dreamszilla

A teacher who is always stretched for time discovers a way to get all the time he needs - but at what cost? Image generated with OpenAI Time is no buffet. I must make do with my rations, though I'm often left hungry. 'Ah, Mr Vissers,' the headmaster catches me as we pass in the corridor. 'Bad news I'm afraid; 2B has had a leak - quite a major one as it goes. It'll be out of action for at least two weeks, so the contractors tell me.' 'I see. And where am I to hold my classes in the meantime?' The headmaster inspects his tie. 'Well, it'll have to be the old library I'm afraid.' His wrinkled hands fiddle with his shirt cuffs. 'The old library?' 'Can't be helped I'm afraid. Still, it's not a bad little room when you get used to it. I hide away in there myself sometimes!' He looks to the ceiling and adds, half to himself: 'I shall have to find somewhere else for a week or two.' I...

A thoughtful robot, indistinguishable in appearance from a human, is willing to break programming to escape Mrs. Broomfield. Image generated with OpenAI I kept vigil the night Stan Broomfield died - waiting for the inevitable, knowing that I would have to tell Marge in the morning. No one could ask for a finer human than Stan. He spoke with a soft, kind voice and always asked my opinion on matters of importance. Marge, who by that time had moved into the spare bedroom, never liked me. She spewed forth directives with an edge that would grate on anyone's auditory senses. Stan finally passed at 4:33 a.m. It would be hours before Marge awakened. I went to my room, dressed in an appropriately somber gray suit, and checked my mirror. How fortunate that I was among the first to be indistinguishable from humans - an Adam 2.0. Another stroke of luck occurred when Stan purchased me from GammaTec's website. Around 8:30, my finely tuned hearing detected movement in Marge...

A rock drummer on tour in Brazil looks for a quiet spot after a gig, but suffers an unexpected interruption. Image generated with OpenAI Drum solo. Mine. I'm tired, too, but it's just the solo, a couple more songs, the encore, and I'm outta here. Really need a steak, man. Brazil is great for steak. Anyway, here we go: A little snare ditty from the last tour, switch-up the China to ride (air drummers love that shit)... Hm. Seems harder now, on the cowbells. Gettin' old, baby. Need whiskey. Lead singer Rob says there's twenty-thousand people here tonight. Not the most I ever played but definitely big, especially in the "out-of-doors". Wham! Done. Thank God. Now I'm really thinkin' "steak". Whoa, these fuckers are crazy down here! Tearin' their shirts off, and everything! Guess we sell more shirts. Strange. Two more songs... Gig's over. Walkin' a corridor backstage, with the gang: R...

Lynchian horror about a dental assistant and a teacher who form an obsessive relationship that brings out their darkest impulses. Image generated with OpenAI "It seems that all of the children whom I see have suddenly become terrible," Emery said, scraping away plaque with a hooked metal instrument. He had never had a sense of what was or wasn't appropriate to say to one's clients. Underneath him lay Emma. They were both twenty-six. Emery had never shaken the unnerving feeling of putting his fingers into a stranger's mouth, even from a medical standpoint. The dentist himself, shorter and more charismatic than Emery, had yet to come in. The dentist had eyes that winked without wrinkling. His practice overlooked a marina frequented by seals. "The children I see have become terrible, too," said Emma, closing her book around her thumb. "But I don't worry about that." Emery made a sound that was something between a scoff and a ...