All posts by pawel kowaluk

The Night Fish

Sam and Mary were sitting on the dark beach. Sun had already set, then the sky was alight for a while, but it had grown darker and darker until you could see all the stars and galaxies.

Sam and Mary had not spoken, but it was not the kind of uncomfortable silence where you stress over coming up with a topic of conversation. Perhaps they were at that stage back in college when they first met, but it was since past them.

It was not comfortable silence either, the type you share with your loved ones where you just being together is enough. That stage was past them as well. This silence was just a simple disconnect. They were sitting on the sand, looking at the sky and the crashing waves, and thinking about something else. Separately.

Then suddenly something began to shimmer in the sea brine, a swarm of silvery flashes. Sam and Mary recognized it immediately, those were Nelson’s Sea Bass mating and the flashes were their scales reflecting the light of distant stars. Beams of light that had converged on this beach from millions of miles away to shine on an orgy of mindless sea creatures.

Sam and Mary looked at each other, each recollecting different memories. And each of them smiled.

Irregular

He was a completely unimpressive man. Average looking, nothing special. Not muscular or fat, not handsome or ugly. He had a plain old job and was okay at it. He had some sense of humor, but not hilarious. He was not dumb but not bright either. He seemed to have no smell.

When she finally decided to sleep with him, she had to give him several hints before he realized it was time to act. She had to take his hand, and hold it in hers rubbing his fingers with her thumb. (His hand was not big, and it was not small either.) And then she had too look him in the eye, long and intense.

He was an average kisser. She thought this must be what the general motion of kissing is when it is not even put into practice, just theorized about. It was like reading about kissing in a magazine. She knew she was being kissed but felt nothing.

When she unbuttoned his shirt, she saw his chest for the first time. His rib cage was concave, ribs twisted and bent like there had been a storm inside his body. She placed a kiss in the middle of the deepest depression, she ran her hands all over his skin, she started going crazy with desire. She felt an orgasm just outside the horizon, coming slowly towards her.

Doomsday Scenario

Imagine yourself speeding. You are in your car, going just above the limit, trying to get home as soon as possible. There is no emergency, it is just another day and you are getting back from work. Nobody is waiting for you more than any other day. Maybe your wife called you asking when you will be home because you stayed a bit too long and she does not mean anything, she just wants to know, but you feel rushed.

Everybody is leaving work and going home, so the streets are packed. You had trouble getting through, but right now you found a straight, empty stretch of road and you floored it. You are making up for lost time.

Now imagine somebody steps onto the pavement in front of your car. Turns to face you. Kneels down. Extends their head to meet your bumper. Did they ever think what this would do to your trip home? Or to all your subsequent trips home?

The Mannequin

Frank was walking down the street when he saw a topless mannequin in a shop window. Its perfectly shaped plastic breasts with no nipples shone in the morning light.

Frank stepped inside, it was a small shop with too many clothes crammed into a small space. A forty-something woman was sitting behind the counter looking bored. She was attractive, with just some slight wrinkles but perhaps a little too much suntan.

“Hey,” Frank said, “I saw your mannequin. Does that mean you wanna—?”

“Yeah, I already got it,” she said, but she did not seem too happy, “Sorry, I was about to cover it, you were just faster than me.” She got up, walked past him, put a blouse on the mannequin and started buttoning it up before Frank spoke.

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t sound too happy. It would be my pleasure to help you out.”

She did not respond until she was done buttoning it up. “Nah, I already kind of came. It would be hard for me to get to that level again. Besides, I think it was a bad idea.”

“I don’t want to impose,” said Frank, “I can leave you alone if you want.”

She looked him up and down. He seemed a sincere guy, kind of sweet. His hair was a little out of fashion, but that somehow made him cute. “Would you go down on me?” she asked, “I’m clean, I have papers. Besides, I’m shaved down there, so you would be able to see for yourself.”

“Sure,” he said slowly, “Why not. And you don’t have to go down on me if you don’t want to. I’m happy to please,” he smiled and blushed.

“Maybe I can do it to you with my hand,” she said, “We will see.”

She locked the door and pulled down the blinds. In the dim light, she looked younger. They sat down on the carpet. It was quiet for a second, except for the fan.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Nicole. Yours?”

“Frank.”

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” they shook hands.

She lifted her skirt, leaned back, pulled her panties down. He leaned forward, she focused on his forehead, his outdated hairstyle. “Wait,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Uhm, I don’t usually have sex with strangers. I think this might be a bad idea.”

“Oh,” he said.

“No, it’s not you,” she said, “I’m sure you’re a great guy. It’s just it might be difficult for me. I need intimacy with the man. I need to feel something, feel cozy at least. That makes it easier.”

“I know what you mean,” said Frank, “I sometimes have a hard time coming when I am— I was with a girl once, and she was real unpleasant. She was mean to me. Said I was not a real man. Wanted me to get into fights because somebody looked at her. Wanted me to yell at the waiter. Yell at the hotel manager. I could almost never come. Sometimes I couldn’t even get it up for her.”

