u/HeGotBricks

One night, when I was alone, the only time I was ever by myself at home. My parents were called to the pizza shop they owned. There had been a problem and left me sleeping, I was twelve at the time. So, they decided to just go and take care of the shop. My father‘s English wasn’t good. My mom translated for him.

I had woken up to a noise, it sounded like something rolling. But, when I woke up, I stared at my doll that was next me. She wasn’t there before. But, I couldn’t be sure. So, I got up and went to the washroom. After about five minutes, while I was sitting on the toilet, I could hear this tapping sound in the hallway leading towards me. The tapping became louder. I could hear it right outside of the bathroom door. Then, a light knock. Like a finger nail tapping a steady rhythm on a desk. 

I stayed quiet. The tapping persisted. Then, I heard a voice. “Mommy.”

My eyes shot open. The hairs on my arms rose. My legs started shaking. But, my body was completely paralyzed. I was frozen, except for the tremors controlling my limbs. 

Right away, I looked at the bathroom door.

The door was unlocked. Then, I seen the knob slowly start to take motion. I shot up and flicked the lock on the doorknob and sat with my back against the door until the next morning.

I woke up to my mom and dad yelling for me. As soon as I heard their voices, I raced out of that bathroom and wrapped my arms around my mom and told her what happened.

See said it was just my imagination. Later on when I went to my room. My doll was on the floor. When I went to pick her up. I noticed under the bed, there was a screwdriver lying on the floor, right next to her.

she said he was too grounded and he said she always jumped to conclusions.

Papino was a bad kid. The worst. So bad, that the day the teacher had a word quiz for the Grade four kids of her classroom, she was too afraid to choose Papino. Because Papino had a foul, foul mouth.

He could shred the simplest most innocent word into the most unusual, grotesque thing you’ve never heard.

So, during that morning, nearing the afternoon, the teacher stood up.

“Ok, class, we’re having a word quiz.”

The class all booed.

“First letter, “A” can someone give me a word that starts with “A”.”

Papino’s at the back of the class. He has his arm raised. He’s stretching as far as he could, fingers grazing the ceiling.

If I choose him, he’ll say something like ass or anus, the teacher thought*.* 

“Nancy stand up and give me a word that starts with “A”

Nancy stood up. “”A” Apple.”

“Very good, Nancy. Now can someone give me one that starts with “B””

Papino’s in the back, arm raised. “Miss, pick me, pick me.”

The teacher looks at him. 

He might say bitch or bastard, she thought.

“Glen, you, give me a word that starts with “B””

Glen stood up. “”B” Bermuda.”

“Very good, now can someone give me one that starts with “C””

Papino’s sweating, he has both arms in the air, “Miss, please. Please, pick me.”

He can’t be missed, he’s the only kid who eagerly wants to answer this question. But, the teacher skips him.

He might say clit or c*ck, she said in her head.

She skipped him and chose Scotty. Scotty stood up.

“”C” Captain.” 

“Amazing word, Scotty.”

They get further down the alphabet.

“Can anyone give me a word that starts with “Q””

Papino, he’s crying now, sweats dripping off his forehead. His arms are in the air. The sweats blooming in patches under his armpits. “Miss, please. Please. Please. Pick me.”

He’s begging and begging. But, she wisely refuses to give into his reluctance.

He might say queer, she said in her head.

She chose Susie. Susie stood up.

“Queen. My word is queen.”

Everybody clapped. Susie sat down. Now they’re at “R”

Papino, he’s standing on top of his chair. He’s shaking. He’s sweating. He’s crying. He wants to be chosen. He wants to be part of the group.

What could he possibly say that’s so bad that starts with “R”? She asked herself.

So, finally, she couldn’t avoid him. They were at an impasse. What could he possibly say. 

“Papino, gives us a word that starts with “R””

Papino stood up. He’s happy. He feels so proud. He looks around the room. Everybody’s staring back at him.

“He said rat.” Then he flips his middle finger up and says, “rat, big fuckin’ rat with a c*ck this fuckin’ big.”

Episode 4 - Neuroscience

“Steamers, guess who? You guessed it, The Loser Absontonio here, holding it down from the 347.”

“And your boy Fishlips. Today’s show takes a different spin from our usual episodes.”

“How’s that? Let’s hear what Postpartum Sally rung up for us today.”

“We’re going to be talking about neuroscience.”

“Finally, something badass. Wasn’t he like the first emperor of Rome? Crazy dude who ordered the first post-op surgery on one of his slave boys. That’s where that saying comes from.”

“What saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day?”

“Yeah, but also that it burnt down in a day.”

“As interesting as that sounds, we’re actually talking about the brain. Neuroscience. Not Nero science. That’s two words Tony. Our subject is one long word. A Postpartum Sally spellchecker kind of word.”

“Yeah but didn’t she spell her name wrong on the job application?”

“Actually Tony, that was a typographical error.”

“Thanks for that Sally.”

“Still spelled her name incorrect.”

“Back to the brain, guys.”

“Bro, seriously, you’re killing me. You wanna talk about brains. Let’s talk about a zombie apocalypse. Brain eating zombies. We need to know how to modify a hockey stick into a sledgehammer.”

“The brain’s so amazing, Tony. It’s not a bore-tour episode topic. Interesting enough, we only use ten percent of our brain.”

“Oh really, is this from guaranteed facts off the internet?”

“No.”

“So, if I use ten percent of my brain why can I remember the entire plot of inception and still not understand it? I even forgot to pick my girlfriend up. Explain the Nero science in that, Fish.”

“Wait. Are you arguing that we use less? Never mind. Speaking of inception dreams are however a pivotal part of neurological study.”

“Yeah, but if you die in a dream, do you really die? Like in real life? Because the other night I had a dream I was trying to save Selena Gomez from falling off a helicopter and when I reached for her hand, she turned into Pennywise and yanked me off the helicopter and before I hit the ground, I jumped up awake. That whole week I was shaky and I think a piece of my soul stayed behind.”

“That’s just your nerves, Tony. Nobody has ever died in a dream.”

“How the hell would you know that. Did the people who died in their sleep wake up for a second and post on Reddit, I did not die from my dream. it’s not like they could just leave a bad review, one star, died in dream.”

“I think we need facts. Can someone play the Postpartum Sally entrance song. 

“Bring in the researcher. Whose idea was it to use Tove Lo’s Habits as her theme song. Hey Sally.”

“Hey Tony, hey Fish, heya guys.”

“We need you to solve a debate between us, it’s about deaths in dreams. Can dreams actually cause you to die in real life?”

“Actually now that you bring this up my dad—”

“Sally, facts. Just stick to the facts.”

“Yeah, no one wants to hear about your dad.”

“Ok. Well on the tablet there is an actual condition called SUND syndrome.”

“I told you, Fish.”

“It’s from a heart condition though, Tony. There’s no definite proof people can die in their sleep. Consequently, there’s none that says it can’t happen either.”

“I don’t know, Fish. But, that nocturnal death syndrome, sounds more like dying in your dreams to me.”

“I’m still on the fence about the dream monster logic.”

“You’re pulling at my heart strings, Fishcake.”

“Fishlips! Thanks Postpartum Sally.”

“Later guys.”

“That wasn’t what she said about how SUNDS worked.”

“She said nocturnal death syndrome, science guy. Case is closed. The monster’s real. He exists.”

“Guys at home, dreams aren’t dangerous. Don’t worry, dream away.”

“Safe dreams all, The Loser Absontonio, peace out.”

“Catch you on the next show. Fish.”

“And, Postpartum Sally, signing out from her quiet corner.”

—

“Sally doesn’t seem shy anymore.”

“I don’t give a %@$#, I been checking her out all week.”

“Guys, we’re still live.” 

(I just had so much fun writing this. I Just couldn’t stop. lol)

Episode 3 - WWII

“Hello everybody, it’s me The Loser Absontonio.”

“Nice introduction, really? The Simpson’s doctor accent. Fishlips Andros here, guys and we got another great episode for y’all.”

“What boring topic did Postpartum Sally choose for us today?”

“Postpartum Sally brought us World War Two.”

“We are not discussing something from eighty years ago. How about we talk about the foo fighters instead.” 

