88 - Downcount Station Uprising

At-Five, a cyborg (@5) and part-time troublemaker, reached for the small vial of poison which he planned to use on his boss, First Player (1Up), a cyborg manager who, in At-Five's opinion, was a monkey short of a wrench, Pathy Hedron, a vat-grown sythnetic person (and new-arrival-in-general-with-no-first-hand-knowledge-of-cyborg-speech-patterns) felt stupid, she didn't understand the references these cyborgs were alluding to, all she could get out of First Player was that they were ancient human metaphors which their original programmers had installed for verisimilude, like any manager, his answer had come after a long pause (She could only assume that's when the 'thinking' happened and simultaneously she noticed her addition of the quotation marks around 'thinking.' Whoops, it happened again.

Were it not for her electronic train-of-thought completion plug-in, she would have lost her way by now.

As it was, she rattled off the second and third criteria in a flash: the answer will be perfectly correct and one hundred percent useless.

One-Hundred-Percent (100%), a maintenance droid and choir boy, luckily never found out about this. He had been nursing a flame for Pathy for hundreds and hundreds of nanoseconds and would have short-circuited in instantaneous shame.

A string of violence and blood-letting

Gnashing of teeth and gears and blood. Bent metal and broken glass, hands reaching for anything find nothing, fingernails torn from the roots, chewed limbs as though sent through a man-sized meat grinder.

Organs failing but not soon enough. Death takes its time.

Gossips are train wrecks waiting for a headline.
Gossips have empty lives they somehow need to fill, fill with pieces of other peoples lives.

Gossips are the wreck described above inside.

Pity them, do not despise them, they set traps for themselves everyday.

While it appears that everyone (including the author) have abandoned this site, fear not for I have a question to ask that might yet explain anything

Dear readers who are not there, here is a question that does not matter to anyone but you and I:

I am putting these stories into a book and wonder if I should leave them online? Moreover, should this blog exist at all? In what form if I cannot write what I want to write, in other words stories? I invite your comments.

Who is the one who is reading me now?

After a month of inactivity, major changes coming soon

It's been a roller coaster, having gone on strong for 18 months onlyto have a publisher reject me not because the material was deficient but because they consider this humble little blog qualifies as 'previously published,' I can't believe it, this pebble of a site on the limitless seashore of the internet which hasn't even racked up 1000 visits (likely the same 6 people) qualifies as published? What was the name of the planet the web programmer said he or she was from? You know, the gal or guy who wrote the bot which crawled the web and found my submitted story...and then summarily rejected it since it was, in fact published; but only in the most narrow minded, insensitive and unapplicably-in-the-real-world sense of the word.

What to do? I don't what it to happen again but on the other hand I've missed giving my fiction away for free to my 6 readers, what to do? Tell you what, I'll keep writing the stuff offline, what gets rejected by publishers can end up here, fragments and ideas can go here, from now on however I cannot in good faith post finished stories here until they're been rejected by somebody somewhere.

Nothing ever finishes, nothing.