Screaming.

He was thinking about the hot coffee he was pouring down his throat. He heard a scream and wondered if it was the all of the molecules being drained down his throat letting out their last call for mercy, like bison off a cliff. Then he wondered if it was him screaming, can you scream while you'll drinking something? Do you need to make a sound to scream? You do, you need to make a sound to scream. And molecules aren't alive, right?

So he was screaming, was he? Or did that come from someone else. He looked around and saw things that looked similar to himself when he looked at a reflection. He figured out that they were people. They were staring at him. He figured he should ask one of them.

"Did you hear someone screaming?"

"Yes, you were, just now, you were screaming. Are..you okay?" This one was wearing a dress. Woman. Until other information contradicts.

"I'm fine. Are you sue it was me? It could have been my coffee? No that's craz-" And he heard more screaming, so he looked down at his coffee cup. It was empty.

"So it's not the coffee. Then who's screaming."

"Sir" One of the ones that looked like him. Man. "Sir, are you okay? You are acting strange, do you know where you are."

"Ha! Trick question. That's like asking if...Why are you wearing that?" He pointed to a curious stripe design that went from the man's belt to his neck. "You look ridiculous! Aren't you afraid of being judged?

"Sir, do not mock my uniform, it's just a tie"

"Were we racing?"

"No. What I'm wearing is a tie."

"Between what?"

"This thing on my neck is called tie!"

"I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that, not even if my mom made me."

That's when the man in the tie punched him. And threw him out of the McDonald's. While being thrown out, he knew that it was he, himself, that was screaming.

The Dangers of Being Alone on a Beautiful Day.

An amazingly beautiful day outside, bright white clouds, few and far between, looking like puzzle pieces longing to be put together across the sky. Sun beaming so bright and strong, felt like the whole world outside was room temperature. A great morning to go outside and sit on a bench with a cup of coffee, and read the paper. And that's exactly what Derek was doing.

An explosion was heard off in the distance, and it wasn't quite as disturbing as it should have been. Life was like that sometimes, when you get used to something disturbing, it doesn't disturb. Derek simply got up and walked further down the park to a different bench. Away from the explosion and the noise.

Somebody was very clearly upset, he thought, or they would not have gone to so much trouble to make all of those other people upset. Derek wondered what they could be so upset about on a beautiful day. He then wondered if they waited for such a beautiful day like today to set off their explosion, or if it was good luck for them, not just to upset so many people, but to ruin such a great day for so many people as well.

It must take a lot of time, Derek presumed, to plan such a thing. More than just a day to, on whimsy, blow something up. So it was probably good luck for them it was such a nice day. His day wasn't ruined, oh no, he thought, you've just given me some ample food for thought. I am not upset, nor am I angry, he thought to himself, not about anything you are anyways.

Am I upset about anything enough to blow anything up? Lost in himself again, I don't know. I don't like taxes, or giant corperations, or corruption. As bad as all of those things are, I think I have grown to dislike people that blow things up when they are upset even more.

Except for cellphones, he though, I really hate cellphones, I would blow things up if it led to getting rid of cellphones. People laugh at me when I say I hate them too, so I couldn't go through the government to get rid of them could I? But  I would blow up every cell tower in the goddamn world if I could.

And that's how Derek became a terrorist.

Billy's conundrum

Billy was angry all the time, and he didn't know why. He would often tell his closest friends in confidence, "I'm angry all the time, and I don't know why." And Billy's friends were not very good friends, so they would say things like. "Well, what makes you so angry." And Billy wouldn't know the answer. So his not so good friends would push him and push him to talk about it. Because they weren't so focused on making Billy's anger go away. They liked that he was angry, it was interesting and fun to have such an angry friend.

 "Well, I like it when people are stupid, and then I get angry."

"What makes you angry about people being stupid?" They would say in response.

"Well, I feel like I'm better than them. And then I get angry because I know I shouldn't feel better than other people."

"That's really simple" His friends would say.

"I get angry because of that too" Billy would say.

"Because of what?"

"I don't know the difference"

"Between what?"

"Simple and stupid."

"Oh" His friends would say. They didn't know either.

:Later on in life, when Billy was still confused and angry about things. He would say the same thing to a friend that did care about him and helping Billy stop being so angry, his friend would say this:

"A square is simple; stupid is calling it a circle."

It made Billy feel better.

Control

"When I look out in front of me, I see my hands,I know they are mine from vast experience of experiments confirming this fact, and, they do exactly what I tell them to. Which is nice, because apparently there are some people who have hands that don't do what they tell them to. And there are some people that don't have hands. I bet the latter aren't magicians. I don't say that to be mean, sometimes I think questions in my head, like; are there any magicians without hands? And I'll remember a book where there is a magician with no hands, but then I'll remember that was fiction, and in reality, there are no magicians without hands. But I won't say all of that out loud. Because that would be wasting your time. But then I come across as insensitive, because it would seem to be obvious that there are no magicians without hands. But it wasn't to me, and that's why I said it. Does that make sense to you?"