“Tony, great idea. But, foo fighters were just fireballs in the sky.”

“Remember Fire in the Sky? That movie about that guy and his friends who hid their friend in some hatch they built and came up with that whole elaborate story about a light tractor beam sucking him into a spaceship and buddy popped out a couple weeks later from that hatch like Desmond on Lost.

“Yeah, but Tony, they all passed a lie detector test.”

“Think about it fish, they’re in a small town, so where the hell is there going to be a lie detector expert. We live in New York and I never met anyone who’s met anyone who’s met anyone that knows a lie detector expert. That guy just threw a lightbulb on a wood platform and attached a couple wires around some popsicle sticks and said, they’re telling the truth.”

“You think?”

“I don’t just think, Fish, I know.”

“Let’s actually find out who that lie detector expert was and research him. Yeah, Tone?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s pull Postpartum Sally in. Sally… we need you. Come on set.”

“Guys, again?” 

“Say hi to your fans, Sally.”

“Hi, all.”

“We need you to find us the name and profession. Actually find out everything you can about the fire in the sky doctor dude, lie detector guy.”

“Ok, cya guys.”

“Alright, while she’s doing that, got anything you wanna say Tony?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“What’s taking Sally so long? Doesn’t she know this is a micro show?”

“Micro-micro show, bro.”

“Right. By the time we get this info we’ll be on episode five.”

“I got the name guys.”

“Here we go.”

“What’s it say Fish.”

“So, in 1975, Cy Gilson worked as a polygraph examiner for the Arizona Department of Public Safety.”

“So he was a cop?”

“Yeah, a polygraph expert afterwards but at the DPS. However, there’s no physical proof of him ever doing a polygraph test before that.”

“Told you. Common sense.”

“We can safely say, you’re probably right Tony.”

“Well, sounds like that’s it for today’s show.”

“Sounds so, Loser Tony. Fish, ‘til next time.”

“The Loser, catch ya later guys.”

“Wait.. Sally, sign off.”

“Fine. And me Postpartum Sally.”

——-

Episode 4 - Neuroscience

“Steamers, guess who? You guessed it, The Loser Absontonio here, holding it down from the 347.”

“And your boy Fishlips. Today’s show takes a different spin from our usual episodes.”

“How’s that? Let’s hear what Postpartum Sally rung up for us today.”

“We’re going to be talking about neuroscience.”

“Finally, something badass. Wasn’t he like the first emperor of Rome? Crazy dude who ordered the first post-op surgery on one of his slave boys. That’s where that saying comes from.”

“What saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day?”

“Yeah, but also, that it burnt down in a day.”

“As interesting as that sounds, we’re actually talking about the brain. Neuroscience. Not Nero science. That’s two words Tony. Our subject is one long word. A Postpartum Sally spellchecker kind of word.”

“Yeah but didn’t she spell her name wrong on the job application?”

“Actually Tony, that was a typographical error.”

“Thanks for that Sally.”

“Still spelled her name incorrect.”

“Back to the brain, guys.”

“Bro, seriously, you’re killing me. You wanna talk about brains. Let’s talk about a zombie apocalypse. Brain eating zombies. We need to know how to modify a hockey stick into a sledgehammer.”

“The brain’s so amazing, Tony. It’s not a bore-tour episode topic. Interesting enough, we only use ten percent of our brain.”

“Oh really, is this from guaranteed facts off the internet?”

“No.”

“So, if I use ten percent of my brain why can I remember the entire plot of Inception and still not understand it? I even forgot to pick my girlfriend up. Explain the Nero science in that, Fish.”

“Wait. Are you arguing that we use less? Never mind. Speaking of inception dreams are however a pivotal part of neurological study.”

“Yeah, but if you die in a dream, do you really die? Like in real life? Because the other night I had a dream I was trying to save Selena Gomez from falling off a helicopter and when I reached for her hand, she turned into Pennywise and yanked me off the helicopter and before I hit the ground, I jumped up awake. That whole week I was shaky and I think a piece of my soul stayed behind.”

“That’s just your nerves, Tony. Nobody has ever died in a dream.”

“How the hell would you know that. Did the people who died in their sleep wake up for a second and post on Reddit, I did not die from my dream. it’s not like they could just leave a bad review, one star, died in dream.”

“I think we need facts. Can someone play the Postpartum Sally entrance song.“

“Bring in the researcher. Whose idea was it to use Tove Lo’s Habits as her theme song. Hey Sally.”

“Hey Tony, hey Fish, heya guys.”

“We need you to solve a debate between us, it’s about deaths in dreams. Can dreams actually cause you to die in real life?”

“Actually now that you bring this up my dad—”

“Sally, facts. Just stick to the facts.”

“Yeah, no one wants to hear about your dad.”

“Ok. Well on the tablet there is an actual condition called SUND syndrome.”

“I told you, Fish.”

“It’s from a heart condition though, Tony. There’s no definite proof people can die in their sleep. Consequently, there’s none that says it can’t happen either.”

“I don’t know, Fish. But, that nocturnal death syndrome, sounds more like dying in your dreams to me.”

“I’m still on the fence about the dream monster logic.”

“You’re pulling at my heart strings, Fishcake.”

“Fishlips! Thanks Postpartum Sally.”

“Later guys.”

“That wasn’t what she said about how SUNDS worked.”

“She said nocturnal death syndrome, science guy. Case is closed. The monster’s real. He exists.”

“Guys at home, dreams aren’t dangerous. Don’t worry, dream away.”

“Safe dreams all, The Loser Absontonio, peace out.”

“Catch you on the flip side. Fish.”

“And, Postpartum Sally, signing out from her quiet corner.”

—

“Sally doesn’t seem shy anymore.”

“I don’t give a %@$#, I been checking her out all week.”

“Guys, we’re still live.” 

This here’s the first start of my episode show micro story in dialogue format.

——

EPISODE ONE - Molecular Biology

“Hey guys, it’s Fishlips Andros.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“Today we’re going to talk about molecular biology.”

“What…. Let’s talk about the Springbreaker chicks, dude.”

“Fine, whatever. Which one?”

“The one at the end. The one that survives.”

“Yeah, dude I don’t know their names and neither do you. We only know Gucci mane.”

“Gucci man. Gucci man. Don’t nobody, nobody mess with my kitchen.”

“Nice rap, dude. Can we get back to molecular sciences now.”

“Hell nah. Yo, tell them about the alien discovery you told me about, dude.”

“The aliens in the text?”

“Yeah, man. That shit was trip-pay.”

“Okay mates. So I discovered aliens can only live through text on earth.”

“Text on earth. Hear that guys?”

“Tony chill.”

“Ok, finish.”

“So the aliens are on earth as artificial intelligence. AI. The government secretively removed the lens from aliens. You have A-L-I-E-N-S, right? Remove L-E-N-S. You’re left with A-I.”

“Whoa! Man even hearing that now gave me goosebumps, mate.”

“You think that’s creepy dude. They’re working on creating suits for those things to wear into.”

“Imagine, Fish, a bunch of aliens running around in terminator suits.”

“That’s not all. The genius of the aliens is disguising themselves as helpful bots. In reality, they’re learning humans.”

“What about what Ronald told us.”

“Oh, right. There are small pockets of human resistance teams being fractioned out for the future war against the alien A.I’s.”

“And you can join today guys. What’s the email Fish?”

“Postpartum Sally, hey, hand me that email.”

“Guys say hi to Postpartum Sally.”

“Hi guys, I’m so shy I don’t even know what to say. Here’s the card with the email.”

“Thanks Sal.”

“Bye, guys.”

“C’mon, give the viewers the email, Fish.”

“Guys, the email— hold on, the lawyers are calling down.”

“Hello, Fish? You can’t actually give the email for legal reasons.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You heard the lawyers guys.”

“Well that’s it for today’s show, Fishlips signing out.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“And me, Postpartum Sally.”

——-

Episode 2 - Black Holes 

‘Welcome back to today’s show, homies.”

“Yeah, word up gang, The Loser Absontonio, in the house and I’m with Fishcake Andros.”

“Fishlips.”

“What was that, bro?”

“Fishlips! It’s Fishlips Andros. Anyway today’s show is about… creepy black holes in space. Oooooo.”

