#ThursThreads Week 460 : What Did You Want Him To Do?

“He was too limited to figure out the truth, you know that.”

I shuffled my feet, “Apparently.”

“I told you to take no actions. Let me handle it.”

I nodded, “Yeah, you did.”

“So you acted anyway.”

I shrugged.

“What did you want him to do?”

“You know damn well what I wanted him to do. I wanted him to learn. To wake the fuck up. To see that reality doesn’t work in the black and white way he thinks it does.” I was angry. I’d grown tired of the insanity of people, of their inability to accept the truth, their insistence on believing what they wanted to believe.

“He’s not grown up enough to understand.”

“Maybe we should just kill his stupid ass, and make the world a better place!” I was really angry.

“You’d commit murder of another because they are trapped emotionally, and mentally, in a maze they can’t even see?”

I looked at the picture of the doctor I’d all but killed. “Apparently.”

I sighed, and kicked the ground, “I know. I’m no more grown up than he is.”

“You have made a mistake. They happen. Learn from the experience.”

I nodded. “I should undo the damage, shouldn’t I?”

“I will undo the damage. You will resume your studies on Earth.”

That was better than I’d  expected. After all, injecting a biological weapon into a human to demonstrate to them that chronic pain is real, by leaving them in chronic, permanent pain, was judging someone else.

250 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 460 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 459 : Can You Give Me An Example?

Once the police learned I was conscious, of course they had questions, mostly about, “Why were you there? What were you looking for? Did you find an explosive device?” The idiots kept asking that same set of questions, endlessly, like some robocall message on an answering machine that repeated all day, every day.

“She had a feeling.” I kept explaining that. They kept ignoring that.

After an hour of answering the same questions over and over again, they finally shut up. That’s when Deborah spoke, “You guys don’t know what happened, do you.”

“A building got bombed. You two were inside. Maybe you set the bomb up, and didn’t make it out.”

I’d have laughed, but laughing hurt too much right then.

She’d laughed in their faces. “It wasn’t a bomb.” She nodded to me. It was my turn to speak.

“It was a wall of air. Crushed the entire front of the building. No damage to anything around it. Just the building.”

“Explain to us how that works. Can you give me an example?”

“Works like crushing a can with your foot.”

“Seriously? Crushing a building with air?”

Everybody looked at Deborah. They knew she felt things, sensed things, they couldn’t. I did what I always did. Protected her. “Yeah. Air. Probably used an electromagnetic field to make it.”

They left, with the always expected, “We’ll be watching you. Don’t leave town.”

“I see they’re as silly as they always have been.”

Deborah nodded, “Some things never change.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 459 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. And I have no clue what the heck is writing itself. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 457 : Did You Feel It?

“Did you feel it?”

I looked at Deborah and shook my head, “There you go again. Asking me if I felt something that’s invisible, not the wind, not the air pressure, not the temperature, not the ground shaking.” I shook my head, “I didn’t feel a damn thing, and you know it.”

“I…”

I cut her off. “You know I have you around to feel all the stuff I can’t. ‘Cause I can’t ever feel it.”

“I know.”

“Crap.” I’d have hugged her, and told her I was sorry, but I knew it wasn’t that time, or we didn’t have that kind of time. “What’s coming?” I did the simplest thing I could, and put my hand on top of hers. “What do we need to get ready for?”

She was quiet. Too quiet. I knew from her eyes, and the way her jaw was clenched, she was thinking, trying to figure something out. “This is new.”

“Crap may be too weak of a word?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this.”

There were times I wished I was an empath, and could feel what she felt. But I knew, if she couldn’t identify what it was, didn’t know what it was, it couldn’t be good.

“I’m not taking any chances.” I stood up, and started to the door, dragging her with me. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Too late! It’s here!”

The sky went black, the building shook, the windows exploded, the wind screamed.

I woke up days later.

250 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 457 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 452 : Could Happen To Anyone

Bria sat next to me on the sofa, as I watched some random program on TV. I don’t know how long she’d been there. Probably as long as I had, I figured that’s how I worked.

“I know you’re not real.”

She smiled, and those green eyes lit up, and told me everything was OK. “I know.”

“I know you’re my brain cells writing up a fictional character based on a real person named Bria.”

I always forgot to be miserable when she laughed, which she did, “I know.”

