Star Wars is Non-Fiction, Obviously

There are many unknowns in the world. Aliens may be out there. Parallel dimensions might exist. Star Wars might actually be non-fiction, or at least that's where the online library put it:

Kids, I have something to tell you. C-3PO is real and he's hiding in your closet.

Somehow this didn't bother my daughter at all. No, what bothered her was Benjamin Franklin.

"He's scary," she said, "He isn't real, right?"

"No, he's real. But he died a long time ago."

"Did he go to Heaven?"

"I mean, probably."

"Is there more than one Heaven?"

By now, I know where she's going with this question and I'm struggling not to laugh. "No, there's only one Heaven."

"I don't want to go then. Not if Benjamin Franklin is there."

The next day she comes up to me, "I want to see a picture of Gingerman Franklin."

Yup, you've heard of Slenderman, but have you heard of Gingerman? He comes out of your hundred dollar bills and kills you with a kite. The next day, someone will find your body clutching an old-fashioned key.

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of owning a library with a ladder? I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with. It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series. One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella. The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work. If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.

The things people say

1. "I don't know. I don't know what you do." (In response to me asking, "Why would I have a blowup doll?") 2. "What are you saying? I can mouse with my right hand." (From a lefty after he was accused of moving the mouse to the left side of the computer.) 3. "I (hic) gave this girl my (hic) my phone number (hic) and she (hic) she never called (hic) called me." 4. "You're hurting me!" "I'm stabbing your coat." "With a knife!" "So?" "Knives hurt people!"

Refracted Neurons

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