Cosmik Wolfpack is a playground and laboratory for flash-formed poetry and nanofiction written by The Debtor, a white cisgender male and citizen of the United States.
If you have something to say to the author, send it to cosmikwolfpack at gmail dot com.
Gino is the destroyer of inaccurate, nondescript, and confusing cities. Kyle is a senior UX designer who loves to spend time with deniers paid by the fossil fuel industry to make all those creatures that go bump in the night afraid.
What kind of men are they? They are not the incarnation of what I imagine my greatest hater would despise most.
I'm not mad about this, but I am a monster who love cannot fix. I’m in a mood today, and I DON’T CARE.
The enslaved grandparents are servants to streaming comedies. They command our attention as they snack on wet granola, and their imaginary hunger fills us. We've found ourselves comatose in public before, palpable. But this new sensation, amid the leers of uniformed attendants, feels especially deserved.
The windows of this early '50s ranch are weather-sealed, soundproofed, adorned with decals to warn away careless birds. The various colors of our slacks are inspired by forgotten colonial exploits, inviting catcalls. Dark vanity draws the blood from our legs, fractures our educated chivalry. There really aren't many athletes here. There aren't many style icons to guide us. Most men fail to achieve an optimum work-life balance.
G is sitting at a simple patio table reading a little book, upon the table sits a plate with some crumbs on it
There is only one chair and it is the one G sits upon
K enters
K: I have a qu-
G: Don't talk
K: Bu-
G: Please
K: ...
G: ...
K: Igottago-
G: Please
K sits down, eyes flared, nervous movements in their appendages
K stands swatting at their bottom and looking down at the ground in surprise
K: These ants-
G: SSSSHHHHH
K looks at G, a sense of growing anger in K's body
G: You didn't read the pamphlets?
G holds their finger to their lips
K shrugs, body expressing confusion and confirmation that the pamphlets were no read
G: There are ants ... If you'd read the pamphlet you'd know it ...
K slaps at their thigh, sharply
G: That's your fault
K exits and G goes back to reading the little book
Soon an ugly dragging abrasive sound is known and K re-enters, with a heavy chair
K sits on the chair and looks down suspiciously at the ground
K rubs their eyes and expresses exhaustion, bodily
G reacts with humor at the little book they are reading
K settles into the chair, staring at G for a while as G engages with their book
TBC