Miles woke several more times, each time panicked. The staff watched with clinical indifference as he thrashed. His eyes rolled wildly in his skull, his teeth gritted and his muscles fought the straps that held him down. The last time, his eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. “He’s ready,” one of them said to the darkened …
Miles opened his eyes to the glare of a cloudless sky. He felt ridges beneath his back, the corrugated tin of his family’s roof. He had spent countless evenings up here as a child, starting at the accusing blink of the spire’s lights and the odd beauty of the sunset. The pink and green softness …
The transpo came to a slow halt, stopping at a checkpoint. The lights hovered above Miles, spindly limbed quadrocopters festooned with lenses. Several took sight of him, and their mechanical pupils expanded and contracted as they sucked in his features. The clouds beyond them were a dingy pale green, reflecting the spotlights and neon mounted …
Miles had spent much of his life avoiding the internal workings of the City. So many people: gears in a great machine designed to extract blood from others. With that many gears, it was too hard not to get crushed. He had, of course, gone into the city once. When he had turned 14, he …
After the cop had knocked Miles out, he reached back to his belt, replacing the flashlight and removing a plastic ziptie. He bound Miles’ hands behind him, then spoke into his headset, “Request transpo to spire for processing of rural male.” He waited for the chirp of confirmation, then settled in to wait, leaning against …
The word was spoken with the finality and assuredness only available to authority. “Xin. Miles Xin.” Miles spoke through gritted teeth, blood dripping from his mouth. He had bitten his tongue when the cop tripped him. He closed his eyes. Behind him, he heard the quiet clacking of keys as the cop ran his name …
We begin, as all good stories do, with a fall. We plummet from the bright, ashen sky toward clouds the color of cataracts. Passing through the smog, a red landscape stretches out in every direction. Below, The City rises to greet us, its central spire a thumbtack on an rust-colored carpet. Dust storms swirl at …
Too long have numbers been dormant! The ones and zeroes of my internet presence have been quiet. Hibernating, perhaps. But now they come afresh, bleary-eyed but capable, buzzing and squirming into your eyeballs. Writing is fun. The opportunity to put words to (virtual) paper. The virtual is actually an asset, as it prevents writing cramps, …
While many websites are blacking themselves out today, in protest of the Stop Online Piracy Act and the Protect IP Act, I thought this would be a perfect time to break my accidental vow of silence and speak. The internet has evolved from its very basic database form into a communications tool the likes of …
I feel like I’m being hounded by drug manufacturers, or at least those preying on the fact that my recent stories ahve been tales of depression, anxiety, grief, and other psychological horrors. This weekend alone, I’ve received 23 spam comments, from people with “names” like “Buy Lexapro Online!,” “Rispradal,” “Metformin,” “Wellbutrin,” and “Seroquel.” Metformin kind …
