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—So, what are we looking at here?
—You tell me.
—It’s a . . . smudge, right?
—Charlie says it’s the human soul.
—He also thinks gluons are guardian angels.
—That’s hard to disprove too.

We’ve seen it all in this lab, at least the tiny stuff, and we couldn’t observe it without the instruments. In other words, every day we press our noses against the nearly invisible.

—It moves.
—It’s been doing that all day.
—I’m not used to seeing anything move.
—Well, no, we look at dead things.

Not technically dead, I guess, not always. Ultrathin slices of cellular tissue have life in them you could say, but they don’t move. That’s different.

—What’s your theory?
—Malfunctioning equipment.
—And if it isn’t?
—Flawed observation.
—And if it can be replicated?
—In other labs? By other observers?
—Yes.
—Mass hallucination.
—Are you sure you mean mass?
—Serial hallucination.
—Induced by?
—Undue influence of prior results.
—But how do you explain the first results?
—Malfunctioning equipment.

Yes, we talk like this, at the lab, and at home. Bullying me with dialectic on the job serves a scientific purpose. At home, it pisses me off and ruins his chances of getting me into bed.

—Have you rebooted the scanner?
—Hoping it will disappear so we won’t have to explain it?
—Yep.

That would suit me too. I thrive on white shadows of anti-matter in my professional and my personal life. If fluctuating charges in rogue electrons could explain my partner’s bitchy behavior, I’d be relieved, but the soul? No. If we’ve found it, and it’s confirmed, there’s an end to wiggle room. We’re together but single because he gives me room for doubt. Anything that proves itself makes me squirm, and I’ll want out. Of course, that’s only a theory.

Copyright © 2008, 2025 David Hodges

If tomorrow they locked us all in jail, how many of us could testify our way out? I’ve been looking at mug shot books all morning and nobody in this whole jury of peers collection looks not guilty. I wonder, if they gave me the book of women, would I find innocence there? Read the rest of this entry »

She’s a glorious bride. I don’t know how this day compares with her dream of the perfect wedding, if she had one, but her face is bliss. I’ve watched her since morning preside over the event like the owner of the day. I saw her take the news about the fallen cake without a twitch. Read the rest of this entry »

I picked up the phone and Mom was on the line. Mom! Dear Mom! On the phone! Well! What do you know! I heard the fake smile in her voice. She hadn’t dialed and I hadn’t dialed. Our phones had both rung and we had both answered: the network was trying something new. Read the rest of this entry »

All these years later, I still find Barney’s logic compelling. We needed mitts before the start of the season. We couldn’t squeeze the money from the pittance they called our allowances. After expenses, and what the church extorted in those little envelopes, nothing was left for new equipment, Read the rest of this entry »

—Kathy, please prepare the cabin for takeoff.
—You already said that, sir. Sir? Brian?
—Is the cabin prepared?
—We’re airborne, sir.
—I’d like to hear that from Troy, please.
—We’re airborne, sir.
Read the rest of this entry »

I’m not ready to leave the box. The times I’ve tried were disasters. I thought I was the lucky one with a place of my own, raised as I was, hugged by walls, but my sisters had an easier time leaving home. I wonder now what living this way has prepared me for. Read the rest of this entry »

When the night voices tremble in your heart, so do you hear where each of us is, except for me, except for the one who doesn’t call. Your bed is damp with not knowing. Left to the black glass and right to your husband, you shake your head No all night. Read the rest of this entry »

So many words are already written on a dollar bill, it hardly needs more language from me, words as evocative as God and Trust, as if heaven had to sanction my buying a croissant, beautiful words though, about my public and private debts. Read the rest of this entry »

The logic of the raise is ruthless and simple, I told Amy. We don’t get raises for what we’ve done: management doesn’t tip. Our raises are like higher bids. If there’s no other bidder, the auction’s over. Amy doesn’t get it. Read the rest of this entry »

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299-WORD NOVELS

Character, conflict, emotional impact. And sentences! Everything you want in a novel, without one extra syllable.

Behind the Pseudonym

The pen name David B Dale honors my parents Beatrice and Dale. David+B+Dale = davidbdale

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