Free short stories about Generation End

FINDING THE PERFECT PEOPLE

finding the perfect people

“There aren’t many perfect people in this world.” This is what she said as she had some wine.

“What do you consider as perfect?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Tall.”

“Tall?” I inspected the bottle of wine that stood between us. I ran my finger around the label. “How tall?”

“Seven foot.”

“Seven feet tall?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said, putting the bottle back down. “What else makes a person perfect?”

“Wings.”

“Fluffy wings?”

She looked up for a moment and considered this question. “They can be fluffy after showering. But generally, they’re long and elegant and they droop like teardrops. They can come in different colours, too. Like green or orange. Sometimes white.”

“This is bullshit,” I said. “I’ve never seen seven foot tall people with wings.”

“They exist, and they’re perfect.”

“Where the hell have you seen these people?”

“Ipswich.”

“Ipswich? Fuck that.”

She smiled, letting the silence consume us both.

 

 

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Book I’m reading: I Can’t Make This Up

KEVIN THE CRUSTY SOCK

Every teenager’s best friend and slave.

 

drawing of kevin the crusty sock

A SKETCH OF RYAN GOSLING

a sketch of ryan gosling

BILLY OH BILLY

poor life choices - drawing

THE LONELINESS

grey square - the loneliness

My loneliness can be an unforgiving piece of shit sometimes. I don’t want it to be there, but it lures me out when I don’t want to come out. It kisses me with its sour breath and proceeds straight to my heart, and it lingers there, and it gets comfortable there, and it calls it home and refuses to leave.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I sobbed to Christie over the phone.

“Aren’t I enough?”

“Sometimes I can’t hear your voice.”

Eventually, to my great relief, the loneliness leaves, and I drive my car and I play my guitar and I dance around like a monkey. But then it arrives again. It knocks on my door, and I stupidly open it, and I say, “Can’t you see that I have guests?” but then it kisses me anyway, and it makes itself at home anyway.

 

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Book I’m still reading: Men Without Women

I MET HANNAH AT A SOCIAL GATHERING

I met Hannah at a social gathering

Hannah momentarily entered my life while Christie and I were not in good terms. I met her at a social gathering.

“You know I researched scientology for an assignment once,” I told her. “I wanted to be like one of those clever types who make fun of odd belief systems. So I went to one of their presentations so that I could report all about all the weird ways they would try to brainwash or recruit me. But you know what? Nothing happened afterwards. I was really disappointed. They read a few passages from a book and that’s it.”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Hannah asked me, picking up her phone.

I shrugged. “They didn’t give me a personality quiz, they didn’t give me a follow up call. Not even an email to at least hint that I should join them. So I started thinking, ‘Am I ugly? Could they tell I was poor? Why wasn’t I good enough?’”

Hannah didn’t reply – she was too busy texting.

So I continued: “How about you? Did they recruit you?”

She scowled and laughed at me. “I’m a scientist. Not a scientologist.” Still laughing, she looked back at her phone. “Oh my gosh I have to tell my boyfriend this.”

“Fuck you,” I said with a smile before looking for some free food.

 

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Show I’m still watching: The Young Pope

A BUNCH OF PEOPLE CARING TOO MUCH ABOUT WHAT CELEBRITIES HAVE TO SAY ON TWITTER

a cartoon sketch illustration of a bunch of people caring too much about what celebrities have to say on twitter

 

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FORGIVING THE BAD PEOPLE

forgiving the bad people

“Have you ever read the Book of Jonah?” Christie asked me.

“The guy who got swallowed by a whale?”

“The prophet who was swallowed by a fish.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” Christie said with a slight smile on her face, “Jonah was a prophet who kept running away from God. God asked Jonah to do something, but then Jonah ran away. He wanted nothing to do with God because God wanted a lot from him. He ran so far away that he ended up in sea.”

“Then he got swallowed by a whale.”

“No, a giant fish.”

“Right…”

We were both on our backs and she was looking at her hands as she was telling me this story. “So while in the fish’s stomach and feeling bad and embarrassed that he neglected God,” Christie continued, “he began praying. He told God something like, ‘Listen, I know I’ve kind of neglected you for a long time now, but if you do me a solid and get me out of this really crappy situation, I’ll do whatever you say.’”

“So I’m guessing God let him out.” I poked Christie’s ear and she giggled and slapped my hand away. Christie was wearing something white, and although it was dark in my bedroom, I could see the small, bright patterns on her top. I could also see a hint of her black bra strap.

“Yup, God let him out. But of course, Jonah owed God a solid. So God asked Jonah to go to this place called Nineveh to tell them to change their ways. The Ninevites, to Jonah, were vile people who did a lot of crappy things to other people. Think Nazis and terrorists.”

“Sure. I’ll think of Nazis and terrorists. That reminds me of this time–”

“And so Jonah goes and tells these Ninevites to repent, and you know what? They do. They completely change their ways for the better, and God forgives them. Imagine a bunch of Nazis and terrorists changing their ways for the better.”

“So it’s a happily ever after?”

“Not really. Jonah is pissed off. He cuts off God mid-conversation and asks him how he can be so forgiving towards such people. He’s so angry that he tells God to kill him.”

“What? Why?”

Christie sat up. “Yeah, he goes up a hill, he watches Ninevah in secret hope that it will roast in God’s wrath but it doesn’t. Miserably, he mutters to God, ‘I am so angry I wish I was dead.’ And then God asks him, ‘Shouldn’t I be concerned for all of these people?’”

I waited for a while for Christie to tell me the twist in the story, for her to tell me how Jonah replies, for her to tell me how it all ends happily for Jonah and God and the Ninevites and the fish and whoever else was in the damn story. But she said nothing. “What, that’s how it ends? With Jonah angry and confused and wanting to die and God asking him a question?”

“That’s how it ends.”

 

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Show I’m watching: The Young Pope

MAX HAS SEVEN FINGERS

sketch - mustache max has seven fingers

HAPPINESS, JOY, SMILES, LAUGHTER, WHATEVER

happiness and a glowing light and whatever

“What is happiness?”

“Happiness is a BJ that never ends. Just constant swallowing.”

“Happiness is being in bed.”

“Happiness is having her back.”

“Happiness is being with God.”

“Happiness is being rich.”

I was with about four people who were all discussing happiness. I remained quiet. Nothing I said or what anyone said mattered, really. To me, the definition of happiness, like the feeling of happiness, is something that can never really sit still. It shifts and switches and sways with the times. I was happy at that moment because there was money in my bank account, and I wasn’t sick, and I had friends, and no one was pissed off at me, and because Christie was there, smiling at me. But what if my bank account shit itself, or my health shit itself, or if Christie shit all over my face and forced me to eat it? This skinny guy with a ponytail and loud voice once told me that happiness is wherever you take it. It shouldn’t really matter where you travel and it shouldn’t really matter what you have. Happiness should be clipped onto you no matter what. If you could start and end the day pinpointing the beauty in anything in your path, then life should be relatively easier than if you didn’t. So if Christie ever decides to shit on my face, I’ll tell her, “Happiness is wherever you take it,” and I’ll give her a big, shit-filled smile.

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What I’m reading: Men Without Women