250310

The detective walked on to the crime scene that was filled with local police men. Detective James sighed, he knew that the scene was contaminated to no end, but protocols need to be followed. He turned to the young sergeant that had shown him the site: “Do me a favor kid, tell your amateur brigade to get the fuck off my crimes scene”. The stern voice made the young sergeant spring into action “Right away, sir.” Yelling at the top of his lungs the young sergeant ordered the rest of the local police force to drop everything they were doing and to leave the premises immediately. As they all walked past detective James, giving him evil eyes, he tried to remember all of their faces to the best of their abilities. James knew that a local police station like this is run by committee, there’s seldom one person calling the shots. In all likelihood one of these officers suggested processing the crime scene like this, knowing that the chaos on the scene would dilute any real evidence who had committed the murder. James looked at the wet mud, all of the officers leaving the same type of shoe prints. “Shit”, James mumbled to himself. They were all wearing standard issue work boots, at least something is done by protocol. Either way, the killer being someone in the police force was just an ad hoc theory. For now. “Done?” James asked the young sergeant. “Yes sir, that’s all of them.”

James turned around and walked into the large Japanese goun-yo temple. A murder in such a sacred place like this takes some balls, or some sense that the law doesn’t apply to you. At the feet of the altar lies a body covered by a white sheet. James looks around, no sign of a struggle. The floor is covered by identical muddy footprints, perhaps the local police force has put stuff back to where they belong, it’s hard to say. James understood then and there that evidence was going to a scarce resource in this case. Something the law abiding, protocol-guided, do things by the book - detective James was not used to nor comfortable with.

Random word - Favor

250311

From her point of view it wasn’t a “lie” lie, it was more of a gentle bending of the truth. Yes, she had kissed him but no, it wasn’t planned or actually meant anything. From his point of view it was a lie with a capital L. She had looked him right in the eyes, said that she didn’t kiss him, and now the smartphone footage showed something different. Despite him being technically sort of maybe right, she couldn’t stand the complaining and self pity of the man she called her boyfriend, it reminded her too much of her father. “Why?” the sad man with his hands in his palms softly cried out. The woman begins confidently “We were at this party…” but gets interrupted by the man, now looking at her instead of his palms.
“No. Why did you lie?”
There it is again, “lie”. She didn’t lie, her dad was a liar and she is nothing like her dad. All she did was confiscate what actually happened slightly and that was so that he wouldn’t get hurt. It wasn’t like they had sex or anything, it was just a smooch, if even barely that. “It’s not like we had sex or anything.”

“Answer the question.”

“I didn’t lie.”

The man shakes his head, giving off a faint smile as if he can’t believe that someone would stand so firm on something this shaky. In his mind she is the captain standing on the deck of a sinking ship while saying the ship isn’t sinking. In her mind she is standing on flat solid ground.

Random word - Lie

250312

Slobodan planted the arch of his feet into the starting box. In roughly two minutes plus 10:37 seconds (10:32 on a good day) he would know if his dreams would become a reality. 10:37 would be the most likely outcome according to his coach’s estimate but like his couch usually said: “Estimates are just data based on previous measurements.” Either way, Slobodan would do anything in his power to crush 10:37 and maybe even 10:32. Only three of his competitors were able to run at that speed when they are at their best and the best of them was Otsuhaka from Japan. On a day that Otsuhaka would call a good day nobody could beat him. When Otsuhaka ran his best no other seventeen year old in the world could beat him. But that was Otsuhaka’s problem, it had to be his day. The biggest obstacle Otsuhaka had was that he was very inconsistent and the reason he was inconsistent was because he was always sprinting against everybody else. It might sound odd but that was Slobodan’s super power. Sure he wasn’t the most talented or naturally gifter sprinter, but what he did have was mental strength. No matter what happened Slobodan was only racing against himself, every race, every training session. Which meant that Slobodan never had any bad days working out or training. He never compared himself to anyone so fear of failure never crept in because he knew that as long as he did his best every time he could look himself in the mirror proudly. Otsuhaka on the other hand was his own worst critic in a bad way, always blaming himself when losing. So even with his incredible natural physique, talent and running form he would have many off days. Slobodan knew that sprinting wasn’t a spring, sprinting is a marathon. If you could increase your skills by one percent per day for a year you would be thirty seven times better than you were the previous year. The referee held up his gun into the air:
“On your mark. Get set.”
Slobodan closed his eyes, the calmness of preparation washed over him. This was his time to win over himself again, as he had done every day for his whole life.
“Go!”

