Magister Mecanus worked in the Destiny Department predestining love. He selected a pendant from the girl pile and one from the boy pile, placed them next to each other, and examined them closely with his magnifying lense. The match was aesthetically pleasing to him even in the minutest of details. His highly trained fingers felt the flat metal likenesses for affinity static and dangled them millimeters apart, one in each hand, to test the magnetism. Finally he reached for the abacus on the corner of his desk and computed the time the boy and girl would share. His computation worked out to just over eighty years. The rest of their lives, in fact. This made Magister Mecanus very happy. It was always sad when the pendants came back to him so soon to be melted down again.

Story #193

Note: Thanks to all who contributed stories this weekend. They may be viewed all in one place at indeterminacies.blogspot.com.

The pool party had long since ended, the music had stopped, the wet bodies had dried themselves and drifted away, but Brenda's reflection lingered at the pool's edge, hoping for her own private plunge into that liquid element of life. But she found it impossible to venture in alone without her body of substance to draw her in after it. She was doomed to roam hither and forth along the concrete edge of watery pleasure, passionately yearning but never able to dip into the coolness. Brenda herself was in the arms of a boy she met while swimming. He had admired her in her dripping bikini, lay now in her arms looking into her eyes. But she seemed vacant to him, hardly responding to his touch or glance. She had left an important aspect of herself at the pool, but never suspected. And so she would remain. The reflection of Brenda could not run away to find her mistress, as reflections may only exist where they have been cast.

Story #192

Eugene loved Katy so much he locked her in a closet. "I love you, Katy," he would tell her upon leaving for his confrontations with the world outside.

"If you love me, let me out," her muffled voice invariably called to him as he moved out of the room, out of earshot.

He would come back from time to time to feed her, and give her clothes. In a generous moment he even gave her a flashlight and a mirror so she could see what she looked like when she tried on the clothes. But he never let her out of the closet.

"I love you, Katy," he always called to her as he left.

Weeks, months and precious years watched over a ritual become reflex. It came to pass that Eugene could no longer speak with the vigor he once knew. As he tried to utter his declaration of love he could only cough helplessly. Before leaving the room to lay on his deathbed he etched his epitaph in the accumulated dust of their time together: "I love Katy."

Story #191

She is the spirit of water, or Neera, as dying men in the desert call her name, pressed by an archetypal instinct of primal language and a desire for one of her teardrops. Neera is a sad spirit, but when she cries it gives life, though she mourns the teardrops she gives forth for others, making her even sadder, for each droplet, no matter how small, is a part of her. When exhaustion subdues her she drifts the Earth in search of any remains of the waters she gave forth. What she finds she absorbs again into her flesh, but knows that she is doomed to perpetually part with it again. Neera swam in the pools of the Garden of Eden. Those days she was happiest. But that was so long ago, a memory nearly washed away by the tide that is her heartbeat. She caressed the throat of every great and every minor person who ever lived, and caresses the throat of everyone alive. She refuses no one. Despite her promiscuity, her purity is eternal.

Story #190

Reporter: I'm here with Professor Ernest Grimm, the world famous archeologist who has made what is perhaps the most significant discovery of our 50th century. Professor, would you please explain what you found.

Professor Grimm: I'd be glad to. Here you see a petrified specimen of the race that once inhabited this land during the Google dynasty. Now, we were sure that some kind of catastrophic event ended their civilization. A solar flare melting all the credit cards or a fatal disease like hiccups. We just didn't know.

Reporter: But you've solved it.

Professor Grimm: Yes I have. You see, this specimen here was coming out of a server room with a backup of the Internet in his hands. Luckily, the Outdoor Computer Museum in Antarctica is in possession of a working Windows PC, the only one in existence, reconstructed from pieces dug up where the Pacific Ocean used to be. The point is, we could read the backup.

Reporter: Were there problems translating it?

Professor Grimm: Actually not. The backup was in English, one of the simpler languages of that era, spoken universally by all primates. It doesn't present a problem to us. But I digress. You see, you have to understand about this race. They thrived on humor. It was their nourishment. It kept them alive. Gave them hope, something to laugh for, as one of their ancient sayings goes.

