dreamszilla

An English student drowning in campus identity politics has an existential reckoning when she starts working for a best selling author whose novels are full of heaving bosoms. Image generated with OpenAI The gulf coast breeze blew gently through the rusted mesh on the screened porch. Del could hear the June Bugs and mosquitoes plinking against the wire as the wind cooled the evening's sweat off his chest and arms. He took a sip of bourbon and saw her across the courtyard. The moon at her back illuminated her body through the sheer, white fabric. He'd been expecting her. She was a beautiful woman running a small motor court somewhere between Beaumont and the middle of nowhere. He stood when she opened the screen door. She flicked her cigarette into the yard and leaned against the door frame, her silhouette accomplishing exactly what she knew it would. He let his eyes wander over her, taking in the curves her clothing barely concealed. Nothing left to the imaginatio...

Andrea and Carolyn are possessed by alter egos Princess Ariel and Charlie when inebriated - but it has been years since they were both drunk together. Image generated with OpenAI I landed in the middle of a sweaty dance floor, jerking around to a song I didn't recognize. The dancing lights, pulsing music, and taste of tequila were familiar from a thousand clubs I'd landed in before, but the layout was unfamiliar enough to convince me I was somewhere new. Three girls danced around me, a flash of sequins and limbs and smiles with eyes half-closed. I couldn't recognize any of them. How long had it been? The music pounded so loud it felt like I couldn't breathe. It was always too much to cope with on arrival. I had to find somewhere quiet, somewhere to think, focus, not sink into the floor. "I have to pee!" I blurted out. A short girl with straight black bangs and a silver dress nodded enthusiastically, while a freckled red-head's phone lit up ...

Violinist Scarlet fantasises about her fellow orchestra musicians, and wishes one of them ill, in a piece that reflects the shifting moods of a Berlioz symphony. Image generated with OpenAI C minor/C major Carlos calls another halt and turns to the cellos. I rest my violin on my knee and allow myself my game while waiting, scanning the orchestra, assessing the players' attraction. "No, no! You're racing. You always race. Play it again and stay with me. You must watch me." Carlos pushes back his mane of hair then sweeps his hands, holding them paused aloft before his definite down-beat. Ian, the cellist on the second desk, follows Carlos, eyes wide with attention though he's rigid, a strict metronome, chastising his cello into submission. I dismiss him from my secret list. I wouldn't sleep with him. He'd be a bad driver too. Ian is handsome, but he's not musical and he'd be bad in bed. Carlos turns to the copse of woodwind. He isol...

As his father figure nears death, a robot grapples with the surge of emotions and the experience of coming into personhood. Image generated with OpenAI "It's yellow on Earth, right?" I said, knowing Frank wanted to talk about it, but didn't want to bore me with the same old. We sat on the rim of the crater watching the sunrise - a popping up more than rising. The white disc not much larger than the stars around it. But welcome after 14 Earth days of darkness. I felt a flicker of joy. The emotion still new enough that I had to pause to name it. It was probably one tenth of what Frank felt. "Mostly orange at sunrise," Frank said. I could see an appreciative smile through his tinted face shield. The light cast our crater deep in shadow and magnified the creases around his eyes. "Some mornings it looks ten times this size rising from the horizon. Sky streaked with pink and purple thanks to Earth's atmosphere." The dot of sun reflected...