The gun blasts a loud bang and the sprinters leap out of the start blocks like over cranked springs.

Random word - Arch

250313

When he walked into the gentleman's establishment he thought that this case was going to be impossible to crack. “Mystery” he had been told over and over by different dock workers in the Hanois port accompanied by pointed fingers in different directions. It’s either that they didn’t understand his king’s or he truly would never find the blonde woman with green eyes and pale skin. A person like that should stick out like a sore thumb and be etched into the memories of men in these regions. If he could, he would have used her full name, Emily Maria Elizabeth Barrington II. But Duke Barrington had prohibited the deactivate to use her name to find her. The embarrassment of even talking to a low life gutter rat like him was an insult enough to his family. If the rumor mill came to the conclusion that his daughter, and heir to the throne, had eloped with a simple Chinese garden boy, talking to a detective would be the least of the problems for their family’s reputation. But nonetheless, detective Strum had been paid handsomely in advance to make sure neither of those things happened. Hence him walking around yet another port in south east Asia trying to find a person he knows exactly who she is but he can’t say. The first clue led him to Shanghai, then Hong Kong, Singapore and now Vietnam. Detective Strum walked down the stairs into the cloudy opium den. Men had lost their ways here for decades, if not careful, some of those men with their lost minds would awake: “Mystery…?” the detective asked the doorman. The doorman smiled, the detective was not the first one to ask about “Mystery”. The doorman pointed at the bar “Mystery. Mystery”. The detective looked towards the bar and was stunned, the mystery was not a mystery anymore. A tall blonde pale skinned woman with green eyes. The detective who never was shaken by anything felt his legs almost giving way, she was the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Maria Elizabeth Barrington II, or as she was called in these parts, Mystery.

Random word - Mystery 

250314

“And the tables will go here and you can put the plants by the water cooler.” Eric and Bob stared at each other, what was this lady talking about? The lady awaited their answer, she didn’t look like the type that would like to hear anything that went against her opinion: “I’m sorry mam but we got specific orders to take this to the upstairs office.” Eric said as he was trying to balance the heavy table with his lifting harness. The lady leaned forward: “Do you know who I am?” Eric opened his mouth to give a polite “No, mam” but was cut of by Bob: “No fucking clue.” A fire was lit in the eyes of the lady scaring Bob into adding “Mam” to ease the tension. Bob's efforts were not enough, the lady slammed her notepad against the floor and started screaming “I’m Phyllis Jones, officer of this company and in charge of making sure that this transition goes smoothly!” In the midst of paper and paper clips Eric and Bob looked at each other. An officer? They’ve been in the moving business for five years and they had never heard of a company having a private police force on staff. Especially such a small company. While the lady was catching her breath after all of the yelling Eric asked: “Sorry, did you say officer? As in police officer?”

“No dummy, I’m the officer. I’m in charge of the office.”

It was now clear for Eric and Bob. They’ve never seen a private police force on any company before, but employees who twist their title to try and appear more important than they actually are have been plenty over the years. Every company has at least one, two if they are really unlucky: “I see. We’ll just go ahead and take this upstairs.” Without missing a beat the rested lady began screaming again. Something about authority and that they would never work in this city again. The first time this happened, when a power hungry employee tried to wield their non-existing strength, both Eric and Bob were sort of scared that it would be any truth to the word. Of course, it was just empty words. Nowadays they just keep on moving and try to keep their heads down.

