100 WORD SKITTLE // Piss Off (Baptism of Fire)

Snot was streaked down his mouth, chin and collarino like ejaculated soul.

He wiped himself off—his nose too—with a paper towel, then balled it up and threw it into the fireplace. The fire leapt up with a flash of green and devoured the offering. The licking of its lips turned quickly into an ominous smile.

“I saw what you did.”

He cocked an eyebrow at the fire.

“So you’re going to blackmail me, are you? Silly chemical process! You won’t tell anybody.”

He stepped over to the fireplace and lifted up his cassock. Then he unzipped his jeans.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

Covid Diary pp. 36-37

An email address is all you need to get payback.

There’s no need to hack anything, find a back door, or enter the Matrix like a pissed off Neo. Just visit their social media accounts, rummage through their footprints in the global network, puke a couple of times at their selfies with skinny grandmothers and chubby kittens, and bada boom! You’re about to destroy the life of someone who’s trying to destroy yours. Use that person’s email to leave some provocative comments on various news sites, forums and anywhere else online, then sit back and watch everything about them unravel into glorious chaos.

I haven’t limited my imagination either. I’ve thought outside the box, even running circles around it and performing hyperkinetic rain dances in order to create the most damning shit possible. My moves have been so calculated that my stalker should soon be ‘enjoying’ a run-in with the law. The police, the federal police, the army, and at least four or five other official bodies with many intimidating letters in their titles ought to be crashing through his front door any day now. I believe the internet gaming community calls it ‘swatting’.

Of course, I’m not an idiot, which is why I’ve posted this bullshit from internet cafes and the like, and not my personal PC. I may be a girl but I’m pretty aware of how IP addresses can be tracked. And with the kinds of outrageous things I’m writing in my stalker’s name, I definitely don’t want those traced back to me!

PS: All that social media bullshit came to an abrupt halt within two days. But I’ve not had a chance to bask in this sweet tasting victory because all my personal accounts were banned by each site’s administrators. Pretty suspicious if you ask me. I mean, ALL of them?! I’ve a hunch that my stalker probably decided to burn everything to the ground before being hauled off to whatever grand punishment awaits him. Never mind. It’s high time to put a pause on my virtual life anyway.

It’s good sometimes to step outside and pat the grass.

PPS: Fuck. That went downhill fast. Now I’m at the clink, face to face with my stalker—well, not exactly face to face. He’s across the room, handcuffed to a railing near the watercooler, answering the female detective’s questions.

He still doesn’t know what I look like but I certainly know him from the selfies on his social media accounts. He’s a lot shorter than I expected in real life. I can’t believe he’s trying to flirt with the detective who’s clearly a lot taller and a lot less interested.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

PERFECTION IN ACTION // The Last Bedtime Story

Her hair was like straw, a far cry from how it used to be. She no longer adorned it with dandelions. Nor did she wear clovers or ladybugs to make it grin with a certain visual poetry. No, a brush of dry, prickly, lifeless bristles was all that greeted his touch.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she whispered, cutting a faded tress. “We’ll bring our Summer back.”

And so they painted on the lush green grass with the remnants of her youth. Dewy dandelions and sleepy ladybugs. Clovers and sweet peas. Then the hedgehogs joined them in the sunlight, and they danced.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #571 [01/04/2043] by B.A. Loney

This is the story of three cabbageheads: Cauliflower, Romanesco and Kale.

Cauliflower was the most effeminate of them. Most people had him pegged as being gay, but they were wrong. He simply wasn’t your typical manly man type. He openly enjoyed high teas, cross-stitching and frothy, scented bubble baths with rose petals. Oh, and he liked to wear pink in public.

Romanesco, of course, was the one most prone to flummadiddle. On a whim, he’d visited a couple of lectures about equiangular spirals, Fibonacci and determinism, and made absolutely nothing of it. Nevertheless, he was fearfully proud of his learnings. Also, he loved to wax lyrical about the wonders of nature, naturally identifying himself as one of them.

Kale was the serious one. He was a fan of lukewarm tea, Meccano, and the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. He also owned the world’s largest collection of abacuses which he dusted daily. He would never smile, preferring to nod slightly whenever something pleased him—which wasn’t often. He also slept on a wooden slab because mattresses were too soft and would always mess with his back.

So, as you can see, they were vivid persons; each in their own way. Maybe they weren’t the best persons in the world but they’d sinned in good company at least. But now to the main question. A question of cabbage salad.

Firstly, what is cabbage salad? Is it a salad made purely of cabbage? Does there need to be more than one cabbage involved or can it just be the best bits of the one cabbage? Can other salady things such as corn and tomato slices be included? Can the cabbage salad be nude or does it need dressing?

Secondly, is cabbage salad better than other kinds of salad? Is it more regal than, say, Caesar salad? Is it more worthwhile eating than fruit or bean salad? Is it superior to potato salad because it can be eaten during even a famine? If only the scientists had known.

Speaking of such, science is the study of observed phenomena. While we were preparing this scientific content, a very irresponsible goat came along and gobbled up our central subjects of study, Cauliflower, Romanesco and Kale. So, we’ll need to stop the experiment here and make another trip to the supermarket.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021