dreamszilla

A resentful man starts experiencing blackouts during which a mysterious interloper keeps trying to be nice to him. Image generated with OpenAI Coming home from work, I'm about to open the door to my apartment building, I look sideways, and whom do I see rushing in to meet me? Mrs. Brown from the third floor, that old bat, always gossiping about everyone and always with that phony beatific smile on her face. I can only imagine what she says about me behind my back. Before she can catch up with me, I hurry and manage to open and close the front door and, thank God, the elevator is on the ground floor. It will take her a few seconds to find her keys and reopen the door, so now all I have to do is climb up before she gets here and... And then I blink. I must have blinked, because for a split second I can see nothing. But now I'm holding the elevator door open while Mrs. Brown gets on. Wait, what just happened? She seems almost as surprised as I am, and thanks me for

Sturges tells the story of the despicable housemate with whom he shared his drug-addled student accommodation in the early 1970s. Image generated with OpenAI Before I ever met him, Brett was described to me by my Iranian friend and housemate Vahid as "some barfly from The Stagger Inn," referencing a tavern where we all hung out. Brett, who fancied himself a "real man," and who somehow became my latest in a long line of itinerant housemates, usually glommed onto broken, lonely or neglected women because their standards often weren't as high as more confident women. Nowhere near as high. We all lived in a large, three-story building known locally as the Big Yellow House for the awful mustard-yellow paint on the exterior. I stayed there in the 1970s. Five students - three men and two women, usually - shared the expenses, which were minimal, befitting our status as poor college students. Brett had a room on the second floor and it was a veritable rat&#

Todd is thrown in prison for shooting a group of robots, including the one he loved. This story was inspired by a passage from Sherry Turkle’s book, Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other . Image generated with OpenAI While he waited for his lawyer, Todd Trigun sat by himself in the rec room of the Durham County Jail. The other tough-looking inmates congregated at a television bolted to the ceiling at the far end of the room. A local news program was on, which coincidentally featured an account of Todd's crime, and though he did not want to watch, he avoided eye contact with the other prisoners by focusing on the television. "Hey," one of the inmates exclaimed, "our celeb-ree-tee is on tee-vee." A couple of the others barked and pumped their fists. Todd glanced at a young man who turned in his seat and winked at him, and then tried to remain dead-pan as he looked back at the television. A reporter describ

Jen Marshall has been sectioned after self-harming, but she does not trust the medication she is being given. Image generated with OpenAI And the clock's hands turned to yet another arbitrary number. The tick-tock of its mechanical insides wormed through my head with its dulling beat. I flicked my raven hair past my shoulders and tried ignoring him. My therapist slid his hands over his tan dress pants, as if he were ironing them to smoothen the wrinkles out. It was as captivating as the clock, compared to the paper walls of his office, with the tiny desk in the far corner. There wasn't much to break away from blending into the background. The most engaging part of his office was the static camera, pronounced with its bold black casing. It recorded us with a blipping red light, proving to us it wasn't dead, like it usually was by the end of a session. His fingers drummed along the top of his clipboard. Why he bothered bringing it, I didn't know. He rare

Noah and his buddies are innocently playing video games when their peace - and innocence - is interrupted by their friend Jonah. Image generated with OpenAI We hid Jonah. Saturday, three of us, me Ben and Leon, were gathered in my room playing video games when Jonah climbed up the treehouse and along the branch and knocked on my window - the usual entry. I opened the window and immediately saw that Jonah was crying. I'd never seen Jonah cry. Another thing I noticed was a big red, swollen handprint on his cheek. "Hide me, Noah," Jonah said. "Hurry," I said, and pulled him into my room. Jonah sat down heavy on my bed, the springs creaked, his backpack pulled him slightly backwards. The backpack gave me the idea that Jonah was not running from a bully; he was running away from home. "What happened," Ben asked, pausing the video game. "My Uncle Jack is visiting, that asshole," said Jonah. "Did he hit you?" I aske

When Tom skims off some of the charitable donations he collects for Children in Need, his colleague Lisa decides to play along. Image generated with OpenAI "I'll take care of it," said Tom, reeking of cigarette smoke and Sen-Sen, a licorice-flavored candy he used to block the smell. He scooped the black cash deposit bag - the till - from the table. Although she had Tom's word, Lisa wasn't convinced that the redhead had ever been a noble creature. Certainly, she thought, Tom wasn't above stealing from the marginalized, the poor, the disaffected. She had worked the streets with him over the past three months, collecting for Children In Need - CIN - and more than once the two of them, both becoming increasingly prone to indulge in drugs and alcohol, had absconded with the funds they'd collected from high-minded and generous contributors to the cause. In one instance, after a hard night soliciting for CIN, they had wound up at a tavern on the wes

Percie Baldwin enjoys the attention of admirers when she works out at the gym, but she only has eyes for one particularly magnificent creature. Image generated with OpenAI The Gym Nordic Track equipment, personal trainers on staff. Percie adheres to a rotating schedule; upper body and cardio M-W-F, legs and core T-Th. Weekends: sprint intervals one day, hills and pyramid workouts the other. Gear: Bose headphones, Lululemon or Athleta , revealing rock-solid thighs, shapely arms, sculpted breasts. She never makes eye contact, but everyone watches her. Some dream of achieving her fitness level, others of sliding hands over the taut body always glowing with a slight tan, sprinkle of freckles, as if she'd just returned from St. Croix. Some stroll past her just to inhale her warm, salty perfume. The Hotel Long-term reservation at the Envoy, fourth floor. King bed with extra pillows and goose-down duvet. Minibar stocked with vintage Dom, crystal flutes and bowl of gr