Bastia

Cash blew like leaves across the courtyard, signifying not the Fall between Summer and Winter, but the fall of Dremel Fiefdom, who had been clutching the briefcase that had contained the money until only a few moments before. Dizzy scribbles of energy spiraled off his head as he scanned the perimeter of the courtyard, hoping to catch sight of his unseen attacker. He felt the back of his head and discovered red syrup. He ventured a taste, and he realized it was blood. The blow to his head had apparently cursed his brain with unfortunate sluggishness. He needed to gather his wits if he was to face the mystery lurker. He tried to stand, but he

“I’ve been receiving death threats again.” “But you’re already dead.” “Yeah, I know. I feel like a billionaire who’s receiving letters from Publishers Clearing House.” “Does that mean that you equate being alive to being in poverty?” “Yeah, but I’ll equate anything that moves.” “Easy there, guy. My wife moves. My mother moves. Even my children move.” “Yeah, it must have been hard when they all left you.” “Nothing’s harder than the present.” “Diamonds of the Past is a good band name.” “Almonds of the Pasta is a good

Like if  was dipped in chocolate “Do you have something to tell me?!” Mersa asked Sterling over the noise of the trash compactor. “Boy, do I ever!” Sterling answered her. “It's a biggie, and I may have to yell it even if there's no loud machine to talk over!” “Sweet deal!” Mersa said. “Like if the Louisiana Purchase was dipped in chocolate!” The compactor ended its process, and Sterling opened the door to deposit more of the endless parade of bagged rejection. “You're always dipping things in chocolate,” Sterling observed. “Last week, some of my dinner popped inside the mic

Reiter Barlowe uppercutted the beach from below the surface of the water. The land jutted up in an explosion of ocean spray, birthing a baby cliff. This new formation launched a surprised Swizza Pertungent skyward, where she impacted with a low-flying robot waterfowl, or rather, it impacted with her. As her squishy abdomen wrapped itself around the bird’s metallic beak, she regarded her life. What a life! she exclaimed into her own skull. I mean, wow, I’ve done a hell of a lot of good in this world. I deserve better than this. Then she imagined herself in a horsehair wig, sitting with impeccable posture in a chair of authority at

The house rested at Crag's Edge. It looked like it could have been impressive once, but now it sat in dismal resignation, cursed with a completely localized nuclear winter hanging overhead. Everyone knew better than to approach it. That is, until Rotundra moved into town. The cloud of black energy surrounding the house had found its first conductor. Rotundra the Ice Fatty snacked on her Chortles candy, stepping up to the gate with all of the grace a barrel composed of cellulite could muster. Even her eyelids were fat, rendering her blinks full-second affairs. She peered into the gloom and liked what she saw. Which was nothing. The black ene

Belee Datt had a crush on the end of the world. She knew they could never be together, though, as it was foretold that her death would mark but the beginning of the end. Just a mark? she wondered to herself. Fate, being such a coy butt-slurper, would probably make her death a question mark, leaving the end of the world as the indefinite event it had always been. She had decided a long time ago that a foretelling about her didn't make her more important than anyone else. It didn't give her life more meaning. It didn't mean that existence made any more sense. All it meant was that the writer of reality was spoiling one of the climaxes. Speaki