ex

by frederick flynn

illustrated by konrad kraus

ernie and floyd and gary and hakim were friends. then floyd and gary and hakim were not ernie’s friends any more. so they became his ex-friends ernie could not understand it. he felt there must be some misunderstanding. somebody must have been talking behind his back. since floyd and gary and hakim had been his only friends he did not know who the talker behind his back could be. he wanted to know. the protocol for dealing with ex-friends was firmly in place. but ernie was desperate. he felt floyd had been his best friend of the three. they had shared mutual enthusiasms for the teachings of master j and the novels of harold parker and e ashton flournoy. surely floyd, if ernie made a really passionate and heartfelt plea, would at least tell him what the charge against him was and who had instigated it. protocol or no protocol. but ernie hesitated. it was a bold step! and ernie was not a bold person. he decided to get some nourishment first, to get his strength up. and maybe get a night’s sleep after that. unable to concentrate on anything, ernie paced up and down in his cell until feeding time. his heart started racing and he lay down on his cot to try to calm himself. he thought he heard a sound outside in the corridor! but of course that was insane - just paranoia brought on by his emotional stress. there was no one outside in the corridor - had not been for almost two hundred years - one hundred and fifty years before ernie was born. it was feeding time - his head would be clearer after he was nourished. and today was chocolate day - ernie’s favorite. he sat down at his station and attached the feeding tube to his arm. the warm glow of the chocolate soothed his melancholy soul, but a pale afterglow of paranoia remained. he wondered if the upcoming two hundredth anniversary had affected his brain in some subtle way - or maybe the brains of floyd and gary and hakim. two hundred years! since any human had invaded another human’s personal space. how ridiculous to think he had heard anything in the corridor. ernie had always taken it on faith that there even was a “corridor” - of course he had never seen it or been in it. he had been told it was still possible to activate the ancient cameras to show “real time” pictures of the corridor. with a sudden boldness perhaps brought on by the chocolate, ernie decided to contact floyd. the result, of course, was what he should have foreseen. an instantaneous message - you may no longer contact this person. this is your only warning. in a sudden panic ernie wondered if he would be reprimanded or punished. but a second message reassured him. it simply said - you may contact other friends or attempt to make new ones, using proper procedure. ernie breathed easier. surely there would be no such message - or even the previous message “this is your only warning” if he were to be punished. he decided to get a good night’s sleep. perhaps a dream would guide him to the right path. tomorrow he would attempt to find a new friend or two - perhaps another acolyte of master j, or another enthusiast for e ashton floury. and he would forget floyd and gary and hakim, much as he had loved them. ***