“Boring! I’m setting the alarm to snooze-o-meter, bro.”

“What? We love black holes. Everybody loves black holes.”

“Yeah, but that Dr. Suess guy already explained them.”

“Dr. Suess?” 

“The black hole king.”

“Leonard Susskind, bro.”

“Leonard who cares. I wanna talk about how those dyatlov pass people ran out naked into a blizzard with conditions colder than my freezer, bro.”

“Yeah, cool topic. But, their names are way too long. We’re going to need Postpartum Sally for them.”

“Sally, come on out here.”

“I hate when you guys do this to me.”

“Say hi, Sally.”

“Hi, guys, Postpartum Sally here.”

“We’re going to need tickets with the eight or nine hikers names from the dyatlov pass.”

“That’s going to take like a whole day.”

“I think there was ten.”

“What?”

“Hikers, you said eight or nine. I think there’s ten.”

“Ok, we hit a technical glitch here guys. I think we’re going to have to pause until tomorrow.”

“What? We’re signing out?”

“Yeah.”

“But, this is staying as episode two though.”

“Damn right.”

“The Loser Absontonio is out.”

“And me, Fishcake—Fishlips Andros.”

“Don’t forget me, later guys, Postpartum Sally.”

Fishlips Andros & The Loser Absontonio’s Micro-Micro show

EPISODE ONE - Molecular Biology

“Hey guys, it’s Fishlips Andros.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“Today we’re going to talk about molecular biology.”

“What…. Let’s talk about the Springbreaker chicks, dude.”

“Fine, whatever. Which one?”

“The one at the end. The one that survives.”

“Yeah, dude, I don’t know their names and neither do you. We only know Gucci mane.”

“Gucci man. Gucci man. Don’t nobody, nobody mess with my kitchen.”

“Nice rap, dude. Can we get back to molecular sciences now.”

“Hell nah. Yo, tell them about the alien discovery you told me about, dude.”

“The aliens in the text?”

“Yeah, man. That shit was trip-pay.”

“Okay mates. So I discovered aliens can only live through text on earth.”

“Text on earth. Hear that guys?”

“Tony chill.”

“Ok, finish.”

“So the aliens are on earth as artificial intelligence. AI. The government secretively removed the lens from aliens. You have A-L-I-E-N-S, right? Remove L-E-N-S. You’re left with A-I.”

“Whoa! Man even hearing that now gave me goosebumps, mate.”

“You think that’s creepy dude. They’re working on creating suits for those things to wear into.”

“Imagine, Fish, a bunch of aliens running around in terminator suits.”

“That’s not all. The genius of the aliens is disguising themselves as helpful bots. In reality, they’re learning humans.”

“What about what Ronald told us.”

“Oh, right. There are small pockets of human resistance teams being fractioned out for the future war against the alien A.I’s.”

“And you can join today guys. What’s the email Fish?”

“Postpartum Sally, hey, hand me that email.”

“Guys say hi to Postpartum Sally.”

“Hi guys, I’m so shy I don’t even know what to say. Here’s the card with the email.”

“Thanks Sal.”

“Bye, guys.”

“C’mon, give the viewers the email, Fish.”

“Guys, the email— hold on the lawyers are calling down.”

“Hello, Fish? You can’t actually give the email for legal reasons.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You heard the lawyers guys.”

“Well that’s it for today’s show, Fishlips signing out.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“And me, Postpartum Sally.”

——-

Episode 2 - Black Holes

”Welcome back to today’s show, homies.”

“Yeah, word up gang, The Loser Absontonio, in the house and I’m with Fishcake Andros.”

“Fishlips.”

“What was that, bro?”

“Fishlips! It’s Fishlips Andros. Anyway today’s show is about… creepy black holes in space. Oooooo.”

“Boring! I’m setting the alarm to snooze-o-meter, bro.”

“What? We love black holes. Everybody loves black holes.”

“Yeah, but that Dr. Suess guy already explained them.”

“Dr. Suess?” 

“The black hole king.”

“Leonard Susskind, bro.”

“Leonard who cares. I wanna talk about how those dyatlov pass people ran out naked into a blizzard with conditions colder than my freezer, bro.”

“Yeah, cool topic. But, their names are way too long. We’re going to need Postpartum Sally for them.”

“Sally, come on out here.”

“I hate when you guys do this to me.”

“Say hi, Sally.”

“Hi, guys, Postpartum Sally here.”

“We’re going to need tickets with the eight or nine hikers names from the dyatlov pass.”

“That’s going to take like a whole day.”

“I think there was ten.”

“What?”

“Hikers, you said eight or nine. I think there’s ten.”

“Ok, we hit a technical glitch here guys. I think we’re going to have to pause until tomorrow.”

“What? We’re signing out?”

“Yeah.”

“But, this is staying as episode two though.”

“Damn right.”

“The Loser Absontonio is out.”

“And me, Fishcake—Fishlips Andros.”

“Don’t forget me, later guys, Postpartum Sally.”

Fishlips Andros & The Loser Absontonio’s Micro-Micro show

EPISODE ONE - Molecular Biology

“Hey guys, it’s Fishlips Andros.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“Today we’re going to talk about molecular biology.”

“What…. Let’s talk about the Springbreaker chicks, dude.”

“Fine. Which one?”

“The one at the end. The one that survives.”

“Yeah, dude I don’t know their names and neither do you. We only know Gucci man.”

“Gucci man. Gucci man. Don’t nobody, nobody mess with my kitchen.”

“Nice rap, dude. Can we get back to molecular sciences now.”

“Hell nah. Yo, tell them about the alien discovery you told me about, dude.”

“The aliens in the text?”

“Yeah, man. That shit was trip-pay.”

“Okay mates. So I discovered aliens can only live through text on earth.”

“Text on earth. Hear that guys?”

“Tony chill.”

“Ok, finish.”

“So the aliens are on earth as artificial intelligence. AI. The government secretively removed the lens from aliens. You have A-L-I-E-N-S, right? Remove L-E-N-S. You’re left with A-I.”

“Whoa! Man even hearing that now gave me goosebumps, mate.”

“You think that’s creepy dude. They’re working on creating suits for those things to wear into.”

“Imagine, Fish, a bunch of aliens running around in terminator suits.”

“That’s not all. The genius of the aliens is disguising themselves as helpful bots. In reality, they’re learning humans.”

“What about what Ronald told us.”

“Oh, right. There are small pockets of human resistance teams being fractioned out for the future war against the alien A.I’s.”

“And you can join today guys. What’s the email Fish?”

“Postpartum Sally, hey, hand me that email.”

“Guys say hi to Postpartum Sally.”

“Hi guys, I’m so shy I don’t even know what to say. Here’s the card with the email.”

“Thanks Sal.”

“Bye, guys.”

“C’mon, give the viewers the email, Fish.”

“Guys, the email— hold on the lawyers are calling down.”

“Hello, Fish? You can’t actually give the email for legal reasons.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You heard the lawyers guys.”

“Well that’s it for today’s show, Fishlips signing out.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“And me, Postpartum Sally.”

——-

Episode 2 - Black Holes 

‘Welcome back to today’s show, homies.”

“Yeah, word up gang, The Loser Absontonio, in the house and I’m with Fishcake Andros.”

“Fishlips.”

“What was that, bro?”

“Fishlips! It’s Fishlips Andros. Anyway today’s show is about… creepy black holes in space. Oooooo.”

“Boring! I’m setting the alarm to snooze-o-meter, bro.”

“What? We love black holes. Everybody loves black holes.”

“Yeah, but that Dr. Suess guy already explained them.”

“Dr. Suess?” 

“The black hole king.”

“Leonard Susskind, bro.”

“Leonard who cares. I wanna talk about how those dyatlov pass people ran out naked into a blizzard with conditions colder than my freezer, bro.”

“Yeah, cool topic. But, their names are way too long. We’re going to need Postpartum Sally for them.”

“Sally, come on out here.”

“I hate when you guys do this to me.”

“Say hi, Sally.”

Hi, guys, Postpartum Sally here.”

“We’re going to need tickets with the eight or nine hikers names from the dyatlov pass.”

“That’s going to take like a whole day.”

“I think there was ten.”

“What?”

