Fractal Realities: It's Infectious

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Five men stood around the pool of greasy black tar that used to be Zach Cho. Everything had happened so fast. Even with their suspicion, no one could have foreseen human flesh blackening and sagging like hot taffy. There weren't any bones or organs. All that was left was this slowly widening pool of thick gritty oil.

“Well, it seems your theory was correct.” Adams said to Brewster before patting his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Yeah but I mean Zach was my friend. He was the one I suspected the least.” Brewster removed his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Crabb asked, his eyes narrowing. “Just because you don't like me, I get to be a suspect?”

“No, but . . .” Brewster hesitated.

“But what? You got something to say, spit it out!”

He squirmed. “You spent a lot of time with Zach this morning. Alone."

The mechanics, Delmar and Estridge, backed away from Crabb, their expressions grim.

Crabbs face darkened. "Maybe I did but you shook his hand not even an hour ago."


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