watcher

by nick nelson

illustrated by danny delacroix

walker was the loneliest man in the world. well, maybe not the loneliest - there are billions of lonely men in the world, after all - but certainly in the top fifty or one hundred. walker had one peculiarity that separated him from most of his similarly afflicted comrades. he had nothing to say and no desire to talk. only to listen to other people. and to look at them. this is where the problem lay. walker had a way of staring at his fellow humans - whether they were speaking to him or not - that they generally found quite disconcerting. starting with his mother. walker’s earliest memories were of his mother shouting at him - “jesus christ, will you stop staring at me like that!” and of his mother complaining to her friends, as they sat around in her cigarette smoke filled kitchen, “this kid is going to drive me nuts the way he just stares at me all the time!” eventually walker ran away from home. as he had no marketable skills or qualities, and no friends, he became a homeless person. fortunately the city of moderate size he found himself in had a relatively tolerant attitude toward the homeless (and no superabundance of them) and had shelters and soup kitchens and such so that his daily life was not as wretched as it might have been. he spent his days walking the streets. his habits of staring at people and “invading their space” in cafeterias and park benches and buses, often caused him grief, and he learned from bitter experience to try to curtail his proclivities. sometimes he rode the subway, getting on it and riding on it continuously to nowhere as much as the fare system permitted. and then one day in the subway he had a revelation. he realized he could watch people’s reflections in the subway windows - and they did not notice! it was almost as good as watching them directly, and nobody challenged him. and so he began riding the riding the subways for hours - panhandling to get fares when he had to - often long into the night, when the watching got a bit more interesting. on more than one occasion he stayed on the subway so late he was not able to get a bed at the homeless shelter he frequented. he enjoyed watching the parade of faces, even when he could not hear or understand what people were saying, as was often the case because so many spoke languages other than english. he never got up and followed anybody, no matter how interesting he found them, and so far as he knew he never encountered the same person twice, though he might have. and then finally the spell was broken. one chilly evening he got off the subway near the shelter when he heard a deep voice behind him. “hey you! you with the green hat!” walker was wearing a green oakland a’s baseball cap and he turned around. he was confronted by a heavy-set and heavily bundled up woman carrying two shopping bags in each hand. she had been on the subway car and walker had watched her on and off for at least nine stops, as the car had been almost empty and there were few people to watch. “you were looking at me! all the way from 14th street! thought you were so sly!” walker was stunned. “i was not! i was not! i - i was looking straight ahead -“ he managed to squeak out as she advanced on him. “yes, straight ahead at me in the mirror, motherfucker! what did you think you were going to see! hey!” the woman knocked walker down and he fell flat on his back on the filthy sidewalk.. “sick-ass perverted motherfucker! “ there were no other people in sight and she began kicking him with her heavy boots. ”i bet you look in people’s windows too! and up little girl’s dresses! you’re lucky i’m just kicking your ass and don’t call the cops !” walker couldn’t get up and covered his face and let her kick him in the ribs. finally - or maybe suddenly - he heard another voice. a man’s voice. “hey, hey, lady, what are you doing there? you want to go to jail for assault and battery? first degree murder?” the kicks stopped and walker managed to scramble to his feet and start running. the last thing walker heard was the man’s voice - “just looking at you?” he glanced back and saw the woman struggling half-heartedly with the man. the man was wearing - a uniform? a transit policeman’s uniform? but he didn’t look back after that and made his getaway. walker never went back on the subway after that. in fact he was cured of his desire to stare at people. he started spending his days at the library. he became especially fond of books about ufos, astrology, satanism, and arctic and antarctic exploration. ***

