Conversations at a Party

“You know, I’m not as confident as I look.”

“So, I started seeing this woman.”

“When I go to these parties, I always worry like mad. I mean, in the back of my mind, I’m always sure things are going to go fine, but insecurities are always holding me back. Of course, the alcohol helps me get out of my shell, but that’s not enough on its own.”

“Well, not really seeing so much as getting some action with on the side. It’s been ongoing for a while now, but I really haven’t told anyone. Not because I’m trying that hard to keep this from my wife or anything, hell no. She’s sleeping around behind my back all the time, so I don’t care if she finds out. But it’s mainly because this woman’s black.”

“Sometimes, I do some strange things to prepare for a gathering like this. You know, I like to practice witty banter and all that, making sure my body language is working with me and not against me.”

“Anyway, I didn’t want her coming into my apartment, so I kept meeting at her place for a little poon. Nothing really special to report on for the most part, but lately some strange things were happening.”

“It’s times like this that a mirror can really be my best friend.”

“For one, I kept noticing this van parked across the street. Of course, it’s a sketchy neighbourhood, so I expected some drug dealers or something, peddling to little kids or whatever.”

“And right beforehand, I really have to psyche myself up. To get into a fun mindset; in order to make sure I’m approachable. I’ll normally throw on some upbeat tunes that I really like while I get ready.”

“Last time I went though, turns out they weren’t dealers. The van opened up, and these big white guys came out, smashing and yelling and beating people. It looked like they were letting ’em know who’s boss.”

“Then I’ll look myself in the eyes, in the mirror of course. I’ll tell myself that I can do this, close my eyes, and sigh deeply.”

“Long story short, I figured it was best that I didn’t go down there anymore. Haven’t heard from her since, but I don’t really care. Found myself another woman on the side.”

“Then I’ll look into my eyes again. I’ll ruffle my hair and flip up my collar. I’ll smile big, snap my fingers, and tell myself, ‘Hey there, sexy. I’ll see you at the beach.’”

“Wait, what?”

Rachel

*sigh*
She exhaled as she peered deeply into the mirror. She mused about herself; a halfway smile formed upon her lips and her hand began to tremble subtly.

'Are you proud of yourself?'

"I, I am yes."

'Oh, you are, are you? You do know what you have done, right? Don't tell me you're that selfish.'

"No. No, I haven't done a thing wrong."

'But you have. Don't you remember? Take a look at yourself, see what I see.'

"I am."

'No, really look at yourself. God, look at what you have become. You once were different. I
remember it, so should you.'

"I have always been myself"

'But you haven't. Do you remember your friends? There was a time when you wouldn't sell them out. Where you wouldn't betray them. You are a traitor, it disgusts me.'

"I... I don't know what you're talking about."

'You do. Look deeper into that mirror. That face, that smile. The price you paid for
it all. Whore. Was it worth it? You don't really remember, do you?'

"I really don't know what you're saying. You're disturbing my peace. I wish you away."

'Heh, you can't escape it. You're dying on the inside. Your soul is as tainted as your innocence, and we both know where that leaves you.'

"S..Shut up! My head's hurting. Leave me alone!"

'Tell me, are you really happy?'

"I.. I am."

'No, you're not. Don't lie to me, you will regret it.'

She smashed the reflective glass with fearful force. Distraught, she stared at her hand as her carpet stained red.

"I am happy."

The Queen

“Is that really her? Is that the queen?” Jared whispered.

“It has to be her! But I never expected someone so . . . so fragile!” Jon whispered back.

They were on the ceiling of the ballroom, having climbed through a window and used magical boots and gloves to cling to the roof. It was the only way they could get into the palace without being caught. The Queen’s wizard had powerful wards all over the place, but he had apparently forgotten the small corner of the roof.

And so here they were, during the Queen’s celebration of yet another conquest. They were here to assassinate her. But neither of them was prepared for the porcelain-skinned beauty they saw below them. Amidst a room full of beautiful people, the Queen stood out by a long shot.

“Jon,” Jared whispered, “how are we going to pull this off?”

With an effort, Jon peeled his eyes off of the Queen, scanning the room. Besides the Queen, and her guests, there were a large number of guards spaced throughout the room. Plus, Jon knew that the Queen’s wizard was probably skulking around in a corner somewhere . . . there! The wizard always wore robes in extremely gaudy colour combinations. What a poser! The rebels knew he was pretty much worthless. Why the Queen kept someone around who was so incompetent was beyond them. Although they had to be thankful for small blessings; he left the only hole in her otherwise perfect defences.

“Well, the Queen is surrounded by her guards. We could hit her first if we thought we could take her out in one shot. Otherwise, if we hit someone else first, we could get the guards to come to us. Once they’re all dead, the Queen will be an easy hit.”

Jared thought it over, calculating the odds quickly in his head. “Well, looking at where the Queen is sitting, there’s a few too many obstacles in the way. We might be able to take her out, but we’re just as likely to hit a chandelier on the way down, which would give us away to the guards. Let’s hit someone else first. Someone like the wizard. If he goes down, hopefully the wards will go down with him.”

