#5 to read the last installment of this story or The full “long” story so far to read the whole thing, including this new content.

After the fifteen minute walk back from my work I arrived back at my living sector. The outside of the building was covered with graffiti spurring its readers to “Suppress the power!” and “Live YOUR life, not theirs!” and other radical messages. I imagine the writer of this would now be on vacation. A small woman in overalls was spraying the wall with a green bubbly liquid and the messages were dribbling away, leaving only the lime green paint on the wall. The living sector building was insurmountably tall, to the point that seeing the top from the ground is impossible. The higher up one gets, the more expensive the rooms become, with the top floors being reserved only for politicians or celebrities.

I lived on the eighteenth floor, being a government worker had its perks after all, after greeting every person I met in the lobby I made my way to the elevator. All the while the speakers blasted the latest musical number “If I had eyes for you, they’d be yours in a giffy” with a beat that made it hard to not skip just a little along the way, and with the bright yellow and blue walls of the interior, one felt like they were walking on the set of an early history children’s show. In the elevator, a screen dominated one of the walls, displaying various stats about the economy, in fast moving lists of numbers. Generally most screens displayed this kind of information between sundown and eight o’clock, or the latest news from the celebs.

While I was excited to know about the economic results (the guys in the wealth department telling me how they have gotten record numbers, putting them all in a fervour) I wasn’t too interested in the celeb scene.

Making it to my apartment, I was reminded of how fortunate I was to be working for the ministry of knowledge. The spacious two room apartment of those of us lucky to work in a ministerial role was a whopping fifty square meters! There is even a separated section for the restroom. In my old place, I had to share this much space with three other adults, and there was a communal restroom, so this is a huge step up. The kitchen was chaotic, but mostly clean. Pots were stacked on top of each other at assorted angles that would make Issac Newton turn in his grave.

In yesteryear only the truly rich could afford a kitchen sink, now it was standard that each household had a sink, and even better all ministerial workers have one per household.

The muffled music from the next doors sound system waffled into my attention

“…and if you get tongue-tied … I’ll be there to guide your joy back to my side..

…and if your smile won’t work… then I’ll help with the pliers…”

Most music played over the network were all computer-generated. There are still musically talented people who can compete with AI crafted music, but such a talent is few and far between. Generally artists will work in the prop’ department, and rarely do they strike out on their own.



Random page thesaurus prompt: Overshadow

This is a story about a world of trailers and the creatures that dwell there

and the day that this world was discovered was also my last day on earth.

This particular day started as many others do, with a chime, then a bell, then a screech, followed finally by another chime. I’d love to paint you an exquisite scene as to how those particular sounds came to follow each other (a tale of a local bird, that every day flys into the wind chimes, which triggers some haphazard set of events that makes the church bell go off) but unfortunately that is just how my phone alarms work. Being of an anxious type, I set as many alarms as possible, and knowing I will inevitable snooze at least 3 of them, I set them to go off all at once. Does this work? No, but a man can try.

Oh and I had best set up the scene (this helps to humanize the character -me- and provides a core point to begin the narrative). I also suppose being a story about me I’d best switch to second person point of view. There is a tall skinny fellow lying in bed (not great looking, but not bad either), apparel consisting of grey underwear and a transformers shirt (decepticons are the best), the bed itself is of no importance, and the single room studio apartment it is houses in is of the messy variety. Papers and half consumed ramen noodle cups litter the various desk spaces, the dishes in the sink balanced in such a way that, were he alive, would make Issac Newton question his discoveries, and the carpet was lost underneath a sea of shirts, pants, and magazines. This was the home of a practicing scholar (mostly called a student) but this student was of the especially messy type, he was studying philosophy.

On this particular day he was in fact late. The alarms while effective were set a good sixty minutes too late, and upon realizing this predicament the man… (oh my name is Greg) Greg rushed around aimlessly looking for a shirt and pants which fits the niche of his look, one that isn’t too stained and particularly doesn’t smell like socks, upon finding a shirt and some jeans that suits this need Greg switched out of his bed clothes and into his student clothes.

Greg, now fully dressed, rushed out the door,his lecture due to commence in ten minutes and the university being fifteen minutes away. A few neighbors watching with grim satisfaction as Greg ran down the sidewalk (clearly this event has occurred before).

This is about the time that the day began to be unlike other.

As Greg was running past his local bakery, there was a couple of strange occurrences happening around him. The shopkeeper was picking up the same bagel and dropping it over and over. There was a dog, that was just running around the same tree, and ignoring its owners attempts to prevent this action. One particular cloud in the sky was stationary, while other clouds moved past it at someone breakneck speeds.

Of course, Greg’s conscious mind was mostly unaware of these events, being so focused on maintaining his breathing and pace to traverse the distance to the university.

<To be continued>

Id struggle to call it a story idea, mostly just messing with words.

He stood on an open plane.

No, perhaps that is wrong, it was a levelled plane. Flattened and the plane was horizontally parallel to a grassy plain.


Small fires were still embering out as the man tried to recreate the peace of his mind that would allow him to figure this out.


No sign of the co-pilot, he may of evacuated before the crash, pilots code to save yourself before helping others and all that, glad someone was paying attention to the safety video.


I started looking at a concrete roof.

A box, a plane, a trip I made

A birthday party, the day I met her.

She was two, I couldnt speak but she loved me anyway.


Stuffing was my center and I watched her grow.

From two to five to ten did she mature.

One day she left and a hug did I not recieve.

But a box to sit in, and left with my memories.


I woke in a little corner shop.

My ear fraying, my chest loose.

An age I sat, watching other little children pass.

Unable to talk, watching, filled with nostolgia.


A decade or two I sat

Sometimes here and sometimes there

The girl was no longer that, but I still remember.

Her smile, her mirth.


I was bought today!

A woman was she now

A gift for puppy, my innards revealed

Though she didnt recognise me

I was back again in her life.


Myself and my wife were arguing over buying a new toaster.

My opinion, buy a cheap toaster, its just toast it is hard to screw up.

But she wants the $59 dollar one. Stainless steel, different modes. An “anti-jam function”

I told her why would toast be so anti-jam? Jam is delicious.

At least the couch is comfortable to sleep on


I was wandering an well trodden path when I met an old man at a bench.

He asked me “what is your purpose?”

Taken aback, I told him to bugger off and mind his own business.

I then continued down the path. Reached a waterfall and spent the afternoon enjoying natures splendour. On the walk back the old man just smiled, and waved ne by.

I went home, went to sleep, went to my job, met a woman, became a husband,travelled overseas and was successful in my career.

and yet, I would think of the old man.

Why did he wait at that path asking people about their purpose?

I went back, this was many years later. I had expected the old man to no longer be there, and was prepared to just walk by and enjoy the outdoors.

The man was there, visably older and smiling with fewer teeth then before. He asked me

“What is your purpose?”

Thinking, I said “to be happy and successful”

Laughing, the old man said “that is just a symptom! Come back when you know!”

Confused again, I went straight home. Told my wife I loved her and went to sleep.

My encounter with the man drove me to seek more wisdom. I visited nepal and spoke with monks. I climbed mountains, painted sunsets and enriched my every sense.

My wife and I had three beautiful children, and in their faces I could see the world. I knew what my purpose was.

I went back to the path, prideful and victorious knowing what to say to the old man.

When I reached the bench, there was no man. Next to the bench was a wreath of flowers and a small wooden cross, and I sat, grieved and looked to the sky.

As I sat young man came walking by, and I thought “why not”

I asked him “what was his purpose?”

The young man said “bugger off geezer”

With a smile, I waved him on and waited.

With purpose.