Theory on Polymorphic Resonance

Allouicious looked out of place: scrawny, pale, with a long, dark beard shot with grey, wearing nothing but his trews and padded gloves. He cast a longing look at his wizard's staff, propped against a nearby tree. "This is so... not me." "Stop whining." Zanzimin was the fairer mirror image of Allousicious. "If we keep feuding, people could get hurt."

"I know, just..." Allouicious shrugged.

The mayor stepped forward. "Right then. I want a fair fight, and let this be the end of ill will between you." Both nodded.

At the bell, Allouicious backpedaled from his opponent. Like a vengeful mirror, Zanzimin charged. Allouicious covered his face with his bony arms, and Zanzimin bounced off his gloves off them. After many seconds Zanzimin slowed, breathing heavily, and Allouicious threw punches that bounced off Zanzimin's equally-bony chest.

The two wizards ended up weakly pushing and tugging at the other, slowing each second until they gasped for breath.

"You're right," Zanzimin gasped. "This was a stupid idea."

"Now admit that your theory on polymorphic resonance between dimensions demonstrating adjacency is just as flawed."

Zanzimin grinned. "Oh, shut up." The two walked off the field of honor, each keeping the other from falling.

Wiping up Condensation

He stayed at the cafeteria table, pushing ketchup around the plate with his fries until everyone had left but her. She rose with her tray, and he spoke. "Hey, so, let me know if you wanna go out sometime." "Oh, um, I don't really think, um, that's a good idea. Um, sorry." She looked uncomfortable, and looked down at the receipt, focusing on the tip.

"Oh, wow, uh... I thought, you know, we hang out a lot, and uh, the way we talk made me think we, uh, could be a good match, you know?" He busied himself wiping up condensation left from his soda.

"Um, I guess, but that's just, like, how I talk with everyone. I mean, not everyone, I don't get along that well with everyone, but it's not, um, I'm just not looking right now, I guess." She looked anywhere but at him.

"Oh, sure. Are you, uh, seeing anyone right now?"

"No, it's — I mean, kind of, but it's not that."

"I, yeah, that's cool. I hope this doesn't, uh—"

"Oh, no, I'm cool. I mean, it's cool, don't worry—"

"Cool, yeah, I won't."

"Okay, cool."

"Yeah."

Both looked anywhere but at each other.

Appropriate Name-Calling

"I'm a gay witch." Marty stood with a handful of other boys out behind the gym, school uniforms altered almost to the point of being outside regulation, two of them smoking. "Sure, mate." Anson leaned against the wall with his cig. "Thass cool."

"That's it?" Marty looked surprised. "I thought there'd be more teasing or bullying."

Vern, Anson's buddy, took a drag. "Nah. I mean, whassa point, yeah? We're all just people, yeah?"

Marty nodded. "Yeah, cool."

"Here, mate." Anson held out the cig. "Have a puff."

"No thanks."

Vern looked at him like Marty had dung on his face. "What are you, some kind of poofter?"

Marty looked at both of them. "Um, yeah? Just said that, din I?"

"Oh, right." Vern and Anson looked at each other. "We're gonna need some new way to pressure you."

"Whass the opposite of queer?" Anson asked.

"Well, straight?" Marty said.

"Yeah, but, like, a mean way to say it."

"Uh, breeder?" Marty screwed up his face.

Anson shook his head. "Nah, thass weird."

Everyone offered suggestions. "Straighty?" "Hetero?" "Het?"

Vern nodded. "Sure. You don't want a puff? What are you, some kinda het?"

"Fuck, no," Marty said. He took the cig.

The Dancers Take Their Places — Their Next Move Sent Chills Down Everyone's Spine

This was it. The finale of the global television phenomenon Dance Planet Earth. The dance team from France had finished, to thunderous applause. Now, it was the Russians' turn to perform for the largest audience in history, predicted to include over one-point-three billion people watching live. Dancers took their places, struck their opening poses in the dark, and the light came up on movement. They moved in perfect time and rhythm, marking out flawless geometric shapes — concepts, even — with their choreography. Across the world, viewers shuddered as they felt like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.

Without any foreshadowing, the dancers broke from geometric perfection and shifted into something that looked like utter chaos, beautiful in motion but unrestrained. The dance looked unplannable, yet somehow they stayed in time and their movements still complemented each other.

Around the world, people shivered and hugged themselves or their loved ones tight, eager for heat but unwilling to leave their televisions before the dance was complete. People in places that had never needed heating found themselves in the middle of an emergency.

From their sanctum in the the motherland, Russian sorcerers celebrated, and plotted their conquest over a world of ice.

Your Full Attention

"Honey." She pushed his phone down to the tabletop. "Take a break from the phone, okay?" "Sure, babe, what's up?" He slid the phone to the edge of his reach and looked at his wife.

"So, I think we need to consider..." As she spoke, his phone buzzed on the table. What could that be, he wondered? Is it Bill texting back about this weekend? Or am I about to be late with one of my bills?

He looked at his wife, still talking, and used every ounce of his focus to keep his hand still. Maybe it's an email, he thought. Maybe a sale at Home Depot. I love Home Depot. If they're having an online sale, all the good stuff will go fast. I might already be too late.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He looked at his wife, who said, "...so I think we should give it a try. What do you think?"

He looked at her. Anything to get to the phone. "Sure."

"Great!" She picked up his phone a moment before he got to it. "The digital diet starts now!" He watched her go like a skydiver watches his reserve chute fail.

What's the Hold Up?

"Hey, what's the hold up?" Ron opened the wing-door of his one-seater and stood, raising his voice to get through to the portal technician. He was first in line to pass through to Mars City, and had been for almost an hour. An ancient technician, lines and goggles on her face, slowly unfolded from the base of the portal frame, large enough to pass a semi. "It's the main portal coil. Burned through. Gotta get a new one from storage."

Ron made a face. "How long's that gonna be? I'm gonna miss my grandson's bar mitzvah."

"Well, there're a lot of moving parts in a portal, and I gotta get most've 'em outta the way to pull the main coil." She climbed out of the machine and moved zombie-like to her toolbox a few feet away.

On her way back, Ron shouted, "Could you move any faster? With you shuffling about like that, my grandson will graduate before I get there."

"Sure, sonny." The technician accelerated by exactly zero.

Ron moaned. "At least give me a time estimate 'til I can get through to Mars?"

"Soon as I shuffle off this portal coil," said the technician. And that was that.

Fan Taunts Injured Hockey Player. What Happens Next? INSTANT KARMA

"Yeaaaaah, smash him, smash him!" Roger cheered so energetically he sloshed beer out of his cup. Moments later, one of the opposing team slammed number 14 hard against the glass, and he sank down on the ice. When his teammates helped him up, he skated slowly to the bench, holding his arm tenderly. Roger yelled as 14 passed his rinkside seat. "Ahhh, what's wrong, can't take a little pressure? Soon as the game gets rough, you need to sit out? Want me to call your mommy?" Waaah!"

Little known in the hockey world is the devotion of the Hindu deities to the sport of Hockey. It began when the Canadian traveler Vernon Morely found himself stranded in Punjab and, bored, arranged a hockey competition.

At this very moment, Shani sat in the audience admiring the Canadians' skill. His eyes narrowing, he looked at Roger from across the rink and whispered. Despite the distance, Roger heard each word clearly. "No. For your shameless disregard for this noble game, I pass judgment on your karma. You shall suffer in the next life, which begins... now."

Roger alone heard the cry of a raven, as he transformed instantly and painfully into a pig.