They’re always green with a white stripe. Today, they are white with a green stripe. I reach into my memory and try to recall, just to make sure that I’m not mistaken. But I cannot confirm it. Did scientists change the design of the pills? Was I remembering it wrong? Was I about to take the wrong medication? I shrug my shoulders and take two. I guess I have to trust the professionals. I feel nothing, not that I should so quickly anyway. The pills never fix my anxiety. They’re supposed to slightly lower my inhibitions; just enough to give me confidence to get through the day. Without them, I would not be able to do my job. My clients expect quite a bit out of me, and I have always delivered. I’ve really only had trouble concentrating for the last few months. My memory hasn’t been great either. I think one of my assignments slipped through my fingers the other day, but I can’t remember. I breathe deeply and place my hands on the corners of the vanity as memories once lost slowly return. That’s why I recieved company this morning, waiting for me in the living room. The longer I stand here, the more I feel different. They were definitely the wrong pills. I feel the same as I do with the regular ones, but far more intensely. Second by second, the inescapable urge to tell the truth swells over me. I try to suppress it. I can’t lose my job. But it overcomes me. Consequences begin to seem like nothing. Yes. Wrong pills. In fact, I think the pharmacist did it on purpose. What did she know about him? In a bit of a daze, I walk out of the bathroom and approach the visitors. One of the police officers is holding up a photograph. “Yes, I know him. I tried to kill him, but he got away. I’m still under contract, so I need to find him. Why do you ask?”
- Current Schedule
- Sundays (macrofiction)
- The Advancement of Leona Matic
A woman who jumps forward one year at the end of every single day fights to help people, and protect her friends, despite missing out on so much. 2017 | 2016 | 2015
- Weekdays (microfiction)
- Dreams
I've been keeping a dream journal on a special Twitter account since I was 23 years old. You can read these raw forms, if you'd like: @IHadaDreamWhere. I'm going to be adapting 99 of them as microstories.
- Saturdays (mezzofiction)
- Missy’s Mission
With the help of a friend, a young woman searches a rogue planet for the rumored means of getting rid of her special time powers, since having them puts her in the crosshairs of a psychotic time traveling killer.
- About Me
My name is Nick Fisherman III. It's not my real name, but that's not because I'm trying to hide from my former agency, or something. I named myself after someone I've known for most of my life, and he chose it in honor of his late best friend. I took up writing when I found myself failing 8th grade science, and realized I might never reach my dream of becoming a biochemist, a meteorologist, and a quantum physicist. I started developing my canon after a scouting trip to an island inspired what I thought would be my first novel. I founded this website upon the advice of many people, who told me I needed to get my work out there, and not wait for an agent to accept my manuscript. You can expect one new story every day. Weekdays are for microstories, which are one or two paragraphs long. They're usually only thematically linked, so you won't have to read one to understand another, but they do sometimes tell a combined story. Sundays are for my continuous longer story, The Advancement of Leona Matic, which I started in the beginning, and won't end until 2066. Saturdays are for long series, most of which take place in the same universe as Leona, and add to the larger mythology.
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