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Debugging

fantasy-story

Bugs fountained up from the center of the geometric design like an elaborate water show. The cockroaches pirouetted in midair, meaty horned beetles pelted the ground like hail, and grasshoppers jumped every which way over the uneven chalk lines of the spell.

“Damn, damn, damn!“ I cursed, and cut power to the invocation. The flood of many-legged creatures ceased. At least no spiders this time.

An involuntary shudder passed through me as a determined cockroach darted towards me. I quickly drew a circle and cast my trusty bug repellent spell. The glossy insect crashed into the chalk border and flipped over, helpless.

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bill magnuson and his leaf blower must die

a friend told me
there is a huge cash reward
for proof
aliens are here
among us
visiting our earth

i have such proof

in fact
aliens told me directly
(telepathically of course)
that the next time
my neighbor
magnuson
bill magnuson
turns on his leaf blower
pointlessly
on a perfectly sunny day
and ruins my solitude
destroys my peace of mind
my precious quiet…

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Bad Dogs, Good Tricks

Dr. Nelson believes I have a distorted view of reality. I’ve argued that even Psych 101 students know we all invent our own world. Not one is the same, or real for that matter, whether or not those worlds include two-headed people with proboscis noses and tails made from their own arms, or furry kittens with cloven hooves. I have a “crass imagination, ill-paired with an absence in forethought,” so I’ve read in the charts.

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Coffee and Cornbread

It’s a universal law: the customer wants the one item they can’t afford.

I’ve been working at this diner for three years now. On the edge of Saturn’s farthest ring, I watch the rock shards tumble past our containment shields. The sun is so far away.

“Serve me up some hash and grits, Sally.”

Cletus hangs on the counter’s edge, his work sleeves rolled up. If we needed fresh ham, those forearms would do.

Shipments from the terrestrial planets come in real slow.

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Eminent Domain

free scifi by Bruce Holland Rogers

by Bruce Holland Rogers

What would have been nice on those six acres of city-owned land behind our homes was another park. We already had two. Another park would have suited the character of the area. That’s what we said, loudly, at hearings about a proposed bridge, about the possible sale of the land to a grocery chain, about a planned clinic for disabled veterans. A bridge, a store, a clinic, any of those would have meant obstructed views, more noise, traffic. A park was what we wanted. A park, a green park, and nothing but a park, so help us God.

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