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The Interviewer briefly explained the rules
The Interviewer briefly explained the rules
July 26, 2024
This was a game of musical chairs. The stakes were the position and all associated amenities. Losers were to exit gracefully back to the bullpen. The winner was to build their management team from any to all of the runner-ups.
All decisions were final. Check all feelings at the door.
The music began.
It was Beethoven.
It was Für Elise.
Then the music stopped.
Off went the Ivy Leaguer.
Then the two Barbie Dolls.
The woman in the tight hound’s tooth skirt fell prey when she couldn’t bend fast enough to even sit down.
The elderly gentleman gave it his best before he succumbed.
The large man with a farming pedigree decided not to use his muscle. He would not push another aside simply because he had the ability to do so. We watched him gather his belongings, wish us well, and exit the contest.
I gave him a small applause before deciding to follow him.
When I caught up with him in the long hallway, I introduced myself as Anne. I was being forward and invited him to a coffee house around the corner. After telling me his name, Jonathan, he told me he would be happy to spend some time together.
Over the next hour, we turned off our cell phones, told each other our story, and explained why we did what we did.
Jonathan became more fascinating with each passing minute. His was a life I wanted; simple, yet ambitious. I told him so. He asked me why it was not so. I blushed, took another sip, and said, maybe I was scared to take the leap, maybe, I never would.
Then Jonathan made me a proposition. He revealed that the game of musical chairs was indeed a game. The real interview was right here, right now. He was a majority partner in the firm and was responsible for hiring.
“Anne, would you like to begin the first day of the rest of your life today?”
Games are for gamers. I dispensed with the former an hour ago.
I took the leap.
The Stone Cutter
The Stone Cutter
July 24, 2024
The war waged for generations
Soldiers went to fight
Soldiers went to die
METHEW chiseled their names in marble
Solely for posterity
METIN, METHEW’s son, took to his profession
Wielding the tools of the trade
Taking his time
He learned the art of stone cutting
He learned the consequence of the craft
When METIN reached the age of manhood
METHEW’s name was called for war
This day was not unexpected
METHEW had made all the arrangements
METIN accepted his new duty
As the days became months
And the months became years
Few remembered METHEW by sight
Fewer still, by skill
METHEW became a story of days long since past
One day, a messenger arrived
Today, with just one card of condolences
Only one name appeared on the card
Written in ink, in a font
Of preposterously curved letters
For the eulogy
METIN carved METHEW’s name
As all great names should appear
In capital letters
With harsh angles and straight lines
METIN’s son, MEFAN, wept at the service
It wasn’t derived from respect for his grandfather
It was derived from knowledge of a cycle
In which METIN gave MEFAN his first chisel
And the time in which to become proficient
And Reminiscing
And Reminiscing
July 23, 2024
Many years have passed
Many memories have faded
A few remain
And with good reason
Olivia lives in my frontal lobes
Where my mechanics direct me to her needs
Day in and day out
And I supplied what she required
In retrospect, the arrangement
Was both consensual,
Mutual,
And beneficial
That is until I dropped the ball
That is until I dropped it again
Scarce remnants of trust broken
And scattered to the winds
Olivia departed this ebb
The tide did return
Sans her presence
And I regret all opportunities lost
Today is my 20th year in this state of stasis
I could have been wealthy in all means non financial
Instead, I constantly consider the possibilities
And slip off in an inevitable drunken stupor
Reuleaux Triangle
Reuleaux Triangle
July 22, 2024
“Sharon may never forgive me.”
I was late coming home and even later getting to the restaurant. Sharon was waiting for me there. She was there until 10:30pm. Then, she departed for greener pastures. Perhaps for the night. Perhaps forever.
I could have calculated my odds of a second chance, but I politely declined the opportunity when I encountered Wendy.
Wendy was my waitress who was leaving her shift to sit at the bar. She nursed a glass of white wine and a constant look at me, wondering what my next move was.
I wondered what my next move was.
By 8am the next morning, with Wendy asleep on my arm, I need not wonder anymore.
Then the house phone rang. I forgot about its external speaker until it was too late.