Reporter: And this backup proves that the humor ran out?

Professor Grimm: Yes it does. As we know, the ancient God of Comedy was Retarius, who channeled his humor to the masses by use of a blog. But one day he closed the blog and that was the end. With all the humor gone, everyone instantaneously turned to stone.

Story #189

Note: retarius.blogspot.com is one of my favorite blogs, because it's brilliant and it makes me laugh. Every time. On March 31st Retarius announced that he would stop blogging. It wasn't an April Fool's joke. This story was written as part of the tribute organized by Deryke of deryke.blogspot.com. Fortunately Retarius has reconsidered his decision, thereby averting a catastrophe of proportions we can only begin to imagine.

Kathy was a girl who consorted with plants. She had given up men long ago. During a few careful conversations with her vegan friend Susan, she ascertained an unspoken willingness to experiment, though outwardly her friend still upheld a semblance of resistance to such exotic interactions. That night Kathy invited Susan over to her house and softened her fears with a tasty wine made from plums just before their first stage of ripeness. It was very sweet and resulted easily in the desired clouding of Susan's inhibitions.

"It's so lovely," Kathy mused, "lying on the bed, the vine wrapping itself around you, sliding across the most sensitive parts of your body."

"But I couldn't kiss it," Susan stated anxiously, fighting off the desires confounding her determination.

"You'll learn to love that," Kathy countered in a sisterly voice full of encouragement. "Look, I'll show you." Without turning around, she lifted her forearm. The ivy awoke from its slumber in the pot, slowly extended itself, slinking down to her shoulder and into her hand, inching unambiguously towards her waiting mouth. Her tongue met the quivering leaves.

"Lesson one," stated Kathy with a mouth full of ivy, "stroke the leaves with your tongue - from bottom to top - as many as you can. When they begin to twitch in all different directions - they're yours to devour."

"No!" cried Susan, panicking, "I can't do that! I can't eat them without a dressing!"

Story 188

- Are you sure this is going to work?
- Oh, yeah, it's an ancient thing, you know. Tried and tested.
- Won't he put a curse on us or something?
- Nah, that only happens long after the embalmment, if someone starts to mess with him.
- But he's not embalmed yet.
- Duh. That's because he's still breathing.
- You mean, this might kill him?
- Well, he wanted us to make him into a mummy. You can't bake a cake without breaking a few eggs.
- OK, if you say so. But if he puts a curse on me, I'll tell your mom what you did to her linens.
- Will you just shut up and seal his nostrils!

Story #187

Lynn is her name. I spied her there several times, on days I bowled, or tried to bowl. When she wasn't watching me my eyes followed her pleasant curves and the straight lines she walked. In my imagination I equated her dimensions with the perfect shape of a bowling pin. She never bowled, yet she was always there, bee lining back and forth in a patient, ambling gait, eyeing the bowlers, but never smiling at them. There was something odd about her presence there.

One day I was ready to bowl my first strike. My form was perfect. My grip immaculate. I concentrated like a Buddha at the gate of Nirvana. I threw. Ten feet later the ball rolled into the gutter, just as I had wanted to roll onto Lynn. That's when she smiled at me. Girls make me nervous when they smile, especially when it's at me. I didn't hit a pin that entire evening. And the strange thing is, the worse I bowled, the more she glowed with lips upturning and eyes welling with love, as if to tell me, "It doesn't matter. I believe in you. You'll get your strike." But the more she warmed to me, the worse I bowled.

We've been together now for several years. Sure, she told me about her past, but I didn't mind. And it did serve to explain the attraction she felt towards me that night. For years she had been the lead pin in her lane, bearing the blunt blows of those horrid orbs bringing her down dozens of times a night, knocking her comrades against her. One day she willed herself not to fall. As the ball concussed a magic spark electrified her, transforming her into real flesh. She haunted the venue as a live girl until discovering my mercy for the pins.

Story #186

"Come over here to the railing," the beautiful girl said.

Jeff was stunned. He thought he had heard talking out on the balcony, but it couldn't be Bo. She broke up with him weeks ago, stating in her knifey, no-nonsense way, that he would not see her again.

"Why did you come back?" he asked her, suspicious of her intentions.