She took a large drag from her cigarette, held the smoke in her lungs for as long as she could, and exhaled loudly and dramatically pointing her breath at the ceiling. Then it out in an empty beer bottle lying on the floor.

"The point that I'm trying make here though, is that it's hard to actually know things sometimes. And I think that's why my behavior is erratic sometimes. But that's hard to know too, cause, well, if I knew why my behavior was erratic, then I would probably be able to fix it wouldn't I? And then, I wouldn't be so erratic, would I. But it might not be about me not knowing things. It might be the world around me. Always trying to control me."

She sat on her stool in the unfinished basement they were talking in. It was a well lit with with uncovered light bulbs. And she enjoyed the cool feeling of the cement on her bare feet. Her counterpart, strapped to the chair in front of her, did not.

"It's like! Like! Those fuckers at the Starbucks, always fucking trying to control me. Trying to like, fucking control my responses to their questions, you know? Like, I walk in, because I'm walking down a street and I think, fuck, I'm thirsty! So I'm going to get a coffee. And as luck would have it, there's a Starbucks every fifteen seconds in every direction no matter where you are in the world. And I start thinking... Do I like Starbucks coffee? Or did they just tell me that I like Starbucks coffee, so that I'll give them my fucking money all the time."

Her counterpart whimpers, and she jumps out of the stool and takes a knife out of her back pocket and puts it to his throat.

"I'm getting to my fucking point! Just fucking listen would you!" She pulls the knife away from his neck, and slowly walks back to her stool. " So I go in to Starbucks because I'm thirsty, but I'm also a little confused as to my decision about going in to a Starbucks, you know? But I walk in, and like, the guy behind the counter, he says to me 'How are you?'...And...like...I'm in a bit of a mood, so I say, 'I'm thirsty and I'm in a bit of a fucking mood, thanks for asking.' And I was being sincere when I said Thank-You by the way. So then this fucking tool says, 'Miss, could you please watch your language." And I am aghast. Aghast! Because like, how dare he? So I say 'You can't fucking watch your language! You fucking retard! No more than you can fucking listen to a fucking painting! Okay? I'll get a fucking coffee.' And the fucker, doesn't give me coffee! He refuses to serve me! And so I waited for this little piece of shit to get off work. Didn't I?"

The man in the chair is weeping softly. His hands have been removed. He's in shock. His mouth is gagged. She walks up to him again.

"I guess you're not a magician." And slits his throat.

Professor Jello.

"I've always found," said the professor as poured hot water into a tea pot. "That  it's in the heavy snowfall at night, if you watch under a street lamp, you really get to see how unique each and every snowflake is. That's what always reminds me how meaningless it is to be unique."

It would be safe to assume that he was smug. It would be even safer to assume that most of the time, he had no idea what he was talking about. But this was a great way to knock the wind out of an undergraduate. Especially one you were trying to sleep with.

"As unique as each snowflake is, it is still just another snowflake,  like a human being." At this he pulled the container of loose-leaf tea out of the pot, poured a cup of tea for himself, and one for his student. "No human being can stop being a human being, and as a result, no matter how unique you are, you can't help being just like the rest of us."

Jason, was getting frustrated. He knew that the professor wanted to boff him. Which is why he had received such a poor grade on his essay. So that he could complain, and the professor would explain how busy he was, and could only see him at night, at his home. It made Jason feel ill. Not that Jason wasn't open to sucking a cock for a grade. He knew he was developing a reputation. The only problem was that he didn't want to suck this guy's cock. Because he was so fat.

It wasn't that the professor was fat all around. Jason could and had dealt with fat all around, it was that the professor had remarkably skinny legs, which made it worse. His long skinny legs looked like like two toothpicks stuck in a toppling sphere of jello. His belly was so large that it clearly overlapped passed his crotch, and that was the main reason Jason wouldn't do it. He imagined having to lifted up the fat, to get to the not so exciting surprise.

"Professor, may I interrupt you."

"Of course my young man, of course!"

"I just wanted to say, that while it is impossible to escape being human, and that limits our capacity for certain uniqueness, what you are trying to imply, is that there is nothing unique in the vast amount of human accomplishment throughout history. And there I have to disagree. I think everything that we as human beings have accomplished is astonishing, but more so, the astonishing accomplishments usually began with one mind, and although that mind may not be unique, the advancements that come from it, are."

"I see your point, bu-"

"Not quite done professor. I only have one last thing." The professor looked up at him, they were making direct eye contact, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Which is?"

"I'm not going to suck your cock."

"Awe come on! Why not?"