victory

by frederick flynn

illustrated by danny delacroix

vic nelson had finally made it. as he had always known he would. it had been a long hard climb. not made any easier by the way everybody had always been against him. but now here he was. ruler of the world. not just the most powerful person, but the absolute ruler. it felt good. he leaned back in his chair and looked across his polished mahogany desk and out the clear glass window and across the harbor at the tall buildings of the city . most of the buildings were glass and reflected the bright rays of the mid day sun. the first meeting, with the nominal “rulers” of the twenty largest nations, had gone well. vic had been cool and polite, but let them know he was going to be the boss. tomorrow he would have another meeting, with the presidents of the twenty-one largest corporations on earth. he would have to be a little firmer with them. but he had no doubt he would get his message across. after all, he was the boss. he decided to relax, celebrate a little. and what better way to celebrate than to demonstrate his new power to the twenty billion inhabitants of his new kingdom. nothing too tough or onerous - he wasn’t a bad guy - maybe even something kind of funny - just something to show them all who was master. after a little reflection, he decided he would have everybody on earth have the same thing for dinner. tomorrow night. surely that wasn’t too tough. he would even have the same thing himself. he would have everybody have his own favorite meal. chicken cordon bleu, with french fries and brussels sprouts. with irish coffee. and chocolate ice cream for dessert. perfect. vic pressed the button on his desk, summoning his secretary, who appeared in about thirty seconds. vera varney had been secretary to the seven preceding rulers of the world. no one had anything bad to say against her, and since she knew all the routines there was no reason to replace her. in fact, vic had hardly thought about her. she looked about forty-five years old, neither fat nor thin, good-looking nor ugly. she wore a plain blue suit, with a white shirt and a red tie. “yes,sir?” she enquired politely, without either obsequiousness or the proverbial “air of efficiency”. “take this down.” “i don’t have to take anything down, sir. i have a perfect memory. that is one reason i am here.” vic shrugged. “all right.” he then informed her of his plan for the meal. she listened expressionlessly until he had finished. “if you do not mind my saying so, sir, i don’t think that is a very good idea.” vic laughed. “you don't, huh? why not? i am the ruler of the world, aren’t i?” “of course, sir. but most of the gentlemen who preceded you thought it the best policy only to issue executive world orders on - on the most pressing economic and social issues. issuing such orders as the one you suggest smacks just a bit of - well, let’s just say that although you mean it in good fun, some elements in this all too volatile planet might not take it as such. and also it might seem just a little - ” vic noticed some movement outside the opened door to the office. “hey, who’s that?” vera half turned around. “oh, that is just dave.” “dave! who’s dave?” “he is your bodyguard, sir.” “bodyguard! what do i need a bodyguard for? isn’t this whole building ringed with security? isn’t the building one big security check?” “of course. dave is just what you might call a last final precautionary measure. he has been here almost as long as i have, and the gentlemen before you have found him quite satisfactory.” vera turned to the door. “ dave, come here in here and meet mister nelson.” dave entered. he was a big, not huge, football player type with a bland face and a buzz haircut. he wore a blazer the same shade of blue as vera’s suit, and a red tie identical to hers. “pleased to meet you, sir,” he greeted vic with the same easy familiarity as vera had shown. “do i really need you?” vic asked. “and for what?” “that’s for you to decide, mister nelson,” dave answered. “i’m just a bodyguard - a last line of defense in the unlikely event everything else fails.” when vic just stared at him, he added. “i can be anything else you want me to be - i can be your best buddy and you can talk to me all day long, or you can completely ignore me. it is all the same to me.” “i’ll think about it,” vic told him. he turned to vera. “as for that other thing, i appreciate your good intentions, but just do it.” “of course, sir, “ vera answered. “by the way, have you really taken the time to look at the view yet? it is a perfect day, and this is the perfect time of day to appreciate it.” she pointed out the window. “you really should look at it.” dave decided to humor her. “sure, why not?” he got up from behind his desk. dave’s office was , of course, on the top floor of the ninety-one story building. a spiral stairwell led to the roof above, and he followed vera up it, with dave behind him. the roof was wide enough to land two small planes. it was perfectly flat and unadorned except for a small robotically controlled control tower to guide incoming planes and helicopters. the building itself was located on a tiny constructed island about a mile from the harbor and the shore. “the view is best over there,” vera pointed east, toward the ocean. vic squinted into the bright blue sky. he was not much for “views” or anything to do with the outdoors, but he followed vera over to the railing. a slightly less than chest high railing. “if you look over there,” vera said, “on a clear day you can see bermuda.” “very nice,” vic agreed, gripping the railing. he really just wanted to get back inside and sit at his big desk. dave came up behind vic, grabbed him under the arms and threw him over the railing in one motion. vera and dave watched vic disappear. they knew he would hit the water and sink without a trace as the spot had been especially prepared for just that purpose. as vic sailed downward he wondered, who was it that got me? what son of a bitch set me up? but before he could begin to consider… “he didn’t last long,” vera said to dave. “that might have been the record,” dave answered. “he didn’t even get to meet the money people.” “no, there was that von schleppingberg fellow,” said vera. “he didn’t get to meet them either, and his first meeting was only about forty-five minutes.” “whatever. where do they get these people?” dave turned to go back down to the office, and vera followed. vera shook her head when they got back down. “could you believe that nonsense? chicken cordon bleu!” dave laughed. “maybe we should have that tonight ourselves. the least we can do to honor the poor bastard’s memory.” “sure, why not?” vera agreed. “except i think i’ll have strawberry ice cream instead of chocolate.” vera was on record as having served seven rulers of the world and dave six, but there had been nine others, now including vic, whose tenures had been so short that they had never even been identified as new rulers in the world media. and so vic expired, as he had mostly lived, unknown. ***

