Ok, ok… What is the opposite of “timeless”? This is that.
They were accruing an enormous database of knowledge about him. He knew it was happening. It was… a game he couldn’t resist, and every time he logged on, the attacks would get worse. They knew how to get to him. Part of him hated it. Part of him knew it was an addiction, but he liked it. When he played the game, he liked everything. There was no way to stop. The point of the game was simply to play the game.
Although everyone he knew was playing alongside him, he had grown further and further from them, minor contact with them nothing compared to the backdrop of commercialism.
Now it was wireless. He could play it from anywhere, and there was nothing quite like the soul-selling high he got every time he sent out a message his contacts.
The game was winning. It already had his information, and he could be sure that his phone number was being held in the limbo of virtual space until the corporate entity running the game decided that it was going to sell it.
Ficly for today. Surprise ending. Truckin’ away on the book. 60 pages now. Stay tuned to news on that this week.
The water was everywhere. On the walls, on the floor. Covering him.
She kicked and screamed between gulping gasping breaths while he held her down. She was fighting hard. Pushing, she groped for the edge of the tub, trying to keep away from the water, knocking his hands aside.
What were the neighbors going to think? He wanted to shut her up for just a second, so no one called the cops, god forbid.
She was crying now, yelling at him to let go, but where would she have gone? She had no one else. This was the end of the road.
Two-year-old Jenny Anghers was going to take her bath and like it.
Today’s Ficly! My plan is to write a bunch, and then put them up on ficly all at once in a week or two in order to get some attention.
The snow outside was the heaviest I’d seen in a long while. It was still coming down when I’d finally cleared the driveway for the second time, and I was getting worried. I didn’t really have the steam to keep going out there and plowing away. For a few hours I sat inside and watched as my hard work disappeared under the white blanket.
At least the fire was nice, and I had wood stacked up in my shed just outside the back door.
It also occurred to me that I really didn’t have anywhere to put the snow if I did go back out to shovel; eight foot high piles lined the driveway. My daughter came in and crouched by the fire in her pajamas, staring into its burning heart. That was the solution.
In hindsight, running out in my underwear with an aerosol-can-and-zippo-lighter makeshift flame thrower while screaming and laughing as the flames licked the frozen crystals may have damaged my relationship with my neighbors more permanently than I had anticipated.
The following is inspired by every English paper I’ve ever written:
Waldo’s struggle is not an uncommon one. Born a clone in a temporally devolving dimension, as detailed in Martin Handford’s final scene of “The Great Waldo Search”, Waldo is faced with several issues. First, due to the fact that he is of a race of genetically identical beings, he faces the very real possibility of extinction each and every day. Note that his race would not have had the potential to evolve whatsoever, were it not for their unstable reality, which forces them in purely random directions through time and space at entirely random intervals (this is documented). Few Waldo’s are believed to remain in their homeland, the vast majority having unintentionally evacuated the premises, finding themselves amidst the turmoil of underground Medieval battles, clashes between factions of pre-industrial Japan, or worse, the beaches of New Jersey.
In making the protagonist of his series a rag-tag adventurer with a plastic smile, Handford criticizes both America’s increasing superficiality, and it’s pointless attempt to be as well dressed as Waldo himself. Handford makes a great effort in his work to detail how incredibly futile the American Dream is, while at the same time acknowledging the difficulties faced by other cultures all throughout history. In doing so, he indicates how preposterous it is that we should be concerned with wealth, when history has proven again and again that the looming threat of utter destruction at any moment at the hand of the Unfriendly Giants, is a very real one. While other authors of children’s books tend to prevaricate, and dance around the issue, Handford goes straight for the jugular, arguing that it is best to explain the nature of existence to children early, and the difficulties therein, rather than tease them with false promises of a world in which they will not have to face danger and greed.