Fuck tha Police

Unknown forces 2022, height of the trans-Canadian war, and I’m stuck here in school, Washington, 17, still single, like a fuckin nerd. I live alone, but am still not legally an adult, so I can't actually do that much. It was the Thursday of the end of 12th grade. I had a few ideas for what to do once I’m out of 12th, but only a high school degree won’t get you much. A few years ago, the united states declared mutual war with Mexico, under our 47th president, after our 46th president was…

It gets to be too much for Lance around the same time Keith is pretty much considering throwing himself out of an airlock. He's sitting in the control room, totally alone, at the Altean equivalent of four in morning when Lance finds him. He'd been tracing constellations absent-mindedly into the crystalline tiles beneath his fingertips, all eighty-eight of them, and he's just about to connect the last star of the Pleiades sleepily with grazed, stained-glass knuckles when the screech echoes…

The Catcher in the Rye is a social commentary that criticizes the superficialness of adulthood, through the eyes of the rebellious protagonist: Holden Caulfield. Holden is an academic failure who flunked out of his preparatory school, Pencey Prep, for failing grades in all of his courses except English. Holden then continues his life, traveling around, criticizing the world around him in a cynical tone, attacking the “phoniness” and unbearable corruption of the adult world. As a result of his…

Mom took a photography class at the community college last year. A month before our trip, she made Tommy wash a section of the living room wall. He washed a square about as tall and as wide as him. He used a magic eraser. With the eraser, he wrote “fuck you,” next to the square of white wall. Even though…

He woke with a start. Opened his eyes and stared into pitch darkness. His iris dilated to allow more light. The cold, damp floor under him jerked him to reality. The familiar smell of urine was unmistakable. Unit 632. How long had he passed out? He tried to sit up but a gut wrenching pain sent tingles to his brain from his lower left thigh. He winced and pulled out the hilt of something that felt like a broomstick poking him from where he laid. He was alive. He didn’t know whether that was…

the shadows behind them. “I honestly didn’t believe it, Sara. When you partner insisted you were dirty, I still couldn’t see it.” Glancing behind her, she saw her sector chief from the FBI with a pistol trained on them. Standing at his side was her fuck up of an ex-partner grinning like a mad fool. Sara didn’t bother to lift her hands but she did speak. “It’s not what you’re thinking it is.” “That’s what all criminals say.” Miss Maddie tapped her cigarette lighter on the table top twice and…

I know he’s not this imperceptive. I mean really, did he think I’d crawl into a hole and wait for rescue. I roll my eyes. “Lock-down. Not happening. I’m thinking maybe we use me as bait. Draw him out someplace….” I’m stopped mid-sentence. “Oh fuck no. This isn’t up for discussion. Until that bastard’s dead, you’re not going anywhere but the clubhouse.” I’d be scared right now if I wasn’t getting pissed. Looking at his face I wait for horns to grow from his forehead and a pitchfork to show up…

and not only that but he was slowly sliding down the wall. Probably the funniest thing I've ever seen. My boy Jon sees me looking down at the guy and he give me this look like we just got caught burying bodies. So he like “Cmon Jay, we gotta get the fuck out of here” and we run to another flight of stair, jump down them, we both had the same class so we go in and sit down like nothing happened. I was pretty happy because my reputation is intact and probably looks better after that. Rumors are…

As I looked around at the blank white walls surrounding me, my anxiety only grew. Why am I here? The question haunted my mind as my solid white shoes tapped softly on the monotonously grey floors. My green eyes landed back on the paper in my hand, reading the words again. Patient 7539, please report to clinical area 3 for a checkup at 6:30am. There were no “checkups” in that godforsaken place. Although they’d renamed the Asylum to be called a “State Hospital” long before I’d arrived, most…

is it.” no one answers me but the door opens. My heart has dropped could it be him. “Room service” I jump up in surprise tucking my handgun in my belt to see a old frail mexican lady standing in my door way with a vacuum. I think to myself why the fuck would she just waltz in here, isn't she supposed to say room service before she comes in. “Come back later.” I reply…