Nabµf Archive

What Lola wants, Lola sometimes gets

Posted 21 March, 2010 By Pxl

When Pixel’s friend Bre was burglarized, his office-mate Lola helped him organize raising money from Bre’s friends.  They spent much of the week together, which was the longest amount of time they’d ever been around each other.

Pixel thought Lola was attractive and fun, but she was married, so he wrote her off in his mind.  One evening, she asked him at a bar if it was just her or whether there was sexual tension in the office.  Pixel agreed, half jokingly.

He didn’t realize what she meant until he took her home one day after a party.  She had meant that there was sexual tension between them.  She said this as she hugged him goodbye for ten minutes.

Pixel didn’t know what to do: not only was she married, but she was married to another person in the department!  And furthermore, Pixel was still dealing with the Iris situation.  So he did the ostrich method of dealing with problems: he ignored them and hoped they went away.

But they did not.  Over the next three months, Lola began to hang out in their mutual office much more, go to his weekly dinners, and– by coincidence– audited a class he was in.

Meanwhile, her husband began inviting Pixel out to lunch with them.  His motto seemed to be “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”  Pixel didn’t know how close he was being kept, but he did figure it out one poisonous afternoon.

waste book, want book

Posted 20 February, 2010 By Pxl

Pixel liked books.  Sometimes he would pick up a book from his library, open it to a random page, and read.

Okay, he never actually did that, but he thought of himself as the kind of guy that would.  Which was what he thought when he saw his friend Bre had a lot of books she didn’t want.

“I get them for free, but if you want them, I’ll give them to you: I never use them,”  Bre said.

So Pixel got some brand new text books for free.  He was happy.

Months went by and he never so much as touched them again. Which was on his mind when his friend Lola saw how many books he had in his library and asked him why he didn’t sell them.

“I sold this exact book last week for $50!”  Lola said.

Pixel realized something: “I got them for free, but if the Internet wants them, I’ll give them to you to sell.  After all, I’ll never use them.”

Something about his words sounded familiar, but he shrugged the feeling off.

The next day, Lola came up to Pixel as he was printing an assignment.  “You made $200!”  she said.  Pixel was happy.  Just then, Bre came in, wondering what was with the commotion.

“Pixel made $200 off these books that he mysteriously has.  But he won’t say where they came from!”  Lola blabbed.
Pixel grinned stupidly from ear to ear.  He had just suffered a crippling stroke.

wtf

Posted 5 January, 2010 By Pxl

Ange drove the courtesy bus around campus. Pixel had a crush on her and sometimes rode around with her. They would talk about her life, his home town, and he would teach her Spanish. Ange had emotional problems. Pixel realized this. And she would tell Pixel all about her issues. Often.

One day, Ange said, “why don’t you come spend the night at my house?” Pixel eagerly said yes. He didn’t know what it meant, as they were just friends. Furthermore, she’d once hinted how she didn’t like the fact that all of her male friends hit on her.

At her house, she prepared a mattress for him downstairs. Pixel made a mental note that this meant he should not try anything. They kept talking until she felt sleepy and got ready for bed.

Pixel thought this was it, but she asked him to come upstairs with her. Somehow, they ended up in her bedroom as she got into bed, turned on her stereo, and began singing. Pixel felt she was coming onto him, but – not wanting to push his luck– he tried to leave. She held him back and rolled over in bed, holding his hand. He lost his balance and fell into bed behind her, accidentally spooning. They interlocked fingers and Pixel said to himself, Ohh.

She turned back, looked at him, gazed into his eyes, and Pixel lowered his head to kiss her…


“Why did you do that?” She pulled away quickly.

Pixel died of shame.

hu?

Posted 21 November, 2009 By Pxl

When Pixel heard that there was going to be another student coming to Duke, he held a secret wish that it be a female. Preferably a cute one.

When he found out it was a cute female, he highfived the air so hard, he thew out his elbow.

“Still,” Pixel foreshadowed, “I better not do anything with her, because it might turn out for the worse.”

One night, Pixel and his fellow first-year, Iris, ended up dancing to very sensual music. As Chumbawumba played in the background, Pixel and Iris began kissing passionately.

The next day, Pixel went over to Iris’ house to explain that it was all a mistake caused by alcohol and they should probably forget it. Iris, meanwhile, hoped that Pixel would claim it was a mistake caused by alcohol so that she could forget it.

Naturally, they ended up making out yet again.