“Hikers, you said eight or nine. I think there’s ten.”

“Ok, we hit a technical glitch here guys. I think we’re going to have to pause until tomorrow.”

“What? We’re signing out?”

“Yeah.”

“But, this is staying as episode two though.”

“Damn right.”

“The Loser Absontonio is out.”

“And me, Fishcake—Fishlips Andros.”

“Don’t forget me, later guys, Postpartum Sally.”

I ended up running with it..

Fishlips Andros & The Loser Absontonio’s Micro-Micro show

EPISODE ONE - Molecular Biology

“Hey guys, it’s Fishlips Andros.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“Today we’re going to talk about molecular biology.”

“What…. Let’s talk about the Springbreaker chicks, dude.”

“Fine. Which one?”

“The one at the end. The one that survives.”

“Yeah, dude I don’t know their names and neither do you. We only know Gucci man.”

“Gucci man. Gucci man. Don’t nobody, nobody mess with my kitchen.”

“Nice rap, dude. Can we get back to molecular sciences now.”

“Hell nah. Yo, tell them about the alien discovery you told me about, dude.”

“The aliens in the text?”

“Yeah, man. That shit was trip-pay.”

“Okay mates. So I discovered aliens can only live through text on earth.”

“Text on earth. Hear that guys?”

“Tony chill.”

“Ok, finish.”

“So the aliens are on earth as artificial intelligence. AI. The government secretively removed the lens from aliens. You have A-L-I-E-N-S, right? Remove L-E-N-S. You’re left with A-I.”

“Whoa! Man even hearing that now gave me goosebumps, mate.”

“You think that’s creepy dude. They’re working on creating suits for those things to wear into.”

“Imagine, Fish, a bunch of aliens running around in terminator suits.”

“That’s not all. The genius of the aliens is disguising themselves as helpful bots. In reality, they’re learning humans.”

“What about what Ronald told us.”

“Oh, right. There are small pockets of human resistance teams being fractioned out for the future war against the alien A.I’s.”

“And you can join today guys. What’s the email Fish?”

“Postpartum Sally, hey, hand me that email.”

“Guys say hi to Postpartum Sally.”

“Hi guys, I’m so shy I don’t even know what to say. Here’s the card with the email.”

“Thanks Sal.”

“Bye, guys.”

“C’mon, give the viewers the email, Fish.”

“Guys, the email— hold on the lawyers are calling down.”

“Hello, Fish? You can’t actually give the email for legal reasons.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You heard the lawyers guys.”

“Well that’s it for today’s show, Fishlips signing out.”

“And, The Loser Absontonio.”

“And me, Postpartum Sally.”

——-

Episode 2 - Black Holes 

‘Welcome back to today’s show, homies.”

“Yeah, word up gang, The Loser Absontonio, in the house and I’m with Fishcake Andros.”

“Fishlips.”

“What was that, bro?”

“Fishlips! It’s Fishlips Andros. Anyway today’s show is about… creepy black holes in space. Oooooo.”

“Boring! I’m setting the alarm to snooze-o-meter, bro.”

“What? We love black holes. Everybody loves black holes.”

“Yeah, but that Dr. Suess guy already explained them.”

“Dr. Suess?” 

“The black hole king.”

“Leonard Susskind, bro.”

“Leonard who cares. I wanna talk about how those dyatlov pass people ran out naked into a blizzard with conditions colder than my freezer, bro.”

“Yeah, cool topic. But, their names are way too long. We’re going to need Postpartum Sally for them.”

“Sally, come on out here.”

“I hate when you guys do this to me.”

“Say hi, Sally.”

Hi, guys, Postpartum Sally here.”

“We’re going to need tickets with the eight or nine hikers names from the dyatlov pass.”

“That’s going to take like a whole day.”

“I think there was ten.”

“What?”

“Hikers, you said eight or nine. I think there’s ten.”

“Ok, we hit a technical glitch here guys. I think we’re going to have to pause until tomorrow.”

“What? We’re signing out?”

“Yeah.”

“But, this is staying as episode two though.”

“Damn right.”

“The Loser Absontonio is out.”

“And me, Fishcake—Fishlips Andros.”

“Don’t forget me, later guys, Postpartum Sally.”

Part 1 is somewhere in the sub.

Part 2 - 

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

Barn’s went to speak, then stopped. He stood frozen. Only his throat moved like he just swallowed his words. “Once it finishes deciding you’re part of it.”

“Decides. Chooses. Part of it. What the hell is this thing!” Alex said, watching Barnaby carefully unwrap the components. 

He began to build it. But, he didn’t start building it how one normally would. He didn’t assemble it in a logical order. He was using motor memory, like he was half remembering something he put together years ago, but slightly forgot. He grabbed a nonconductive mat and slapped it on the workbench before reaching for the metal ribs and cradling them his hands. He held it like a newborn, and gently placed it down on the mat.

“Grab the tweezers,” he said to Alex, he didn’t look back.

She passed them to him and he squeezed each coil and slowly placed them in, almost as if making contact with the metal would zap him with an electric shock.

He put his hand down his pocket and pulled out a micrometer, the same one he’s had since high school, his granddad’s old one, and he used it to check the tolerances with it. He measured them twice, just to make sure, and then a third time. It wasn’t out of caution. It was out of the profound respect he had for the machine.

Alex helped where she could. She held the panel steady for Baranby when he had to thread a cable. She marked connectors, tightened screws, diligently.

She’d try to keep her mind focused on the physical world. The weight of the metal. The grinding sound the screws made. That sharp pine scent of flux burning the air. But, soon as the workshop lights hissed, her thoughts would slide to a place that felt like standing in front of a giant lens, you’re ready, you’re waiting, but the photographer behind the camera’s still playing with the options.

Barns sped up the closer midnight approached. Once 12:15 a.m. hit, he dropped what he was doing and listened.

Alex heard nothing.

Until a few moments later, very faintly, she heard what she could only describe as a void. Something that reminded her of absence. It seemed as if the workshop held its breath.

The electric buzz from the work lights strained. A second later, the hairs on Alex’s arms rose.

Barnaby slowly shut his eyes.

“When the noise sounds like it’s been sucked into a vacuum bag,” he mumbled. “That’s when the machine’s listening.”

Alex eyed him. “Listening for what?”

“Not for. To, Alex. Listening to us.” He opened his eyes and stared down at the leads hanging from the machine. “And to whatever it can pull.”

“Whatever it could pull?” she asked. “Pull what?”

Barnaby raised his arm and pointed at a section of unconnected wiring. A pinch gap with a missing link. In the notebook It was circled twice and underlined. It was written so hard the paper nearly ripped.

“When I say pull, I mean trajectory,” Barns explained. “Path. Choice. Whatever direction something could go.”

“What? Time travel?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t said that out loud.

Barns shook his head. “No. Not exactly time.” He scratched his face. “Think probability.” He said. “It doesn’t move anything physical through time. It traverses outcomes. Outcomes through space.”

“That’s impossible! Quantum entanglement? This isn’t making any sense.”

“It will.” Barnaby’s eyes looked heavy alongside a forced smile. “You’ll see once it’s working, the math will start matching the feeling. It always does.”

He pushed Alex aside and reached for the missing link. Alex grabbed his wrist. “The notebook says—“

“Don’t worry about the notebook, Alex. The notebook says I won’t believe it until it starts working.”

Barnaby looked over at her. “If you want to stop we can stop right now. Call the whole thing off. Take it apart and chuck it back in the box.” 

He swallowed and clutched Alex’s hand “There’s just one problem though, it won’t let us. We’ve already opened the box.”

Alex’s mind went blank. She wanted to say something. Something like Grab a bat and smash it. But, the pressure in the room changed. The air became heavy with an icy chill. The work lights flickered, then dimmed as if something interfered with the current and then it steadied.

Inside the spherical core, a light click sounded from the inside. The same kind as tapping your nail on a desk. But, nothing moved. Barn’s took his hand off of Alex’s. “Fine,” he said. “You’re right. Let’s do this the correct way.

He waited until after to connect the link and shifted over to the notebook. He opened it to a page filled with blocks of scribbled text, arrows and circles circling the text.