“Did she break up with you?”

“No. I broke up with her.”

“I guess she could not spare you,” said Nicole, “She probably found it hard to get a guy who would stick with her. Like a serious relationship.”

“I don’t know,” said Frank. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you do it? Why did you put up the topless mannequin?”

“I wanted to relax. I am sexually frustrated and lonely. Plus I get really horny recently. It’s like a phase in a woman’s sex life. I know, this sounds stupid, but I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. The shop is not doing so well. It’s unfinished clothes. You know, sometimes some seams are apart, sometimes they are missing buttons. There is a real scene for these back where I am from, but not around here. People don’t get what they are all about.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” said Frank. “Do people wear them unfinished? Shirts that fly open, sleeves that hang down from your shoulders?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes they finish then however they see fit. Sometimes they combine them. I once saw a boy and a girl wearing sweatshirts that were sown together.”

“Neat,” he said. “So somebody came in here before me?”

“Yes, this guy. He was a real animal, but he showed me his penis and it was impressive. He just came in here and pulled it out. I thought, hey, maybe it will work. He smelled like booze, and it’s only 10 a.m. He fucked me like a stinking beast, but I kind of came with him. I think. It was all really brutal. It was not good. He wiped his forehead with my skirt and left. I had to change. The skirt— I threw it away. I know I could have just washed it, but I don’t know. I just didn’t want to see it again, I would always see his beastly face.”

“Did he—? Would you say he raped you?”

“No. I mean, I wanted it to happen. I was ready. I was wet. It was just bad sex.”

“Wow, sounds pretty bad.”

“I don’t think I want to do anything after all,” she said and she put her panties back on. “I got you excited for nothing. Let me do it for you, okay? Will my hand be okay?”

“No, that’s alright. You don’t need to do anything.”

“Are you sure? Aren’t you going to be in pain?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m on my way home anyway, I can take care of myself. I work from home, you see. I was just out for breakfast.”

She did not follow up on that. They sat in silence for a minute, then he got up. “Well, it was really nice talking,” he said, “I hope the shop picks up some good business. I’ll tell my friends about it. Maybe I can post about it on my blog.”

“Thanks, that would be nice.”

She let him out. He looked back as he was walking away. The sign above the shop said WASTED BEGINNINGS. He made a mental note of that as well as the location for future reference.

None of This Junk!

The distant future, the year 20XX, night time in a large city. Jeremy was walking down the street briskly, his buttocks clenched. All around him people’s faces reeled like a spectacle from hell. All the human depravity possible, violence and apathy meant nothing to him, he had a pain of his own. He was shaking, aching, trembling, longing.

A man appeared in his way. Shady, murky, a large puffy jacket, a cap and shades (it was still night time). The man was secretive.

“Private rooms with seating,” he said, using the street code.

“No,” said Jeremy, walking on.

“Come on man, I know you’re aching. I see you here every night. For you it’s fifty.”

Jeremy knew how it was going to end. He handed the man a rumpled bill and a few minutes later he was squeezing into a tiny space. White tiles on the wall, a strong chemical smell, a cold porcelain bowl. Jeremy pulled his pants down, collapsed onto the seat and let it all go.

For a brief moment, he was in paradise. He was free. He was a little boy again, innocent and pure. The whole world was his toilet and he could relieve himself anytime he needed to.

He snapped back to reality to the sound of a helicopter above.

“Attention, citizens,” a booming voice said, “You are reminded that defecation is strictly prohibited by the Clean Up Your Act Act of 20XX. All defecating citizens will be placed in corrective facilities for water education, mountain of flesh education, and other types of education. Remember the words of our great leader—”

The voice slowly faded as the helicopter passed overhead and Jeremy was left alone in the silence. He hid his face in his hands and cried a desperate cry. The cry of a barbarian among society. The cry of guilt.

A Distraction

It was about two hours into the meeting, just me and Natalie from the legal department. She was going on and on about how legally a method is not a manufactured product, so technically it has some repercussions and I just zoned out.

“That’s it!” she said, snapping me out of a reverie, “Let’s write that down.”

“Okay,” I said, and repeated the last idea she had. Thank God for this weird brain thing, where even though you are not listening, you can still repeat the last idea.

“What were the other two?” she said.

“What two?”

“I just said three things,” she was not angry, she was just trying to retrieve some good ideas she had just lost.

“Sorry,” I said, and since it was obvious to both of us I was not paying attention, I made a joke, “I was not listening, I was just staring into your beautiful eyes.”

We both knew that was ridiculous and she moved on trying to recover the ideas, but I saw her blush. I thought about an article I had read. It said blushing is a defensive reaction and I thought now it indicates she does not want to be in this situation, even though I think it is fine. Kind of like when you walk up to a girl at a club and throw out some cheesy line while she is trying to have fun with her friends. You think it is flattering to her to be pursued when all she really wants is to be left alone. And you think she is in on the joke, that you are not really interested in doing anything, just want to make fun of guys who use pickup lines. You could say it is ironic seduction.