“We can’t blame the alcohol anymore,” Iris said soberly.

Pixel, for his part, was happy to have someone to kiss when he was bored. But Iris saw it differently. Sometimes, when Pixel forgot about her for several days, she would take offense.

“You have to talk to me about your life now,” she said. “You know, we’re in a relationship now.”

Pixel didn’t know.

Pixel had ended up in a relationship without his consent. He told Iris this, but she refused. He was unaware that break ups had to be two-party consent. Axe murder, it turns out, doesn’t.

… and slipped on a banana peel.

Posted 8 November, 2009 By Pxl

Pixel traveled through time.  Specifically, he traveled to 1954.  Curious as to what this meant, Pixel decided to try to kill his grandfather.  His grandfather was a 23 year old man then: married, but not yet a father.

Pixel went to a gun store and purchased a high-powered rifle.  He purchased a crate of bullets and went to a shack in the woods for two months.  During that time, he practiced his aim.  He worked at his marksmanship daily.  Eventually his sharpshooting improved to an astounding degree.  He got to the point where he never missed his target, no matter how little time he had to prepare.

He packed up and moved to the town where his grandfather lived.  He got a job as a janitor in the school his grandfather taught.  Every day, he followed his grandfather from home to work, kept an eye on him there, then followed him back home.  After six weeks, Pixel was confident of his grandfather’s schedule.

One cloudless Wednesday in early August, Pixel trailed his grandfather like usual. But this day, Pixel left at 3 p.m. and went to the roof of a neighboring building.  He held his rifle in position and waited until his grandfather exited.  Pixel took aim, made sure there was nobody nearby to interfere with the shot.  His gun was loaded and he had just tested it that morning.  His finger was on the trigger and there was nothing to stop his firing, so he aimed——

nabµf #20 of 29

Posted 12 December, 2008 By Pxl

Pixel’s friend Schmree was burglarized.

“I know how you feel,” she said, “minus the punch in the face.”

Pixel knew how she felt. Plus a punch in the face. And it still didn’t feel good. This angered him very much: hadn’t he specifically said when he was robbed that the only consolation he had was that at least it hadn’t happened to Schmree? Now he didn’t even have THAT as a consolation. Obviously, when he heard the news, he was inconsolable.

So Pixel tried to think like a criminal. He went online to see if anyone was trying to sell her stuff, called some pawn shops, and tried to find a local flea market. To no avail. No avail at all. Not even a little avail.

Then Pixel had an idea! He sent word to all of Schmree’s friends, asking if they would donate to a “Schmree Fund” so that they could raise enough money to help her buy a new computer. Pixel hoped to get $200. But everybody loved Schmree so much that the fund grew unwieldy.
THEN the faculty got wind of the fund and they started donating hundreds of dollars at a time. The director even set aside $500 of the graduate school fund to help Schmree out.

Schmree’s friends eventually raised $1,250 for her. And Pixel was so happy he almost forgot all about once having being punched in the face.

Unfortunately, Pixel was killed by a tortoise dropped by an eagle at that exact second.

Necro Autobiographical Microfiction

Posted 14 November, 2005 By Pxl

Microfiction is a ludicrously short story, usually about 250 words. Microficticious works have all the same elements as regular works, but are forced to show them quicker. If novels are meant to be read over a month, novellas over a week, and short stories in one sitting, then microfiction is meant to be read in between sittings.

In high school, I wrote a series of autobiographical flash fiction (from 2-5 pages long) that always ended in my dying in a bizarre and unusual way.

I want to revive that.

From now on and for the next 29 rotations, I shall write a new Necro Autobiographic Microfictitious story every chance I get. Who’s ready for the adventure? I know I am.

Rules:

  1. each story should be perfectly consistent within its own reality
  2. no explanation shall be given for the deaths of the main character
  3. Pixelation Qyw Styx shall be the main and perhaps only character
  4. the stories will form a meaningful whole, not contradicting each other (except for the dead/alive problems)
  5. each story shall be able to be read independently of each other story.
  6. each story should be between 235 and 265 words.
  7. stories may be accurate and based on real-life events, but they are fiction, remember that.

Update: Moofruot has joined the fray. Her rules, as best as I can tell, are as follows:

  1. each story is perfectly consistent within its own reality.
  2. MFRT is the main and sometimes only character.
  3. each story can be read independent of any other.
  4. each story should be between 235 and 265 words.

… probably. I’m just giving her rules because she’s linking to me and that’s cool.