DeadGP

“This is President Harper,” a dark haired woman states from the flickering screen of a television, “and we are losing this war.” A group of men and women are crowded around the screen, all of them dressed in dusty, unwashed clothing. Heavy bags plague their eyes, their hands clutch at empty stomachs, and the bunker they’ve called a home for months has grown rank with the smell of desperation. The concrete ceiling above them trembles occasionally after a resounding boom echoes from the earth above. None of them flinch, all except for one child, who stares the screen wide-eyed and clutching an action figure tightl

They took me away at supper time. A savory affair that I spared no effort in preparing after the several weeks it took me to hunt down the beast that made it. I took my time skinning it, tossing its foul hairy flesh out my window for lesser creatures to feast on. I did the same with the more pungent of its innards, then finally set to removing its meatier parts. The succulent ribs, its limbs taut with delectable muscle, even the tongue and the heart that I would, not without hesitation, save for more special occasions. I sliced what little fat there was away, more treats for the mongrels outside, and just as I set flesh to flame, They arrive

The classroom thrummed with the sounds of pencils scurrying across paper, incessant fingers tapping on the worn wood of age-old desks, squeaking erasers and hands brushing away their pink residue to the floor. The professor sat behind his paper strewn desk, occasionally rocking back in his old, groaning chair while flipping the pages of whatever paperback he was perusing. Even the tick of the clock on the wall was just loud enough to hear, if one was really listening. Kira Hozaido was listening. Her exam remained untouched on her desk, its spaces for answers as blank as her stare. The maddening symphony of her class pounded down on her thou

The Hero of Time stands before a rickety bridge, its ancient planks swaying ominously above a misty cavern. Across the bridge is a great temple, its darkened doors and rotting, steepled roofs seemingly barren of any life. Link knows better. He grips the bridge’s ropes, tests his weight on the first plank. It holds, and he continues on, each further step more careful than the last. He keeps his eyes on the temple, its main door refusing to show any indication that he’s getting closer, while the swirling mist below creeps up alongside his vision, casting phantoms that make the hero twitch from nerves. He doesn’t know how mu

Walter White had a plan. He felt stupid walking up to the lair of a psychotic drug dealer. He felt like an alien walking up the stairs to that dealer's office, the air permeated with the low bass of the latest hip hop craze. He felt scared when the two goons escorting him pushed him into a wall, patted him down, took the bag of crystals he brought from within his jacket. He felt all these things, the sweat dripping down his armpits, the clamminess taking over his hands, and he ignored them. They were not part of the plan, and they would not get in the way of the plan. The goons ushered him into the office proper. Tuco, the dealer, sat at h

 Riley Lisi was not ready for Chambers Day. The fifteen year old sat on a barstool, numbly caressing the sides of an empty glass. Her brother, Ted, was seated next to her. A cigarette smoldered lazily between his fingers, its smoke gently wafting across the counter. His other hand rested on a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Riley sighed. “Why do we have Chambers Day, Ted?” she said, her eyes focused on her glass. She could see her reflection, her proportions morphed radically in its faded surface. Her eyes were too big, shiny, on the verge of tears she wouldn’t let go of. Ted took a moment, placed the cigarette in his mo

 Jamie Rook had a crush. He was eating lunch with his older sister, Alexis, in their usual spot next to her locker. She didn’t like chancing someone coming by to graffiti it. They were two years apart in school, but both rarely had any reason to sit with anyone else. Jamie was okay with that. “You gonna eat that sandwich or what?” Alexis asked, swallowing the last bite of her own. The thirteen year old barely remembered he was holding one in his hands. It was turkey and cheese, no crust. He turned it around once, slanted his lips, and handed it to her. His mind was too far elsewhere to care for the pit in his stomach.

 Ted Lisi was not in his element. His left boot was filled with coarse sand, his right had less so but with a rock buried somewhere in it. The trek to the shady jungle he now walked through was plagued by the beating sun, slicking his clothes with a salty layer of sweat. Everything around him seemed to be moving, alive, and possibly threatening his life. He pushed a hand through his wet mop of hair, stopped to say, “Let’s take a break.” His boxer companion raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was the one with the wound,” he said, holding his bandaged side. He leaned against a tree, nodded at the gunman. “T

 Ted Lisi was not a good man. He adjusted his thinly-rimmed glasses, picked up the shot glass in front of him, peered at it with narrowed eyes. His hands were steady, and his vision clear. Three ain’t gonna cut it anymore, he thought, and knocked his poison back. Dull fire spread through his stomach as he set his glass down next to its three empty brothers. “Day drinkin’s a nasty habit, Teddy,” the bartender, a tough broad named Madeline, said. She scooped up Ted’s glasses, tossed them into a sink. “Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?” Ted smirked, rubbed his calloused hands together