dreamszilla

A man is relentlessly hunted by possessed children. Image generated with OpenAI Jeff pulls into the diner, a plume of dust reaching out behind him all the way back to the highway. The dingy sign reads Charlie's Burgers , and that is good enough for him. Bars are his preference for obvious reasons; however he is unlikely to find a bar in rural Saskatchewan open before six, and he wants to be asleep and hidden away before school lets out. There are only two other vehicles in the expansive parking lot, which further soothes his anxiety. He checks his phone again, realizing for the hundredth time it has been dead for several days. There is no one to call, he only wants to check the time. The sun is still high, he guesses around two o'clock through the tilt of the sun's head as it peeks from behind the clouds. As he exits his vehicle, he takes in the landscape. Everything is prairie brown, with a few splotches of green here and there. Charlie's sticks out li...

In the Italian Cinque Terre, old man Attilio is determined to resist the advances of Signora Silvana Barletta. Liguria, April 2005 Image generated with OpenAI Attilio stands under the pergola on his terrace. The vines droop with cascades of wisteria, their petals fragrant with honey and musk. He breathes in and feels richer than any duke. Yesterday, he devised the most devious plan. It is of utmost importance to protect his freedom as a solitary man. Two women are plotting against him. His daughter-in-law, Giuliana: the unsolicited matchmaker. Silvana: the widow from the village of Le Ghiare. His eyes roam downwards over the hundreds of olive trees clinging to the slopes. Some are tended to. Others are strangled by underbrush and neglect. Only the old lay out the olive nets in December, as no youth will stoop to this backbreaking work. The modern world begins past this idyll of greenery in the seaside town of Levanto. When fair, its bay of indigo reaches far into the ho...

Small-town undertaker Henry faces the unenviable task of preparing the body of Arnie, his uncle and mentor. Image generated with OpenAI Inside the coroner's office, Henry stared at the body lying on the autopsy table - the body he needed to transfer to the funeral home so he could start the undertaking process. But he couldn't bring himself to move. It was like his legs and arms were detached from his brain, communication severed. It was like they had gone rogue on a mission to be burdensome, numb vessels of bone and meat and disbelief, holding him hostage with their weight. This dense immobility continued to sheathe Henry as, distantly, he heard the coroner, Matthias, enter the room. Henry's eyes remained fixed on the body, his own body inert, as Matthias made a beeline for the sink to disinfect his hands. "Stop!" Uncle Arnie yells in a sing-song voice, pointing a bottle of disinfectant spray at Henry. Between them, a naked body lies on the mort...

Two sisters pass the time at home wondering why their eccentric mother Joan, and their reclusive father Herb, are behaving strangely. Is what I always thought when someone came to the door. Watch as they took it in, the whole spectacle. The carefully constructed smile. Eyes flicking back and forth, back and forth. Some garbled pleasantry. Bodily contortions of normality. It was typical. Predictable, at least. Had anyone acted nonchalant, I would have been concerned for their wellbeing. I may as well tell you now. You may as well know. It was the frogs. Not real ones, no, never alive. Thankfully. Heaven help anything in our house that couldn't fend for itself. My mother. Her name was Joan. She brought the frogs. Hundreds of them. Plastic, ceramic, metal, blow-up, plushy, painted, crocheted, stickers, photographed, embroidered, mechanical. Alyssa and I started counting them once and got bored at 459. They were everywhere. Outside and in. On the tables and the floors and on stick...