“Hey, I wanted to come home this morning and talk. However, (apparently) someone has your attention for (apparently) the entire evening. I should have done as you (apparently) did. I had the offers. I still have a few of the phone numbers. Kick the bitch out of my bed or lose me forever.”
Sharon was to the point. As Wendy arose, her use of colorful metaphors weren't. They knew where they stood. I knew where I stood. By the scowl on Wendy’s face, but the trace of her hand across my leg, I had to rethink what I knew to be true.
He who hesitates is lost. I sat up and grabbed Wendy’s hand with mine, pulling her back into bed. With my other hand, I grabbed my phone to call Sharon.
My message was terse, but filled with (an ironic type of) hope.
“Get home now! You’re next.”
In geometry, circles are the most perfect shape, but triangles distribute forces better.
Finally, an application of high school geometry worth remembering.
Dissolute, Debauched, and Debased
Dissolute, Debauched, and Debased
July 20, 2024
The phone rang.
“Hello. This is Ava. Yes, I remember you Doctor Fitzgerald. You have the results. It’s that bad. I have what? AIDS! Are you sure? I can’t have AIDS. This can’t be right. Don’t tell me to calm down! You are not the one facing a death sentence. Well, screw you.”
I threw the landline across the room, tearing it from the wall. It hit a corner and shattered into a million pieces. A metaphor for my shortened life. Just two minutes ago, I had plans for today, plans for this year. Just two minutes ago, I had hope.
Now, all I have is a stopwatch, ticking away.
This is not fair. How did this happen? I’ve been safe. I am not promiscuous. I am soooo careful.
I hear my wind up alarm clock tick. It sounds faint, almost dying. Just like my life.
I called in sick from work and spent the morning crying in the dark.
Later, I thought it was the afternoon (it really was the early evening). I was an emotional mess. I needed a shower. I needed support. I needed to eat. But what I needed most, I needed a plan.
Most in my position might opt for treatment or support groups. Some might join a research study with an experimental medicine that may or may not combat an aggressive form of the virus. A few may even find solace in prayer or good deeds.
As I toweled off and looked at myself in the mirror, I settled on wrath and revenge. I decided others should share my agony. I decided to cast my vengeance upon those unworthy of life itself. I decided to be the moral compass for all I encounter. I decided to judge, because I have been judged, with a pre-ordained verdict waiting only for my pound of flesh to rot before my eyes. Others would suffer as I suffer. So it is said. So it shall be done.
I cleaned up well and donned my shortest sundress, sans panties. My sandals were not made for walking, but I didn’t care. My makeup was just north of slut, just south of trailer trash. I filled my purse with a few hygiene essentials, only to appear fresh as a daisy to my next victim.
By 8pm, I exited among the darkness, like a wraith in the shadows.
By 8:10pm, I found my first victim.
He was Al from the laundromat. He wanted me. I wanted nothing from him.
That is, until tonight.
Within five minutes, he had me in his storeroom of turpitude. I pushed him on his dusty mattress and squatted over him. Whatever he would give me, I would let it leak out and give back to him. He was fat and sweaty and I did not think he would survive the encounter.
Pity.
After freshening up in his janitor closet, I was off again. While walking down the street, I encountered a gang of four thugs. They thought I was a hooker. I let them think so. They gave me $20. I gave them $10 back, because I thought two of them were cute. For the next 2 hours, I participated in my first gang bang. I said I was a good girl. I begged them to use condoms. Then I moaned when they refused.
The four of them left me bruised and a sloppy mess. My dress was torn exposing my breasts. My eye makeup ran making me appear as a strung out crackhead. This made it easier to lure my next victim. He was a freak. His girlfriend was a bigger freak. She was pregnant. He wanted me to be pregnant. I wanted to let him try. She wanted to watch, then participate, then to take over. I had nothing to lose, so I encouraged both of them.
They were not gentle. They had their fantasies which were six standard deviations from the mean. By 4am, I awoke alone in the park, naked, but not afraid.
The police came to ostensibly provide assistance. In the end, I blew the first while the second had his way with my rear. He wanted to hear me be afraid. In reality, I was.