"I changed my mind. I want you. Come over here and want me."

Jeff wanted to believe, but he also knew it was April Fool's day. The contradiction of Bo-ex and and Bo-his collided to the sound of sirens as his desire nudged him forward. A dim thought arose. What if she intended to hurl him from the balcony at the end of the kiss he would snatch from her lips? She knew judo and was extremely hard to pin into positions she did not want to be in. He hesitated.

"You're going to come and hold me, aren't you?" she cooed at him with a tempting smile to back it up.

That smile was one of those addictions he could never resist. He lunged forward towards the promise of carnality. As he bent closer to lick the soft parts of her body his head bumped with a loud bong against the railing. He looked up and she was gone.

"April fool!" laughed the burly male baritone in his head, a sadistic voice that had taunted him since the day Bo left. He would have to do something about those voices he was hearing. It was beginning to annoy him.

Story #185

With all those bodies breezing about out there it was destined to happen. Doug and Marsha got together. Warm skin against warm skin caused blood flowing parallel to tepid blood to sizzle in the veins. A mile-high feeling of dizzying ecstasy charged through them. With each pelvic thrust they shot into unfolding realms of altitude, hotly defying the futile "no's" of gravity. The carnal splendor saw them swirling through boundless tangents, an intertwining one with the stratosphere.

Subsequent to an extremely bumpy ride George inspected his jet car, wiping clouds from the chassis. It never ceased to astonish him how the random formations invariably culminated in some kind of meaningful gestalt.

Story #184

The reader stories have all been reposted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com.

Instructor: He's dead.
Trainee 1: Oh God, what'd you do to him.
Instructor: Only what was necessary. I have it down to a science.
Trainee 2: It's evil.
Instructor: It's lateral thinking: acupuncture, Kama Sutra and massage technique, a little of each. They give us a g-point. Guys have a d-circuit. But it's not easy to complete.
Trainee 1: Wish I'd been better in math.
Instructor: See, guys can't have multiple orgasms like we do. There's this protective mechanism, because the male heart can only stand so much. But nature gave us an override.
Trainee 2: How does it work?
Instructor: First of all bring him to the brink, and dangle him there.
Trainee 1: And then?
Instructor: Then there are these two nerves: one ends in his big toe, the other ends at the base of the skull. Read your acupuncture. So you're on him like a figure eight, if you get my drift. Usually it's pretty quick, and completely non-violent.
Trainee 1: Yeah, there's something humane about it, but it leaves such a mess afterwards.
Trainee 2: If they had black belts in love, they'd surely give you one.
Instructor: All right. Enough digressing. Put out your cigarettes and let the taxidermy lesson begin!

Story #183

The two cave girls sat at the monitor, staring into the webcam they had found. They were highly adaptive creatures. They didn't even need stones to knock out the scientist who had reached back in time via laser verberations to grab them into the present. They were subtler. They slyly let their rocks scatter onto the transfer platform where they had materialized. As the scientist stepped into the circle to clear the rubble away they rushed to the panel and pressed all the buttons they had seen him press. Now, at the control PC, they watched him back in their era playing with their pet mastadon. But it didn't like him very much. It was trying to step on him. Finally it chased him out of camera range and the screams that subsequently filtered through showed that he had stumbled upon their house cat, the one with the scythe-like teeth. The two ingenious specimens of the stone age quickly set up shop in the 21st century, downloaded some mp3's, camouflaged the time platform as a hip hop disco, and turned their attention towards boys. Hunting was so much easier on the Internet, and with their bare shoulders and coquettish smiles they could easily lure over and send back all the boys their pet cat could eat.

Story #182

Note from Indeterminacy: This is part one of a two part set. Part two is here.

Special thanks to Becca for contributing the photo!

This would be an all-nighter. Programmer Frank and engineer Barnes were struggling to get the system working.

"This is the second brunette it's generated," stated Barnes in an irritated growl, "What's wrong with the friggin' thing?"
"Let me try a new parameter matrix with split radix primes," Frank replied, grasping at straws.
"That's how I got the broad with the dog on her lap," issued from Barnes' exasperated expression.

