BRUSHING OFF THE APOCALYPSE

"BRUSHING OFF THE APOCALYPSE" is some quick-lit based on a quick sketch by Steven Silver. His blog consists of smart little sketches made of people seen during his lunch breaks.

Enjoy...

BRUSHING OFF THE APOCALYPSE

He chews away with cheeks that inflate and deflate like little red pumps of a giant contraption. His name is Tommy Mecharno. He is on his lunch break.

He stops to stare deep into the third burger which makes up the sum total of his lunch and he falls into a contemplation of doom: How many cows were mixed into this patty in a system of excess and gluttony that pumps out crap in order to promote profits for the scrambling few who are building up empires of billions of dollars before the whole system of speculation crashes into a reality of limitations ?

This reverie of reflection is broken as he shakes his head and sinks his teeth into another bite of burger, forgetting everything.

Until tomorrow.

BLOOD IN THE SALAD: A GYPSY CURSE

"BLOOD IN THE SALAD: A GYPSY CURSE" is a smattering of fiction based on an illustration by Alan Hunt. His site is definitely dope, presenting you options in a comic strip kind of way.

Enjoy...

BLOOD IN THE SALAD: A GYPSY CURSE

Greg Yurikovitch sliced a sliver of skin from the tip of his finger as he was doing prep for the day at Uncle Billy's All You Can Eat Buffet. A haze of hangover prevented him from noticing anything at first and the specks of blood went unnoticed at the bottom of the plastic bin of lettuce.

"Ah, shit," he burped, looking at his blood-shiny finger tip. He looked around for immediate relief not knowing what he was looking for.

After a moment of sober clarity he went to the employee's toilet to rummage up a bandage and the morning returned to its regular course of affairs.

For lunch that day a gypsy found a spot of red in the middle of his salad. He complained to the manager, a heavy set man with a face which resembled a clenched fist.

"You sir, are by no means a food critic and consequently of no consequence to us. By God look at you. Your shirt doesn't even fit you properly. You fancy yourself a man of judgement, but here you are in front of me with sleeves stretched up around your forarms. You can't even dress yourself," the manager shouted in a fit of rage. No one complained in his restaurant about anything. It was a place of perfection.

The gypsy, affronted by this display of abysmal service, immediately set about conjuring up a curse for the hands that prepared the food: screaming tasmanian devils die, headless torsos fired off into a white sky, no clothes will ever fit this guy.

And the gypsy walked out without a word, while the manager shouted out abuse and insults after him

But it was true, clothes would never fit Greg Yurikovitch ever again. His dress pants would droop or his running shoes would be too tight. He would never find a comfortable fit for the rest of his life.

And his mornings spent struggling with hangovers increased tenfold.

THE PROFESSOR OF SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS

"THE PROFESSOR OF SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS" is a whimsically dark fast fiction based on this image by the very talented Julian Hector.

You should check out his wonderfully playful site which features oodles of animals in a variety of poses. The Thinking Giraffe appealed to me the most, as I detected some potential sadness in the piece.

Enjoy...

THE PROFESSOR OF SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS

Of all the animals on the Savanna, Gilbert the Giraffe was teased to tears the most.

"Oh here comes Professor Head in the Clouds," Lenny the Lion chuckled as he chomped on the hindquarters of a gazelle. "What kind of theories have you brought down from your ivory tower today ?"

"It is a sign of poor breeding to eat with your mouth full," Dillinger the Dwarf Mongoose shouted from a distance. "Besides its a free world. If Gilbert wants to be a philosophizing idiot, let him."

All the animals within earshot shouted out angry fits of laughter.

Once again, Gilbert hoofed it from the scene with tears streaming his face. He made his way to his quiet place where he could be alone to think through this problem. As the tears dried from his face, he thought of how he could get people to stop thinking he was a dull academic with nothing but empty contemplations in his head.

What shapes the ways in which we are perceived, he thought to himself.

He pondered and pondered until the sun set on his solitude.

Flowers in the field fenced him in.

SHIVA'S MOONLIGHTING AGAIN

"SHIVA'S MOONLIGHTING AGAIN" is a fast fiction based on an image by the one... the only... Simon Redekop, a Vancouver artist who is one of the four members of the Human Five. If you're confused by those digits, don't be. You must simply realize that there's a secret code hidden in all those numbers which will unlock the meaning of the universe. Human Five's fine work is often infused with that kind of mathematical/geometrical funk.


Given the significance of having a Human Five member's work on Fast Fictions, I've also decided to add something else to today's short-short story: pee. To be honest, I'm sure 99% of the world doesn't give a rat's ass about the stories on this site because there are no real facts in these fictions that can be taken away and told around the water cooler. Well today I came across a news item concerning the power of pee which I'm sure you'll want to tell your buddies about. Basically a team of scientists in Singapore have developed a paper battery which is powered by urine.

So what the heck's the connection between Shiva and pee powered batteries ?

That's for me to know and you to read all about in the following story.

Enjoy...

SHIVA'S MOONLIGHTING AGAIN

"Between the dance of destruction and the jiggety-jig of creation, I get very little time to myself," Shiva sighs to Jesus over plates of baba ganoush. As other deities in the cafeteria come and go with trays piled high with a variety of other savory dishes, rays of enlightenment ricochet all over the place.

"I have a friend in Singapore for example who could really use a hand with this battery that he's developed using urine."

Jesus spits out the milk that he's drinking into a fine mist and a majestic shout: "Urine !"