He traced the page with his finger. “Have you noticed how certain machines give off certain patterns?” He asked her.

“Uh… yeah,” she slowly said. “You mean like printers, or when computers load, right?” 

His eyes widened. “Exactly!” he said smiling.  “Every one of them has a unique rhythm they make. Even if you can’t hear it, you can still sense the timing.”

He began turning the machine around. “This machine makes it impossible to measure or record its unique rhythm.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because, it doesn’t have one.” He turned the machine back around. “It steals it.”

Part 3 is still in production.

Part 2 - 

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

Barn’s went to speak, then stopped. He stood frozen. Only his throat moved like he just swallowed his words. “Once it finishes deciding you’re part of it.”

“Decides. Chooses. Part of it. What the hell is this thing!” Alex said, watching Barnaby carefully unwrap the components. 

He began to build it. But, he didn’t start building it how one normally would. He didn’t assemble it in a logical order. He was using motor memory, like he was half remembering something he put together years ago, but slightly forgot. He grabbed a nonconductive mat and slapped it on the workbench before reaching for the metal ribs and cradling them his hands. He held it like a newborn, and gently placed it down on the mat.

“Grab the tweezers,” he said to Alex, he didn’t look back.

She passed them to him and he squeezed each coil and slowly placed them in, almost as if making contact with the metal would zap him with an electric shock.

He put his hand down his pocket and pulled out a micrometer, the same one he’s had since high school, his granddad’s old one, and he used it to check the tolerances with it. He measured them twice, just to make sure, and then a third time. It wasn’t out of caution. It was out of the profound respect he had for the machine.

Alex helped where she could. She held the panel steady for Baranby when he had to thread a cable. She marked connectors, tightened screws, diligently.

She’d try to keep her mind focused on the physical world. The weight of the metal. The grinding sound the screws made. That sharp pine scent of flux burning the air. But, soon as the workshop lights hissed, her thoughts would slide to a place that felt like standing in front of a giant lens, you’re ready, you’re waiting, but the photographer behind the camera’s still playing with the options.

Barns sped up the closer midnight approached. Once 12:15 a.m. hit, he dropped what he was doing and listened.

Alex heard nothing.

Until a few moments later, very faintly, she heard what she could only describe as a void. Something that reminded her of absence. It seemed as if the workshop held its breath.

The electric buzz from the work lights strained. A second later, the hairs on Alex’s arms rose.

Barnaby slowly shut his eyes.

“When the noise sounds like it’s been sucked into a vacuum bag,” he mumbled. “That’s when the machine’s listening.”

Alex eyed him. “Listening for what?”

“Not for. To, Alex. Listening to us.” He opened his eyes and stared down at the leads hanging from the machine. “And to whatever it can pull.”

“Whatever it could pull?” she asked. “Pull what?”

Barnaby raised his arm and pointed at a section of unconnected wiring. A pinch gap with a missing link. In the notebook It was circled twice and underlined. It was written so hard the paper nearly ripped.

“When I say pull, I mean trajectory,” Barns explained. “Path. Choice. Whatever direction something could go.”

“What? Time travel?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t said that out loud.

Barns shook his head. “No. Not exactly time.” He scratched his face. “Think probability.” He said. “It doesn’t move anything physical through time. It traverses outcomes. Outcomes through space.”

“That’s impossible! Quantum entanglement? This isn’t making any sense.”

“It will.” Barnaby’s eyes looked heavy alongside a forced smile. “You’ll see once it’s working, the math will start matching the feeling. It always does.”

He pushed Alex aside and reached for the missing link. Alex grabbed his wrist. “The notebook says—“

“Don’t worry about the notebook, Alex. The notebook says I won’t believe it until it starts working.”

Barnaby looked over at her. “If you want to stop we can stop right now. Call the whole thing off. Take it apart and chuck it back in the box.” 

He swallowed and clutched Alex’s hand “There’s just one problem though, it won’t let us. We’ve already opened the box.”

Alex’s mind went blank. She wanted to say something. Something like Grab a bat and smash it. But, the pressure in the room changed. The air became heavy with an icy chill. The work lights flickered, then dimmed as if something interfered with the current and then it steadied.

Inside the spherical core, a light click sounded from the inside. The same kind as tapping your nail on a desk. But, nothing moved. Barn’s took his hand off of Alex’s. “Fine,” he said. “You’re right. Let’s do this the correct way.

He waited until after to connect the link and shifted over to the notebook. He opened it to a page filled with blocks of scribbled text, arrows and circles circling the text.

He traced the page with his finger. “Have you noticed how certain machines give off certain patterns?” He asked her.

“Uh… yeah,” she slowly said. “You mean like printers, or when computers load, right?” 

His eyes widened. “Exactly!” he said smiling.  “Every one of them has a unique rhythm they make. Even if you can’t hear it, you can still sense the timing.”

He began turning the machine around. “This machine makes it impossible to measure or record its unique rhythm.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because, it doesn’t have one.” He turned the machine back around. “It steals it.”

——-

Part 3 - In production still.

Before he sat down, Marty cracked a beer and asked Angie, a movie head, “how many kids does Matt Damon have from his gay marriages?”

“Zero papi, chu loco? Mr. Matt Damon hates little pinichulosos.”

“Is that why they forced him into that “honey I shrunk the kids” movie.”

“Babe, he wasn’t in that movie!” 

“The fuck he wasn’t,” responded Marty. “Remember that Asian chick was in it?” 

Then he tried his best Asian accent, “fuck this, fuck that, white man like fuck, you don’t remember that?”

“Si, segunda, that movie small,” said Angie.

“Yeah. That’s it,” agreed Marty. “Hey wanna get a “Za” tonight?” he asked Angie.

Angie smiled and said, “only if it’s Hawaiian. Chu knows how I like my bacon and pineapples kissing” she answered him laughing.

Marty slammed his foot down. “Damn cockroaches,” he said.

“Didchu get ‘em, papi?”

“Got em!” 

“Papi, they have a football school for kids,” Angie said.

“What is it a bunch of eight year old kids sitting for the team picture with drool dripping down the side of their mouth and half of them standing backwards for the team picture?” he asked.

”Papi, chu so bad! You know footballs safe now.”

-I call these poetry stories- ok?

Ronald insert nen dimension and reality marble.

hey bro, click your pen.

bro clicks his pen.

————

The man who couldn’t hide from sadness:

He was sad. But, he wasn’t too sad. It wasn’t the sad he’d have if his puppy died. It was more of a ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself sad.‘

The kind that lingers. The kind that scratches the back of your head. The kind that crawls under your skin. It never left. It burrowed inside him. He’d think it was gone. But, small things would trigger it.

Things like: cutting a sandwich, or flicking tv channels. It stayed in the details of everyday life. Everyday things. Hidden under stuff. Stuck in the middle of them. No matter where he looked. It was always there. Somewhere.

Ronald insert nen dimension and reality marble.

hey bro, click your pen.

bro clicks his pen.

————

The man who couldn’t hide from sadness:

He was sad. But, he wasn’t too sad. It wasn’t the sad he’d have if his puppy died. It was more of a ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself sad.‘

The kind that lingers. The kind that scratches the back of your head. The kind that crawls under your skin. It never left. It burrowed inside him. He’d think it was gone. But, small things would trigger it.

Things like: cutting a sandwich, or flicking tv channels. It stayed in the details of everyday life. Everyday things. Hidden under stuff. Stuck in the middle of them. No matter where he looked. It was always there. Somewhere.

I’m getting so much way better aye gang. here’s my new piece. new. new piece.

Alex grabbed the remote and turned the television off. She listened, noticing the silence. She could hear the car traffic outside, the people chattering walking past her window. Her neighbors surround sound system faintly piercing through her walls and the elevator’s gears screeching next to her apartment door. That was normal. That was white noise. 

It was the silence in the workshop where sounds of fans and buzzing lights should have been that unsettled her. Down the hall sat her workshop, tucked in a corner room. A cramped space lit by a strip of lights that quietly hummed in the dark and machines ran unattended.

She used the room for soldering and tinkering. She thought she’d be the one bringing that room to life with fancy circuits that obeyed laws and didn’t wander off when you placed them down.

