A Real Inspiration

The warrior lowered her spear, and her opponent paused. She raised the spear again and opened her mouth for a battle cry, but lowered it again in silence. Her opponent came closer, but not too close. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just... I'm just not feeling it today, I guess." She looked at the ground.

"Fighter's block?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"That's rough. Don't stress about it, though. Happens to everyone." He drove his spear into the ground and sat.

"Really?"

"Totally. Maybe you just feel kind of sick, or you haven't slept well, or maybe you're excited about something entirely unrelated. Doesn't matter." He smiled. "Some days, you just can't figure out where you want to swing your sword next."

"So what do you do about it?"

"One thing I've heard, you can start fighting something, anything, just to get moving, and that'll help."

"You've heard?"

"Well, yeah. It's never happened to me."

"You said everybody gets it."

"In general, sure. But y'know, not me."

She cracked her knuckles. "You know, this chat really helped."

"Yeah? I'm glad." He got to his feet, then fell to the ground with her spear in his chest.

She left it there. "A real inspiration."

Teen Burglars Thought They Scored Drugs. What They Snorted is Unreal!

"Dude, that was awesome!" Liam fist-bumped Charles as he snuck behind the hedge. "Totally." Hannah smiled, and Charles hoped the twilight would hide his blush.

"Awright," Kev shouted, "Chas the Spaz comes through!"

Charles winced. "Maybe you could call me Charles?"

"Yeah, man," Liam said. "Be cool."

"Sure, man. So, what'd the creepy old dude have?" Kev snatched the bag from Charles. "Oxys?"

"Looks like Cody to me," Hannah said. "Or Bennies."

Liam grabbed one capsule and cracked it open, spilling the powder onto his student ID. "Bottoms up!" He snorted the batch. Hannah and Kev followed suit, and watching them watch him, Charles did the same. The powder stung, then burned deep between his eyes. He felt nauseous, and closed his eyes in discomfort.

One of the others moaned, Charles wasn't sure which. "Anyone else seeing purple shapes?" Hannah asked.

"Way to go, Spaz." Kev punched Charles as if between friends, but harder. Charles fell on his butt. "What are these?"

Charles opened his eyes, seeing the street through a purple filter. Lilac figures stood around them. Some were ancient, others bore horrific wounds.

You've done something foolish. The thought resounded in their heads. Sadly, you can't go back.

An Outstretched Hand

"Hi, I'm Dorothy." She offered her hand, wrinkled and pale, from the next table over. He took it. "Uh, hi. Adam."

"I knew an Adam once. Saved my life."

"Really?"

"Swear to God." Dorothy put a hand over her heart. "We were crossing the Himalayas after the avalanche — the roads were out, see, and the pass was the safest way—"

"You couldn't just wait?"

"Not if we wanted to get penicillin to the dying folks over there."

"Shit."

"And vomit and blood. But enough about symptoms. So we're hauling this sledge over the rubble—"

A reflective-vested construction worker leaned over from the counter. "You were pulling it by hand?"

"The only horse was on the other side, so it was pull by hand or give up. Now, we're lowering it down the slope when a rope snaps..." Five minutes later, the entire restaurant was listening silently. "...and I'll never forget him. Still send him Christmas cards, actually."

Silence reigned in the restaurant. A server cleared her throat. "Do you know any stories about a Cassie?"

"Does Cassandra count? Then, by God, I knew a Cassandra. Possibly the smartest woman I ever knew...." The restaurant leaned in for another story.

Informative and Disgusting

"You ever have one of those days when you just can't pee straight?" Dave closed the door behind him and buckled up. "Um, no?" Nitya gestured at her crotch, which contained zero penises.

"I figured. Well, it's a pain in the ass. Gets everywhere, and you feel bad for making a mess, but not bad enough to clean it up. It gets on your shoes, and—"

"I think I get it." She pulled into traffic. "Informative and disgusting, thank you. Is this a real thing?" She looked in the rearview mirror at Ivo.

"Oh, sure." Ivo bobbed his head. "Some days, it just goes like that. Bends this way or that, nothing to do about it."

"How does it bend?" Nitya made a face.

Dave gestured. "See, when the pee comes out, it squirts off in another direction, like a hose with your thumb on the end."

"Well, yes," Ivo said, "that happens. But that is a small thing. Sometimes it just twists and turns in mid-air. Ends up everywhere. I hate it."

"What?" Dave asked, at the same time Nitya said, "How?"

"Something to do with body temperature and fluid dynamics of hot liquids, I think.... This doesn't happen to you?" Dave could only shake his head.

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.