dreamszilla

When his key breaks off on the inside of his apartment, Fernando Sorrentino's character must fight bureaucracy and apathy in increasingly desperate attempts to escape; translated from Spanish by Thomas C. Meehan. Image generated with OpenAI In my youth, before becoming a farmer and cattleman, I was a bank employee. This is how it all came about: I was twenty-four years old at the time and had no close relatives. I was living in this same little apartment on Santa Fe Avenue, between Canning and Aráoz. Now, it's well known that accidents can happen even in such a small space. In my case, it was a tiny accident; when I tried to open the door to go to work, the key broke off in the lock. After resorting in vain to screwdrivers and pliers, I decided to call a locksmith shop. While waiting for the locksmith, I informed the bank I would be coming in a bit late. Fortunately, the locksmith arrived quite promptly. Concerning this man, I remember only that, although he

Monica Sharp's character admires Anya, but can't make sense of their friendship. Image generated with OpenAI Everyone who contracted at the company wanted to be taken on full-time. The allure of an ironclad paycheck was too great for even the gloomiest temp to scorn. Our hourly rate was good, but we received no benefits. The stock was a big deal. Employees who held stock in the company were always going on about the ticker, was it up or down, were they underwater ? Company men with ten years or more droned to captive audiences about their worth. But the way my story was going at this place, I would never have to complain about stock. My surgery from months before felt like a lifetime ago even as the hospital bills arrived regularly. For now, though, the money was good. I had my own place, a car, my dog. Personal stock: ticking up! Anya worked with me, same title, same group. In the years I was with Lars, I missed the easy energy of female friendship. Anya was qu

Yash Seyedbagheri's character dreams of the stage, but settles for selling popcorn at an outdoor production of The Sound of Music, dressed as a Nazi. Image generated with OpenAI You sell popcorn, Skittles, and Cokes at the Stardust Valley Outdoor Theater, dressed as a Nazi. The sad truth is you couldn't make the cut as a thespian. Too much hamming, not enough pathos, the director, Fricker Gumby, says. But he admires how hard you tried in auditions for the Sound of Music , even though you first auditioned for Captain Von Trapp and then for Stock Nazi Number 3 during the Anschluss scene. A role without lines, just a lot of striding in heavy boots. You even offered to go method, like Daniel Day-Lewis or Marlon Brando. But here you are. And at least you get to dress up like the actual cast, the cast that manages to seamlessly fuse song and dance into geometric beauty. This is a small good thing. Plus, the cast likes you enough, and they share stories of their method

Tara befriends an unusual fox in her garden, that continues to visit her as she grows up; by Rina Song. Image generated with OpenAI She first saw the fox crouching in the corner of her new backyard. Tara thought maybe it had snuck in from the woods surrounding the neighborhood. Its pelt was brilliant orange, a lively flame against the late summer grass. Dust clung to its whiskers as it snuffled at something in the dirt. "Puppy!" she exclaimed, bounding towards it. The creature, startled, made a break for the fence. It stopped before the crude wooden posts, which were packed too close together to squeeze through. Tara toddled closer, reaching her small arms out to embrace it. Cornered, the fox snarled and snapped its jaws in the air. She drew away with a cry, but it stayed where it was and bared its long fangs. Then she finally took in the entire sight for what it was, and her heart skipped a beat. The fox had three tails. She gaped, all fear forgotten,

Cedric desperately needs a wee, but has a small duty to carry out first; by James Lyon. Image generated with OpenAI I need the toilet, thought Cedric, but first I must dispose of this empty coffee cup. Cedric's bladder had never been on his side, especially not when long journeys were involved. The train was slow pulling into the station. A volcanic argument next door, which had him tossing and turning past four in the morning, meant coffee was very much in order. Cedric's lifelong inability to urinate on moving vehicles meant using the train toilet was out of the question. But first, the cup. The damned conscience-driven compulsion that made finding a bin for this cup as urgent as a scorching bladder. A rush for the barriers, which opened after a few quick bashes of his phone against the ticket reader, some slow-motion seconds behind a flock of infuriatingly relaxed amblers, and Cedric was outside Leeds Station with a burning bladder and a handful of responsib

Funeral director Mose is built robustly enough to have survived an attempt on his life, but what will he do next? By Bill Tope. Image generated with OpenAI Mose lay upon the earthen bed beneath the house, where he'd been interred. The soil was moist and redolent with earthy scents. It was quiet as death. But he was not dead. It's true, he had two bullets in his head, thankfully not near enough to his brain to be fatal. His assailants had shot him and, taking him for dead, pulled up the floorboards of the old country estate and deposited him beneath the house and then rather haphazardly pounded the boards back in place. Mose had been only dimly aware that this was all going on, preoccupied as he was with getting shot and all. The November air was chilly and he longed for his warm bed. "Vic is going to meet us at Midland," Julie Gold told Mose, her husband of eight years, referencing Mose's family estate outside town. "He has to work a little la