They say that Beethoven’s father would drag him to the piano to play.
And he forced the boy to play the violin for his drunken friends.
As Beethoven grew, he learned more instruments.
Until there were no more to play.
He’d get out his tools and build bizarre contraptions and hand them to his son and yell PLAY THIS!
Or while walking down the street, he would grab random things… squirrels, apples, glass pitchers, and clumps of dirt.
PLAY THIS! PLAY THIS! PLAY THIS!
Until, one day, he dropped dead.
Beethoven beat his father’s corpse like a drum and laughed.
Author: R.
Running towards us
They say that one day, all the dogs who have ever loved us will come running towards us in Heaven.
I loved Sparky. Such a good dog.
But after he got bit by that raccoon, he turned bad with rabies.
I saw him there in the street, foaming at the mouth.
And I knew I had to put him down.
I got my shotgun down from the rack, called to Sparky, and he came running towards me.
I never cried so much.
Maybe I’ll see Sparky in Heaven.
I hope they cure the rabies.
Or I’ll put him down again.
Weekly Challenge #849: Pops
I have noticed a lot of visitors from India. Welcome to the podcast. I hope you’re enjoying the stories. Please say hello in the comments.
LISA
A Cuppa with Nanna
Nanna had said the teapot was haunted. We didn’t listen which is awful but she’d said a lot of weird stuff since pop had died.
“I won’t drink from it. He’s in there!”
“OK Nanna” I poured into a floral cup “You can read the leaves after.” I gulped the weak brew wanting it over as soon as possible. Nanna looked at the tea dregs through freshly polished glasses and dropped the cup.
“He’s left the pot.” I knew there was more to come so felt no relief. “He’s…”She faltered, raised a finger to point directly at me. “He’s in…”
RICHARD
Pop
I’ve always found it surprising that when they interview people in the vicinity, they always say ‘I heard a pop, and then people started running in panic’, or something along those lines.
It’s always a pop though. Never a bang, an explosion, or even a rat-a-tat-tat! Always, a pop.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard shots fired, of every sort, and if there’s one word that I’d never use to describe a gunshot, it’s ‘pop’.
Somehow it just sanitises the whole thing: Makes it family-friendly, almost attractive.
And just maybe, that’s precisely where we’re going wrong?
LIZZIE
The cork popped.
“It’s worth the wait,” he said.
She smiled. Yes, two centuries.
“It’ll taste sour at first.”
She smiled. She didn’t like sour.
“But the aftertaste will be sweet.”
She nodded. She didn’t like sweet either.
In fact, she didn’t like anything except the taste of hatred.
Two centuries. And here he was, oblivious that he had betrayed her many moons ago.
She had used her powers to look different, more seductive.
That green bottle was somewhat beneath her, but it would have to do.
Perhaps then she would be able to taste something again. “Pop! And cheers!”
ED
LUNCH WITH POP
“Hiya, Pop.”
“Hiya, yourself. What’re you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too, Pop. We’re going to lunch today.”
“Brunch? Little late for that.”
“That’s why we’re having lunch, Pop, a late lunch.”
“You ate lunch? Then I ask again, what’re you doing here?
“Oh, Pop, come on. Stop playing games. I know you can hear exactly what I’m saying.”
“What’s that?”
“Alright, Pop, that’s enough. Get your coat and your phone and let’s get going.”
“Where are we going?”
“Tuesdays, Pop. We’re going to Tuesdays.”
“Thought we were going today?”
“Pop!?”
“I’ll shut up and get in the car.”
SERENDIPIDY
Who doesn’t like bubble wrap?
That enormously satisfying pop as you squeeze, twist and scrunch those lovely polythene bubbles: The perfect, therapeutic, stress relief; guaranteed to ease the troubles of modern living.
Who would have thought a simple packaging product could be so beneficial to mental health?
Who doesn’t like bubble wrap?
Me, for a start!
Listening to your incessant popping, for hours on end is one of the most annoying, irritating, stress-inducing sounds that could possibly be imagined!
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Just one more, that’s all it’s going to take.
And the next pop, will be your head!
NORVAL JOE
Billbert shook his head. “I’m not sure I believe you about these Dark Knights. I mean. You said there were some in our homeroom class. They all looked like normal kids to me. How am I supposed to know who’s good and who’s bad?”
Sabrina huffed. “That’s the thing. You can’t tell good from bad.”
Billbert rolled his eyes. “So, I’m just supposed to wait for one of them to pop out from around a corner and say ‘Boo. I’m a Dark Knight’?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Sabrina said. “They’ll take control of your brain and you won’t even know it.”
PLANET Z
Pop had a way of dealing with strangers.
He’d start off all nice and smiles and welcomes.
Inviting them into the house, asking if they wanted something to drink.
And he’d listen to their sales pitch, whether it was newspapers or vacuums or Jesus they were selling.
Encyclopedias were a favorite of Pop.
We had a whole bookshelf full of them.
Just the A book, mind you. Rows and rows of the A book.
And bibles.
And newspapers and vacuum cleaners, stacked up high in the basement.
Like a maze, to the furnace, where we burned up those strangers’ bodies.
Tomorrow’s star
In Hollywood, today’s waiter can be tomorrow’s star.
The day after he won an Oscar, Bob went to his favorite restaurant.
Bob was served by Elie, who thirty years later won an Emmy.
Elie was served by Ricardo, who ten years later signed on for a top-rated sitcom that lasted eight years.
Ricardo was served by Beth, who twenty years later made it big on Broadway.
Beth was served by ZX-72, which was a robotic food service unit.
