“No one understands me like you do!” The girl wrapped her arms around the thick furry torso, where she then buried her head.
The stuffed gorilla remained motionless.
— Bastian Espada
Bastian Espada
“No one understands me like you do!” The girl wrapped her arms around the thick furry torso, where she then buried her head.
The stuffed gorilla remained motionless.
— Bastian Espada
“I must confess mine is a marriage of convenience,” the man said.
His dining partner raised her left eyebrow. “Is that so?” She took a sip of her mimosa, leaving a bright red lip-mark on the glass.
“Indeed, I massage her feet in exchange for back rubs.”
— Bastian Espada
The woman surveyed the tables and grimaced. “Sure wish this establishment had some standards. Perhaps you should consider allowing entry only to those with a minimum amount of class?”
“Madam, you wouldn’t recognize class if it were to become enfleshed, produce its member, and with it strike your countenance.”
— Bastian Espada
“Do you remember when we were real?”
“Not really.”
“You know, me neither. I don’t think I remember anything at all.”
“No one does. No one…does…”
— Bastian Espada
“Well that’s all we can muster. That’s the one commonality between all the members of our species — we can only ever hold a single thought at a time,” the man reached underneath his glasses and plucked an eye booger, then proceeded to stare at it . “A single bloody thought, that’s all we are. At any given time, that’s it.”
“Are we really now? You realize the implications of this—erm—curious ontological paradigm, yes? For instance, if two people were to hold identical thoughts in parallel…”
“Indeed. I reckon, that for a brief moment, they’d be essentially the same person.”
— Bastian Espada
'Tis one of those days when time seems more interested in mocking rather than passing. When the seconds punch up, the hours down, and the minutes just kinda sit there and take it.
And five o’clock might as well be a million eternities away…
— Bastian Espada
There exists a broken clock in a broken house. It doesn’t tick and it doesn’t tock. Its pendulum makes bitter attempts to swing above a ragged floor, uneven and marred by patches of mold and hoary footprints.
The wind blows through the jagged edges of former windows, then flutters along the barely-hinged remnant of a door, causing it to slam against its former self.
The cuckoo bird bursts forward. It screams.
— Bastian Espada
The meat machine is
And ponders the same as all
The sun shines and burns
— Bastian Espada
“The court finds itself in agreement with the defense's position, that the defendant has had control over neither his nurture nor his nature. Therefore, this court finds the defendant not guilty of all charges on account of being human.”
The judge gaveled.
The defendant wept.
The victim’s father shot them.
— Bastian Espada
Thirteen angels danced on the head of a poorly-sterilized pin.
It was used in an autonomous clandestine domestic amateur nipple-piercing operation.
Everyone involved died three days later.
— Bastian Espada