Story Time, Volume 33
This week's @DailyMicroFiction twitter stories, plus a bonus story at the end!
The aliens didn't ask to be taken to our leader. They were uninterested in our philosophers, our athletes, our businessmen or even our scientists.
Instead, they asked for an artist. Someone with imagination.
You see, they had a problem. And they'd run out of ideas.
Fate tried to put them on parallel paths, never to intersect, never to cross tracks. And but for the quirk of a suspiciously inconsistent coin, they might not have.
Now they live happily ever after, content in their non-Euclidian bliss.
Oracles used to try to predict the future - sometimes right, usually wrong.
Modern day oracles - stockbrokers and hedge fund managers - still speak in Greek: Theta, Alpha, and so on. And they're no more accurate today.
At least the goats are happy with the change.
Deep in a supermax prison, a wrongly convicted murderer stares at the cell wall, lost in a blissful drug-fueled reverie. His IV drip keeps him fed; a catheter snakes out from under the orange jumpsuit.
It was this or execution.
Now he sits, staring, for 25 years to life.
He woke up and knew something was wrong.
Did he forget an anniversary? No, that wasn’t for another month.
Was there a staff meeting today at work? He checked his calendar. Nothing.
As he stepped out of the shower and wiped down the fog-shrouded mirror, something clicked into place.
Had his tattoo always been on that side?