The Blondex 3200 was a complex and temperamental piece of equipment for the generation of easy-going, easy-to-handle, and most of all just plain easy blondes for modern mating purposes. But something had gone wrong. Now the girls it generated were complex and temperamental.

"Can't we just try something with these girls?" Frank interrupted Barnes who was typing desperately at the console.
"You try. They won't let anyone touch them. That girl with the long hair slapped me."
"What about the other one? I mean her dog has sort of blondish hair. Maybe she's gentler."
"She sicced the dog on me!"

Barnes clattered some more on the console, manipulated the system parameters then clicked the generation button. Both men waited expectantly. There was a zapping sound.

"We've lost the motherboard," Barnes said in a giving up tone of voice.
"Look, Barnes, this is going nowhere. But I have an idea."
"What?"
"How about we say some nice things to the girls. Take them out to dinner, dancing, conversation. You know, the way it used to be. And if they don't come around, well, maybe they're clever enough to help us get the Blondex working again."

Story #181

Thanks to Irma "Audra" Vep for the photo!

Before leaving her abode for the "Who's Real" contest her thoughts spiraled into self-doubt. Soon she would pit her make believe existence against two living human contestants. On live national television! She'd done everything to conceal her artificiality. She'd put on make-up. She'd memorized the refrain of a top ten love song, practiced relating her aspiration: "I've always wanted to write a poem." She even planned the effect of a tear rolling down her cheek. But what if they saw beneath the surface? Saw the fiberglass weavings under her fragile, skin-colored veneer? It meant so much to her to win. Once they had certified her as real, she could do what real people did: share intense, one-time conversations with chance acquaintances, go shopping at Wal-Mart, use a cell phone and all the other mysterious and wonderful rituals accessible only to people with hearts and souls. At the studio she lost her way and wandered onto the set of a soap opera. Something about her, some searching look in her eye, struck the director. She was immediately given a role, returned each day to live out her new life with her new friends. And it was a sensation. The soap opera's ratings shot into double digits. Sacks bursting with fan mail arrived for the new character. Men basked in fantasies about her. Women all over the world saw her and wanted to be just like her.

Story #180

Mr. Peavey didn't mind taking his wife to the mall. Sure her tryings-on of every article of female covering with a three-digit price were about as fun to watch as a filibuster, but Peavey knew a secret. On the other side of the mall there was always some hot entertainment going on: scantily clad females whirling through the kind of motions that never failed to intrigue males. Peavey made his usual excuse. He would inquire at the travel agency about all the wonderful places he could take his dear partner-for-life on their next anniversary. As soon as she vanished inside the changing booth Mr. Peavey fairly galloped to the show and watched entranced, face glowing like a little boy at Christmas who found not one but two bicycles under the tree. He daydreamed as his eyes followed the gyrating bodies and his mind whirled on the nuances of the tropical dance. He would have to suggest an island cruise to Mrs. Peavey, and this time he would gladly come along with her. Unfortunately Mr. Peavey did not notice his wife sneaking up behind him. He also did not notice the mall wastebasket crashing down on his head. The dancing girls noticed, but didn't allow it to break their concentration. They were used to this sort of thing.

Story #179

Only three had come to share in the farewell. And soon it would be officially over. The camera and other equipment were destined for a film museum, the seats were too old to interest anyone anymore. Everything else had been promised away to the usual caring scavengers catching wind of a cache of history. The beam of light through celluloid streamed from the projector across the span of the theater, spreading out into moving images on the screen. Victor, who sat towards the back, nodded off, lulled by the sound of the organ music accompanying the antique visuals of a silent movie. His dream became a spark of light mingling with the light of the diva flowing through the air. It gave her life and form flavored by his modern imagination. He awoke as the film ended, the dream but a vague memory. He left with the others, but in one hidden corner of the soon to be abandoned theater slumbered the diva he had created, waiting to be imagined again.

Story #178

Once again, I'm overwhelmed by all the story versions you dear people contributed! Thank you very much. It's fascinating how each person saw this photo in a different way. The stories will be posted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com tomorrow morning.

