EarlyBoon

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Travel or Not: That's the Question by EarlyBoon, literature

Literature

Travel or Not: That's the Question

“Make sure your 5 point harness is fastened securely. You must hear a click to ascertain they are correctly connected.” “Once the harness is fastened, attach your helmet, again, making sure the locking mechanisms click home. Please do keep in mind that one should not eat at least 8 hours before activating….” The safety warning video droned on and on, and I only kind of paid attention to it, so eager was I to get the set up process done and actually USE the stupid machine. I’d received an inheritance from my—yes my strange and now dead uncle—and going out to get the individual time machine had been one of the things I’d purchased with my new funds. Our family was not poor, but time machines were still that much more expensive, that even we had to save up for one. There were also, of course, rumors that they were dangerous, foolhardy, and there was the perennial complaint that they tempted young people(like myself naturally) to mischief and miscreance. Whatever. I did not consider

Orange Smells by EarlyBoon, literature

Literature

Orange Smells

The smell of an orange always reminded Fred of summer heat. He’d spent long afternoons walking about the city, cobblestones beneath his sandaled feet. The division between spring and summer was gradual, and once summer was in full swing, it was so hot that the fruit was sun warmed and sun ripened on the tree, the juice a sticky warm syrup. Fred and his siblings did of course eat the oranges the way people often do, either peeling them and eating the sections, or slicing the oranges, peel and all, into golden wedges. They ate the juicy pulp, afterwards lining their teeth with the rinds and smiling, their sticky faces the embodiment of summer wildness and sweetness. But by far the favorite way to eat them, Fred thought, was to take the orange, and roll it around; perhaps rolling it around in the courtyard or on the path, rolling it with their feet, or with a stick. Or, if it was all together too long a hot and sunny day, sitting beneath the wide spreading broad leafed

Godzilla Goes to Therapy by EarlyBoon, literature

Literature

Godzilla Goes to Therapy

“You know, I just didn’t see this coming. I thought we’d go on—you know, we’d go on just managing the human race, knocking them down when they get too big for their britches.” Godzilla paused for a moment to glance at his therapist, to see how they were taking this. His therapist was a little robotic at times, maybe a tad literal in his understanding, but it had felt good, these past couple of weeks, to talk. So far Mr. Mechazilla was waiting to hear more, rebar paused above his iron tablet. So Godzilla continued. “That’s all it was really, destroy a city here or there, wade across a few oceans. We liked to maintain a rivalry for the press, but really we were good friends.” Godzilla shifted on the mountainside he reclined against and gazed up at the cloudy gray sky. The cumulonimbus roiled in a tormented way; a storm was probably on its way. He found the next part hard to say; he’d fought long and hard to avoid acknowledging it, but at last he had to face it. “I wanted to ignore it