Dark stories, tales of whimsy and random brain droppings.


I waited impatiently for my computer to shut down. It’d been a long day of meetings and Brenda called several times.

I reached down to press the power. I heard a ding and looked up to see a message.

‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.’

Alice? I clicked.

‘Always speak the truth, think before you speak, and write it down afterwards.’

I clicked again.

‘Copyroom. Now.’

Being Friday, the office was a ghost town. Who? We were so careful.

Brenda stood furiously, hands on hips, a stack of papers with a blue corner tucked under her arm. The jig was up.

“How long have you known?” I asked my wife of twenty years.

Her icy voice was controlled. “Does it matter? I’m not arguing with you, Dean.”

With a mix of guilt and relief, I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Where do I sign?”

Photo by ryochiji

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