“Hey,” said Natalie, “Are you listening to me?”

The Belly

Tamara put on the black tank top with the Jack Daniel’s logo and stood in front of a mirror. It was tight. Maybe too tight?

She stood sideways. What the hell? She had been dieting and working out like crazy, but her belly was still round. She inspected her arms and legs, they were skinny, practically no fat, her face was alright too. So what the hell?

She put on a hoodie, zipped it up and left.

The closet door opened slightly and two gnomes stumbled out.

“She be gone now, won’t be back for a good amount of time,” said Nibbletrick.

“Aye, my friend,” said Barfinkle, “Let’s just hope the Orb of Destiny is safe with her.”

“Fear not, noble Barfinkle, she is under protection of the one named Chad, son of Stan. They will be watching the moving pictures at the horseless carriage theater and then probably eat iced cream at the apothecary.”

“Let us be hopeful nobody rips her belly open,” said Barfinkle with a challenge in his voice, “Because then all will be for naught.”

“Ah, but around here,” said Nibbletrick, “Hardly anyone gets their belly ripped open. ‘Tis a peaceful place.”

Barfinkle nodded and then smiled a cunning smile. “When the buyer arrives, we are going to be rich, my friend.”

The thought of mountains of gold made the gnomes joyful. They grabbed each other’s hands and danced a little jig together, singing and whooping.

Demonic Possession

Through a one-way mirror, the doctor and the mother were looking into playroom B, watching little Timmy play. The boy had just finished spelling the word “REDRUM” with sticky blocks.

“I’ve said it before,” said the doctor, “There is no such thing as demonic possession. For centuries, primitive cultures attributed behavior they could not understand to the supernatural. Women who practiced medicine in the Middle Ages were burnt as witches. Ducks and geese were considered prophets. It was believed that headaches are caused by Saint Damien. For goodness sake, we live in the age of the Internet, Mrs. Thorn. There must be a perfectly logical explanation to your son’s erratic behavior.”

“Well in that case,” she said, “How do you explain this?”

The doctor looked back at the boy. The contents of playroom B were now floating in the air, and as little Timmy (now three to four feet above the floor) was consuming the soul of a stuffed hippo, the doctor realized he was going to have to get his license, and his underwear, renewed.

Meanwhile, aboard the Illuminati mothership, Xlslorghon, the alien overlord who was making all this happen, was having a moderately good time before his one o’clock.

I Feel Holy

Theo was sitting on the porch, looking at the rain. It was hot and the rain was only slightly refreshing amidst the heatwave. The street was empty, except for the drops, and if he got off the porch, he could look down to Main Street, but would probably not see it in the haze. His paper route used to lead down there when he was a little boy.

The door creaked and Meg joined him. She brought two glasses of iced tea and they drank. She was wearing a flowery dress, her hair was pulled back to let her neck cool. Her eyes looked lazy.

“What are you thinking?” she asked after a while.

“Nothing, just thinking about going back to D.C. after all this. How about you? Are you better, Meg?”

“I am better,” she said.

She looked at him intensely, he suppressed a smile. He took a cool sip, his head was getting hot. They listened to the rain.

“You need to start getting back to reality, Meg,” he said. “You’ve been trough hell, now you need to get on your feet again.”

“Uh-hum,” she said, sipping.

“You are down to half a pill a day, right? You’ll be off in a week. Have you called university to see if they will take you back?”

“I—” she started, “I am not sure I want to.”

“You will feel better once you’re around people again,” he tried to assure her and himself.

“I am feeling kind of holy,” she said,

“Holy?”

“Holy,” she said, “As in a lot of holes. Or one important hole. I am not sure which it is.”

Theo was tired of these conversations. Tired of her problems.

They listened to the rain some more.

The Great Attractor

Our Sun is falling towards a supermassive unseen object known as the Great Attractor. The speed of this event is 600 kilometers per second relative to the Universe’s background radiation. If the Earth revolved around the Sun at that speed, each year would only be 18 days long.

For Ellie, the great conflict began when she discovered her husband’s mistress’s blog. The slutty slutty girl described all the intimate details of the forbidden relationship, and Ellie soon began to compete. Letting him come in her mouth and anal were just the tip of the ice berg. The amount of depravity Ellie took upon herself was legendary.

The apogee was reached when Ellie read that her husband loved the slut’s potato salad.

“He always said he hated potato salad,” said Ellie, “Perhaps he only hated my potato salad.”

So she took to the kitchen for seven days to perfect her recipe. When she finally emerged, the victorious bowl made her husband squeal in the excess of onions, garlic, meat and other wonderful ingredients. He was ready to reunite with his spouse for a little bit of forever.

Meanwhile, the Sun continued its steady fall towards the unknown, pulling our Earth along with him.