Karla had just been kissed. And it caused a minor sensation. Except in Karla, where the sensation was decidedly major. Her shoulders hunched up and she staggered for a moment. But even then she could not open her eyes, as all her fantasies focused on the lingering residue of erogenous feeling. Everyone saw the affects of the kiss, but no one actually saw who it had been. One moment she was dancing alone and the next her lips glistened with a coating of fresh saliva. Perhaps it was magic, but Karla knew she had to have that boy. She opened her eyes and issued the demand that all boys present line up to recreate what had just occurred. The one whose kiss she recognized would be the recipient of..., well, of her. Just as the boys began assembling for their moment of tenderness something odd happened. They began slipping, bumping into each other, and running into trees. In the midst of all this chaos an invisible force grabbed her by the hand, jerking her forward on unsure steps, whisking her behind a rock. That's when her guardian angel introduced himself to her and apologized. Watching over her day and night, protecting her from harm, was nice to do. But her lips, her desirable lips had tempted him too long. He had to allow himself this one little slip.

Story #177

Vance and Vera invited an inflatable man to their house. When he arrived they sat him down on the sofa and ran through their act of hospitality. Refreshments were served, cake and coca cola. A half an hour went by gilded with small talk banalities. They conversed on the subject of helium-filled balloons. They asked him where he got his air. They inquired if he would like some fresh air at their window, a baldly audacious gesture, as the nearby highway billowed smog at tragic levels, and of course they knew that. The inflatable man had already noticed the bad air but concealed his perception, for fear of insulting his hosts. But his hosts were perceptive enough, especially now, and well aware that he had held his breath upon arriving, not that that concerned them. Nevertheless the inflatable man was becoming sluggish. He felt giddy and unable to move. The nitrous oxide Vance had carbonated into the coke and the aromatic glue solvents Vera stirred into the cake mix had done their job well. Before long he was defenseless. At sunset, heralded by the chimes of the wall clock, Vance and Vera fell upon their guest and sucked all the air out of his paralyzed form.

Story #176

Harvey became the first soul in theological history to demand expulsion from heaven. He was a masochist who couldn't come to terms with the paradisiacal pleasures heaven had to offer. They tossed him from the cloud to a harp fanfare and waves of good riddance. A short time later he toppled into hell, which Satan had just made over into an icy wasteland. Satan wanted a change and the frostbite burns of absolute zero were just as delightful to him as the seared flesh of brimstone. Harvey landed naked and shivering before a horde of demonettes poised to pelt his unprotected body with snowballs. But this was, after all, hell. Masochist or not, Harvey had to suffer. Despite his pitiful begging, the demonic mistresses never let fly their sensual pellets of coldness, but followed him around, feinting imaginary blows. As for pain, if Harvey wanted pain, he could have pain. Satan, ever the opportunist, put him to work shoveling snow.

Story #175

Note from Indeterminacy:
This is part two of a three part set. Part one is here. The prequel is here.

Harvey awoke to the sound of harp strings strummed by unseen hands. It made him nervous. He saw beatific angels all around him in cute little heaven costumes. They approached him smiling, anticipating desire unfulfilled in the new arrival. Harvey was too stunned to even say a prayer.

"We brought you something to drink"
"Would you like a massage after your exhausting death?"
"Shall we give you a kiss bath?"
"Oh it's sooo warm up here. Won't you help us out of these clothes?"
"Don't let our angelic appearance fool you. We're used to more than missionaries."

Harvey began to tremble. The heavenly servents came nearer.

"Don't be afraid, we're your personal angels."
"We're going to share you among ourselves for the rest of eternity."
"And teach you the meaning of divine pleasure..."
"On our own private little cloud..."
"We call it Cloud Sixty-Nine."
"You'll have no more pain, forever and ever and ever..."

Harvey was having trouble holding up under the barrage of well-meant seduction. He broke down whimpering on the cloud.

"We know this is a bit much all at once."
"Please don't cry."
"Take a nap if you like, and we'll play with your sleeping body."

"No!" his primal scream echoed through the ethereal setting. "Send me to hell," he cried between sobs, his pounding fists caught up tenderly in the soft cumulus carpet, "I'm a masochist."

Story #174

Note from Indeterminacy:
This is part one of a two part set. Part two is here. The prequel is here.