All of us were sure you had given all you had to give, but there were still questions out there that needed answers. As long as you drew breath, you weren't going to leave us wondering.
DOROTHY! Holy BLEEP. It just came out of nowhere. Is someone feeding you these answers? Dorothy? Is that how you know them all. I have to like this one. This is too good to be real. Dorothy. Snap. Just like that. You knew it, and you shared it with us, just a bunch of ants in your mental shadow. But you knew something else, didn't you? Something that had been troubling me and everyone else.
We waited, breathless, sure you had finally met your match. And then, there it was....W. As if it had always been there, just waiting to be discovered. You really did it. You knew an actual letter. As our reeling minds descended into sub-lingual mush, we begged you for one final truth. Release us from this prison we call Facebook. Free our souls, we pleaded. And you did.
You liked it! Now that I am free I have to thank you. I can't remember your name, or mine, or a letter, or an animal or state or anything except for the endless light and dark, the alpha and the omega, but I know this: you are the greatest.
|Zack is the author of the new short story collection Wages: Future Tales of a Hired Gun, a blood-soaked satire of private military contracting. He is also the author of the genre-hopping novel Liminal States, soon to be available as an audiobook. You can find out more about Zack's latest projects and special offers on his Facebook page.|
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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