The Matildas

On the midnight of his 8^th birthday, when mom and dad were asleep, Jeremy flicked the ON switch of his little sister.

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Ofelen Recipe [NSFW]

One of Our Masters Above, Gracing us with his presence by Ishton

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The Glass-Dad

The hardest part about losing your dad is when your mom just can’t be a grown up about it. It’s even worse when she tries to replace him.

I look at the glass-dad with the transparent head sitting on the kitchen table and I daren’t even come in so I can get my cereal. My belly’s rumbling as I look at the waffles going cold on the table, but I won’t touch them, because I know that its microscopic camera-lens eyes are looking at them.

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The Mother of Monsters

Based on an image By Josef Fadel Simon

Behold Her, the Mother of Monsters
born of the Primordial Abyss and the First Winter

I remember my birth quite vividly: the sliding down the fleshy tunnel from where I was created, born from mortal seed and her blasphemous egg. I remember how I screamed, when I beheld the light for the first time, as I was dragged by pious men out into the world above.

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SINGULARIT-O!

THE TOY OF THE FUTURE, TODAY! (created by Spiros Meander Makridakis)

Heeeeeey kids!

Are you tired of your old toys? Bored of having to do all the work for them on playtime? Do regular robots disappoint you? Had enough of those same old transforming tricks?

Well have we got a treat for you! Introducing SINGULARIT-O, the toy of the future! What can it do that other toys can’t I hear you ask? Why , SINGULARIT-O is equipped with a highly sophisticated Artificial Intelligence, allowing him to not only take initiative for any game, but also to do a number of things!

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Mister Patches

My grandma gave me Mister Patches when I was just four years old and still afraid of the dark.

“Just hold it close when the lights go out and make sure you don’t let go” she’d whispered in my ear, as she handed me the disheveled teddy bear. Mister Patches was a veteran of two World Wars, and it showed: he had a button for an eye and a square of tricolette fabric on his belly. He had plaid armpits and the ends of his feet were clad in felt. His smile was crooked, the black thread that originally outlined his mouth long since torn, replaced halfway through by a bright blue thread. It made his mouth look funny, like he was smiling two different kinds of smiles:

“One” my grandma said, pointing at the black-thread half “is for children that have good-dreams. The other” she turned Mister Patches, showing the mad zig-zag of blue “is for bogeymen, which Mister Patches eats.”

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Jar-Pet

Intelligent, Playful, Resourceful Jar-Pet For Adoption!

Are you a high-energy person with no time to care for a regular pet? We've got you covered!

Introducing the Jar-Pet! What’s a Jar-Pet, you’ll ask? It’s the answer to your prayers!

I found my Jar-Pet in my home’s cellar, abandoned its previous owner prior to his annihilating his entire family. Extremely intelligent, highly conversant and adaptable, the Jar-Pet is fluent in a number of languages (most of them dead) and an expert in the occult.

But that’s not all! The Jar-Pet is also highly resilient and can subsist for weeks without food, air or water. It cannot be harmed and is immune to all diseases. Believe me, I've tried.

Interested in adopting a Jar-Pet? Then call the number below!

WARNING: The Jar-Pet is not intended to be owned by or exposed to, children. It must not be kept in a room containing -or in proximity to- religious symbols. Owners of the Jar-Pet accept full responsibility for its dietary needs at the moment of adoption. The Jar-Pet should not be removed from its provided container, no matter how much it pleads. Should the Jar-Pet nest and/or breed inside a tenement the previous owner holds no responsibility for its actions, up to and including injury, loss of spiritual and mental integrity and loss of life.

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Foundation Initiation, Take One

 

"You were chosen because you survived."

"You saw the things that dwelt inside and beside and within reality, or you stepped into the places where the universe burst at the seams, and you came out the other side. 

You're here because you came out of something that defied understanding through luck, grit, or sheer bloody-minded tenacity."

"You were dragged from the ruins of your life, torn and bloodied, thinking that it was God's will or doing that brought you there.

"It wasn't. It was terror and tragedy transmitted into the fabric of your lives in indecipherable tongues.

"You were ants, caught in a flood as your world was swept away in the dark, screaming."

The man coughed once, then flicked his cigarette in the nether regions off-screen.

"That is no longer the case."

The reel ended, leaving behind the sound of old film, whipping itself like an old flagellant. The assorted crowd rustled uneasily in their seats. No words were spoken; there were whispers of fabrics on skin; the nervous, repeated flicks of lights conjuring flame.

Finally, the doctor spoke his four-word incantation:

"Welcome to the Foundation."

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At the foot of my bed

There’s someone standing at the foot of my bed.

Every night for the past week, as my eyelids grow heavy and I slip into unconsciousness he comes out, his hands grasping the metal railing, rising one inch at a time.

He peeks out his head first. Black and featureless, a pair of cobalt-blue eyes set high up where the eyebrows should be. Then out come his shoulders, then his chest until he’s fully upright. He looks like a store mannequin; sexless, starved. I know I’m sleeping but my eyes are open and I see him, but I can’t bring myself to talk to him, or reach out to him. The gaunt man just stands there, his eyes transfixed to mine, his breathing shallow and ragged.

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Simulated Children

We’ve all done it, when we’re bored with them. When their tiny little lives remind us so much of our own and their tiny little houses are digitized reflections of our own dream homes (which we find to be ridiculous and obscene, when we finally realize them). Other times, it’s when we grow tired of the adult’s constant pleas for attention or the children’s screaming in the middle of the night. Some set their houses on fire and watch with interest and a tiny bit of glee at the tiny things on screen screaming gibberish and pray to their gods as their lives are reduced to ash. Others remove their pool ladders and watch as the sims drown, their simple little brains addled by this minor hindrance.

Myself, I loved starving them to death. I’d build a wall around my sims at an unexpected time (at a point when their lives seemed to be going smoothly, picture-perfectly) and then watch them as they looked up at me and screamed pictures. First bathroom, then boredom, then exhaustion. I’d never speed the process up. I’d just watch as their pleas became much more frequent and erratic, muting my speakers when their gibbering began to annoy me and watch them soil themselves and slowly waste away.

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