A holy man attended by an orange robed boy sat crossed legged in the sunlight, his eyes glazed white with blindness.
"One question," he said softly as a supplicant made his offering.
"Master, will my lover make me happy?"
"No."
"How can you know without divination?"
"One question."
The supplicant bowed and turned sadly away.
Hours passed, the sun finally setting. The holy man sat wreathed in shadow.
"You did not consult the charts," the boy said stiffly.
"I don't need charts to answer a fool."
"But why?"
"A man concerned only with his own happiness will never know any."
About the Creator
John Cox
Twisted writer of mind bending tales. I never met a myth I didn't love or a subject that I couldn't twist out of joint. I have a little something for almost everyone here. Cept AI. Ain't got none of that.
Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly5 days ago in Fiction
GENIUS
Colin Bernard Adams came into this world on Wednesday, 1975, April 3rd at 8:10am and weighed 7lbs, 4oz (3.289kg). He had a thick head of hair and bawled like a steer on its way to the slaughterhouse, when his umbilical cord was cut and knotted. His mom loved him right from the beginning, but his dad never had a chance; he was killed in Vietnam, a day before his son was born, when the helicopter flying his severely wounded body to a behind-the-lines hospital was shot down and exploded on impact. He had been a brave soldier (awarded the Silver Star posthumously).
By Len Shermanabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
The Piggy Project
I’ve had so many names in this life I lose track of which ones were ever really mine and which ones I wore because someone needed me to. Some were handed to me before I had words to refuse them, before I knew what they meant, before I knew I could say no. Most weren’t meant to hurt. That doesn’t mean they didn’t leave marks. Marks that told me who I belong to, who I am by way of who claims me, recognizes me in the good and bad, who walks beside me.
By Fatal Serendipitya day ago in Confessions
Comments (2)
This was an excellent micro! 😁
This was a great story !!