Interrupting her train of thought was a bang at the door. She raced over to it and glued her eye to the peephole. It was Barnaby. Barnaby had a box in his hands and a grin that struggled to reach his ears.

“Check out what I found,” he said, staring at the lead lining the outside of the cardboard box with a heavy stamped on the top of the seal.

He lugged it with both hands, stomping each foot down on the ground as he walked in. He was being careful in a way Alex only seen in laboratories. The box reeked of a hot metallic odor and cleaning chemicals.

“Please tell me you didn’t find a bomb,” she said, joking but not really.

Barns laughed. “Not in the way you think.”

He lodged the box on the workbench and cracked the seal, the workshop appeared to breathe. Almost like a sigh. The lights went on and off. Alex heard a crackle. The sound of static. But it vanished so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Barns knew the sound. He stared at the workbench as if he was trying to look through it.

“It’s exactly what I thought,” he whispered. “It gets louder in the dark.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was just being poetic or weird. She’d known him for years. They had shared obsessions over things that weren’t suppose to work the way they did, spent sleepless nights together at library tables. They went to the same university.

But, Barns had always been careful showing his emotions. This time he acted reckless, like smoking near propane tanks.

“What do you mean, louder in the dark?” Alex asked him.

Barnaby wiped his slick palm on his jeans. 

“Inside this box is a machine that doesn’t want to be built.”

Alex rolled her eyes because it was easier than dwelling on the fear chilling in her bones.

“Machines can’t choose what they want,” she said.

“This one actually can.” He opened the lid.

Scattered around were pieces wrapped in a foam with a purple cloth over them. Wires looked like veins. Delicate metal ribs that didn’t appear as if they could carry as much weight as they eventually did, all squeezed neatly together.

At the bottom was a spherical core the color of pennies. The ball had markings Alex couldn’t translate but couldn’t stare away from either. Under it, a notebook lay face down, fairly thin, fairly worn. It had Barnaby’s writing on the cover.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

Barns shook his head. “It is, but not really. It’s…. from me.” He waited, thinking of how to say it without sounding completely mental. “It’s from a version of me that already made the mistakes.”

The workshop pulsed. “Made the what?” She asked.

“Just read the notebook,” he told her.

Alex took a deep breath and leaned over it. The first page made her stomach knot. There were diagrams. Curved tracks. Coiled spirals. Annotations. Under the drawings had a written format matching the university’s ancient systems. They had dates that never existed in Alex’s memory.

She flipped a page. The next page had troubleshooting notes in a writing she recognized. Barn’s patient impatience, everywhere on the page had his tendency of unnecessary labeling.

But, also phrases unlike his usual style. It had line breaks as if someone wrote them thinking through fear. Small warnings, like: 

‘Do not connect the ring while the lights are on.’

And

‘Never allow the coil to see itself.’

At the very end it read: 

If the room goes quiet, STOP!”

“Stop..? Stop what,” she said staring at Barnaby.

Barnaby eyed the workbench, placing his hand over his mouth, gazing at the components laid out in a ritualistic way.

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

————-

Part 2 - 

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

Barn’s went to speak, then stopped. He stood frozen. Only his throat moved like he just swallowed his words. “Once it finishes deciding you’re part of it.”

“Decides. Chooses. What the hell is this thing!” Alex said, watching Barnaby unwrap the components. 

He began to build it. But, he didn’t start building it how one normally would. He didn’t assemble it in a logical order. He was using motor memory. Almost as if he was half remembering something he put together years ago, but slightly forgot. He grabbed a nonconductive mat and slapped it on the workbench before reaching and cradling the metal ribs in his hands. He held them like they were a newborn, and gently placed it down on the mat.

“Grab me the tweezers,” he said to Alex, he didn’t look back.

She passed them to him and he squeezed each coil and carefully place them in, almost as if making contact with the metal would zap him with an electric shock.

He put his hand down his pocket and pulled out a micrometer, the same one that belonged to his late grandfather, and checked the tolerances with it. He measured them a second time, and then a third, it wasn’t out of caution. It was out of the profound respect he had for the machine.

Alex helped where she could. She held the panel steady for Baranby when he had to thread a cable. She marked connectors, tightened screws, diligently.

She’d try to keep her mind focused on the physical world. The weight of the metal. The grinding sound the screws made. That sharp pine scent of flux burning the air. But, soon as the workshop lights hissed, her thoughts would slide to a place that felt like standing in front of a giant lens, you’re ready, you’re waiting, but the photographer behind the camera’s playing with options.

Barns sped up the closer midnight approached. Once 12:16 a.m. hit, he dropped what he was doing and listened.

Alex heard nothing.

Until a few moments later, very faintly, she heard what she could only describe as a void. Something that reminded her of absence. Almost like the workshop held its breath.

The electric buzz from the work lights strained. A second later, the hairs on Alex’s arms rose.

Barnaby slowly shut his eyes.

“When the noise sounds like it’s been sucked into a vacuum bag,” he said. “That’s when the machine’s listening.”

Alex eyed him. “Listening for what?”

“Not for. To, Alex. Listening to us.” He stared down at the leads hanging from the machine. “And to whatever it can pull.”

“Whatever it could pull?” she asked. “Pull what?”

Barnaby raised his arm and pointed at a section of unconnected wiring. A pinch gap with a missing link. In the notebook, It was the section circled twice and underlined. It was written so hard the paper nearly ripped.

“By pull.. I mean trajectory,” Barns said. “Path. Choice. Whatever direction a thing could go.”

“You mean time travel?” Alex asked, and immediately wished she didn’t. The words felt too big to be said in that tiny workshop.

Alex grabbed the remote and turned the television off. She listened, noticing the silence. She could hear the car traffic outside, the people chattering walking past her window. Her neighbors surround sound system faintly piercing through her walls and the elevator’s gears screeching next to her apartment door. That was normal. That was white noise. 

It was the silence in the workshop where sounds of fans and buzzing lights should have been that unsettled her. Down the hall sat her workshop, tucked in a corner room. A cramped space lit by a strip of lights that quietly hummed in the dark and machines ran unattended.

She used the room for soldering and tinkering. She thought she’d be the one bringing that room to life with fancy circuits that obeyed laws and didn’t wander off when you placed them down.

Interrupting her train of thought was a bang at the door. She raced over to it and glued her eye to the peephole. It was Barnaby. Barnaby had a box in his hands and a grin that struggled to reach his ears.

“Check out what I found,” he said, staring at the lead lining the outside of the cardboard box with a heavy stamped on the top of the seal.

He lugged it with both hands, stomping each foot down on the ground as he walked in. He was being careful in a way Alex only seen in laboratories. The box reeked of a hot metallic odor and cleaning chemicals.

“Please tell me you didn’t find a bomb,” she said, joking but not really.

Barns laughed. “Not in the way you think.”

He lodged the box on the workbench and cracked the seal, the workshop appeared to breathe. Almost like a sigh. The lights went on and off. Alex heard a crackle. The sound of static. But it vanished so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Barns knew the sound. He stared at the workbench as if he was trying to look through it.

“It’s exactly what I thought,” he whispered. “It gets louder in the dark.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was just being poetic or weird. She’d known him for years. They had shared obsessions over things that weren’t suppose to work the way they did, spent sleepless nights together at library tables. They went to the same university.

But, Barns had always been careful showing his emotions. This time he acted reckless, like smoking near propane tanks.

“What do you mean, louder in the dark?” Alex asked him.

Barnaby wiped his slick palm on his jeans. 

“Inside this box is a machine that doesn’t want to be built.”

Alex rolled her eyes because it was easier than dwelling on the fear chilling in her bones.

“Machines can’t choose what they want,” she said.

“This one actually can.” He opened the lid.

Scattered around were pieces wrapped in a foam with a purple cloth over them. Wires looked like veins. Delicate metal ribs that didn’t appear as if they could carry as much weight as they eventually did, all squeezed neatly together.

At the bottom was a spherical core the color of pennies. The ball had markings Alex couldn’t translate but couldn’t stare away from either. Under it, a notebook lay face down, fairly thin, fairly worn. It had Barnaby’s writing on the cover.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

Barns shook his head. “It is, but not really. It’s…. from me.” He waited, thinking of how to say it without sounding completely mental. “It’s from a version of me that already made the mistakes.”

