He appeared out of the shadows. “Money,” he demanded, his knife cutting down the need for explanatory conversation.
Panicking, I explained I had no job, no life, and definitely no money. He apologised for bothering me and left.
I punched the air happily. The air took it like a man.
This week’s guest story comes from Jamie Middleton. He declined to attach a tagline or description of himself, which leads me to believe that he is either celebrity, a secret agent, or both. Rock on, Jamie!
“Huh. It was dead.”
“Told you. What do we do with it now?”
“Bring it to a scientist? That’s what you’re supposed to do with aliens, right?”
“Do you know any scientists? Any that survived, I mean.”
“Good point. Let’s just burn it, I guess.”
The invaders saw the smoke.
“If a tree falls in the jungle,” said my captor, “no one can hear you scream.”
I slowly loosened my bonds. “I think you’re misquoting that.”
He snorted, hacking at the tree with his axe.
He was right. I fled as the tree crushed him, and I heard no screams.
“May I buy a cup of tea, please?” he pleads.
She sees him and smiles. This seems to frighten him, so she leaves, returning quickly with a hot cup of tea and a croissant.
“May God bless you, child,” he whispers. He sips the tea delicately, tears in his eyes.
The Invisible Man was written by Honest, who loves to create, mostly with words, and hopes to inspire and be inspired. You can follow Honest on Twitter at http://twitter.com/Honestlyspeakin.
She danced like a bird; she danced like a gazelle; she danced like a hurricane.
She danced like chocolate; she danced like a song; she danced like a rainbow.
After the accident, the doctors say, though her body was motionless, she danced in her mind, painting pictures in their EEGs.
With a bang, the door swung abruptly open.
She stood in the open doorway and said, “I’m home.”
He leaned against the wall. “I missed you.”
“I know,” she said. “But I didn’t miss you.”
“I know,” he said, clutching his heart as his handgun fell from his blood-soaked fingers.
The runners toed the line and prepared for the firing of the gun. Muscles tense, they tried to clear their minds and relax. Many years of blood, sweat, and tears had led to this moment. They felt woefully unprepared.
Then—
BANG!
They fell, their wish for freedom finally, permanently granted.
The rocking chair moved back and forth, back and forth.
It was a family heirloom, a decrepit icon of past generations that had been hidden in the attic, alone and lonely, for years.
But that night, as I laid sleeping, I heard it rocking back and forth, back and forth.
It was raining.
I had spent years dreaming of and working towards that day. My creation was blood, sweat, and tears mingled with iron, wires, hope, and steam.
I had great plans for the technology I had built. I was all set to change the world.
But it was raining.
He does it every day. He comes back home from wherever he was and promises himself that he’ll stop wasting time. He promises himself he’ll be productive and do something useful.
Then he sits down on the couch, watches TV, and eats snacks until he falls asleep. Just like me.
This Guest Writer story was written by Greg Stepniewski, a Computer Science student from Poland. As per the author’s wishes, this story is available under a Creative Commons Attribution license, and may be used for commercial purposes.