“Alright. He’s in a pretty good place too. Fighting in the corner will mean that we can’t be surrounded. Just remember, we only get one shot at this.”

Stealthily, they made their way towards the corner where the wizard was glaring from. He was dressed in orange, bright green, and magenta today, with a tall, pointy hat that seemed to change colour every ten seconds or so. A perfect target.

The brothers struck without warning. The wizard went down before anyone was the wiser, dead before he even realized what had hit him. They’d just brought down a nearby guard before the first guest started screaming. Instant pandemonium. They brought another few guards down before the fight was on in earnest.

The guards were well-trained, but they had the disadvantage of trying to keep many of their guests safe from harm. The brothers had no qualms about slaughtering people left and right; as far as they were concerned, these people were just as bad as the parasitic Queen, feeding on the blood of the nations they conquered.

The last bit of the fight was the most brutal. By this time, most of the guests were either dead or had escaped out of the ballroom. The remaining guards closed with the brothers, trading nasty blows back and forth. And all through the battle, the Queen sat calmly regarding the chaos that had erupted around her.

Finally, the last guard fell, skewered on Jon’s blade. He glanced to his right to see Jared limping, his left leg gashed wide open; he clutched his sword arm, which had also taken a nasty wound. Jon glanced down at himself to realize that he wasn’t in any better shape. There were cuts almost everywhere on his body, with several large gashes on his arms and torso.

“Jon!” Jared screamed. Jon looked up just in time to see a blade plunge through his chest. The Queen backed out of his reach as he slumped to the ground. With her other hand, she threw a knife almost faster than Jon’s eyes could follow, which embedded itself in the chest of his brother.

“Jared,” Jon whispered, feeling his eyes grow dim.

“I have to thank the two of you before you leave,” he heard the Queen saying, as if from a long ways off. “My guards will need better training in the future. Oh, and thank you for getting rid of my pet wizard. He was getting rather tedious. His little magics kept interfering with the wards I placed around the castle.”

If there was more to her speech, no one else heard it.

The End

I really never thought this day would come. I should have had a suspicion that it would be here, but I didn’t want to believe that it would. I keep wanting it to work out, but this always happens. It always ends.

I really trusted you, did you know that? I cared and I assumed that you did as well. But, you know what they say about assumptions? It was completely true. It all started when she came into your life. I don’t blame her for what happened, although I know it started when she came around. No, it wasn’t her; it was all you. You suddenly had no time for me and you would not go out of your way at all for me. You expected everything of me, and I tried to deliver. Apparently I failed you; don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.

You slowly crept out of my life. I tried and tried to hang on, but you didn’t care. You all but disappeared, and yet it seemed like you still had some lingering expectations for me. Once again, I refused to believe what had happened, but it was real. And, suddenly, we were not.

Then the strangest thing happened. You decided to come back into my life. I hoped for the best, but what we used to have seemed to turn to plastic. The plastic seemed to display what I wanted to see, but underneath was the dirt and the mud from before. We went back to the old days of taking without giving. The charade worked for some time, but plastic is plastic; the unreal will fail where the real prevails.

And now here we are. It took all this time, but now I see the truth. This doesn’t mean that it’s done. I mean, if plastic is what you have become, I can learn to cope with it. If we are nothing more than plastic to you now, that’s what I will become for you, plastic. I was so much more, but now I will be exactly that. It’s over and I’m sure you won’t even notice. I, however, will be sad, sad that it always ends.

Porter

To whom it may concern,

You may have heard of me on a passing whim. Dr. Edwin Porter, the man of the hour. Single-handedly changed the face of medical technology, forever. Changed the world forever too. My name isn't spoken much in that sort of praise these days.
Well, it's not really spoken at all anymore. Seems people have forgotten me. It's the least I can hope for, anyway.

Coresta is what it was called, but most people just called it 'the new plastic'. It was that which changed us; that which ruined us. I never considered what it would mean for society to have such technology at its disposal, but I was delusional.

Its conceived usage was strictly medical. It made headlines across the intellectual globe when we made our first artificial lung out of this new, synthetic organic matter. And it even hit mainstream when we successfully transplanted a working, prosthetic heart and it was not rejected by the patient. We were dawning a new, golden age, where our greatest fears were subsided by life-saving Coresta. Nothing seemed impossible, and were were replacing our frail, cancer and condition ridden organs with robust, dependable copies at an alarming rate.

But alas, how foolish I was to think that any good would truly come from it. It wasn't long before the comsetics' got their strong hold on it. I had no quarrel when it was necessary to restore a charred face or missing ear, but it went far beyond that. Some people are, to a high extent, vain; and I found my fruitful efforts were being used for frivolous plastic surgeries, natural sexual body part enhancements and other non-mandatory medical applications. In this country, the dollar is mighty. Too mighty.

It's no surprise where this ended up. If you're reading this than you're probably living in a world that lies as an echo of the events that spiraled when I opened Pandora's box. Personal enhancement and surgery became as addictive and dangerous as high-grossing illegal narcotics. People weren't heading the warnings and guidelines that came with the surgery. People were getting implants while they were still bedded, recovering from the last ones.

