dreamszilla

Bernie faces a life changing question in a hospital waiting room. Image generated with OpenAI I wait, interminably, for Billy to return with the inevitable news that we both dread. Even the receptionist has abandoned his post, and my only companion is the hum of the lights, droning insistently at me. The lights in the hospital lobby are so bright, leaving no corner to hide, no crook of respite. At home Billy and I never have the big light on. Here, there is nothing but big lights. I realise I am hyper; my senses amplified. Perhaps my brain is filling itself with stimuli to divert its attention from the truth of my husband's mortality. Time passes. I have eyed every wall, read every poster. Some clever soul has left a copy the morning Metro . That, at least, kills five minutes. I play with the contents of my bag, knowing there is nothing there of interest - my keys, my lipstick. But Good Lord , the wait is horrendous. I feel so alone with Billy behind the scenes. Soo...

A man goes to a memoir writing conference and gets a dose of his past he hadn't expected. Image generated with OpenAI I had been thinking about writing a memoir for twenty years and staring at a blinking cursor in a blank Word document for the past three years. Instead of moving my fingers and just writing the thing, I attended another (my twelfth) memoir writing conference - this one was in Chula Vista - where they guaranteed to help me unlock my past and write a best-selling tell-all that would become the next multi-episode Netflix thriller. Registration fee, hotel, airfare, car rental, food. Unlocking your past does not come cheap. But I hadn't been back to California since the year I turned twenty, so even if the conference was a bust, maybe I could rent a car and drive up I-5, check out some of the old haunts. Other than the catchy and cringeworthy conference titles (this one was called Mem-Wars: The Mind's Battle Between What You Think Happened and Wh...

Billionaire Chuck signs up for a ten-day retreat designed for privileged people to sample genuine everyday hardships. Image generated with OpenAI Charles Alexander Asbury's wife prefers he go by Chuck. It's less geeky, and gives him that bootstrap appeal the board needs from its chairman. Chuck's company designs and manufactures flexible PCBs, printed circuit boards, with embedded HDI components and integrated surface mount technology. Chuck is a geek. Still, he calls himself Chuck and doesn't smile when he shakes hands, because smiling denotes servility. He also defers when Marcy books him into the victimization retreat. She's right. The media has been unsympathetic lately, portraying him as a daddy's boy, a lightweight. Marcy says this will give him gravitas. Chuck's daughter calls from Paris to insist. The experience will bring him closer to humanity. Chuck thinks the retreat is a moderately funny, extremely lucrative joke. The park's ho...

Pascal's expensive manufacturing process leads his business to great success, to the extent that he refuses to negotiate with potential new clients. Image generated with OpenAI Pascal Gavinaw loved telling customers his prices were not negotiable. His fees were ridiculous. Astronomical. And not subject to change for any reason. Why would they be? The Gavinaw Process was the industry standard and was protected by nine separate patents. Anyone who wanted to use the process had to pay, and pay well. From his corner office high above the city, Pascal strutted and surveyed. He admired the cotton-candy clouds in the brilliant blue sky as the man behind him continued to speak with quiet urgency. "Mr. Gavinaw, let me be frank. We both know that your manufacturing process is without equal, and it's ideally suited to my own requirements." Pascal turned away from the massive windows. "You say that as if it were meaningful. I'm not going to give you a...

A deserter crash lands on an alien world and has a crisis of conscience. Image generated with OpenAI If not for a sudden cold breeze, Gaensyn might have slept forever. Even with his eyes still closed, his head throbs along with a dozen cuts and bruises and burns scattered over him. Gaensyn's eyes flutter open. He hangs upside down in his pilot's chair. Where there used to be viewport glass, there is now only sand and glass fragments, the ship having planted into the ground. Control screens on the console are broken and dead, leaving the only light to leak in from cracks in the ruined hull. Where am I? He tries to trace back time, but his mind throws up walls of splitting pain. He remembers gunfire, blood, screams. Yes, he remembers deserting. How could he forget? It's only been a few days since then. The green blood crusting the slate-gray skin of his hands remains a testament to how close he came to dying at his former comrades' hands in doing so. But ...

Sam is a sci fi geek who has trouble getting second dates, until he finds a costumed speed dating event. Image generated with OpenAI Sam had misgivings about attending a sci-fi-themed speed dating event, but he couldn't pass up another opportunity to dress up as his favorite type of cosplay character, a space pirate. Besides, he hadn't had a meaningful date or even a non-meaningful casual hookup in well over a Martian year, which is 668 sols or 687 Earth days. Either way, it seemed like an eternity for a young man in his early 30s. Trying to be helpful, Ted, his older brother, conducted a dating boot camp to improve his brother's game. Ted coached him on the finer points of making a good first impression. He stressed the importance of treating women with respect. "Remember, Sam, try to be courteous, not cute. Make eye contact, say their name, and, most importantly, do not dominate the conversation." Sam rolled his eyes as he endured yet another in ...