ZX-72 never made it big anywhere. Because it was a robotic food service unit, not an actor.
But it made good tips.
Intelligent life
Imperial Law is pretty clear about terraforming.
Don’t do it to inhabited worlds.
Of course, the definition of inhabited is a bit vague.
Intelligent life? Animal life? Any life at all, including viruses or bacteria?
The standards keep changing with every overcrowded and exhausted world looking for living space and resources.
Including the Galactic Empire World, which is constantly on the verge of collapse.
So, these days, the definition is simple:
Any world that can raise enough of a bribe to get itself off of the list of terraforming.
And get another less-rich world to take its place as victim.
Monoboeopoly
Nothing lasts forever.
Except for things that last forever.
You won’t last forever.
A person who plays the oboe doesn’t last forever.
Neither does the oboe they play last forever.
The chair an oboist sits in won’t last forever.
But the chair in a symphony will last forever.
And when you sponsor it, your name will last forever.
In a way, you’ll last forever.
But then, the symphony won’t last forever, will it?
Better sponsor every oboe chair in every symphony in the world.
Cover them all.
A monopoly on the oboes for all time.
A monopoboly? Monopoloboey?
Sounds cool.
In the cards
I’m waiting for the new video cards to become available.
Sure, they’re been released by the manufacturer, but everybody wants these cards.
So, anywhere they appear, they become unavailable quickly.
Bots and scalpers and resellers.
Buying all the cards up.
Some stores, they only let you buy them in person.
But they use bent and crooked methods.
Like handing out line vouchers to friends and family.
Until the factories ramp up production and the distributors meet demand, there’s no point, really.
Just wait them out… until the next generation is available.
And this shit happens all over again… and again.
Jack gets jacked
“Take care of my wife and kids.”
Jack pulled the sheet over his dead friend’s face.
And he did. He got back stateside and married the widow.
And he was a good father.
Raised the kids well.
The son, he became a real estate billionaire.
Got Jack and his mom a nice house.
Then, his mother died, left Jack alone.
But Jack found someone new. brought her down to the house.
The son was livid.
When Jack died, the son sold that house, and kicked out that second widow.
Imagine if someone had done that to his mom years ago?
Graduating
Tomorrow, we’re graduating.
So we took our beers out to the football field, laid down at the fifty yard line, and lit up our joints.
And we talked all night.
Who’s going where?
College, or the Army, or a job?
Bobby got drafted by the Dodgers, he’s going rookie ball.
His dad wants him to do college ball first, but Bobby thinks he’s that good.
Who needs another beer?
Who needs another joint?
The cops left us alone.
The campus security left us alone.
When the sun came up, we all went home.
And we never saw each other again.
Weekly Challenge #848 – CROSS COUNTRY
LISA
No one
His room didn’t smell good, a bit like the changing rooms after cross country. The only light was pushing its way in through a slit in the curtains.
“Who knows you’re here?”
It felt like a throw away question. Like he didn’t even care what my answer was.
That made it so much worse.
As soon as I answered his little smile made me wish I’d thought first, made me want to grab the word back, swap it for another one.
Change it for a comforting one like Mum or Dad.
A lie.
But sometimes they were OK. Weren’t they?
LIZZIE
Taking the cross country path was a last minute decision. And it looked like it was the right thing to do.
It was lovely out there. The trees, the birds, the stars. They even found a pathway where all the trees had exotic colorful lamps, guiding them through.
In their oblivious enchantment, they reached the end of the pathway.
“Great, now we have to turn back…”
They didn’t know it yet, but they didn’t have to, no.
The light mist lifted slowly. It looked so magical, so beautiful.
When they noticed the copious amounts of skulls, it was too late.
RICHARD
Bill
Bill was always a bit of an idiot.
Always with the hair-brained plans to follow the path less trodden.
“It’ll be fun! We’ll leave the trailers at the park entrance and hike cross-country. We’ll catch rabbits and eat wild berries for food, and camp under the stars.”
Like I said, a bit of an idiot.
After parking up, we complained it was too hot to hike, but he was insistent, so we left him to reconnoitre, while we threw some burgers on the barbecue and opened some cold beers.
That was three days ago. No sign of Bill.
NORVAL JOE
Billbert eyed each of the students in the classroom surreptitiously to see if he could determine which might be members of the Guild of the Dark Knights. They all looked like normal kids to him.
He was dubious about Sabrina’s claim and challenged her on it as they walked to their second period class. “Is this alleged guild active in Eureka because your witch’s club is here?”
Sabrina scowled at him. “No. There’s a cross country network from here to Salem. Everywhere we have an established coven.”
Billbert shrugged. “A Dark Knight’s Guild sounds cool. Maybe I should join them.”
SERENDIPIDY
This place irritates me. I call it Cross Country – but you probably know it as ‘The Bible Belt’. However you choose to refer to it, the people around these parts are clearly out of their minds.
I call it Cross Country, because the minute one of the natives comes my way, out they come with their silly crosses and crucifixes, waving them in my face, or better still, crossing their fingers in front of me, like some magical hex!
As if that’s going to work.
It’s like wagging your finger at a mugger!
Crosses don’t scare me – I’m a demon!
PLANET Z
Zane ran cross country in high school, and he was really good.
He received a stack of scholarship offers.
Looking through maps, he chose the college with the best weather.
A campus near the ocean, with great beaches and restaurants and clubs for partying.
When he wasn’t out running, he was walking the strand and tipping hot bartenders with his book money.
Four years later, he spent the last of his money to buy some papers and exams, and barely had the grades to graduate.
Flipping burgers and waiting tables.
Who the fuck needs a professional runner of 5K races?