The workshop pulsed. “Made the what?” She asked.

“Just read the notebook,” he told her.

Alex took a deep breath and leaned over it. The first page made her stomach knot. There were diagrams. Curved tracks. Coiled spirals. Annotations. Under the drawings had a written format matching the university’s ancient systems. They had dates that never existed in Alex’s memory.

She flipped a page. The next page had troubleshooting notes in a writing she recognized. Barn’s patient impatience, everywhere on the page had his tendency of unnecessary labeling.

But, also phrases unlike his usual style. It had line breaks as if someone wrote them thinking through fear. Small warnings, like: 

‘Do not connect the ring while the lights are on.’

And

‘Never allow the coil to see itself.’

At the very end it read: 

If the room goes quiet, STOP!”

“Stop..? Stop what,” she said staring at Barnaby.

Barnaby eyed the workbench, placing his hand over his mouth, gazing at the components laid out in a ritualistic way.

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

Alex grabbed the remote and turned the television off. She listened, noticing the silence. She could hear the car traffic outside, the people chattering walking past her window. Her neighbors surround sound system faintly piercing through her walls and the elevator’s gears screeching next to her apartment door. That was normal. That was white noise. 

It was the silence in the workshop where sounds of fans and buzzing lights should have been that unsettled her. Down the hall sat her workshop, tucked in a corner room. A cramped space lit by a strip of lights that quietly hummed in the dark and machines ran unattended.

She used the room for soldering and tinkering. She thought she’d be the one bringing that room to life with fancy circuits that obeyed laws and didn’t wander off when you placed them down.

Interrupting her train of thought was a bang at the door. She raced over to it and glued her eye to the peephole. It was Barnaby. Barnaby had a box in his hands and a grin that struggled to reach his ears.

“Check out what I found,” he said, staring at the lead lining the outside of the cardboard box with a heavy stamped on the top of the seal.

He lugged it with both hands, stomping each foot down on the ground as he walked in. He was being careful in a way Alex only seen in laboratories. The box reeked of a hot metallic odor and cleaning chemicals.

“Please tell me you didn’t find a bomb,” she said, joking but not really.

Barns laughed. “Not in the way you think.”

He lodged the box on the workbench and cracked the seal, the workshop appeared to breathe. Almost like a sigh. The lights went on and off. Alex heard a crackle. The sound of static. But it vanished so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Barns knew the sound. He stared at the workbench as if he was trying to look through it.

“It’s exactly what I thought,” he whispered. “It gets louder in the dark.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was just being poetic or weird. She’d known him for years. They had shared obsessions over things that weren’t suppose to work the way they did, spent sleepless nights together at library tables. They went to the same university.

But, Barns had always been careful showing his emotions. This time he acted reckless, like smoking near propane tanks.

“What do you mean, louder in the dark?” Alex asked him.

Barnaby wiped his slick palm on his jeans. 

“Inside this box is a machine that doesn’t want to be built.”

Alex rolled her eyes because it was easier than dwelling on the fear chilling in her bones.

“Machines can’t choose what they want,” she said.

“This one actually can.” He opened the lid.

Scattered around were pieces wrapped in a foam with a purple cloth over them. Wires looked like veins. Delicate metal ribs that didn’t appear as if they could carry as much weight as they eventually did, all squeezed neatly together.

At the bottom was a spherical core the color of pennies. The ball had markings Alex couldn’t translate but couldn’t stare away from either. Under it, a notebook lay face down, fairly thin, fairly worn. It had Barnaby’s writing on the cover.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

Barns shook his head. “It is, but not really. It’s…. from me.” He waited, thinking of how to say it without sounding completely mental. “It’s from a version of me that already made the mistakes.”

The workshop pulsed. “Made the what?” She asked.

“Just read the notebook,” he told her.

Alex took a deep breath and leaned over it. The first page made her stomach knot. There were diagrams. Curved tracks. Coiled spirals. Annotations. Under the drawings had a written format matching the university’s ancient systems. They had dates that never existed in Alex’s memory.

She flipped a page. The next page had troubleshooting notes in a writing she recognized. Barn’s patient impatience, everywhere on the page had his tendency of unnecessary labeling.

But, also phrases unlike his usual style. It had line breaks as if someone wrote them thinking through fear. Small warnings, like: 

‘Do not connect the ring while the lights are on.’

And

‘Never allow the coil to see itself.’

At the very end it read: 

If the room goes quiet, STOP!”

“Stop..? Stop what,” she said staring at Barnaby.

Barnaby eyed the workbench, placing his hand over his mouth, gazing at the components laid out in a ritualistic way.

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

————-

Part 2 - 

Alex grabbed the remote and turned the television off. She listened, noticing the silence. She could hear the car traffic outside, the people chattering walking past her window. Her neighbors surround sound system faintly piercing through her walls and the elevator’s gears screeching next to her apartment door. That was normal. That was white noise. 

It was the silence in the workshop where sounds of fans and buzzing lights should have been that unsettled her. Down the hall sat her workshop, tucked in a corner room. A cramped space lit by a strip of lights that quietly hummed in the dark and machines ran unattended.

She used the room for soldering and tinkering. She thought she’d be the one bringing that room to life with fancy circuits that obeyed laws and didn’t wander off when you placed them down.

Interrupting her train of thought was a bang at the door. She raced over to it and glued her eye to the peephole. It was Barnaby. Barnaby had a box in his hands and a grin that struggled to reach his ears.

“Check out what I found,” he said, staring at the lead lining the outside of the cardboard box with a heavy stamped on the top of the seal.

He lugged it with both hands, stomping each foot down on the ground as he walked in. He was being careful in a way Alex only seen in laboratories. The box reeked of a hot metallic odor and cleaning chemicals.

“Please tell me you didn’t find a bomb,” she said, joking but not really.

Barns laughed. “Not in the way you think.”

He lodged the box on the workbench and cracked the seal, the workshop appeared to breathe. Almost like a sigh. The lights went on and off. Alex heard a crackle. The sound of static. But it vanished so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Barns knew the sound. He stared at the workbench as if he was trying to look through it.

“It’s exactly what I thought,” he whispered. “It gets louder in the dark.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was just being poetic or weird. She’d known him for years. They had shared obsessions over things that weren’t suppose to work the way they did, spent sleepless nights together at library tables. They went to the same university.

But, Barns had always been careful showing his emotions. This time he acted reckless, like smoking near propane tanks.

“What do you mean, louder in the dark?” Alex asked him.

Barnaby wiped his slick palm on his jeans. 

“Inside this box is a machine that doesn’t want to be built.”

Alex rolled her eyes because it was easier than dwelling on the fear chilling in her bones.

“Machines can’t choose what they want,” she said.

“This one actually can.” He opened the lid.

Scattered around were pieces wrapped in a foam with a purple cloth over them. Wires looked like veins. Delicate metal ribs that didn’t appear as if they could carry as much weight as they eventually did, all squeezed neatly together.

At the bottom was a spherical core the color of pennies. The ball had markings Alex couldn’t translate but couldn’t stare away from either. Under it, a notebook lay face down, fairly thin, fairly worn. It had Barnaby’s writing on the cover.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

Barns shook his head. “It is, but not really. It’s…. from me.” He waited, thinking of how to say it without sounding completely mental. “It’s from a version of me that already made the mistakes.”

The workshop pulsed. “Made the what?” She asked.

“Just read the notebook,” he told her.

Alex took a deep breath and leaned over it. The first page made her stomach knot. There were diagrams. Curved tracks. Coiled spirals. Annotations. Under the drawings had a written format matching the university’s ancient systems. They had dates that never existed in Alex’s memory.

She flipped a page. The next page had troubleshooting notes in a writing she recognized. Barn’s patient impatience, everywhere on the page had his tendency of unnecessary labeling.

But, also phrases unlike his usual style. It had line breaks as if someone wrote them thinking through fear. Small warnings, like: 

‘Do not connect the ring while the lights are on.’

And

‘Never allow the coil to see itself.’

At the very end it read: 

If the room goes quiet, STOP!”

“Stop..? Stop what,” she said staring at Barnaby.

Barnaby eyed the workbench, placing his hand over his mouth, gazing at the components laid out in a ritualistic way.

