dreamszilla

Bob loves his job as bishop of Rottenburg-Stuttgart, but will soon be forced to retire; he visits an old friend for advice, and reflects on how he first became a priest. Image generated with OpenAI Bishop Bob bounded down the stairs from his living quarters to his office in the chancery office in Rottenburg. The building wasn't cheap, and in the twenty-first century, it was hard to justify the Church's spending money on architecture, but it made him happy to see that it fit in well with the medieval buildings in the downtown, pedestrian zone of Rottenburg. The architects managed to connect a building modern in style and substance to an older building and make the whole construction look aesthetically pleasing, a white-on-white that worked well. It was one of Bob's genuine successes, along with maintaining his health and staying in shape. With his thin, white hair, he probably looked his age, but he felt as energetic and young as he had been when he became bishop. All thin...

Set in 1973, Chris is an asset on the football field on account of his size, but when he reaches high school things get complicated. Image generated with OpenAI I was always big for my age. At birth, I tipped the scale at ten pounds, twenty-three inches. My poor mother. Growing up, I was usually the biggest kid in class - or at least top two. You'd think it gave me an edge. Sometimes it did. Other times, like when some older, undersized kid with a chip on his shoulder decided to beat me up just for being bigger - not so much. I was always picked first in basketball and football choose-ups. I was also the first of my friends to shop the Men's Department at John Wanamaker's. My feet were big too. Dad loved making the same dumb joke whenever we bought sneakers: "I hope you have some oars to go with those canoes! Yuk, yuk, yuk!" I'd been playing football as long as I could remember - loping across fields like a modern-day Paul Bunyan, tossing kids aside. I modele...

An Airbnb hosts a ghost for Eric. Image generated with OpenAI It did not look like a haunted house. Rather, it looked like all the other houses in the neighborhood, undistinguished, ranch-style with vinyl siding and a basketball hoop in the driveway for children long-since grown. Whatever, though. Eric grabbed his duffel bag from off the passenger seat, exited the car, walked to the door. Above the doorknob, nestled in a brushed steel plate, was a smart lock. He typed the code given to him by the BnB host, waited for the green light to flash, then turned the knob. Inside, it was dark, the only light coming through the windows and hitting the floor to expose each grain in the hardwood. There was a strong smell of pine-scented cleaner, nary a trace of dust in the air. Not very gothic. Certainly no budding cobwebs or eerie statuary threatening to lend the home a hint of character. The house opened onto the living room, with a big leather sectional couch facing a glass-topped coffee...