She Shits Bricks and Other Short Stories

By Samson Tonauac

Twerker, COVID-991, advert jinn--we all went a little crazy after 2020 ... did we not? 13 ultra-short science fiction and cyberpunk stories inspired by the events of 2020.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samson Tonauac
• Release date: Apr 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005743574

Samson Tonauac

Author specializing in science fiction, philosophy, and more.

Book preview

Copyright © Samson Tonauac 2021

Table of

Contents

Introduction

Homeless Man

COVID-991

She Shits Bricks

Twerker

Five Minutes Offline

Life of an Advert Jinn

X

Eight-Bit Before the X

Beneath the Stars

Alien Abductions Explained

The Sad Boys

The Meaning of Life Killer

Samson the Writer

Meatless Babies

Introduction

This book is dedicated to my good friend Giovanny, who passed away well before he should have—unfortunately, like many people do. Giovanny passed away when he was just eighteen years old—a suicide, gunshot to the head. He was abroad at the time, away from his friends and family, and his girlfriend had just broken up with him. Before you criticize or judge, think back to your first real heartbreak—how hard it was. Now add to those feelings of anguish the effect of being isolated, not being able to return home, not having the modern conveniences to reach out for help. Alone, his inner demons and self-doubts got the best of him.

This occurred a long time ago and neither of us had cell phones or any way to communicate except via postal mail. He wrote me a handwritten letter, and in typical Gio fashion, stated that it was over for him and to contact him through the Ouija board, as we agreed we would do should one of us die before the other. He also thanked me for the gifts that I had sent him.

I suspected his response was just Gio being Gio—joking about something that wasn’t really appropriate to joke about. Suicide and depression, as it was then, and as it is now, is a real issue that is becoming increasingly prevalent as modern society struggles to define, to come to terms with, concepts like meaning in life. Historically, the answer to the question of meaning was obvious: worship god or burn! Burn in hell or on earth—either way, we damned sure knew the meaning of life as dictated by the establishment. However, if you are a fan of Nietzsche, god died a long time ago and left us to face the monstrosities of existentialism without any guidance. If not god, what then do we live for? Love? Children? Work? The answers are many, but Gio couldn’t find a single one in his time of need.

Anyway, some time passed, and I didn’t hear back from him after I responded to his letter. It was too late; my response didn’t reach him in time. A few people showed up at my door one day and confiscated all letters he had written to me. Then they broke the news that he had shot himself. I was stunned—agape, and to this day it still haunts me deeply. There are some nights where I dream it was an elaborate hoax, that he infiltrated some secret organization, and that he will soon reach out, laughing at my foolishness. But the phone doesn’t ring, there are no new letters, and the dreams that he is still alive and well somewhere in the world are just that: evanescing ghosts, phantoms, a friend doing exactly what he always promised to do—haunting me from a fictitious world, a non-existent afterlife. I wake up and reality sets in and life trudges on, just as it does when anyone dies. To my knowledge, he didn’t tell anyone else goodbye; he ended his life alone, lost in a sea of emotions and heartbreak.

There was nothing evil or sinister about Gio’s witticisms; he was just a kid struggling to find his place in the world, and a lot of his criticisms of society were extremely enlightened. If I believed in such things, I would have called him an old soul—an old soul that opted out of the reincarnation cycle.

Giovanny was such an amazingly brilliant individual—and even as I grow older, I’ve never met anyone quite like him. Giovanny was also an artist—a damned good artist. One of the best I had ever met. During class, he’d often, instead of listening to the teacher, ink his way into some sort of fantasy world—worlds that drew you in, worlds in which you could get lost because of their complexity and beauty. Together, we’d make up stories, characters, and talk about how when we grew up, we’d create comics. I’d write the stories, he’d draw them.

But it wasn’t to be. Giovanny is gone and it would be many years before I would take up writing again. This book consists of ultra-short cyberpunk/science fiction tales inspired by my book Dreamsphere and its many micronations. You need not to have read Dreamsphere in order to enjoy this book. In fact, all stories contained herein are pretty much independent stories. As I was writing the sequel to Dreamsphere, 2020 hit us with COVID-19, racial unrest, political turmoil, etc. This book is largely a reflection of this time and for various reasons I had to put the sequel on hold. All the stories included, though not ones Giovanny and I composed together, are inspired by his dark sense of humor and witticisms.

Accompanying each chapter is a digitally inked illustration in memory of Giovanny. I can only hope that in some sense, I captured some of his wisdom, humor, and wit, so that his memory lives on. Enjoy.

Homeless Man

I’m hatin’ it.

Cold. Rain turns to sleet. Sky darkens and night approaches. Trash can