Random word - Officer

250315

The blaring warning sirens and oxygen canons woke him up. A split second ago he was dreaming about playing fetch with his dog on an infinite field and a split second before that he was climbing into the stasis chamber getting ready for hyper sleep. It had been a tough decision to leave earth and go to a mining planet ten parsecs away. The comms between earth and MP13 (mining planet thirteen) had been shaky at best. Nevermind the vast distance but you also had to account for solar flare, meteor field and whatever else was hiding out there in the dark. Either way, the sound package they had received early that year indicated that MP13 had potential to be a very prosperous planet, an alternative to deteriorating earth. Or, it was a trap. Timing was everything however, if they at the arctic circle station had gotten the sound package it would only be a matter of time before the news spread across earth and everybody and their grandma with a semi-decent rocket ship would try to go to MP13. Majority of them would perish before even getting halfway but if he and his crew could be among the first to make it to MP13 they could set up a defense system and get a head start of reaping the rewards of an unclaimed planet. The way it works is that a crew for one of the six large mega corps on earth scans the edge of space that we are able to observe. If there’s a hit of a planet that is similar to earth or thought to be rich in resources, a small drone is sent out. This small drone is semi-conscious and powered by ai. It’s not that the mega corps had sent humans as the first explorers, they’ve done it multiple times. They would prefer it but the errors were just too big. When faced with an unknown planet lightyears from home humans have a tendency to panic, androids do not. If the planet is thought to be resource rich on further inspection a sound package containing all relevant information is sent back to earth. This signal should go straight to the corp and nowhere else, but if you have the right equipment it is interceptable. Then the race against time starts, multiple more agile stand alone crews from earth will try to reach the planet before any of the mega corps. And, as mentioned, most of them would get destroyed before getting there. This seems to be the fate of Run Crew Chrome. The captain rushed out of his pod, punching the emergency button and the warning alarm stopped but the oxygen canons increased. “Impact! Impact!” he yelled into the mic connected to the intercoms.

Random words - Impact

250316

It was the championship game of this year’s National Delta Eagle Dodgeball Tournament set in Takoma, Maryland. It was the Baltimore Beaver Catchers against the St. Louis Lungers. A true Cinderella story. Nobody in their wildest dreams had thought that the Lungers would make it past the first round and here they were in the finals. They were up against stiff competition in the Beaver Catchers who had won five of the last seven tournaments. One they lost because of a questionable referee decision in the last quarter and the other they lost because of doping. The Beaver Catchers were a behemoth of a team consisting mostly of foreign players. Mainly eastern europeans whose genetic makeup made them look like they were grown in a lab. But Jackson had had drinks with all of them the night before, great guys and great drinkers. Even though Jackson would have a drink, or two, with the people he wrote stories about it would never affect his objectivity then it came to reporting. He would give the eastern europeans of the Beaver Catchers a fair shake down, like he did six years ago when he uncovered the doping scandal. Which meant that NDEDT banned players from southeast Asia but that’s a story for another time. Jackson might be a bit of a douchebag but his morales were strong and he was a straight shooter, he never missed. A miss in Jackson’s book would mean a loss in credibility and that he would never do. Even though the Beaver Catcher’s were fun drinkers, what had really caught Jackson’s eye were the Lungers, the underdogs. They were boring though. You see, Jackson’s first choice of a drinking partner last night wasn’t the Beaver Catcher’s, it was the Lungers. The lungers however, were straight good ‘ol Christian boys who would never touch the stuff. This had disappointed Jackson enormously but he also respected the boy’s dedication to the craft of dodgeball. Something that Jackson could relate to just that his dedication was different and his craft was different. He couldn’t write anything without being drunk, so before writing he would drink. Alot. So in a sense he was very dedicated to his craft. Jackson sat by the large plexiglass box that encapsulated the dodgeball court, finishing his third Bloody Mary: “Miss? Another one, please thank you.”

Random word - Miss

250317

The old lady limped down the basement stairs as safely as she could. Due to her age her legs weren’t strong enough to walk the stairs normally. She had to carefully lower her foot to the next step and, using the mounted rail on the wall, lower her second foot to the same step. This took a considerably long time and holding a tray of cookies didn't make things easier. Her grandson had promised that he would install a sitting lift so she wouldn’t have to walk the stairs anymore, but like always with him, it was just empty promises: “I brought cookies.” the old lady said halfway down the stairs in hopes that one of the boys would take them so she wouldn’t have to walk all the way down. The group of four boys with their eyes glued to the computer screen murmured in unison something about thank yous: “Freshly baked” the old lady added after a brief silence: “Thank you grandma, you can put them over their” her grandson said without taking his eyes of the screen. The old lady hobbled down the last couple of stairs: “Thank you grandma.” her grandson said as she walked past his back barely lifting her feet. The old lady didn’t say a word: “Heel! Heel!” the foreign exchange stundent in the corner yelled, startling the old lady. The yelling boy didn’t seem to realise that he almost gave the old lady a heart attack: “You also have problems with your feet?” the old lady asked the boy. The boy was transfixed to the screen, the old lady tapped his shoulder to get his attention. The boy looked at the lady and said in a German accent “Was?”.