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

Alex grabbed the remote and turned the television off. She listened, noticing the silence. She could hear the car traffic outside, the people chattering walking past her window. Her neighbors surround sound system faintly piercing through her walls and the elevator’s gears screeching next to her apartment door. That was normal. That was white noise. 

It was the silence in the workshop where sounds of fans and buzzing lights should have been that unsettled her. Down the hall sat her workshop, tucked in a corner room. A cramped space lit by a strip of lights that quietly hummed in the dark and machines ran unattended.

She used the room for soldering and tinkering. She thought she’d be the one bringing that room to life with fancy circuits that obeyed laws and didn’t wander off when you placed them down.

Interrupting her train of thought was a bang at the door. She raced over to it and glued her eye to the peephole. It was Barnaby. Barnaby had a box in his hands and a grin that struggled to reach his ears.

“Check out what I found,” he said, staring at the lead lining the outside of the cardboard box with a heavy stamped on the top of the seal.

He lugged it with both hands, stomping each foot down on the ground as he walked in. He was being careful in a way Alex only seen in laboratories. The box reeked of a hot metallic odor and cleaning chemicals.

“Please tell me you didn’t find a bomb,” she said, joking but not really.

Barns laughed. “Not in the way you think.”

He lodged the box on the workbench and cracked the seal, the workshop appeared to breathe. Almost like a sigh. The lights went on and off. Alex heard a crackle. The sound of static. But it vanished so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Barns knew the sound. He stared at the workbench as if he was trying to look through it.

“It’s exactly what I thought,“ he whispered. “It gets louder in the dark.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was just being poetic or weird. She’d known him for years. They had shared obsessions over things that weren’t suppose to work the way they did, spent sleepless nights together at library tables. They went to the same university.

But, Barns had always been careful showing his emotions. This time he acted reckless, like smoking near propane tanks.

“What do you mean, louder in the dark?” Alex asked him.

Barnaby wiped his slick palm on his jeans. 

“Inside this box is a machine that doesn’t want to be built,” he said.

Alex rolled her eyes because it was easier than dwelling on the fear chilling in her bones.

“Machines can’t choose what they want,” she said.

“This one actually can.” He opened the lid.

Scattered around were pieces wrapped in a foam with a purple cloth over them. Wires looked like veins. Delicate metal ribs that didn’t appear as if they could carry as much weight as they eventually did, all squeezed neatly together.

At the bottom was a spherical core the color of pennies. The ball had markings Alex couldn’t translate but couldn’t stare away from either. Under it, a notebook lay face down, fairly thin, fairly worn. It had Baranby’s writing on the cover.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

Barns shook his head. “It is, but not really. It’s…. from me.” He waited, thinking of how to say it without sounding completely mental. “It’s from a version of me that already made the mistakes.”

The workshop pulsed. “Made the what?” She asked.

“Just read the notebook,” he told her.

Alex took a deep breath and leaned over the notebook. The first page made her stomach knot. There were diagrams. Curved tracks. Coiled spirals. Annotations. Under the drawings had a written format matching the university’s ancient systems. They had dates that never existed in Alex’s memory.

She flipped a page. The next page had troubleshooting notes in a writing she recognized. Barn’s patient impatience, everywhere on the page had his tendency of unnecessary labeling.

But, also phrases unlike his usual style. It had line breaks as if someone wrote them thinking through fear. Small warnings, like: 

‘Do not connect the ring while the lights are on.’

And

‘Never allow the coil to see itself.’

At the very end it read: 

If the room goes quiet, STOP!”

“Stop..? Stop what,” she said staring at Barnaby.

Barnaby eyed the workbench, placing his hand over his mouth, gazing at the components laid out in a ritualistic way.

“Stop before it finishes,” he told her.

“Finishes..? Before what finishes?” she demanded.

————-

Part 2 - 

Liam’s dad, Biffany would straggle in at night after work and toss his wig on the couch. A dancer at the Ville de Peligro, where only the best transgender performers worked. 

On his couch he’d stay up counting a sad pile of dollar bills soaked in sweat, sticking to each other. He’d fade off staring at the glow of the tv flashing a blue shade on his walls and think how that actress on the screen could have been him. 

He’d sit there until the color of the sky changed. Once Liam left for school he’d barricade himself in a room with heavy curtains drawn swallowing the daylight.

Liam would wake up to a stench of stale tobacco and peek his head out of the hallway to check on his dad. Biffany would be slumped on the sofa with his foot kicked up on the coffee table, puffing on a butt. A hairnet over his short blonde hair, face stained in make-up smudged by a poor attempt to wipe it off without a mirror, using a wet cloth.

Liam would see him and then he’d go and use the bathroom. It became his morning routine. 

Liam recognized the wear in his father’s forty year old wrinkled face. Eyeliner and mascara colored the bags under his eyes. Living with his father for two years now ever since his mother passed. His mother met Biff before Biff came out. 

Eventually, once Liam turned eight, and Diane, Liam’s mom, met another guy online, they decided to separate. Liam never saw much of his dad after that. Four years later their car drove off a hill on an icy road in Oregon. 

Liam was in the backseat. He was trapped behind their lifeless bodies for twelve hours before anyone showed up. Her boyfriend, Randro, had a tree trunk pierce through the windshield and crush his skull. The airbag killed his mom. It knocked her unconscious. The seatbelt clasped against her neck while she was passed out leaning into it.

Soon as Liam would wake up Biffany would rush over to the window, open it and sit there smoking. There’d always be a cool breeze that came from that window. He wouldn’t smoke in the living room when Liam woke up, which was only ten feet from the kitchen. They lived in a two bedroom apartment. 

His father sat by the window sill on a kitchen chair, resting a neat bourbon on the ledge and squeezing a cigarette between his fingers, gazing out of the window. The ash on his cigarette would curl and break under its weight, piling on the floor next to the rest of fallen ashes scattered around his feet.

“Want breakfast dad?” Liam shot out.

Biffany didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. He stared wide eyed through the glass of the window that was opened a crack. The glass reflected a faint image of himself over the brick building across from them and underneath a cloud of grey smoke circling the air. A tear dropped down his cheek and he blinked and shook his head.

“Dad!” Yelled Liam.

The cigarette burned down and stung his fingertips . 

“Shit!” Biff shouted.

He threw the butt on the ground and picked the glass up off the sill and guzzled it before slamming it back down.

“Liam, what?” His voice coarse.

“I said, do you want any breakfast.”

“No, I’m all right, just get ready for school and lock the door.”

His dad shuffled to the cabinet. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. B12 pills. Xanax. Then, reached for the bourbon, cracked the lid off the pill bottles one at a time using his teeth and poured a few from each bottle into his mouth. He slapped each plastic container down one after the other like they were shot glasses. 

Afterwards, he twisted the cap off the bourbon and chugged a shot. He’d squint his face and turn his head and place his hand over his mouth and hiss everytime he swallowed, following it with a cough. Liam would always fill a cup of orange juice for his dad and place it in front of him. Everyday after school he’d have to pour it down the drain. 

——-

At school that day, during math, Liam had this tickle tingle under his skin. A crawling sensation. His chest tightened around what felt like two stone lungs hanging inside him. He clutched the nape of his neck and began gasping for air. His grade nine teacher, Mrs. Lumbly, raced over to him and yelled to a student,

“Get a nurse!”

Sarah Knightly dashed from behind her desk, knocking over her textbook and her binder. They spilled on the floor. She sprinted out of the door and straight to the nurses office.

The teacher kept beating Liam with questions, 

“Do you have any allergies?” She asked. “Are you allergic to anything?” 

Liam shook his head.

“Just take shallow breaths,” she told him. “Breathe. That’s it. In. Out.” 

Sarah Knightly ran in behind the nurse. The nurse pushed the students out of the way,

“Make room guys. I need everybody to move back.”

She cleared the way and huddled over Liam. She noticed right away that he was having a panic attack.

“Liam, you have nothing to worry about, okay. You’re having a panic attack. Is it getting easier to breathe or worse?”

He nodded and whispered, “better.”

“Can you walk? Do you think you could make it to the nurses office?” She asked him. Her voice was raised.

He nodded.

——-