on sleep

a strain to keep my eyes open. the demons of drowsyness toy with me. invisible tendrils pull at my mind. too tired to sleep. to sleepy to function. i find myself an insomiac zombie. my actions are neither here nor there. my state of hibernation neither squirrel nor bear. nay, i am some stranger beast, blind and boogily. thoughts smart and not spout from my oral twat. is this good or bad or happy or sad? spinning crumbling and sometimes rumbling i will see you there.

A Happy Society

An exorbitantly wealthy scientist once wished to create a perfectly happy society. Genetic engineering would be its key. The first batch of people all died during infancy. The tolerance levels for the poisons that their brains had been programmed to release with negative emotions were simply too low. As soon as an infant began to cry, it would die. After the sixth batch or so, the strategy was perfected. Sadness, anger, and other “negative” emotions would cause severe pain or even death. The scientist created a perfectly happy society.

Every year there are inevitably a few dozen deaths, mostly children and adolescents. If a person can make it twenty years or so without slipping into a fetal depression, they tend to keep the healthy habit of happiness up for life. Those who are not so brave, or so cowardly, die a slow and painful death. Poison secreted from their brains creeps down the veins in their arms and back, chilling the tips of their fingers and toes. They die a lonely death, clenching groin and buttocks. A tear-stained corpse will be found shortly after on a hard street or a soft bed.

Only one murder has been committed since emotional conformity was actualized. The science was killed in cold blood. Nobody stopped the murderer, there were no police because there was no crime. Some expected the assassin to die there next to its maker, but the assassin simply walked away. Apparently the perpetrator not of a crime of passion, but one of simple necessity.

Two generations after the assassination the trait still persists, a cursed cancer of the heart. One can only hope that their descendants will be truly happy.

Lightning Surfing

We skitch up bolts of lightning. Into the dark rolling clouds. The quiet world below drifts out of mind. Our lightning boots spark excitedly as we slide hither and thither. FlashSnap. The shattering bolts bounce around carrying us with them. The universe becomes a blur as we accelerate and drift and accelerate. Peace. Adrenaline. As we pass each other we mutely laugh under the rumble of thunder. The lighting strobes upon our smiling faces like so many camera flashes.