“Your heel, do you have heel problems?”. The german boy looked around the room, not knowing this branch of the conversation tree: “Heal, grandma. He means Heal.”
“Heal?”
“We are playing.. nevermind. Thank you grandma”

Random word - Heel

250318

“No, everything is down.” Adams said in as calm of a voice he could muster during the circumstances. Getting held up in a call loop when the oxygen system for an entire space base of 50000 people was about to collapse wasn’t something Adams wanted to do. But he knew that the stressed operator at the other end was just following a sheet of questions to make sure what he was saying was correct. That knowledge was what kept Adam from losing his mind at this point:
“Please, sir, repeat. Everything?”

“For fuck sake EVERYTHING. No channel to the O2, no green light from the hydrogen mixer. Everything.”

“That’s not good.”

“Thank you.” Adams said sarcastically.

“When did this problem occur?”

Back into the loop again, Adams thought to himself: “When this morning's patch was downloaded and installed. Three hours later we began getting a sharp decrease in productivity and have been at that rate for the last thirty minutes.”

“Affirmative.” A couple of sheets being flipped in a manual is heard through the radio. “You have about ten minutes of usual oxygen before hitting dangerously low levels.”

“Thank you.” Adam said sarcastically, again.

“And is it… everything?”

Adam hung up the radio, he couldn’t waste any more time. He ran down the hallway towards the server room. The software was downloaded and installed this morning, if he was lucky there might be a backup server that still has the old software. It would be against company policy and in other situations it would get him fired. But it was also against company policy to kill tens of thousands of people. Adams bolted through the door and was met by rows and rows of servers. He had less than ten minutes to try and find a backup server with yesterday’s software. A needle in a haystack.

Random word - Patch

250319

“Say ah” the doctor said and put extra emphasis on the A. The nine year old boy opened his mouth but let out no sound, he was too scared: “See, you have to make a sound or else the evil tooth goblins will come and destroy your teeth.” the dentist said in a calming tone. This made the boy shut his mouth quickly. In his mind opening his mouth let the tooth goblin in and since he didn’t want to make a sound he’ll just shut his mouth. Stopping the problem before it even happened: “Now why did you go on and do that, son?” the dentist said lowering his tools.

“Mmnahsannan” the boy answered, speaking without opening his mouth: “You can open your mouth, it’s ok.” The dentist specialized in child dentistry so this wasn’t the first time he had encountered something like this. Thankfully, he knew some tricks to not get stuck at this stage of the check up: “What’s the matter?” he added. The boy opened his mouth quickly and his tongue rattled off like a machine gun “Idon’twantthegoblinstodestroymyteeth.” And then he shut his mouth as fast as he opened it and looked around to make sure no tooth goblin was in sight. The dentist tried to hide his sigh to the best of his abilities while putting away his tools. He knew that his silly little attempt to make the dental cleaning a bit more fun, by mentioning the imaginary tooth goblins, had backfired. They were now back to square one and the appointment would take more time: “Are you sure you don’t want to open your mouth?” The boy shook his head violently and stared at the dentist as if he were crazy to suggest something like that: “I’ll go talk to your mother, you just lay here and rest for a second. Ok?” The boy nodded.

After leaving the room the boy looked around the sterile and white dentist room. There hung a painting of a nondescript boat sailing towards the sunset. Something scurried across the floor. A mouse was the boy’s first thought, but as he looked closer, it didn’t walk on four legs. It walked upright on two legs and there were five of them. They all looked like small cave trolls and were heading towards him. These were tooth goblins.

Random word - Tounge

250320

The suited man walked past each cubicle, slamming down one sheet A4 papers on every desk. Slam, slam, slam! Gregory glanced over at Bob who had his eyes fixed on the suited man: “I told you, it wasn’t a rumor” Bob said, gripping the side of his cubicle. Bob was right, it wasn’t a rumor, it looked like they were getting fired. Bob had approached Gregory last week by the vending machines and told him about it. Between bites of Snickers Bob laid out the plan on what they should do to maximize their potential of not getting fired. Stress eating was Bob M.O. so Gregory only listened out of politeness because he knew that Bob was mostly talking out loud to himself. Granted, Bob had more to lose, he was nearing fifty and still lived at home with his mom. Not because he couldn’t afford his only place but because she had a vice grip on his life. If his mom found out that he got fired she would probably shame him to no end and Bob as we know him would parish. Gregory thought to himself that getting fired would probably be good for Bob. Losing income and facing his mother wasn’t good, but in his mind he had to do it soon or later. Once that was done Bob could start to rebuild himself. Gregory liked Bob very much so to ease his nerves he said that the layoff rumors were just that, rumors.

