The last thousand years had been pretty good. Those who'd been around for any of the previous thousand still harped on about what a relief it was to finally have a government that cared and knew how to. It was so nice, they intoned, not to go hungry unless you wanted to, not to get shot while out shopping, not to have to change channels mid-movie because the dominant aesthetic called for a salutary stirring of the baser passions.
Loosh was of age and he wanted a divorce. When his parents asked why, he said, “I don’t have to tell you, but I will.” When he’d told them, his mother said, “Are you sure about this, dear?” and his father said, “You ungrateful little—!”
When the conversation was over, Loosh called his lawyer, who arranged lodging for the night and set aside half an hour to meet with him the next day.
“That boarding house stinks!” Loosh commented when admitted to his lawyer’s cubicle the next morning.
Dr. Mamund flips through the patient's chart while taking a drag from his Jasmine Light.
"You know," he comments, exhaling the blue smoke into the surgery, "It's a pity to destroy art like this."
His nurse seems distracted, likely watching something subjectively in his visual field from the net.
"Nurse! Can you join me for a moment?"
The Nurse snaps his attention back, "Sorry. Watching the match."
"Cameroon is going down to Japan 2 3. What we got?"
“Earth is over there,” he said, pointing with his chin at a vague cluster of tiny, white smudges on the wall of the sky. The soughing of waves on sand beat like a crimp-stoned drummer, regular but slow. Feathery greenness swayed out of time overhead. Beach biters nipped at our feet. We brushed them off with gritty soles.
He looked at his watch. “Two more minutes.”
There was this girl and, oh, what a girl! I don’t mean that in any whoa-babe-any-man-would-be-glad-to-have-you-in-his-blanket sense of the term. I mean I liked her a lot for who she was and who she was turning out to be, and I would have been glad to hitch my horse to the same wagon and cross any prairie you chose with the gal—warts, babies, dust and all.
Each day at dusk, a pillar of fire erupted over the treetops and gyrated in the air above the ruined temple that James and his team of archeologists called the Temple of the Flame. And everyday, Rachael Murray stood outside and regarded the pillar the way a jealous lover might a rival, and wondered if James would come home for dinner.
Pedro sat and seethed through the first half of testimony meeting. Although no one had focused unduly on death so far, he knew it was only a matter of time until someone took fifteen minutes to say “I know death is an ordained part of God’s plan” or “I’m excited to die someday and go see my grandma again” or “The scriptures say again and again that death is part of God’s intentions for us” or some other extradoctrinal bitsnbytes even though the Church has never had an official policy. Even Elder Matsasuke stopped talking about the necessity of death when his wife died.
Praise God, whose is the might. If any should read this, be it known, when I returned from evening prayer, the last of my life, I found a man standing in my room. His skin was blackened and he smelled of smoke, but when I looked closely I could see his face and stature were my own. Upon his chest he wore a flaming sword.
Journal entry 31 Aug 2126
I hate Fifth Sundays. Especially when I'm in charge. The Rennact went well, despite Bro. Tellic being an emotional mess. This is his third pregnancy and you would think he would be used to it, but I found him weeping in the baptismal font like a silly baby. He was curled up on the tiles watching bcasts to his visual cortex of his last birth. I talked him into joining us and finally he did, but I wish his wife would keep a better eye on him. We all know what he's like when he forgets his Natalex®.