“You know, there’s a lot of people who’d call me nuts, crazy, Fruit Loops…”

“And all the other words they use, yes. I know.”

“Someone like you could happen to anybody, you know.”

She shook her head, and that smile melted everything inside me, “No. Not anybody.”

“I’m not special, you know. This could happen to anybody.”

Again she shook her head, “No, it can’t. It won’t. It doesn’t.”

“Why?” I asked the question, even though I already knew the answer.

“You remember. You don’t forget. You haven’t forgotten me, even though you’ve tried.”

I wondered what it meant when someone that didn’t exist anywhere but in my mind talked to me, took my hand in hers, and squeezed it.

“I’m not real. But, I’m part of your heart. Part of your soul.”

Maybe I should have told her to go away, but I didn’t. Because, she could speak all the words I couldn’t. Words I didn’t know how to say.

250 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 452 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 447 : Do You Know Who It Is?

After Diana slapped me, she screamed at me, “Do you know who it is?” She pointed at the body on the concrete floor of the warehouse, leaking blood everywhere.

“Some dude trying to rob us.” I looked at the freshly dead body, “He didn’t succeed.” I looked back at Diana, “I stopped him.”

“Some dude? Some dude? Seriously? Do you know who it is?” She slapped me again. “You gun-happy ass hole!” She slapped me a third time. Then a fourth time before she said anything else. “Well take a good look at him, you idiot!” She pushed me toward the body.

“I’ll get blood on my shoes.”

“Tough shit.” She pushed me again.

I tried not to step in the corpse’s blood, which formed a growing circle around his remains. I wasn’t too keen on stepping in blood. Diana shoved me toward the body, and I stumbled into the red puddle. Got that shit all over my shoes.

“Take your flashlight, and take a good look!”

I did. “Wait. Wait.” I looked at Diana. “No! This can’t be him!”

Diana glared at me, hands on her hips. “Well, it is him! And you’re one dead motherfucker, you idiot!”

“Holy shit.” I stared at Chipper’s body, dead on the floor, with four big damn holes in it, and blood leaking out everywhere. “Jesus, I’m one dead motherfucker.”

Diana was already on her cell phone sending a live video to Chipper’s boss, “Been nice knowing you, ass hole.”

247 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 447 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 446 : We Will Bring Him Up To Speed

I stared at the list of programs on my Mother’s computer. It was awful. “How much did she install?” I read names for programs, and companies, “And does she even know?” Even though I knew she didn’t know. Most people didn’t. They simply clicked on stuff that got in the way, so they could get to what they wanted to do.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yes, Mom. We will bring him up to speed.”

It’s what I did. I fixed computers owned by bean dips, who had no business owning a computer. “Should tell them to swallow their pride, and buy a fucking Chromebook. Screw that up, and fix it with a simple power wash.”

But, Chromebooks didn’t run Microsoft Word. It was that simple. The Word application on the WEB that was totally free, and did everything damn near everyone ever did in Word, was the perfect replacement. But no one used it. “I want the real Word! ‘Cause, it’s what everyone uses!”

Hell, even Chromebooks were a pain to be honest. They had Chrome on them. Do you know how many stupid extensions people install in Chrome? Even the ones that Chrome and Google flag as malicious, and they install them anyway?

“It will take time, Mom. But we will bring him up to speed.”

It was going to be a long night. I was going to need more than one Sprite. “Go to bed, Mom. I got this.”

241 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 446 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 443 : I Worked Something Out

I worked something out. I did the math, as I like to say it. It was only a simple projection based on how the SARS-CoV2 virus spreads, its ability to kill people, and the way people in the country behave. That’s all it was. I took that information, and I worked something out.

And here we are. 10 months into this, and everything I said would happen, has happened. Over 300,000 people dead, and I’m not surprised, not shocked, not staring at the numbers going, “When will it end?”

I am sad. Sad and angry. Sad that people are as stupid as they are. That they couldn’t do the same simple projection, couldn’t make the same simple adjustments to personal behavior, to improve their safety, and to slow the spread of this damn thing down.

Angry that I was right again. Another time I wanted so much to be wrong. Another time, damn-it, that I wasn’t.