Now they were both staring at a man marching down the cubicle ailes handing out papers. Slam, slam, slam!
“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” Bob turned back into his cubicle, sweat dripping down his glasses:
“It will be fine Bob, try to breathe.” Bob tried his best to take the advice to heart but the breathing quickly went into hyperventilation. SLAM! A piece of paper was slammed down on Bob’s desk. The suited man stopped for a second, looked at Bob who now seemed to breathe more out than in. His brown furled as he turned to Gregory as if to ask what was going on. Gregory shrugged. The suited man slammed down a piece of paper on Gregory’s desk: “Ladies.” the suited man said and kept walking down the aisle. Gregory picked up the piece of paper. “Office Party This Coming Friday! No +1”. Gregory looked over at Bob who was laying on the floor, breathing heavy, still thinking he got fired.

Random word - Rumor

250321

The second sun rose above the horizon line, aiding in luminiting the vast jungle: “Start the clock.” Michael said as he squinted towards the suns: “We have about twenty minutes before they reach zenit.” He was met with a worried expression from the drill operator named Clark: “That’s pushing it Michael.”

“I know, but those are the cards we are dealt.”

“Yeah, and the ante is our lives.”

Michael had been put on scouting duty and to oversee the drilling for the ores. Due to bad yields lower down in the valley, where the double suns of Alcestis didn’t reach, they had to venture up into the mountains. Not something Michael wanted to do but missing quota would be worse than getting slowly charred to death. It was Michael, the overseer. Clark, the drill operator. Steward, the assistant drill operator. And Chyme, the geologist. They were a small crew, perhaps too small for this type of operation, but they were the only ones who had volunteered for the job. Not because they had any affinity towards the org but because the pay was double and time two point five for over time. Nothing in the contract said anything about hazard pay or getting extra for being burnt to a crisp. Michael checked his watch: “Seventeen minutes gentlemen. Status?”

“Eighteen minutes out Mike.”

“You’ve got sixteen, Clark.”

Random word - Expression 

250322

If he would have known that it would have come to this, Henric would have never answered the phone. His mother had always told him growing up: “Don’t answer the door if you don’t know that person and don’t answer the phone if you don’t recognise the number.” Henric never believed in his mother’s superstition and constant fear but he respected her wishes: “There are dark forces out there.” she’d tell him every once in a while. One day she could be as happy as a dog that hadn’t seen its owner in a month and sometimes she would be so gloomy that she would never get out of bed. The doctor’s had diagnosed her with bipolar disorder when Henric was twelve. Along with the diagnosis there came a laundry list of pills and diets. None of which helped his mother’s mood swings but the doctor said that’s part of the course: “She needs the stimulation.” was always the default response they’ve gotten.

One time when Henric got home from school early he found his mother squatting on the dinner table, staring at the phone. Her pose was that of an athlete, straight back, chest out, resting between sets of a workout. When Henric asked what she was doing she turned around and met his eyes. The irises that used to be green were now milky white and her teeth seemed thinner: “Who…?” she said to herself with a gravelly voice. Henric didn’t say a word. His mother twisted her neck in a jerky motion as if she had gotten an answer from somewhere else. She then leapt to the basement door and disappeared down into the darkness. It was a leap that an old woman shouldn’t be able to do. Henric didn’t move. The phone rang: “Don’t answer it.” his mother’s voice was now her regular soft tone. “Don’t answer the phone, if you don’t recognise the number”.

Random word - Stimulation

250323

Each chair and table in the minimalist apartment was washed in concrete texture and tan colors. Sitting in any of them looked uncomfortable. A thin sliver of a red laser passed over the egg shell walls and furniture. A digital processing was heard outside the window, there was a mechanical sphere emitting red from its lens in the middle. It flew away to the identical apartment building on the other side of the street. The bathroom looked as if IKEA made dentist waiting rooms, in it stood a man and a woman. Both were wearing only their underwear: “Is it safe?” the man whispered.