It spun right out of control. Coresta had transformed us into damned demons. People were killing for the stuff, bargaining with all they owned and performing insidious tasks just to gain access to more. Some people even starting rejecting the product outright as a result of improper administration and procedure of surgery. Some people just died, others were ridden with madness. The rest of us found that our safety and quality of life plummeted. The great depression was nothing compared to this.

So I write this as an apology to you. No doubt, my creation has caused you grief in some way - It has to all of us. If you have the strange fortune of coming across this letter, know that you will no longer find me here. I'm going to repay my debt to society. I have embraced my fate.

Antonio

"So they say you gotta starve a cold, right? And feed a fever? Well what if you catch the flu, huh? Well, thats kinda like a fever and a cold at the same time. So, like, do you starve, or what? Well I'll tell you what you do, you feed as if you hadn't ate in years. Yeah, heh heh."

Silence befell the audience.

"Tough crowd. Sheesh. Well, how about the worlds worst pick-up lines? I caught a few 'dese myself while down by the interstate." He cleared his throat intently. "Did you just come from the can? 'Cause you're an eight! Haha, yah, get it?"

Still, not a murmur heard. He pressed on.
"How about this one? Are you a saint? Cause you's ain't half bad lookin'! Yeah, thats a classic, heard it from a guy named Gus."

You could almost hear the dust settle.

"Seriously? Geez, this is more awkward than the time I found out my brother was my dad. I mean come on!"
Frustrated, the comic walked past the spotlight's glow, taking a better survey of what he was dealing with. He stared fixedly at a man sitting at a table with three others, front row left.
"How about you buddy? What's your gig? You from round here?"
The mans blank expression and silent poise was almost as riveting as the current entertainment. The comedian balled a fist and planted into his jaw.
"Ya lousy scrub, I outta sock you again for being so coy."

The painfully enthralled patron's head rolled on the floor six feet from his body. The comedian watched as it tumbled towards the jukebox and rested his eyes there for a moment. After a moment, he lifted his eyes and pointed them outwards, surveying the rest of the brew'n stop.

"Geez buddy, I was just letting out some steam, ya didn't have to lose your head over it."
He raised his arms upward in a deliberate fashion, hoping to stir an arousing round of giddish laughter from the boring attendants. Not a single motion was felt; the comedian was not impressed. He ripped his festive floral pattern button-up off and revealed a rather stock set of ammunition belts strapped over his shoulders, and followed this notion with a swift kick to a large case he had sitting by the stage. Like lightning, he whipped out his automatic and cocked in a new clip menacingly.
"My patience has been slightly tried, and I must make my leave. Who wants to be the next funny guy?!"
Hot lead pumped through the still crowd and pierced their flesh and cartilage; but dust, not blood, flew from their wounds.

"Antonio!" A voice cried. A burly man busted through the bar entrance. "Stop fucking around, this place is bone dry, these ones have already been harvested, same with the ones outside. Someone got here before us."
The crazed comic touched the scalding end of the rifle to the headless patrons neck, cooling it off.
"Psch, fine." He threw his AR-15 back into the junk-trunk. "Didja check for wallets too?"
"Petty change in comparison to what we came here for. There's someone hitting this area hard and I don't like making meaningless trips. If you want to fire off like a twelve-year old with a penthouse, save it for the fucker who's been picking at my fields."
Antonio just grunted and hurled his gun-box over his right shoulder.

They left for the next deserted pisshole - Antonio all the while wondering if their competition has a good sense of humour.

There’s Always a Solution

Okay, okay, okay. Okay. You’re coming unravelled. Take it easy; nothing is fucked. Oh man. What’s going on here? She looks like a real girl, and she tastes like a real girl. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. She’s not supposed to be real. She’s supposed to be plastic. I hope I’m losing it; I want to be losing it. But this is real, she’s real. They told me it was okay. They told me she wasn’t real. They lied to me! Stop it! Stop it! Be cool, don’t worry…

Oh shit, look at her. This is bad. This is really bad. Gotta get her to a hospital. No! No, they ask questions at hospitals, too many questions. But I can’t just leave her here. This is bad. Okay, you’re going to be calm and cool and collected. Just put her jacket on her and support her weight. No one will ever know. She’s just drunk, that’s it, just drunk. Passed out from partying too hard, that’s it…

Oh no! It’s coming through her jacket. This will never work. I’m royally fucked. Okay, come up with a solution. There’s always a solution. Wait, what if this was just an accident? I mean, crazier things could have happened. Yeah, maybe if I just walk out now, no one will suspect a thing…

Yeah, right. But wait; what if this wasn’t an accident? Yeah, this was completely planned. That would be a lot more believable. I can see the headlines: ‘Couple hurls themselves out of penthouse apartment out of true love.’ Yes, that’s it, that’s right. Do we agree? Can I get off scot-free? Okay, let’s get ready. Hmm…I didn’t realize how high up we are…

Okay, okay, okay. No beating around the bush. Here we go; it’s time for a rest. We’ll both be okay.