Mathematics & physics serve as explanations of existing form and function within our universe. However, neither explain why or how the rules behind those forms and functions exist in the first place. They merely express patterns and regularities in a system that is already rules-based. Were the universe not governed by consistent laws, repeated experiments would yield inconsistent outcomes. This implies that the source of those rules — whatever gives rise to mathematical regularity —…
Welcome to the golden age of VHS trash — a time when every story began with a “routine procedure” and ended in an unreasonably large body count. This is “Routine: The Motion Picture.” Five tales. Zero coherence. One unforgettable, deeply unnecessary cinematic universe. Read aloud in your best 80s trailer voice — or don’t. The ghosts are watching either way. ‘Detectives Rim and Dodge thought it was just another day on the force… until a…
Rosie looked different. Strong and upright, the slight hunch she’d always carried was gone. Her carriage reminded me of an encyclopaedia illustration I once saw of Joan of Arc rallying troops — resolute, beckoning confrontation. Towering beside her, the worm stood in an S-shape, its cavernous mouth dripping fluids onto the parquet flooring. Its breathing was a slow, rhythmic pulsing. Ripples passed through its pale pink body, each ending in a rush of air that…
At 4 p.m., sandwiches distributed, I found myself staring out of the windows again. An old-fashioned lamp on the driveway had come on, likely on a timer to light the way on short winter days. Rain fell with impossible ferocity, though the windows remained free of droplets. Bushes were dragged in every direction across the shingle, pulling small stones and dried leaves from the ground which became briefly airborne, giving the uprooted flora the form…
The healing of the blind man at Bethsaida has long been interpreted as a two-stage miracle, often imbued with theological symbolism — suggesting, for example, a progressive spiritual enlightenment or an instructive moment for the disciples. However, recent insights from neuroscience and cognitive psychology provide a compelling alternative reading that underscores the narrative’s anthropological and cognitive depth. Contemporary studies on acquired sight after congenital blindness demonstrate that newly sighted individuals often struggle to distinguish between…
Percy had been waking to vomit every night at 2:30 a.m. for six long weeks, the bucket on his bedside table as much a fixture in the bedroom as the snoring colossus he called ‘dear’, sleeping next to him. Despite Margaret’s attempts to find him a solution, even with all the back-patting and gentle nursing, Percy suspected her of foul play. Evidence did not align with his suspicions; he had never caught her in the…
I heard a door swing and lifted my eyes and hand from the page. I watched Mrs. Tapscott stride across the room to the bottle green door. As she went through, I noticed Mrs. Rabasandratana had joined me. She glared at me for several minutes. As much as I tried to avoid looking directly at her, I couldn’t—for fear of losing track of her. The mental stimulus had already come thick and fast, and I…
Mr. Column stood beneath a suspended plant pot, positioned atop the window outside, seemingly impervious to the heavy rain that cascaded around him. Neither his scraggly shoulder-length hair nor his coat were blowing with the wind. By this point, the rain was so heavy that large pools of water had formed in dips in the shingle where cars had driven through. I could see rainwater dropping onto his shoulders as it spilled from the pot,…
Welcome to Single Malt—where absurdity reigns and reason takes a coffee break. Each story, no longer than five sentences, is a miniature plunge into a world where logic unravels, meaning slips through your fingers, and the bizarre feels oddly familiar. Talking furniture, misplaced gravity, and existential fruit all coexist without explanation or apology. These tales don’t seek sense—they celebrate nonsense. Embrace the confusion, suspend your disbelief, and let the absurd do what it does best:…
Karen flipped through the smudged pages of the Farneholme Gazette with the grace of someone rifling through garbage. The paper, much like the village itself, offered nothing but petty crime, damp politics, and obituary columns. She’d once cared — once fought — but the creeping disillusionment that had infected Farneholme’s older folk had finally reached her too. Whatever fire she’d held for saving this place had gone out. Yobs, druggies, council rot… they could all…
London was under siege. Its people were stooped — eyes firmly on the stone bricks, lifting their heads only to gauge the next ten steps. There was no danger of bumping into one another. They dared not touch. Most did not leave their homes. The Black Death could not sympathise with the repercussions of its presence — it knew nothing of clemency. It thrived in the weakened human spirit, the pessimism working as fuel in…
Rosie showed no interest in the story, and despite thirty minutes of persistence, her agitation was palpable. Mrs. Tapscott kept asking what was wrong, and each time, Rosie glanced at the bearded man, almost as if seeking permission to speak. She’d adjust her sitting position and temporarily stop scanning the room. This pattern repeated itself. I noticed Mrs. Tapscott shooting disapproving looks at the man, who remained absorbed in Rosie. The encounter was unsettling —…
The clock does not determine age or the rate of physical degradation; it merely serves as a tool for measurement. It is use, exposure, and the myriad chemical interactions within and around matter that drive growth and decay. These chemical processes would occur regardless of a clock’s presence. The chemical universe is inherently sequential — no single event can occur without a preceding set of circumstances and in direct reference to a framework of interacting…
In the early hours of the morning you wake up to discover a man dressed as a clergyman - sporting sunglasses and a trilby - at the foot of your bed. As you reach for the crowbar under your pillow to beat him for daring to rob you in fancy dress - he announces that you are the last in a long line of vampyre hunting warriors and that a secret code in the form of a collection of moles on…
Garrison’s mother had always said he wasted too much time and far too much money on “pointless contraptions.” She said this often, especially during dinner, and especially louder when the bills arrived. So naturally, the moment Garrison completed excavation of what he insisted was a “cosmic telephone” from deep beneath the Skeleton Coast, he did what any self-respecting futurist would do: he tried to make a call and spoke a call destination into the container.
We were somewhere in rural Surrey. A thick morning mist made visibility poor, and there were several stops to allow deer crossing the road a safe path into the adjacent meadows. Mr. Column, the school caretaker, was driving, with Mrs. Tapscott in the front passenger seat. My father had warned of the potential for travel sickness, giving a detailed description at the school gate of the time I projectile vomited onto the back of his…
Dermot sat at the same table every day. He rocked his torso and rolled his head aimlessly, humming and hawing in intense conversation that always looked so meaningful, except nobody else was anywhere near him. I couldn’t sit with Dermot again. I had already witnessed two epileptic fits in class, the second of which bloodied my nose as his seizure flung him rigid to the side, his oversized helmet catching me square in the face…