“Safe as safe can be.” the woman answered.

“If conscience finds out about this, we’re fucked.” The man removed the towel on the sink, revealing a bloody knife. They both turned to the cupboard in the corner. A small pool of blood had formed under it: “It will be thirty minutes or so before they scan again.” The woman said.

“And then what?”

“Then we are properly fucked.”

Random word - conscience

250324

Blue swirling lights were lighting up the forest and the winding dirt road. Switching between darkness and washes of blues. On the road stood firetrucks and ambulances, all focusing their attention on the crash site. The car was wrapped around the oak tree like a fist holding a rail. The car had hit the tree straight on, sending the tree down the middle and pushed everything in every seat up against the doors and windows, creating a red mess. A firefighter, young, broad shoulders and tall was looking at the wreckage: “Have you seen anything like this?” He said to his colleague.

The colleague didn’t face him, he was focused on hauling in one of the hose: “I’ve seen plenty of car wrecks in my time, I’ve seen this once. But that one was not this severe.” His colleague whispered. 

“How is this even possible? The road is too short. I’m no detective but the amount of speed to do this is… I don’t know. Impossible?” His colleague stopped what he was doing and stared at him: “Look. Forget about it. That’s not our job.” His colleague nodded towards the yellow tape further down the road. Two men in tan trench coats had walked up to the officer. They showed the police their badges and the police lifted up the tape: “Grad the damn hose.” His colleague hissed. The firefighter jumped over to the truck and grabbed the hose: “Don’t say a word.” The colleague said and before he could ask why the colleague began hauling the hose. The two trench coat men walked up to the car and looked inside it. Meanwhile they two firefighters were trying to look busy reeling the hose in and out: “We’re from the Wunderbaum Agency. Have any of you touched the subject?” Only the sound of the winch for the hose could be heard. “You there, have any of you touched the subject?”

“The car? Yes.” The firefighter answered.

“No, the subject.” The trench coated man said and pointed at the wunderbaum pressed up against the shatter from the window: “Ehm, no?” The firefighter said, looking at his colleague who pretended that no one was there.

Random word - Agency

250325

The heavy set man with black robe and curly white wig banged his gavel against the table: “Order, order!” Nobody in the courtroom noticed, they kept screaming and pointing fingers: “Order in the court or I will hold you for contempt in court!” This was judge Barham, a veteran within the Louisianan court system. There was no official rule that judges in the county had to wear a white curly wig. But Barham was an anglophile, his ancestors were from England and he personally thought that judges in the whole United states should adopt the wig wearing style of courts in England. It brought a certain panage and honor to the occupation, something that was clearly lacking in the red neck south: “Order!” Barham screamed again, banging the hammer even harder. One person sat down amidst shouting and paper throwing. This man was thin, pale and had green eyes that stared straight at Barham. Barhem fell silent as if he had just obeyed his own order to quiet down. Who was this man? Barham had spent forty three years in the legal system of the Louisiana county and he had never seen this man before. The man stood up again, not breaking eye contact and began moving down the row towards the aisle. He opened his briefcase and a bright yellow light shocked the room. Everything became silent in an instant, as if going under water. People were still opening their mouths, throwing papers, stomping their feet but Barham couldn’t hear it. Nobody seemed to take noticed of the long thin man with the glowing briefcase, only Barham could see him.

Random word - Contempt 

250326

The bar was located at the start of a bridge, that bridge led to another, more expensive part of the city. At least that was what Mason had been told. He lived on the poor side but had never thought about checking the price of living on the other side of the bridge. The differences could be miniscule for all he knew. They were part of the same city anyways, Mason had always said: “What’s the point of dividing us according to arbitrary architecture” Mason had said more than once during his late nights at the local college pub. That local college pub wasn’t too dissimilar to the bar that was at the start of the bridge. It was aptly named the Bridge and its interior looked like a classic English pub. His friend, Eric, sitting opposite him raised his head: “I think I got it.” Mason put down his beer on the table: “Shoot.”

“Three, Le Chiffre. Two, Blofeld. Number one, Dr. No.”

“Dr. No number one? You can’t be serious?” Mason said, pushed his beer to the side and leaned forward: “Dr. No. Over Blofeld?”