um

by nicolette nelson

illustrated by danny delacroix and eddie el greco

they called themselves “the unimportants”. there were six of them. sally and jennifer and adam worked at the a—— corporation, and nora and sean and karla worked at the b———— corporation. they were all pretty ordinary-looking. jennifer and sean were somewhat overweight, and nora occasionally showed traces of a skin condition. they all lived with their parents except sean, who lived with a roommate he was afraid of. because none of them wanted to go home after work, they met every night at bernie’s, a pub in the financial district. bernie’s had tv screens that showed sports but it was not exactly a sports bar and it was not really much of a dating bar either. it was the closest thing to an old-fashioned bar that you could find in the downtown of a big city in the twenty-first century. none of the six were interested in politics or world affairs. or in sports, not even adam and sean. sometimes they talked about their jobs, but mostly they talked about tv shows or movies or pop culture. they were also pretty good at talking about nothing at all. since all six stayed until closing time almost every night they usually got pretty wasted. there were other regulars at the bar that they came to recognize. but almost never spoke to. sometimes they speculated about these strangers. especially the ones who always sat alone. they did not know the names of most of these people so they made names up for them. there was one guy they called “uncle bud”. sally had given him the name. she said it just popped into her head. “uncle bud” at first glance looked middle-aged - he had a receding hairline and thick glasses - but on passing close to him on trips to the bar or the restroom the friends came to realize he was about the same age as themselves. unlike most of the solitary drinkers, bud did not usually face the tv screens, but tended to stare into space. sometimes he had a book, although the light was not the greatest for reading. the gang’s speculations on him were the usual - he was a serial killer, a child pornographer, an avenger of unsolved crimes, etc. - but none of them ever thought to engage him in conversation. then one night sean did not show up. nora and karla informed the others that he had been suddenly sent out of town by the company for some kind of training. it would not have bothered sean, but adam was just a little bit uncomfortable - nothing serious - being the only male with the four females. adam, along with jennifer, was also one of the two members of the group who occasionally spoke with other patrons of the establishment. as fate would have it, they were seated at a table close to the bar, which meant they were seated near the small tables which were usually frequented by the solitary drinkers. uncle bud was seated at one of them. he had no book with him, and was just staring into space through his thick glasses. adam turned to face him. “hey, bud,” he called to uncle bud, in a tone neither threatening nor overly friendly. bud immediately looked up. he stared at adam. “how did you know my name?” he finally asked. “you mean it is bud?” jennifer asked. “yes, it is.” “i’m psychic,” adam told him. “and i know all.” he laughed to show he was just kidding. bud continued to stare at him. “seriously,” adam continued, “i was just using it you know, like - hey pal, or hey buddy - “ “or hey big spender,” jennifer added. the friends all laughed. “or my friend - “ adam added, “or my man.” bud nodded to show he accepted the explanation. “why don’t you join us?” adam asked. he pointed to sean’s empty seat. somewhat to their surprise, bud immediately took adam up on his offer. sally and jennifer were not averse to this break from their routine. nora and karla were not so enthusiastic, but it was three against two and the group dynamic prevailed. * sean did not return from his training for over a week, and bud became a semi-regular at the gatherings, though not admitted as a full-fledged member of the “unimportants”. bud was not much of a conversationalist. but he laughed, not too awkwardly, at everybody’s jokes. he turned out to be a passionate soccer fan, but when he realized no one else was interested, he dropped the subject. what bud liked to do was show pictures. his wallet seemed to hold an inexhaustible supply of them. they were mostly pictures of his apparently large extended family, along with some of scenic views from his vacations. a number of the pictures were of small children running around on a beach. these set off alarms in karla, who suspected all men she did not know personally of being rapists and child molesters. in response to karla’s questions, bud explained that they were his sister’s children, but as they lived in hawaii he had never actually met them. this only partly mollified her. bud started to tell jokes. terrible jokes, from a vanished world, that he had found in a couple of encyclopedias of humor at the library. sean returned. he at first found bud amusing, so his presence continued to be tolerated. bud never stayed for last call, so the others often found him a source of fun after he left. a couple of weeks later bud informed the group that he wrote poetry. “i don’t know anything about poetry!” nora and karla exclaimed in as perfect unison as if they had rehearsed it. the others also protested a little more politely, but bud read them a couple of his poems anyway. after he left, karla was all for “getting rid” of bud somehow. “this has gone far enough!” sean and adam and jennifer stuck up half-heartedly for bud. “he’s not a bad guy,” adam insisted. “and you have to admit he’s good for some laughs.” “we’ll see how it goes,” jennifer assured karla and nora. for the next week or so, bud sometimes talked about his poems, but only insisted on reciting a couple of very short ones. then, on a friday night, when bernie’s was a little bit busier and louder than usual, bud showed up with an old-fashioned heavy looking briefcase - almost a suitcase. he sat down and put the briefcase on his lap and took out two heavy slabs of paper. “these are copies of my novel,” he announced. he had mentioned the novel once or twice. the unimportants all looked at each other. “um - what’s it about, bud?” sean asked. bud considered a moment. “that’s hard to say. it’s about a lot of things. it’s about everything, i guess.” he put the empty briefcase on the floor beside him. “i’m sorry but i only have two copies. you will have to pass them around.” adam looked at jennifer and jennifer looked at sean and sean looked at nora… ***