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The Gift

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The two Detectives from NYPD's Manhattan South Homicide Squad were doing the old "hurry up and wait" routine familiar to most members of the NYPD. The order came to show up FORTHWITH at 0800 hours, June 15th 1999. The two cops were awaiting the determination of another “high level” meeting.  This meeting was with the District Attorney of New York, New York County.

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What lies Beneath

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Down the dark depths I descend dreamily, the water lulling me with its inescapable blackness into uncharted territory, a hypnotic spell that woos me with its darkly majesty. It’s gorgeous, yet ghastly. Masterful, yet monstrous. What lies beneath in the unknown space of our world’s most indescribable landscape tickles my desire to achieve a discovery of unprecedented proportions. There is so much to be found, but time seems to flow against me in my line of work.

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A Man Named Happiness

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The trees so tall, they seemed to reach to the clouds.  The dark, damp, misty quietude around them gave the forest an eerie feeling.  There were animals in the forest; deer, elk, squirrels, and chipmunks, and in the evening a rabbit might cross their path. They were convinced that larger animals must be there as well, as they came across scat that announced the presence of bears and, possibly, mountain lions.  They carried long pointed sticks to protect themselves.  

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Political Puppet

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“He’s on in five minutes Jason. It’s only around the corner. He’s holding it in the little square outside Wrap-It-Up. You know? The burrito place? We could be there and back in ten –“

“It’s not that I don’t know where it is Josie. I’ve eaten there every day since they opened.”

“Well then what’s the problem?”

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Mr Frosty

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There was a time when I heard nothing.

Nothing.

Not the croaking of tree frogs screaming over and over again.  The rustling of leaves scratching at the street as they made their escape from one lawn to the other.  Not even the screech of some far off car escaping from something or trying to make its way home after some night shift.

None of it.

Nothing.

Only the quiet dead movement of blistering hot Summer air.

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Blue Loops

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Stanislaw and Daniel stood in the blue gloom of an abandoned cinema. Pallet carriers trundled across the roof and dumped their loads with muffled clangs. Rather than being demolished, the cinema had been subsumed into the structure of a depot that rose half a kilometre above their heads. The cinema was the first built for leisure on the space station, yet few now knew it existed.

"Been a nightmare to get here," said Daniel to his father.

"I know, the links are bad. But the depot workers manage to get in every morning.”

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Yellow Beach

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George’s only concession to the sun had been to leave the top button of his shirt undone. Having turned eighty and lost his wife earlier in the year, George had travelled from Wisconsin because he had something final to do. Sitting on a blanket on the beach, with thermos and sandwiches, George looked out of place. But he knew this place.

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1984 is 2032?

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"The human condition has always been deeply problematic, but as of ten years ago, super-human intelligent AIs (Artificial Intelligence) became one billion-times smarter than humans. AIs have solved the world's biggest problems. Resources are plentiful for all humans, work is totally unnecessary and AIs and their “human advocates” have “benevolently bestowed” (their words) on humans a universal leveled income.

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The Indian in the Closet

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My grandmother's house was a source of both joy and fear in my childhood; an unassuming white bungalow built by my great-grandfather's hands in 1915, it sat on a dead-end street in one of the more unfavorable areas of the small Texas town I traveled to with my mother on weekends for family visits, a short drive of an hour.

 

I would spend the school week anticipating the weekly trip as my cousin, the same age as I, lived a few houses down on the same street, and was all too happy to waste away the weekend with me playing video games, watching MTV, and joining the other kids on the street for seemingly endless games of kickball in the old church's parking lot until the street lights illuminated the dirt with an amber, incandescent glow.

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A Warning to Thinkers

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[From a recently discovered pamphlet dated circa 1790, written by a Father John Carrington]

It is unusual for a man in my position to address himself to non-believers. I am a man of God, and so rarely spend time speaking with those whose outlook on the world is so contrary to that which I traditionally espouse. However, I consider it necessary to relate a warning to those who do not believe, and not in the manner traditionally associated with a man of the cloth.

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