“He’s the first villain in the first movie. Set the tone for the whole franchise.” Eric said and leaned back: “Well first off, not true.” Mason said and began tapping his outstretched index finger on the table to emphasize each point: “Secondly, Blofeld is not only the greatest Bond villain he is the quintessential 1950’s bad buy.” Mason continued: “Dr. Evil, and so on. Blofeld laid the foundation for every bad guy in film for decades.” Mason stopped taping his finger and looked into Eric’s eyes. Eric crossed his arms: “No.”

Random word - No

250327

The underside of the honey jar was sticky and the lid wasn’t sealed. There were two prime suspects: Even, the five year old child, or, Morgy the six year old labrador. Someone with bad fine motor control had opened the jar, poured out the remaining honey and closed the lid. Since the child couldn’t reach the top of the cupboard, he was ruled out as a suspect. But since Morgy the dog didn’t have thumbs he was ruled out as a suspect too. There had to be a third suspect somewhere in the house. The young mom put the jar down and looked around the kitchen for clues. On the floor she saw a line of clothing trailing out to the living room. She followed the fabric crumb trail until she reached the sofa. On the sofa was her husband, wearing only a t-shirt and sweatpants, sleeping. Next to him was their son, him sleeping as well. And Morgy was on the floor, sleeping as well. Both the child and dog had honey residue around their faces and fur. The dad was surprisingly clean after a whole day's work. The case was solved. The dad had held the child high enough for him to pick the jar off the shelf. The dad had then helped open the jar. They had all then together eaten what was left of the honey. Then in a feudal attempt tried to cover their tracks by closing the lid again. And here they were, caught red handed for illegal eating of honey. And the mom loved everything about it. They were her little bundle of criminals.

Random word - Sticky

250328

In a desolate dark library stands a boy with his cap turned way low. In his hand he is holding a lantern that burns a bright purple light. On the lantern are symbols from an unknown language. Surrounding the boy are black transparent figures, hovering in the air. They all have great big red grins and no eyes. The boy is standing completely still while the figures move about around him. One figure moves towards him but veers off at the last moment and passes through a bookshelf. Another figure emerges from the floor and trails upwards to the painted ceiling. One figure glides towards him, the boy braces himself. The figure passes through the boy as if he wasn’t there. An ice cold feeling is sent down his spine, he shutters. The figure moves back and stops inside the boy and the boy begins to breathe heavily. A cold smoke comes out of the boy’s mouth and he shakes, rattling his teeth. The cold is too much and the boy drops the lantern. Inches above the ground it’s captured by one of the figures. Its transparent paw is grabbing the hilt of the lantern tight. The boy falls to the ground, his lips are blue and his skin is pale. All of the figures turn towards the boy, their red bright grins getting larger. Together in a hurricane of movement they circle the boys’ body making a rhythmic voice in the language that is the lantern. The single black figure that is holding the lantern floats down in the middle and presses itself against the boys’ body. In a silent scream the figure’s grin turns into sadness. The flame goes out and the boy disappears.

Random words - Capture

250329

The couple leaned over the green garden fence that had been put up as a temporary border for the puppies. The hodge podge of different sized and colored small dogs was a whirlwind. No dog looked like the other: “They are…?” the young man said and looked at Petrov: “Yes.” Petrov answered. “Same litter, same kennel. Paper’s are good.”
“Right.” The young man said slowly. “And are they staff…?” The young man stopped, looking at Petrov as if he should finish his sentence. Petrov’s eyebrows went up quickly: “Yes, staffordshire terriers from Kent. Just up the road.”

“I’ve never seen a blue tanned staffordshire terrier before” The young man said and pointed at the smallest dog which had a blueish greyish tone: “Oh that one. Very special. Very rare. Only two in the whole world.”

“And you are selling this very rare staffy in the outskirts of town behind a loading dock?”
“Yes.” Petrov said smiling as if it was the most obvious thing in the world: “I’ll have to think about it.” The young man said.

“No, no think. Just buy. Very rare, you will never get opportunity like this again.”

“My girlfriend would kill me.”

Petrov picked up the lazied eye blue small dog and held it against his hairy face, smiling: “No, your girlfriend will marry you. Look at this handsome face!”
“He is cute.”
“Look at this cute face! I make good price for you.”

Random word - Staff