THE EXECUTION OF STANLEY BEST_Sequence_How [Not] to Befriend a Human_The Librarian’s Favorite
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THE EXECUTION OF STANLEY BEST
THE Ewww.onedoor.ccXECUTION OF STANLEY BESTBy Russell Waterman Stanley Best sensed something slithering up behind him. His skin started to crawl off his bones. When he turned to look his suspicions were confirmed: it was his boss, Krishna Pyata. Krishna was dressed in his usual drab khakis, brand name sneakers and his finger styled hair had just the right amount of product spiking it in place. A devout Hindu, Krishna’s forehead was decorated with the symbolic red bindi dot. Stanley noticed that his boss’s ever present condescending grin was mysteriously missing? Following closely behind Krishna like two pup...
Sequence
Celia coughed and gasped as the world turned black around her. She heard her name, called over and over, a tin whistle howling, shooting through the darkness. She was here again. It was night. She sat down, the ground smooth and hard. Wooden boards. Celia glanced up, waiting. A window appeared, then three more in a line, each with gauzy white curtains, blowing in some faraway wind. The tin whistle spat one last time, then faded, replaced by the thunking of piano keys. She couldn’t hear the notes, only the pearly sound of keys being pressed, slowly, aimlessly. It had become very still, quiet e...
How [Not] to Befriend a Human
“It’s just a dream…” She thought to herself. She was walking down a dirt path among the trees of a beautiful forest. She had been here before, though she couldn’t exactly recall when. Perhaps in her childhood... Yes, that was it. She often came here with her older brother. It was their secret place, and up ahead was a clearing where they would play.Unconsciously, her pace quickened. She had to see that clearing again, with the multi-colored flowers, the specks of dust glittering in sunbeams, it was truly a magical place. She could see the tree line approaching.Breaking out into a full sprint, ...
The Librarian’s Favorite
There weren’t many vivid colors in the Warren. Vibrant hues must have tired of always fighting the drab reality of hopelessness in that place. But one bright hideaway was always there: a cluster of three clumsily cutout stars, faded in the middle, taped to the ceiling of my bedroom. Mother said they had been there when we moved in. She also said- for the benefit of the cameras in every corner of our house, no doubt- that of course their cheeriness was not consistent with real stars, in space. “Those outside elements never live up to their replicas on the inside, here, where it’s safe,” she ...