It was in a forest in Greece that Travis found the god. Travis was on a school trip and had broken away from the group to explore the nearby woods while the rest of them went shopping. Travis could not tell you which god it was, merely that it was a god – the perfection of their form gave it away. The god was bathing below a waterfall. Always a bit sure of himself, Travis did not cower, engaged the deity.
FARMaceuticals: Part 1
Sam grew lettuce, tomatoes, celery, garlic, onions, carrots, peppers, zucchini, strawberries, cantaloupe, and watermelon. It didn’t matter what he planted though as Sam would come to find out that he only grew psychotropic fruits and vegetables. This was not a purposeful act, Sam truly had a love of the outdoors and toiling in the earth, and had resolved to “never pay for a salad again,” only to discover that he could not eat anything that came out of his garden without tripping his face off.
“Would you consider it a failure if I don’t write all thirty-one short stories this month?” He asked, passing out the last slices of pizza to the other two, lounging in a shaded bench in the sunny backyard.
“You’re not a failure, love.” She said, putting the pizza down and taking another hit from the pipe.
“I mean, I set this goal – if I don’t reach it, would that be a disappointment?” He bit into his slice.
There is a mold growing on a piece of cheese hidden in the recesses of a college frat boy’s refrigerator: it is the most intelligent organism on the planet. If it had any means of communication other than the ignored pheremonal wafts it exudes to the frat boy every time he opens the door, or a means of locomotion beyond spreading across the fridge, which it doesn’t, for fear of being eradicated if it becomes too much of a nuisance, it could save the world and usher in a new age of communication and space travel. But it sits content and contemplative in the rear of the cheese drawer, forgotten and calm instead.
Fred was running late, like he usually was. Today was different though: usually he would get clocked in at work under the wire, within the five minute grace period employees were allowed. This time though, the traffic was not in his favor; this was the third time this month; where he hit every red, for little eternities that would not yield when the light changed: he was stuck behind new drivers, and the elderly, and people from other states, who all drove like sap runs from a tree. Fred fretted that he would be fired, which he would be, if he didn’t make it there under the wire
When he crashed, it was a sickening thud that tore through the air, metal on metal, and the dull wet thump of Fred’s face into the steering wheel column. Fred, frantic at waiting, took a turn too quickly and careened into a light post. Fred’s life drained out of him and he would never, and always, be late again.
It was impending, it was resting somewhere behind her eyes, in her calves, and in her dripping wet femininity. So close, it was right there on the precipice, just one more stroke, just one more, right there, just there. And she came, an explosion, lights behind her eyes and she relaxed, spent and satiated, all substance placid and serene.
He was practically passed
out as the security guards escorted him out of the club and propped him on a bench some twelve yards away from the entrance. Only one friend exited, just beyond the door to watch where they put him. The friend felt badly: he didn’t want to leave his compatriot alone in the corridor but he also wasn’t ready to go just yet. Temptation was too much for him though and he ambled back inside to have another drink and to find the girl he had been dancing with earlier.