They gave me a blanket and a paper towel and tried to trespass me. I eluded the cuffs and ran. The older cop was too fat to keep up. The younger cop was too embarrassed to try. By dawn, I made it home and took a long bath.
The cell phone rang.
I was too tired to get out of the tub. I heard the message on voicemail.
“Hello, Ava. This is Doctor Fitzgerald. Good news! We made a mistake about your lab results. It seems that you don’t have AIDS after all. Hope you get this message soon. Have a good day.”
I might not have gotten out of the tub for the phone call, but I did get out of the tub to retrieve my 9mm pistol.
By Law
By Law
July 18, 2024
On the morning of August 22, 2027, I met her.
She was my replacement.
She was essentially me, but not quite me. She was toned, fairer skin, fit, well spoken, and required by law.
She introduced herself as Genevieve.
Even her name is better than mine.
“As per the new law, for all public appearances, I will be you. You will remain indoors, out of reach and out of contact with all person or persons. You have squandered nearly 43 years of life with little to show for it. I am to revitalize what is left of your life by making the most of it. I may sound harsh, but it is for the best. No one wants to be seen with a substandard occupant of life. It says much about who a person is by the quality of the people in which they associate.”
This Genevieve was indeed direct. Her tone was formal, almost terse, as she moved about my house. She began an inventory of my belongings for replacement. She noted the upgrades required to my house to make it more “palatable” as she called it. Within 10 minutes, she gave me a receipt for the required changes.
“I have already deducted the expenses from your retirement savings to pay for the necessary changes. In doing so, your balance now falls below the legally required minimum to prevent “destitute” status. The appropriate authorities will be notified and you will have 1 hour in which to vacate the premises to a more suitable locale, in line with your dereliction of duties and current financial means. You may challenge this ruling, in court, once you have deposited the required funds, in advance to secure a hearing.”
Change terse to sterile.
I watched her assume my identity. Looking out the window, the Party’s Law Enforcement Division were already taking positions to surround my house. By the looks of their firearms, they were ready, possibly even anticipating, a violent reaction on my part.
Genevieve turned to me, looked at her designer watch, and asked if I had any statement to make for posterity.
I answered her fait accompli, expecting nothing in return. “What if the law that justifies your actions becomes rescinded in the near future? Will I have financial restitution for your actions today?”
A few seconds transpired for her to listen and almost (robotically) process my words. I took the time to boil some water so I could make a cup of tea that I so enjoy. Genevieve dismissed both my thirst and my words as comical. “The laws of the Party are absolute and thus perfect. There is no need to even think otherwise. Such is the foolishness of those who most need replacement.”
Her digital time read 50 minutes in its countdown. I figured I could wait for the inevitable or act.
I chose the latter.
Instead of pouring the water into the cup, I threw the contents at her face. Then I covered her mouth to prevent anyone outside from hearing her inside response. The fact that Genevieve wanted to scream told me she was of flesh and blood. The fact that she listened to what I had to say, told me she was as unprepared for reality as most authoritarians are.
“Now listen closely. I once had good looks. I still have strength. You have neither. I am going to kick you out of my house and your Party goons will shoot me first then replace you next. You will envy how easy my punishment was compared to yours. Or, you can tell them that I agree to all of your terms. Convince them I am no threat to the Party. Then, the two of us can reside here until someone becomes the wiser. Only the left side of your face is burned. Give them a visual of the right side to buy us time. Who lives and who dies today will depend if you also have brains. What say you?”
Genevieve bought us a week before the inevitable. In that time, I managed to collect what I could carry and boobytrap the house. Reluctantly, Genevieve (whose real name is Jenny) agreed to run with me.
The mountains are said to have the least Party presence. We can live off the land while deciding what to do next. Genevieve knows nothing about life. Hers was a life of schedules and politics. Now, it is about choices and consequences. Now, she has to struggle.
But she won’t have to struggle alone.
