Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (113)
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Twenty-Seventh find of the Meaning of life Scavenger Hunt
Traversing catacombs, skulls lining the walls seem alien. Thirty-seconds tour in the sand wars, and then you may discover its treasure. Enough of that, ‘Bombs away’ shaking the shafts supports of their decay, pointless daring escape with empty hands, better power through angry recesses. Couldn’t have done this without local talent because, on pure souls that open the transdimensional portal, one sacrifice is required for the one-way journey free of fire. Didn’t have the time to even register the betrayal, ‘it hurts to be this good’. No wonder my scavenger hunt partner came back crying, “I never could.” Becoming one with gravity waves since, here, it’s all I recognize, too busy tasting with my eyes going blind except for a newly forming eye. All landings hurt, but the second-dimension line holds every stage of it at the same time. I’ve puked, will puke, and am presently puking from the broken ribs; double check for the cyanide can’t be trapped here, better respect the deadline. It’s still fine. The sooner I start coping, continue to cope with this insufferable urgency, and I will find the artifact twenty minutes ago, still unprepared to cope with the challenge of my organ count, and won’t be until twenty minutes from now. Holy shit, map glows, the surprise isn’t in the act, it proceeded to engulf itself for a job about to be well done. “My compass is garbage.” Passing creatures evolving into beings, then into enlightenment, presenting daily life as less than a hassle, yet searching the metropolitan jungle unites the 2D faction to the common threat. Wanna bet the betrayer lies stretched far and wide in every consciousness searching for what they’ve already found and has died, is being murdered and relishing in the oncoming parade in their honor--oh wait. Leapfrogging heads to spelunking in culdoscopes, a holy trope I’m still fairly unaware of. Of course, it’s the staff of a dead pope from a religion they don’t recognize. Getting ready to grab the capsule that’s choking to the afterlife, this dead can’t die here locals carry the convulsive idiot to save their sacred timeline. Not awake until I’m suffering a familiar vacuous finality. Hope the partner knows of the perk hidden in my pocket, coordinates in the bag of an undying hag. Heinous Al Father Guard, now seeing its truest form, I feel I have done the work of a Villain.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Poets
Torch Passing
They warned her all the time. It wasn’t enough to be cautious, skeptical in the beam of peace strife to death with a tension tenuously amorphous lurking behind corporate meetings and political discourse. At least water is still affordable, technically. Her many Careers since joining the bureaucracy to maintain such a teetering balance of the remaining United States have been growing in intensity. With a hand-delivered envelope stoking paranoia that would call for a report and alert, it becomes a faded distilled truth from the Career of a nameless co-worker. So she tidies up her daily security blockades, passwords, new mother’s maiden, throw the sim card away, and get a new phone entirely. Its front read, ‘Taste their blood for sight,’ and inside, on a single index card, it read, ‘change my code for best results,’ written in lavender matching the tab as the rest was a Matte black, nearly soft like velvet. The notable smell left her re-feng shui-ing her loft until, after an hour or two, the aroma brought a pause, with a location that could not be named but held such a place in her mind, not distinctly from what, but the mood it exposed to her conscious that says this problem must not persist. Step by step, like a navigation system via heart-pounding memory revitalization, revealing streets, mile markers, and settings somehow updated with the current disaster aftermath, but how she saw this left her with regret brought from a flashback. Who’d ever consider reverse engineering paper, and despite its texture, that’s all it was, to explain an origin of a place long dead, long gone, yet historically unforgettable? It’s no wonder she waited a week to plan the trip.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
Family Solution
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She hadn’t been in her father’s room since the calamity was announced thirty-five seconds before the lights went out. Consistent thirty-year 10.5 earthquakes would have been a softer destabilization than the abrupt cosmic visitation basked in enlightenment dragging behind them a pet Basilisk. They carried, upon their arrival, a grudge of misappropriated rage that spread like a wild virus similar to the infectious common cold equivalent they forced humans into hiding. Clarity came too late, decimating the land with fire and chemicals poisoning the soils recklessly before the realization led the extraterrestrials to exclaim in a great somber mass-translated announcement, ‘our bad.’ Though they were in trouble with some galactic federation that only a small group of humans met and hopefully pushed in the right direction, they were left on a dying planet waiting for reparations to revive the planet. Outside of constructing gargantuan turbines filtering the air to be breathable once more, Humans were on their own.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
Ode to the Inspiration that Launched it All
My name was on it, but not much else. The heroic soul who went out of their pretty little way to save my package from the clutches of a conniving postman who desperately tried to get a peek as she claimed neighbors should look out for each other. “Is that why a piece of your press-on is stuck under the tape,” I said, not honestly expecting an answer despite her immediate and silent eye roll as I shut the door in her face. I gather the box in a box is a better defense, although looking at it, I couldn’t imagine what I ordered that would need a thick iron casing. A five-by-four-inch cask with no label stamp or company name. Without my address under my elegantly stenciled title, it’s no wonder it sat in the lobby of my building with a Thieving Thelma. Where’s the handle, latch, or thin flush line that indicated this wasn’t a poorly measured, unfinished die? Sharp edges and corners left me looking at it like an oversized Rubric’s Cube lacking the where with all of a first move. Amid contemplating whether a box cutter blade would be thin enough to probe for a hidden prompt built within, it snapped open so hard the twenty-pounder leaped against gravity’s direct order, landing in a thud that left scratched on the lazily done wood finish. “I’m calling Chelsey.”
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
The Walter Experiment
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.… “You are as hateful of my surprise as your friend, Mr. Fang.” Detective S took it upon herself to get in his car without his permission, the beginning of her intrusions into his peacefully isolated day.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
Ask nothing, Guilty of nothing
Simple drops were always scheduled for the evening. The last three were the easiest fifteen grand Shaun ever made, and although cryptic, he deciphered the coding to follow the directions to the letter. Never open the bag, carry it everywhere but draw no attention to it, and look out for the next Staples sticky note for instructions. Staying focused until the drop was complete managed to be his biggest struggle. Then again, the threats he received while stopping for an energy drink on the first round smoothed that hiccup to tempered glass. The directly deposited fee for this one had been tripled; cryptic riddles with sinister overtones be damned, he thought, picking up the bag from the trunk of the ’87 Cutlass Supreme. He even held on to a lotto scratcher to justify any excessive spending as a result of his job well done. Pretending his expensive California move had been a stumble into a gold rush became a farcical endeavor the moment he was left to his own devices. The collection of criminally worded positive spin in letters home finally reached the level of light bull shit following the clues to his fourth carry.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
Janet and Jimmi
Hits never last as long as you want them to, no matter your personal poison dishing them out without the decency to hop back or put up defenses. For months, Jimmi and Janet have been looking for the longest high they could, telling themselves that it’s only until the pain goes away. Only until their world’s splattered with events poisoning futures to blackened ooze seems a little less bleak. Only until the past was something they could laugh about on a beach, where drinks are brought directly to you, and the ocean caresses your feet as it comes to steal away the land. For now, their beach will have to just be a hotel room paid up for the next three months, unlimited cable television, and opioids with MDMA glittered amongst each of the 23 smugglable packages. Didn’t matter what form it came in, just as long as the shit cooked their minds.
By Willem Indigo4 years ago in Fiction
