dreamszilla

A physics professor obsessed with Renaissance art and French cuisine travels to Paris to test the limits of her latest research. Image generated with OpenAI The trip that changed the world began modestly one afternoon in the Rubens Gallery of the Louvre. I had taken the midnight supersonic from Los Angeles to Paris for a well-deserved weekend's respite from months of unremitting work. Not surprisingly, Paris is my favorite place on earth, the only place where I can simultaneously indulge the two great passions of my life: Renaissance art and La Grande Cuisine. My friends have hastened to point out that Paris lacks a certain degree of romance when one travels alone, but then, I have never thought of myself as a romantic woman. I was sitting blissfully on a bench, contemplating the lush bodies of assorted nudes cavorting with a variety of nymphs, cupids, and satyrs, when it occurred to me that I had been born in the wrong century. But for a mere accident of 400 years,...

A woman retreats to the Hungarian countryside, leaving her old life behind, and meets a kindly neighbour. Image generated with OpenAI Could there possibly be a more beautiful place to be unhappy? Zsofi stood at the window of the apartment's small living room. The view was of Tihany's Inner Lake, the tiny spot of water in the center of the mountain peninsula surrounded on three sides by Lake Balaton. The small lake looked like a spoonful of blue water floating in the larger bowl of the surrounding lake waters. She had arrived that morning. Driving down the northern lakeshore, she kept one eye on the directions from the rental company while also watching the small towns unfurl, one after the other, dotting the lakeside. The fall weather had chased away most of the summer guests, and the picturesque towns felt authentic with only the permanent residents going to and from the vegetable stands and butcher's shops on the main streets of each village. Finally in th...

Jerome is late for work when he bumps into a vulnerable teenager - but will he regret getting involved? Image generated with OpenAI Jerome always greets folks who cross his path. He or the other fellow looks up, makes eye contact, and nods, and the other nods back. It's the way things are done. Most anywhere in Texas, especially the smaller towns, people acknowledge one another. There's more space than people, so you notice when someone comes along. Off to the left side of the road, more in the tall grass than on the shoulder, a kid jumps out, an angry bolt of teenage angst, waving a stick, grappling with a mesquite bush, and kicking at the low weeds and wood sorrel. Mad at the world, or so it seems from behind the bug-flecked windshield of Jerome's truck with the gas gauge on empty, and him late for work with a crushing headache from mixing tequila and beer the night before. The kid jerks to a halt on the shoulder and throws the cane, which flips end-to-end a...

Winona has mixed feelings about her father, as she participates in a ceremony to mark his death. Image generated with OpenAI "Okay," Jack says. He keeps saying it over and over, like he's preparing himself more than anyone else. It's starting to piss her off. She's not proud of it. "Okay. Ready?" Winona stares into the heaping pile of picture frames in the center of their circle. They've all been tossed into the fire pit, soaking in lighter fluid and waiting for her signal. The pit is usually reserved for bonfires at the end of the season, after they've cut the spare branches from their trees and trimmed their greenery for the winter. It's their definitive marking of fall on the calendar, a chance to chat around rumbling flames that flicker in the dark and keep the bugs away. Tonight, midsummer, it is a resting place for her dad. Jack's waiting with the grill lighter. The handful of other people around her, family and ot...

Nick and Anastasia have taken on too much editing work with their self-made company Ghost Train Publishing, and something has to give. After our demonic alarm clock screeches for ten minutes, there's a litany of emails from our clients, plus a text from our friend, Cockroach. He wants to get together for drinks tonight. You gotta stop overworking yourself, man. You overthink. Just come out and drink like a champ. You've been promising for a month. Time to pay up. I should respond. He's been there for Anastasia and me over the past ten years. He talked us through the struggles with our publishing house, put up with my temper. He encouraged Anastasia to do stand-up comedy on the side too. I'll shoot him a text at the office. I really will. "Get up, asshole." Anastasia pulls the covers down and tries to drag me out of bed. "We gotta get to the office by seven." I smirk and resist, but she wrenches me up. There's a stack of manuscripts, de...