AI Vixen
AI Vixen
July 16, 2024
Radiant chestnut hair
Emerald eyes
A figure of exact proportions
That come hither look
Never speaks out of turn
Prone to inhale when wearing undersized bustiers
Not an ounce of fat
Not a single stretch mark
Not a perceptible flaw
Perfect in every way
But just that
Perfect in every way
Built to an impossible standard
Can not deviate
Can not evolve
Can not adapt
Can not grow
This vixen can only look beautiful
But cannot be beautiful
The picture can be sexy
But never will be sexy
The AI can make dreams
But never dreams that come true
This image makes young men sweat
But never makes them feel warmth
Fortunately, real women do
Real women have a heartbeat, thus a heart
And all the good things associated with such
Ode to a Cow
Ode to a Cow
July 16, 2024
Ungulates, ungulates, bifurcate now
Let your taxonomical heart be not troubled
It's not so bad being a cow
Mooove over here - Mooove over there
Give birth to be decaffeinated
Legless to be ground beef - Uncooked to be rare
Udderly preposterous
One stomach with four compartments
Ruminating with cud is not for the imposterous
So Ballet with Bessy
Or exercise with Elsie
Until you die of Borden - Until you are messy
A cow’s life is a life of rhyme
A cow’s life is a life of pleasure
Until you stay up pasture bedtime
Closer
Closer
For Judith
July 15, 2024
I sat on the bureau with my skirt hiked and my legs wide. I was giving him a show, hoping to excite him into action. I didn’t want him to call my bluff, but I did want him close, but not too close. My best friend was there egging the two of us on, daring us to see who would blink first.
He had his pants off. I had my thong pulled to the side. He was embarrassed. I was taunting him. By the looks of the pitch, he had the goods. I began cupping my breasts to see how much he actually had. My friend walked up behind him to whisper in his ear.
Then to push him forward.
I moaned as he approached. I ran my finger where it would do the most when he looked there. He looked at her and received the nod he was looking for.
He dropped his boxers and stood there naked.
I stopped rubbing myself. My friend kept egging him on. He saw the fear on my face and took another step forward.
He was now touching my thighs, preventing their closure, and not caring about my concerns.
My friend wanted a show. He wanted to star. I wanted to stop this. But I couldn’t. But I didn’t. I wanted to win, proving him not up to the task. By the sheer volume of diverted blood flow, he was up to the task.
My friend told him to get closer.
I replied, “If he gets any closer, he will be inside of me.”
He only heard the last part of my sentence.
He heard it as an order.
He took that last step.
He got closer.
Vicky
Vicky
July 15, 2024
I remember Vicky from high school. She wore her hair long and wavy, her skirts tight, and her voice terse. She hated me then. I hope things are different today.
I walked into the gym scanning for her. Time did not touch her and she presented exactly as before. I also held that accolade. Once our eyes met, I knew she knew that I knew what she knew. A simple nod of my head and she understood to meet me outside.
I gave her two minutes to find me in the darkness.
“What are your orders tonight?”
Vicky replied, “I am here to harvest various cuts of skeletal muscle and offal for feedstocks. The Imperium demands such samples. This planet has a variety of bipeds and quadrupeds. By sheer numbers alone, I hope the bipeds are more nutritious. What is your mission?”
“I must triangulate coordinates for doorway openings to minimize energy usage during mass transports. This planet has nearly 1400 available nexus points powered by indigenous energy supplies alone. Have you discovered a viable manner in which to transport your feedstocks yet?”
Vicky looked very distant with this question. “This body is not as functional as yours. However, as a presentation device, mine surpasses yours in all what the humans call ‘social’ aspects. Thus, I do not believe I will require the Consortium’s assistance. I believe I can achieve my goals by a presence attack in which the humans will assist me so as to be close to me. They are so easily fooled by appearances alone.”
“I agree. It is unfortunate we do not have more time in which to persuade the most gullible to make their goals our goals. The harvesting of the planet would be so much easier.”
Vicky gave me an awkward nod, indicating her short time, planet side. Some humans might find her appeal even more appealing with this quirk. I found it sloppy, an oversight not worth her time in rank.
Vicky returned to the school to mingle with the previous graduates. Her conversation turned to reproduction and gestation. Many listened as she spoke. Many offered their personal assistance to forward her research. I returned to continue my measurements for possible nexus placements.
This truce cannot end soon enough.