Month: December 2015

The Great Wall of Trump

For six seconds, the entire world was silent. Not a single person dared to breathe.

In Washington, D.C., the announcer stared at the results, aghast. It was true. “Trump,” he repeated. “Donald – Donald J. Trump is the forty-fifth President of the United States of America.”

Thousands of millions of people stared at their television screens, feeling numb. In Ohio, somebody started crying. Continue reading “The Great Wall of Trump”

Dude, Where’s My Batmobile?

On the midnight streets of Gotham City, at the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen Street, just outside of Gotham City Hall, were two men. One stood ramrod straight, glancing up and down the street as if he was looking for something. The other man, piled on the ground and bound at the wrists and ankles, was cackling, his too-wide mouth showing too many teeth.

“Oh!” the bound man laughed. “Oh, this is rich! Absolutely, utterly, filthy rich!” He kept cackling, slamming his head on the ground in his mirth. “So rich it makes Bruce Wayne look like a pauper! Batman, the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight of Gotham, can’t remember where he parked!” Continue reading “Dude, Where’s My Batmobile?”

The Unwilling God; Or, The Big Hole

And the Maker said to His First Creation: I grant You dominion over Paradise. As it has always been, may You keep it so.

And the First Creation said: I thank You, Maker, and shall do as You ask.

And the Maker said to His Second Creation: I grant You dominion over Damnation. As it has always been, may You keep it so.

And the Second Creation said: I thank You, Maker, and shall do as You ask.

And the Maker said to His Third Creation: I grant You dominion over the World. As it has always been, may You keep it so.

And the Third Creation said: This is a terrible idea. You know that, right? …Right? Continue reading “The Unwilling God; Or, The Big Hole”

The Fallen Blackbirds

General Gaul Macrabius looked over the battlefield, arranged in miniature on the table before him. From here, it looked so much neater than the real thing. The soldiers were represented by carved wooden tokens, the larger tokens indicating larger groups. The enemy Boudosian soldiers, made out of dark chestnut, were constantly being moved as scouting reports filed in. It wasn’t a neat process. The information they had was hours out of date by the time it arrived, and it wouldn’t be updated until another scout could be sent.

“…and if they keep moving at the same pace, they should be here by noon tomorrow,” the scout finished. The Boudosian tokens were slowly creeping towards the collection of alder tokens that represented the last few thousand Craiviran troops still alive under Macrabius’s command. The Boudosians numbered almost three times that number, and they were led by a capable and prescient commander, who had used tactics and force of arms to corner Macrabius’s army against a mountain range. Continue reading “The Fallen Blackbirds”

The Contract

There was something subtly off about the man sitting across from me, diligently writing on the parchment using a feather pen. He had already been in the room when I was manhandled through the door by the burly, most-likely-not-human guard, sitting there like a statue in black robes embroidered with gold filigree. He said nothing as he wrote, and every time I opened my mouth to say something, the guard growled at me, and I shut up.

The man just felt wrong, in the same way that you can smell the cold. It felt like I was looking at a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing. In the ten minutes since the eight-foot-tall man with horns had dragged me into the small, cold room, he hadn’t said a word. He just sat there, writing. Continue reading “The Contract”