I floss twice a day." "Typically it's caused by clenching. Maybe you clench or grind in your sleep, or when you work out, or just throughout the day. Type A people have underlying stress and clench, and after a while it wears down their teeth....

When a widowed father of two is diagnosed with terminal cancer, he is offered a futuristic experimental treatment that seems too good to be true. Image generated with OpenAI "Are you really going to shoot him, Bruce?" My wife's voice is a mere whisper, and I barely hear her implore; I can't focus on that right now. I stare down the sight of my Glock at Cal. Or whoever Cal has become - because the man I'm looking at is no longer my brother. The speckles of blood and dirt caked onto his flannel and jeans aren't the things that make him unfamiliar to me - I've seen him more covered in blood many a time during the course of our hunting outings - rather it's the cold, dead look in his eyes. I see the familiar person in front of me, but I don't know him anymore. I can't spare a look at Janna and the children; but in my peripheral I can see Sean and Ruth trembling within her grasp. Poor kids - they don't understand what has happened to their fath...

Marcus is stuck on a report, and running out of time before the deadline, when his friend Ruth calls him up in need of his help. Image generated with OpenAI Marcus sits in his office by the garage, staring at the spreadsheet, fingers nervously tapping on the keyboard, thinking: Well, you brought it all on yourself. Why did he even open his mouth when Mr. Frigstad asked who could handle optoelectronics? The reports stacked up in his office form a collage in his mind of an industry resembling something, at this point, painted by Kandinsky. Within a couple of days, he was drowning in information. He knew he had to synthesize, but with each attempt, his thinking became tighter, more restricted, and confused. It's already Tuesday afternoon. By ten o'clock tomorrow morning, his report must be emailed to Mr. Frigstad. He leans back, stretches, and spots his phone on the bookcase. He steps over the dirty carpet, between piles of books and reports, and picks up the phone. Before he re...