The Speed of Life

        We hadn’t seen each other in months. Things had changed. I got a girlfriend. You got reacquainted with meth. I walked in to your apartment and I was stunned. You’d made so many modifications, the place was unrecognizable. There was the ceiling light fixture in the living room that was now a giant metallic spider with glowing, green eyes. There was the table saw in the kitchen and the drawers full of screws, nuts, bolts, and other hardware. Not a single eating utensil to be found. Oh, that’s right. Tweakers don’t eat.
        As I stood there with a mixture of awe and horror combined with a dose of genuine admiration at your creativity and workmanship, the only thing I could manage to say was…”Wow…you are NOT getting your deposit back.”

~~Story by Greg Gateley

Photo: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blurry_men_climbing_stairs.jpg

They’re Watching. They’re Watching.

        Not sure why I’m writing this. It’s not like anyone will ever read it. We could all be dead tomorrow if the Poachers change their minds.
        It was a warm day in October. Typical for Los Angeles, but then clouds started to form. They looked like those creepy caricatures guys draw on Venice beach. I was in high school during 3rd period gym class. The noise was the scariest, like a cackling thunder. Suddenly I couldn’t breath, no one could. The ships exhaust choked our atmosphere, but it cleared quickly. My friend, Bobby, tried to Google it on his phone… He typed “Aliens,” and ten links popped up instantly. They had struck around the world instantaneously.
        They took out a few cities: D.C., Berlin, Hong Kong. Los Angeles was left intact. I guess the Poachers liked watching television as much we did. I forgot who started the name “Poachers,” might have been the Daily Show? Which brings me to my next point. They didn’t wipe us out, or enslave us, really. They just left us “as is.” Except, randomly, Bobby, and his family were killed. It didn’t seem fair. Not like Bobby was gonna start the uprising, or anything. Oh, and they’ve been mining our soil for Silica. Why? The A.U., or Adjunct United, the new world government, didn’t tell us much. They claimed they didn’t know, since the Poachers had made their demands, and flew out of here just as quickly. Only leaving behind their osmosis machine for the Silica.
       “Do it, or else.” That was all they told us in the American sector. Three years later, and things just kind of keep going. People on TV still make jokes, so I guess there’s still hope. The A.U. promised we would all be relocated if the topsoil is left completely useless. Either way, the people of Planet Earth seem calm. I’m just not sure myself, but Dad tells me “it will work itself out in the end.”
       Anyways, writing my journal helps me. And maybe after I’m dead, there could be a revolution, and people will find my writing and be inspired. Hopefully they read English. Until then, I write, pen and paper, for myself, because they say, “They’re watching.”

~~Story and Photo by Ian Russell

Fond Memories

        

        People never questioned why Papa Ryan was always tending to a pile of dirt. Every Wednesday and Saturday you could see him out there, bent over like a crooked “L,” laying seed, and curiously very little water. Mama said it was better people thought he was a failed farmer.
        Fond Farm was small in the county, but we had a big legacy of keeping our hometown pure. Outsiders, usually city folk, would drive through, trying to ruin what eight generations of my family had built here. Papa Ryan always said “I expected little out of life, but Life expected a lot out of me. And I would not disappoint!” He is the smartest man I know. I love him. And I can’t wait till I get older, so I can do the grown up work. Till then, I’ll help Papa hide these bones. I can’t wait for supper.

~~Story and Photo by Ian Russell

Thanksglibbing

Chuck sips his milk and passes serving dishes without taking anything. Nodding at his brother’s never-ending merger anecdote, he flinches when his mother sets the large Jell-o fruit salad in the center of the table. His plastic lawn chair puts him at eye level with the pale chunks of fruit floating in a sad sugar stasis. Their only hope is to be cut from their pee yellow prison and eaten. He squints at his own expressionless face reflected in the smooth, wet surface of the Jell-o. Through the gelatin’s distorted lens, he watches his siblings talk over one another. Mom pats Chuck’s scruffy cheek and coos, “Charlie would be living in Boston, except he’s wait listed at Bentley. But I love having him live here, although he could take the trash out more.” His brother laughs and slaps the table, creating a crack in the gelatin’s facade.

Chuck jumps up, “I hated those cheap corduroys you bought me in seventh grade because they made me look like a barber pole and that’s why I got in the fight with Billy McIntyre which got me suspended. And that’s why I didn’t get into Bentley and my girlfriend, whom I loved, dumped me because she doesn’t date and I quote, ‘middle management monkeys.’ None of which matters because I don’t want Bentley or a bitch girlfriend because I can do something none of you can.” Chuck seizes the tablecloth and takes a deep cleansing breath. Everyone freezes. His mother screams “NO!” In the blink of an eye, Chuck yanks the tablecloth out from under the plates, glasses and elbows all along the feast. Everyone opens their eyes to find the Thanksgiving spread unscathed. Chuck hands the tablecloth to his mom, kisses her cheek and heads for the door. “I love you, Mom. But it’s Chuck. Not Charles or Charlie. Chuck. Rhymes with cool as fuck. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!” He slams the door and the fruit salad falls apart.

~~ Photo and Story by Kelly Anelons

You can follow her on twitter @kellyanelons

No Signal

       Jeff relied on technology to an unfathomable degree. He was unable to bathe, breathe and eat without it. Though there was a time where such reliances were primitive and required manual interaction, now a life ruled without electric current was not worth living.

        He blamed his lack of evolution on corrupt data in the program. The pain he inflicted on others was the result of a missing software update, he’d say. Such a shame when Meridith came into his life and broke everything he held dear. His heart, eyes and equipment all destroyed in one snap. And when the authorities asked her why, she explained “I couldn’t get a signal where I was.”

~~ Photo and Story by MicGev MichGev