Scientist Stories

And he was in the principal’s office. Strange offices principals had there – strikingly orange furniture with mostly sky blue accents. Even the carpet. As if the interior designer fashioned Gulf Livery into an architectural style, turned up the Mid Century to eleven. “How did you become a pri-” Davy trailed off, in his abbreviated language. Really, the worst part about his affliction was that the guillotine always cut off...

He was a tinkerer ever since he could remember; plastic bricks, tiny fake logs, that’s how it all began. Since then, he had graduated to bigger and better things–they weren’t actually very big things in any literal sense of the word, but definitely much better, definitely more serious, definitely more important. It sparked and sizzled out between the cold, steel tongs holding it in place. This one failed, again. If it wer...