Saturday, February 9, 2013

Maybe Invisible, One Half Dystopia by Karl A. Fischer

They’re burning through cash like a good night on the town. The phones are ringing, so it’s not such a bad deal, but there’s always fat to be trimmed. Leena contemplates the bank of salesmen and the production pod, the geeks all hunched and pasty and strange.
She receives a six figure call. She prints out a 2 cent itinerary. She goes for a coffee and breaks her ankle on a gem-encrusted skull. Lousy things; can’t the city do something about them?
Her health insurance covers the emergency room visit. Her husband picks her up in his hovercraft. They watch the sunset and kill a hobo and remember the good old days together. They make love on a dried mermaid bedspread and Leena resolves to fire someone tomorrow.
She does not awaken at 1 o’clock, as she usually would, for the street sweepers have come by, cleaned up all the skulls, and denied the local transients their deposit money.


You have never heard of Karl A. Fischer, but he’s heard of you. He does editing work when he can, hobnobs with cool writers and artists, reads books, designs websites (for money), and occasionally fashions a crude lathe for indelibly transcribing the words of God onto the nearest cliff face. Read more of his nonsense at the Everybody Company.

Copyright 2013 Karl A. Fischer

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