December, 2010 Archives



by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Everything is desolation.

The more involved the enterprise, the more bustling and productive society becomes, the greater the emptiness.

Activity creates a void.

There is an inherent meaninglessness in fabrication. The greater the heights of the accomplishments–both metaphorically and literally, if one was talking about the mammoth skyscraping towers–the more devoid of meaning they become.

Even religion has become transparent in its vacancy. Enforced attendance and ritualistic devotion do not make for fulfillment. It just seems something fundamental is missing. It’s like memorizing a list of vocabulary without understanding what the words mean.

Everything was different before the robot apocalypse


Dear Diary

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Today I got my first period. I’m the first in my grade to have one.

It wasn’t bad at all. I was in English class, and I told Mrs. Johnson what happened, and she gave me a pass to the nurse’s office. Only a few of the girls understood what was going on, and none of the boys.

Mom tried to be reassuring, like it was something I might be ashamed of. I think Dad was more embarrassed about it than I was.

Actually, I’m proud. I’m way ahead of schedule. This is definitely going on my application to Harvard.


Absolute Zero

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Is it so easy to discard Einstein? To forget Kuhn? Nothing is absolute. Even the rules Einstein himself believed inviolable proved fallible.

We’ve broken the light barrier. We’ve entered a black hole and returned. Still they demand their rules be sanctified.

Now she would prove them wrong again. She would surpass absolute zero. She would prove that no matter how cold, it could always be colder. She would do so by transforming the hermeneutics of quantum gravity, and forever alter our understanding of the universe.

And she would die in the process, praying she’s right about the viability of cryogenics.


Glass House

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She’d built it metaphorically, to point out the fragility of our realities. If it earned her six figures, well she had to make a living.

Now she was confined inside a true house of glass, forever damned to clean windows, and floors and walls. Her fingers tasted of windex.

The worst part was the audience of gawkers and art critics parading past, taunting her with their stones and opaque clothing. They recycled themselves incessantly, and their presence was a constant reminder of her former hubris.

You see, the devil believes in metaphors too, and in prisons of our own making.


Alice With The Small Hands

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She was a freak, her hands impossibly tiny. They all shunned her.

She dreamed her hands were larger than they actually appeared, shrunk on their way through the looking glass, but life was no wonderland.

Her grandmother made her believe. There was always a logic to God’s madness, a meaning behind her abomination.

And then, the clockwork men attacked, their precision machinery working in time to destroy the Earth. Alice, only her tiny hands able to fit inside, saved humanity. Her day had arrived.

They still shunned her. Even her grandmother. Her purpose had been served, praise be to God.