"Dirty Rainwater And A Cheap Cigar"

Today Edmund laid in dirty rainwater in an overpass tunnel and smoked a cheap cigar. It was the most relaxed he had been in weeks.

It just became clear to him that there was no real fighting what was going to happen to him. The rain water went through the cell openings on his exposed back, filling every gap rather quickly. The water continued then throughout his body, slowly replacing his blood.

This was happening, it wasn't going to be painful and as death's go it was kind of the best he could have asked for.

With his last bit of consciousness intact he took a big puff of the cigar.

"Farewell world, hope we see each other soon."

"Initiation"

Walk with me down the streets of blood
Don't falter, my dear, or stumble
The straight and narrow is for the weak
The twisted and black for the humble.

The tolls will come, and pay we shall
Pluck out our tongues and our eyes
What good will such things do for us
In a world without crying and lies?

I see you slow and spy the end
Glass eyes make no mistake
The choice to walk this path, my dear
Was never yours to make.

"Small Dreams"

Humans sleep. Some mammals hibernate. Insects rest. Fish enter trances. Microorganisms have periods of stasis.

In some sense, everything sleeps. And everything dreams.

Imagine the nightmares of being chased by predators, and the unseen things in the night. Imagine entire worlds made of bloodshed, wet raw meat and stinking carcasses.

Imagine what strange basic concepts a nucleus must generate, painting with long strokes the fears and hatreds which will last for aeons  What would such a creature think -- if it could -- were it told its actions would lead to the birth of gods?

These dreams are out there, circling chaotically in a mass of screaming evil at the center of thought and feeling. One god that didn't need to be born, but opened the door for the rest.

Sleep lightly; your dreams have forsaken you since the dawn of time.

"Time Travel"

Have you ever high-fived your future self? It's easy, if you just picture yourself in the future, high five that, and mimic the picture. These things are big loops, simple things to learn as long as you can remind yourself to complete them.

In fact, with practice you may find yourself making nods to plenty of things you haven't done yet, all of them personal in-jokes, writ large across the story of your life. You'll perfect this talent and hone it to an art form  and you'll feel accomplished (and congratulate yourself several minutes beforehand).

But then comes the day when you start crying, and you don't know why. You'll feel frightened and alone for reasons you don't understand. You might run away. You might kill someone. In the end, it doesn't matter.

Those feelings, for those couple of weeks when you're still alive and still "you," come from your future. They're warning signs that something's been reading the story of your life, and that it's chosen to rewrite the ending. 

Suicide will seem favorable, but you'll be unable to commit it. The loop must be closed, and the hands made of wood and history, reaching calmly from the future, will already be tying up all of the loose ends.

Two hours before he grabs you and the loop finally closes, you'll feel relief that it's finally over. One hour before it, you'll have forgotten who you are.

"ALWAYS WATCHING"

I don't know how long I have left. Even as I type this, I can feel my mind slowly slipping away.

There was no stopping him. He appeared out of nowhere.

I thought I was hallucinating at first, nobody else ever saw him. But he was there. And he was all too real.

My family was taken first. The entire house, burned to the ground. I barely managed to escape.

And all the while, he stood there, staring, as if this was nothing new.

I was on the run for the next few days. Rushing from town to town, sleeping in ditches and eating from dumpsters.

And he would stand there, watching.

Then he changed. The tentacles appeared, and I felt he was no longer just observing. He was acting.

Every time I saw him I would hear it: nothing but static at first, but then music. Haunting music, calling, calling me to him.

I tried to ignore it. It didn't work.

I would go for days hearing nothing but the noise, until I could no longer stand it. I cut my ears off.

The music stayed.

Now, he appears before me, and I can do nothing but sit and stare back.

I can hardly think now. I am using up all my effort to type this, and I know that as soon as I am finished he will take me completely.

So I write this as a message: No matter what you do, or where you go, he will get you. And until he does, he will stand there, always watching, until you unwillingly climb into his warm embrace.

"An Unbroadcast PSA"

SHOT: A brunette girl, about 15 (actress never determined) sitting at home, on a computer. Ominous music is playing.

CLOSE UP: A progress bar, downloading 50 songs at a fast pace. The progress bar is red, and a skull and crossbones decorate it.

PAN: Girl’s face, smiling awkwardly.

SHOT: A cliché school hallway. The girl closes her locker and looks around guiltily before listening to an mp3 player. The hallway is full of people, but they fade out of the shot.

CLOSE UP: The girl’s face, shocked, almost comically.

SHOT: A Hispanic boy as old as the girl (actor unidentified), standing in the hallway. His eyes shift out of proportions and somehow dominate the frame. Viewers report the phenomenon as nauseating. The music grows frantic.

SHOT: The boy running at the girl, now shot in real-time from one angle. He pounces on her as she screams. His body blocks any view of her.

SHOT: The girl lies dead, her ears ripped off. The blood and gore are realistic.

SHOT: The boy is chewing on her eyes, and his body begins to fade away. He turns to the viewer. The eyes remain after the rest of the boy is gone. This shot is held for fifteen seconds.

FADE TO BLACK.

"Reading in the Bathtub"

Come here, child.

Your father brought you here looking for work, is that correct?

Come closer. Don’t worry, you're old enough to bathe yourself now. You won't get sucked down the drain. 

Is that a book you're holding? Could you read it to me?

Don't worry, child. You can whisper and I'll hear it. Your father's out now, at any rate, so there's no need to worry about him. 

Me? I'm just a fairy, child. I live in the water. You can't see me because I'm so tiny. 

Oh, don't worry about crushing me. Us fairies are strong. The other fairies tell me you're a smart child.

I'm sure your father did warn you about the water here. That's because it has minerals in it. It isn't safe to drink. But it's just fine for sitting in.

Child, you're hurting my feelings. Won't you climb in and read to me?

That's it. Here, I'll help you in.

Now, now, don't scream. Your father isn't home. Now, why don't we conduct this little test reasonably?

Fine, if you insist on trying to escape...

Oh, listen to that. The garage door's opening. Your father's going to check on you in approximately twenty-two seconds. In five, it'll be too late.

Shh, child, shh. You're not drowning, you're becoming part of an experiment. I want to see the effects I have on a young intellect.

He's looking for you now, but you're unconscious. And while I'm slipping away into these pipes, I'm still very much a part of you.