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Short Stories Volume 1
Short Stories Volume 1
Short Stories Volume 1
Ebook64 pages50 minutes

Short Stories Volume 1

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This collection contains 7 short fiction stories.

The stories range from horror, to science fiction, to fantasy, to a bit of the absurd.

Short Stories Volume 1 includes:

-Cyber (A man and a woman find love inside a computer, but who is real? Previously published in Alien Skin Magazine.)
-Turkey Day Revenge (What would happen if turkeys were able to fight back?)
-Ugly Night (A dead body found on a weird dating adventure.)
-Simon and the Memes (High strangeness in the mind. Previously unpublished.)
-Halloween Sam The Candle Man (Is he a candle, or a man? Previously unpublished short screenplay.)
-Night Writer (Sex, booze, drugs, and a raccoon that writes and talks. Previously unpublished.)
-The Nine O’ Clock Cannon (An old woman's memories and a big explosion every night. Previously unpublished.)

Some of these stories have been published on their own, some have never been published before.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 1, 2015
ISBN9781507038185
Short Stories Volume 1
Author

David Sloma

A writer, artist, storyteller, renaissance man, and seeker.

Read more from David Sloma

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    Book preview

    Short Stories Volume 1 - David Sloma

    Dedicated to the memory of Linda Mercer

    ~~~~

    Simon and the Memes

    The memes crouched in a reality tunnel in the head of a young man. They had been waiting for this chance for weeks. Now, since they occupied the tunnel, they had the possibility for acceptance into creation. The conditions had to be right for the memes to be believed in, and then they could appear in a thought-form to the outside world of consensus reality: they would live.

    The reality tunnel the memes occupied was the perception and belief structure of a skinny, early twenties white male. They knew his name because he called himself Simon. Simon didn’t believe in memes, the contagious precursors to ideas, behaviors or styles; however, he only thought that he didn’t. Simon lived in a big city, was single, a computer programmer, and read Wired. He was prime territory for the memes infiltration.

    Simon believed himself to be superior to everyone else. The memes knew they had a problem when they found this out. The egotistical types were usually very difficult, due to their inflated egos and constantly shifting belief structures. They would believe whatever made them feel good about themselves. The memes would have to try anyway: Simon was their target. Central Control had sent them on a mission and they wouldn’t be recalled until the job was done. They had to succeed or perish trying – just blink out of existence due to lack of belief in them. The memes lived to be believed in.

    The memes floated, squirmed, and spun in the whirling, sometimes flashing, sometimes dark reality tunnel of Simon’s belief structure. The memes looked at each other with their round, alien eyes, like glass beads. They were like soap bubbles with legs and mouths. They smiled. It would not be long now, they thought. Soon, Simon would ponder an idea he thought was his, but it would be the memes all along, occupying his reality fully.

    The memes were not many. But if they acted impetuously, there would be too many influences invading their victim’s thoughts and concepts of reality: confusion would ensue. It was better for them to be patient, to dole themselves out with care and caution. Make it seem like a brilliant brain-storm or insight their host was having. They bided their time and waited for the best moment. Soon. Very, very soon.

    The concept that the memes might actually be real occurred to Simon one morning while he was brushing his teeth after eating a sugary bowl of cold cereal. He was looking in the mirror over the bathroom sink, at his still wet short black hair, thinking that he might need a trim. Behind him, he saw pink bathroom tiles.

    Who makes these rental apartments in such god-awful colors! Pink! Simon said to himself – or so he thought.

    "Maybe the walrus does," the memes said in the exact tone of Simons’s inner voice. Simon gasped.

    This was so strange to Simon that he stopped brushing, and let some of the foamy toothpaste run down his open mouth to his chin, and onto his shirt.

    The walrus? Am I going nuts? Simon said out loud, mumbling around the toothbrush. I think I’m hearing voices.

    He looked into his small eyes behind black metal frames in the mirror.

    "Yes, I am hearing voices," the memes told Simon. Simon heard it that time, no doubt.

    Oh, god, he said and slumped down on the toilet, suddenly feeling weak.

    The memes watched in silent wonder. It was working!

    Simon spent the next thirty minutes in the living room, sitting on the very expensive Japanese-styled couch, staring at the wall, toothpaste on his chin. The phone rang. He didn’t move. His eyes searched the tabletop for the flashing light on the handset, blinking, inviting him to answer. It kept on ringing, making its own rhythm.

    "Aren’t you going to get the phone, Simon?" the memes taunted.

    Simon opened his mouth, but no words came out. The memes rallied for the final advance and moved in to take control. Simon closed his eyes and dozed.

    Finally, an hour later, Simon stirred and moved his hand over the hardened toothpaste on his face. He looked

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