"Well yeah. It's brilliant. The process uses urine to power a test-kit for diabetes. Great idea, he just needs a little more capital to get it out of the research labs and onto the consumer market." As Shiva explains all of this with great earnestness, he nervously scratches his brow with his transcendental twig. Obviously, he's having a hard time, getting other gods to take him seriously.

"I want to help him out, you know. Raise a little bit of capital. Stir up some interest. If people were to invest in -"

"If I only had one converted soul everytime you said 'raise a little capital', hell would be a very lonely place," Jesus says, pushing away his plate of baba ganouch. "Give it a rest."

And Shiva was left alone at the table.

And Shiva never moonlighted again.

Amen.

UNDER THE COLLAPSE OF THE BLUEBERRY SKY

"UNDER THE COLLAPSE OF THE BLUEBERRY SKY" is a fast fiction based on an image by none other than the supremely talented Mark Ryden, a painter who blends cute with creepy into a whole new shade of brilliance.

Enjoy...

UNDER THE COLLAPSE OF THE BLUEBERRY SKY

Everyday is spent in prayer, followed by a double dare.

"I double dare you to throw a fish head at that cherubim who sits by the edge of the Golden Gate," I said to Cindy Mackers. Cindy is even afraid of low class angels and so its extra funny to see her squirm. But there's nothing they can do to her. We can do anything we want. It's heaven.

The only time I can't joke around is when I'm praying to Saint Barbie. Barbie did a lot of miracles in the world. She brought smiles and confidence and dreams of perfection into so many miserable and ugly girls' lives. After all what could be more miraculous than a smile on an ugly girls face ? Saint Barbie also didn't smoke. If you don't smoke and you can perform a whole bunch of miracles, then you become a Saint and there's a special place for you in heaven. Yay, yay, hip, hip hooray !!

My Daddy used all his "Daddy powers" to make sure Barbie would become a saint because there was a time that I was so sad and all I wanted was his promise that I would meet Barbie in heaven. After the blueberry coloured ceiling of the toy store fell down on me and a whole bunch of girls who were fighting over barbie dolls, I was in the hospital for a long time and I was so sad. But when my daddy told me that he had used his "Daddy powers" to have Barbie turned into a Saint, I knew that I could die a happy little girl.

Everyday is spent in prayer, followed by a double dare, is my prayer that I repeat to Saint Barbie every single day.

I double dare you get next to Jesus and sneeze out these words: doofus says what.

Ha ha. I sure do.

SOMEDAY YOU WILL FEAST ON ME

"SOMEDAY YOU WILL FEAST ON ME" is a fast fiction based on another photo sent to me by Jonathan Ball.

He tells me that his girlfriend is obsessed with this photo of a county fair pig and she requested that I write something from its porky p.o.v. And as I'm always aiming to please, here goes nothing.

Enjoy.

SOMEDAY YOU WILL FEAST ON ME

Through an amazing feat of hypnotic telepathy, Earl the Pig saved his skin by implanting clever ideas into an unsuspecting crowd of county fair gawkers.

"Just get a load of this here piggy, ladies and gents. His fame will be feasted upon by hundreds. An army could ride high on this hog and have enough for seconds," Earl's owner shouted out with spittles of spit.

Upon snapping some pics of the pig, a young woman in the crowd suddenly thought it would be a great idea to put a photo of the pig in the classifieds beneath a near pornographic paragraph of desire. The woman blushed at the words which suddenly paraded through her mind:
Yeah just get a load of all this flesh. Oh yeah, you like me ? Oh yeah, I'm touching myself with my manure coated hooves. You like that ? Ohhhh, I can't wait for you to sink your teeth into my pink body.

In spite of herself, she knew what had to be done. She would put these words beneath the photo of this poor pig everywhere she could.

And the world would lose its appetite for Earl the Pig.

TRACERS WILL TALK

"TRACERS WILL TALK" is a fast fiction based on a photo sent to me by the multi-tasking, multi-talented, multi-qualified and multi-you-name-it Jonathan Ball.

With the business of the summer all around I whipped this one up in ten minutes. I hope you get a kick out of it.

Enjoy...

TRACERS WILL TALK

You know how people say that there's like more wisdom in the ninety-nine percent of our subconscious mind than in the... umm world's biggest computer plus all the animals that have ever walked the earth ? I have found a way to tap into all that mental power and I will have to someday plan to write a book about it.

I've been teaching English to kindergarten students in Taipei, Taiwan for something like two years. It is a great way for me to get into that uncharted territory of the mind. The only problem is that hash is sometimes hard to come by in Taiwan. Good hash, I mean. I'm just lucky that I did a lot of psychedelics back home when I was a teenager.

I don't want to say that I'm like resting on my laurels or anything, but I did learn a lot from those trips. I brought a lot of "souvenirs" back from those trips. I mean that's what a flashback is, right ? A souvenir that you suddenly stumble on, like if you were to buy a totem pole in Vancouver and then when you were at work and you were looking for something... work related and you stumbled across that totem pole... You'd feel pretty lucky. You'd remember... the totem pole and the person that sold it to you and how he was like your best friend who owed you money but gave you the acid instead. Well you know what I mean. Basically, that's what flashbacks are to me.

Sometimes in class we repeat the same word like a million times and it's like a mantra. Yesterday we sang the blue song a hundred times and I could feel myself slipping back into a kind of hallucinogenic state.

Sometimes I get tracers off the students eyes which write out entire sentences and then I really try to concentrate to read the message that my subconscious is writing to me. It's like I've got a ouija board inside my head.

I could totally be psychic.

Yeah I'm pretty lucky.