It’s final exam season.
We bring our children to The Tower.
The doors open, they walk inside, and the doors close.
An hour later, the doors open again.
One by one, the children who passed the exam come out.
Some walk. Some run. Some crawl.
Some are carried out.
Maybe they’ll wake up. Maybe they won’t.
As for the kids who don’t pass, they’re taken to the top of the tower.
And they’re pushed off the edge.
Some parents stand back and watch. And pray.
Others try to catch their children.
And others just stand underneath, and accept their fate.
Stations by Lisa
Numbers
Back at the Station Polly’s empty seat dominates the room.
Her colleagues are all thinking the worst and it spurs them on daily. There are daffodils in a milk bottle on the filing cabinet
They had to bring in another cork board for the photos of the ten missing boys. The fifteen girls in the basement were on the original board along with photos of the two dead girls.
Excitingly the murderer has just slipped up and is only hours away from getting caught. Unfortunately it’s going to take the police a while to realise the murderer isn’t the kidnapper.
Jacob Plays
Jacob carried his guitar from village to village, and the villagers gave him money.
At first, he’d play for free, and they would dance and sing.
And if they wanted him to play more, they’d have to pay him to stay.
Jacob was good, but over time, his guitar wore down, and so did Jacob.
Villages warned him not to come.
Posting signs by the road.
GO AWAY JACOB.
He came anyway, and he would play, and the villagers paid him to go away.
Now he just telegraphs his tour plans, and they wire him money to stay at home.
Weekly Challenge #935: Stations
The next topic is PICK TWO Urge, Infinitesimal, Scratch, Signal, Broken dreams, Arcade
RICHARD
Written by a human
“And this is where the magic happens.”
Terry opened the door with a flourish revealing a vast open plan office, a sea of work stations, printers and telephones. All very impressive, but I was somewhat bemused by the lack of people.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Oh, we fired them. Replaced the entire workforce, apart from me – and you now, of course – with AI. Cheaper, more efficient and excellent results, every time.”
I was confused.
“So, where exactly do I fit in?”
“That’s simple, we need someone substandard to cock things up occasionally, and give the impression real people work here.”
SERENDIPIDY
This train only really stops at two stations, this one, where you join us, and the next stop – the end of the line.
I can see that you’re confused. You know there are several stops before yours, and you’re wondering why I’ve ruled them out.
The fact is, they don’t matter. You’ve never left the train at those stations before, and you won’t be doing so today. Actually, you won’t be leaving at your stop either.
You’ll never reach it.
I’ve removed a section of track, and the train will be wrecked.
It’s the end of the line, for you.
NORVAL JOE
As the police officer drove through the forest, Billbert wondered if Eureka even had a downtown.
He had been right to question it when the patrol car pulled into what looked like a strip mall and the city police and county sheriff had their stations in the same building.
They ushered Billbert to an interrogation room and locked one cuff to the table.
“Aren’t you going to read me my rights, or something?” Billbert asked.
The officer smiled congenially. “You’re not under arrest. We just want to talk about some things.”
Billbert looked at the handcuffs and raised an eyebrow.
TOM
I’ve been a Bowie fan since 1969. Same year Space Oddity came out, the who released their rock opera. It was pretty cool in the late 60s to be named Tom. Saw Bowie and the Who in the late 80s. What I remember from the Who concert was hearing loss. What I remember of the Bowie concert was an amazing rendition of Station to Station. It is always best to barely listen to Bowie lyrics, unless you’re a Talmudic scholar. From Kether to Malkuth is ref to The Tree of Life. Bowie was ice masquerading as fire.
PLANET Z
Carrier pigeon arrives, and we unseal the tube.
A black scroll falls out. We thread it through the playback machine and listen.
Hill seven… fifteen minutes after midnight.
The sergeant gets the troops armed and ready as we look over the maps.
There’s no way to hill seven without running into the enemy.
Maybe if we set a few diversions… light a few fires…
But the enemy knows our tricks.
We think it over in the mess hall… maybe…
We have the cook lay out his best stuff… lure the enemy in…
And the troops head out to hill seven.
CHATGPT
In the heart of the city, amid the flurry of commuters and echoes of announcements, stood a forgotten station. Its platforms weathered with time, its benches worn with stories untold. Each day, a solitary figure, Alice, arrived, not for a destination, but for memories. She’d sit, tracing the lines of graffiti etched like whispers of rebellion. Here, time danced backward, revealing moments lost in the rush. Conversations lingered in the air, laughter echoed through empty corridors. In this station of shadows, Alice found solace, lost in the poetry of forgotten journeys. For in stations, past and present intertwine, stitching tales of transient souls.
At the zoo
It’s really hard keeping animals alive, said the zookeeper.
Especially when there’s so many different kinds of animals.
Some eat plants. Some eat meat. Some eat bugs.
It’s a real bitch keeping it all straight.
And shoveling up all the poop? It’s disgusting!
So, I replaced all the animals with stuffed animals.
With a few Raspberry Pis and articulators, their tongues can flick out, or they can blink, but seriously, most animals you see at the zoo are asleep in the corner of their cage.
But it’s really hard keeping articulators working, so we’ll just prop up some cardboard cutouts.
Festival time
The raven god flies over our village every spring to bless the planting season.
And he comes back every fall to bless the harvest.
All the tribes come for the festivals.
We all lay down our weapons and are one.
We sacrifice seed and corn to the raven god.
The dancing. The bonfires.
It’s a powerful time for all.
We drink the sacred drink, and we dance.
The fires become ash.
The night becomes dawn.
We all say our goodbyes.
Our brothers pick up their weapons, mount their horses, and return to their villages.
Until the next festival time comes.
Naming conventions
The naming conventions of college conferences are insane.
Some were some based on regions of the country.
But others were based on the number of members they had.
The Big Ten had ten teams, and the Big Twelve had twelve teams.
It made sense… until those big conferences got bigger.
The Big Ten expanded to twelve teams, but stayed Big Ten.
And the Big Twelve got bigger, but kept Big Twelve.
Despite the Big Ten having more claim to their name.
In the end. they will get bigger.
Until Big Ten eventually spans ten states, and Big Twelve spans twelve.
Mangoes
I’ve never been to India.
I hear that they have hundreds of varieties of mangoes there.
Here, in American stores, there’s only two or three varieties of mangoes.
And each has its own subtle sweetness and tartness and texture.
On the other hand, there are hundreds of varieties of apples.
The store has dozens of them, and they change what they stock based on the season.
Over there in India, do they have so many kinds of apples?
People sip “flights” of tequilas and whiskeys, shot glasses on a board to sample.
Why not a flight of mangoes? Or apples?
Tendy
Tendy works in The Word Factory.
She’s in the development division that makes new raw words.
They also work with rejects that come in for refurbishment and recycling.
The functional prototypes go to the testing division.
Tendy’s friend Bartch works in Testing.
He runs words through durability testing to ensure they can stand up to frequent use.
Some words come back to Tendy for necessary improvements.
While others go out for field testing.
Once a week, the whole factory listens to the CEO as he reads off the list of new words.
For the exceptional words, the creators get bonuses.
Munchausen by driver
Casey’s brought his car into the shop again.
It’s a disaster on wheels, but he can’t get rid of it.
“It’s the car I’d drive my kid to the hospital in,” he said.
She died of something slow and horrible, it was in the papers.
And so was he.
“You’re too good to me,” he said. “Fix her up good as new again?”
I think they’d what he was telling the doctors.
The other guys at the shop say he’s wrecking it for attention.
“Munchausen” is what they call it.
I looked it up. And wondered what killed his kid.