That’s what bothered me the most. I worked something out. And I wasn’t wrong.
Sometimes, I don’t know how I sleep at night. I look back over the years, and I see how many times, when it really mattered, when it was something important, something major, I worked something out, and was right. Over. And over. And over.

I’d even tried, only God knew how many times, to not work things out. To not do the math. To ignore everything. Yet, I always worked something out. And wished again, endlessly, I’d been wrong.

250 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 443 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Trying to break the ice that’s encased my writing. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThrusThreads Week 432 : What Is All This?

“You’re the one that wanted to see what’s going on inside my mind, this wasn’t my idea.” I’d warned her, but she wouldn’t listen. No one ever listened. So, she’d insisted on the link, a small chip in her, another in me, and they talked to each other, and shared our dreams, our wishes, all the rest.

After a week, she was going all Fruit Loops on me, because of what she’d learned about me, and about the chaos I live with, and in, all the time. Every heartbeat, every breath, endlessly. “I did tell you I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“I know. You did.” She looked at me like I was a complete stranger, someone she’d never met. “But I never expected anything like this.”

“You mean, you never expected anyone like me.” I don’t know why she didn’t slap me then, because I knew from that damn chip she wanted to.

She gritted her teeth, and I heard that chip screaming, “We have to talk! I have to fix you! Everything is all wrong!”

“What is all this?” She waved at her head, and then at mine, where I chips were. “What is all this stuff?”

“It’s the me I don’t show.” Yeah, that summed it up nicely. “The me I don’t let anyone see, because I know they can’t live with it.”

She started to talk, but I cut her off, “You know damn well there are reasons I take Prozac every day.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 432 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Something I may have to write. Something much bigger than 250 words. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 431 : This isn’t what I dreamed of.

I looked at the remains of my house, a set of pilings that stuck out of the ground, and some debris scattered here and there. Most of it was gone. Completely gone. Everything in it was gone too. Washer, dryer, bed, computer, desk, gone. Even the 85 inch TV. Gone.

“This isn’t what I dreamed of,” was all I could say. All I could think, as I wandered among the scattered remains of my home.

It was supposed to be a beach house, although a small one, that sat 10 feet above the ground, so floods would pass beneath it. A house where I could sit on the front porch, and watch the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico every night. Where I could come home from work, change out of work clothes into beach clothes, and walk, barefoot on the sand, for miles.

It was supposed to be my dream home. The place I would spend forever.

A Category 2 hurricane wasn’t supposed to push half the gulf on shore, and then dump 30 inches of rain on top of it. It wasn’t supposed to put my house underwater, and the water wasn’t supposed to take my house with it when it left, leaving my kitchen, bedroom, and the rest somewhere in the gulf, where the fish could live in it, and slowly turn it into a new coral reef.

But the storm had happened.

And everything I had, everything I’d been. Was gone.

245 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 431 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Given the events of 2020, I didn’t have to work hard to come up with these words. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 430 : Aren’t You Worried About Tomorrow?

Tomorrow was Friday, the day of the final exam in our Operating Systems class. Everyone I knew from the class was cramming, spending all night going over every detail, every note, every page of every text we’d ever crossed during the semester.

Except me. I was standing in line to watch a movie, all alone, without a date, or friends.

“You know, if you don’t pass this test, you’ll fail the class, and you won’t graduate. You’ll have to take another semester, maybe another year, to graduate.” I had to smile as I remembered my talk with Heather earlier in the day. “You’d better study.”

“I’m good.” I know. It sounded arrogant, flippant, maybe like I didn’t even care.

“Aren’t you worried about tomorrow?”

“No. I’m not. Not really.” I knew, from the look on her face, I was going to have to explain why. “Because. If I don’t know the material by now, it’s too late. You can’t cram 18 weeks of classes, and the ocean of things we’re supposed to learn in those classes, into one night of study.”

“But…”

I had interrupted her. “But, nothing. If I don’t know the material by now, I’m not going to know it by tomorrow. If I’ve done what I’m supposed to do, I’ve learned it in the 18 weeks.” I don’t know if she thought my grin was arrogant, or proud, or the grin of an idiot, “At this point, I’m ready as I’m ever going to get.”

248 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s Week 430 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. I finally decided, “If I wait until I’m ready to write something, it’ll be 2030,” and decided to write even if I’m not ready. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.