William Crump
Bio
Humanist Atheist Philosopher. My motivation is understanding the human condition and spreading knowledge and kindness. Sometimes dark, sometimes hopeful, always with the underlying acknowledgment of the absurdity of life.
Stories (12)
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Disassociating Mirrors
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It wasn't any one person's reflection. The smooth glass appeared splintered into a million tiny reflections of a million tiny fragments of a million different faces. The splinters both sharp and fluid as the mirror pulsed in something that seemed like a rhythm that I couldn't quite identify.
By William Crump3 years ago in Horror
Creator of Fictions
There was the ever present electric buzz all around him. The machine's whirl and flicker the only clues to all the esoteric processes that run in the background keeping everyone alive. He was hustling through his morning work hoping to finish before the first reset warning.
By William Crump3 years ago in Fiction
A Recycled Memory
The outside world was unknown to her but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She had found herself here totally by chance. There was no reason to be in his room. Citizens do not enter the chambers of other citizens. Not that it's prohibited, but it's just not something you do. Like eating in the bathroom or washing your clothes more than once a week. So many things are automatic because life is like that. Everything has its place.
By William Crump3 years ago in Fiction
A Cthulu-ish Christmas
We drove up the snowy winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The car had been on fire for the past half hour but none of us seemed to notice. Our bright smiles were only slightly clouded by the chemical smoke rolling from the engine compartment. All of our 863 teeth were shining and freshly sharpened as we sang Christmas carols and laughed about the wonderful times we were all going to have together on this, our first-ever Christmas vacation.
By William Crump3 years ago in Horror
The Answer
The House The rusty water made a tap tap tap sound on the stainless steel of the sink. Somehow it totally misses the dirty dishes piled in and around it waiting for the motivation to get them cleaned. Somehow the dripping sink is the only sound in the drafty old house.
By William Crump3 years ago in Psyche
The Sad Man
When he sat down on his favorite bench there was a half-full coffee cup sitting there. There usually is. That or some sticky drink. Always partially full. You can't just toss it out. The liquid would make a mess in the garbage can. And who wants to take it all the way to the bathroom to dump it out? It's easier to leave it there. Plus with the trash on the bench next to him, there isn't room for another person. Unless they make it awkward. And they too often do.
By William Crump3 years ago in Fiction
