Free Borderlands 5 by Unknown

(Achilles Heel referent).
—Photograph X shows continuation of the chase along the curve of the track. “Fluffbucket” has released the subject, but is batting her on the side of the body, as seen in cheetah modalities. The “play” response is again noted.
—Photograph Y shows the subject stumbling. “Fluffbucket” has grabbed the left side of the subject’s blouse.
—Photograph Z. The subject is prone. “Fluffbucket” kneels above the subject, whose facial turgidity indicates laughter.
—Photograph A1. “Fluffbucket” places the mouth of the costume mask over the subject’s face, initializing suffocation. The “paws” begin spontaneous stimulation of the subject’s belly.
—Photograph A2. The skin of the belly is exposed.
—Photograph A3. Blood has spattered the “Fluffbucket” costume.
—The study concludes that concurrent with the “fight or flight” response, as seen in all predatory exercise, there exists a “fright and delight” initiative that cohabits neural pathways. Openness to the tickle response is concurrent with “primal face” response, whereas inversion of openness is noted in those said to be “non-ticklish.” Eighty-seven percent of mothers who commit postpartum murder are described by their families as “non-ticklish.” Tickle response testing may become mandatory for military recruits as prerequisite for induction into “special service.” The reader is referred to further discussion in the author’s paper “The Pleasure of Pain.”
—Further study is highly recommended.
     

Time for Me
     
    Barry Hoffman
     
    There are certain templates in imaginative fiction which have become fixtures, even classics. The “Twilight Zone” story is one of them, and we will fall prey to its deceptively simple constructs when it’s as well written and poignant as Barry Hoffman’s examination of a life punctuated by “quiet desperation.”
     
    “O kay, what do I do today?” James said aloud to himself staring down at a sheet of paper containing just two words. Lists. James had always made lists. There had been times he’d had so much to do that without his lists he would have been lost. He’d drawn a line through each chore as it was completed. He seldom got through all items on the list. There were just so many hours in the day. Yet, he felt a sense of satisfaction at all he’d accomplished. Those tasks he hadn’t gotten around to would go on the next day’s list.
    James had been retired for nine months now and he’d recently noted his lists had dwindled to a handful of items. There were bills to pay, to be sure, but not many and only twice a month. There was a food list for shopping. A short list and only once a week. Doctor and dental appointments had filled his lists for several months, yet like a rebuilt car other than a six month checkup his body no longer cried for attention.
    “What do I do today?” James asked again, aloud, then sighed.
    Unlike so many other days, today he knew.
    A teacher for forty-five years James had grudgingly retired at sixty-five. He had long ago lost his zeal for the profession, but the daily routine had appealed to him. Kids had changed. Their parents had changed, and not for the better he had told colleagues who nodded in agreement. And during the last years on the job he’d felt like a worker on an assembly line. He was to follow lessons in teacher manuals almost verbatim. The flexibility and creativity that had brought him so much joy was removed. Teach the test were now his marching orders.
    Each school was evaluated by results on State-mandated standardized tests. Any deviation from his lesson plans was frowned upon. Spontaneity was discouraged. Teach the test .
    His malaise had been building over time. And he had to admit there had been warning signs. In the last two years sometimes he found himself dozing at his desk while his students recited something from memory. He most definitely dozed at weekly faculty meetings. A