Fiddleback_Nothing but blackness_A Wasted Day_The Representation of Unreality
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Fiddleback
“She is afraid of spiders.” “Lots of people are afraid of spiders. So what?” “Pranks only work on people who are afraid of things. Like, dying, nuns, spiders! They actually succumb to their own imaginative fear. People don’t act irrationally for the most part, when they like something, but when they don’t. Shove a cookie in someone’s face and they are just going to take a bite, not scream. See what I’m getting at?” “What’ve you gowww.onedoor.cct in mind?” That is how it began. She thought she saw a spider and dropped my Chicago Fair commemorative plate. Never had any intention of harming anyone. Never in...
Nothing but blackness
I wake up in the middle of the night frustrated that I can’t sleep. I turn to the left alarm, and it reads 1am UGH! I turn to the right and see my wife Patricia laying down next beside me. God she always looked so pretty when she was asleep. I lay back down and stare at the ceiling after what seemed like twenty minutes I decide that I just can’t do it and get up. I go out of our room and down the hall on the left that’s Penelope and Emily’s rooms. I open the door just a tad to see them sleeping soundly together. My precious little girls from the moment I held them in my hands I knew they were ...
A Wasted Day
The almost empty refrigerator exhales cold air as it swings open and a voice hisses at him.“You don’t feed me enough”The words form eerie, yet distinct, coming from the direction of the bare, open fridge. He stumbles back looking around for the source of the voice. He sees his wife, Sarah, still sipping her coffee while carefully scorching a single egg, half scrambleds. Both of her eyes are glued on the wrinkled page of a water stained romance novel and she doesn’t look up to acknowledge the voice. Still searching for the voice, he looks over at his son, Tyler who is hanging upside down over t...
The Representation of Unreality
(content warning: implied suicidal ideation) Once, there was a girl who was preternaturally good at creating representations. She could not tell how she came to possess this power. Perhaps she had been born with it, or perhaps one day she had gotten carried away reading Erich Auerbach and it had simply sprung into existence.She could do impressive things with this power, and for a time she put it to good use. She could make movies and carve ice-sculptures and impress small scribbles on a piece of paper, and all around her, the people would stop to marvel at these likenesses. How lifelike they ...