dreamszilla

Magda's Chihuahua, Skipper, tries to defend his master when danger looms. Image generated with OpenAI I'm dreaming that I'm napping in the yard, the late afternoon sun warm on my fur, when I'm ripped awake by the shattering of broken glass. It's dark, and the air is cool. For a moment, I think I'm back in the Other House, where breaking glass meant that Old Master had been drinking. I whimper involuntarily. My ears prick up and I quiver, anticipating the harsh, ugly sound of angry voices. But all I hear is the slow, even ticking of the old grandfather clock that Magda winds every night before bedtime, humming to herself as she works. Even when Old Master wasn't drinking, the Other House was always filled with angry voices. Magda's house sounds of humming, and laughter, and gentle whispers that I'm a good boy. The only angry voices at Magda's come from Those Damned Kids, and Magda would never allow them inside the house. They make ...

Amina, a Muslim woman, attends an interfaith group and finds the rules of her faith challenged in an unexpected way. Image generated with OpenAI As a Muslim, it's not advised to be close with the opposite gender, especially the kind of closeness that edges into haram , that becomes zina , that ends in a reckless stumble into a hotel bed with white sheets that haven't been washed. I'm from Pakistan. We don't date there, at least not publicly. We date in ways our parents don't know, so they don't pry with questions about engagement or invite our partner's family over for chicken biryani or korma and all kinds of sweet mithai . I speak from secondhand experience with dating - I was never one of the rebellious ones. I was always wise enough to know how dangerous dating could be, especially when people talk about love like it's "self-consuming", "life-changing", "indescribable". Another thing I'd add to the lis...

An ex-convict suffers the aftereffects of a memory mixing experiment conducted on her while she was in prison. Image generated with OpenAI Zero sat in her normal spot on the park bench, watching the path out of the corner of her eye. She pretended to read but was unable to get through a single paragraph without stealing a glance at the park entrance and losing her place. She checked the time on her phone and drummed on the bench with her fingers. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait much longer. Zero heard the man's voice that was more familiar to her than any other voice in the world. The man said to his son, "We'll play for just a few minutes before you have to get started on your homework. But that's more than enough time for me to kick your butt." Zero smiled, knowing the boy's reply before he said it: "That's because you always call it when you're ahead." The dad responded, "I guess that means I'll have ple...

Colin Waverly tells the epic story of his father's shifty investment scheme, and what became of the capital. Image generated with OpenAI If word of it had ever spread, Father's tontine would most certainly have become the most famous in history. But it had been held the darkest of secrets until I learned of it just this past week. Outside of its participants, I may be the only one to know of its provenance. And its stunning conclusion. My name is Colin Waverly. My Father - God love him, he was a good one, but I hardly knew him - Richard Townshend Waverly, Dickie to his friends and colleagues, was the instigator of the Waverly Tontine. Thus its eponymous name. Tontine? I presumed you understood. It's, well, a cross between a wager and a life insurance policy, but isn't a life insurance policy, after all, nothing more than a wager? One by which you deign to be the sole beneficiary. What informed me of the Waverly Tontine was a wax-sealed, hand-written le...