We went to the town square for the public hangings.
By the time we got there, the crowd was shouting DEATH DEATH DEATH!
Three hooded and jumpsuited figures were on the platform, ropes around their necks and tied to a bar.
Nobody knew who they were.
Or what they had done.
A solder walked up a set of stairs to the platform, and shoved each figure forward, and they fell, and the ropes went taut.
One of them kicked for a minute, then went still.
Shit ran down from each of their pant cuffs to the ground.
The crowd cheered.
Author: R.
I won’t see you in Hell
Victor St. Vincent, my nemesis.
Before I stomped on his hands and let him fall from the bridge to his death, he said:
“I’ll see you in Hell!”
But now that I’m in Hell, I haven’t seen Victor.
I’ve seen Stalin and Hitler.
I’ve also seen Gandhi.
It’s the shit they don’t tell you in school, the stuff with his nieces, that did him in.
And me, I did worse things. So much worse.
Victor, well, he was a pretty decent guy.
Which is why he kept trying to stop me.
Hey, did he end up in the other place?
Possums
The thing I like most about working from home is being able to look out the window and watch the possums wander around.
Sure, my work office had a nice wide window, but the odds of possums wandering around outside 8 floors up are rather slim.
And any circumstances that would lead to possums outside that work window aren’t good, ranging from hallucinations to some sort of “possum hurling” criminal on the loose.
Or someone dropping possums from the roof.
I think of these things when I’m at home.
But if I were still commuting, I’d think even worse things.
On a schedule
My mom had Alzheimer’s and dementia.
Or maybe only one of them.
But I think both, because the Alzheimer’s made her forget about the dementia and the dementia made her forget about the Alzheimers.
Both made her forget to take pills.
I’m got her one of those newfangled robots to dispense pills on a schedule.
She put a cozy over it like a tea kettle or a toaster.
Plus she would never remember to replenish the pills.
And the nurses were so used to handing out pills, they forgot too.
Now it dispenses M&Ms on a schedule.
She likes those.
Weekly Challenge #956 – Rose
The next topic is AUG 25 PICK TWO Role model, Beep, Curious, No annual contract, Conference, Ballet
Yeah, I screwed up the posting and didn’t notice until Saturday. I’m on fumes at this point.
RICHARD
– I love you –
She was found with a single red rose between her fingers.
The latest in a killing spree that had claimed nine victims in just two days, every one of them clutching a perfect, long-stemmed red rose. And we weren’t even close to identifying a suspect.
A mystery that I was desperate to solve, although perhaps not as desperate as some of my colleagues.
You see, I was fervently hoping for another three victims, and – crucially – I wanted them to be found before tomorrow.
In time for my wedding anniversary… so I could present twelve red roses to my wife.
TOM
Aunt Rose
My Great Aunt Rose was the oldest person I’d ever known. She came from that generation where not all women learned to drive. She lived on the Northside of Chicago. You could go your whole life never going farther than five miles from your home. On the occasion of family events, she rode with my Uncle Wilbur in a depression era vehicle. A warm, but guarded women whom had little time for children. I can’t remember a single conversation will her. The best memories I have of her was 20 feet away. I don’t think she approved of my either father.
SERENDIPIDY
I’ve striven for years to grow the perfect black rose.
A bloom to reflect the darkness in my soul.
However, no matter how hard I try, I can never quite get it right.
Perhaps it’s the soil, or it could be the weather, or maybe I’m simply not such a great gardener; but, whatever I try, the flowers never come out totally jet black.
And, I’m afraid, that’s simply not good enough for me.
But now, I’ve finally figured out the secret.
Perfect, black roses, every single time.
It’s amazing what a difference a spray can of paint can make!
NORVAL JOE
Billbert folded his arms. “Yes, it would be different if you were a boy. No one at school would make up stories about what happened while you were here.”
Sabrina stretched her injured leg toward him. The edge of her cutoff sweats rose up, showing the extent of her injuries. “Are you afraid others will make fun of you because you saw my legs?”
Billbert frowned. “They’ll say I saw more than that.”
“Remember. I’ve lived here a long time. They’ve said worse things about me before.” She crossed the bedroom to a rose colored bed and sat. “Let them talk.”
PLANET Z
Jesus woke up in darkness, covered with rocks.
He coughed dirt, clutched his aching side.
The last he remembered was the spear and shouting and…
He was alive. Alive!
He couldn’t move much, but the rocks at his feet felt loose, and he kicked until they rolled free.
Crawling slowly out of the hole… the sun burning his eyes.
He slipped down the rocks a bit, he was on a steep hill.
They’d shoved him in between some rocks and covered him up.
And now… what?
He got to his feet and looked around… he was thirsty and needed water.
The commandment
The Second Commandment says not to make graven images or likenesses of things in heaven above, earth beneath, or in the water.
But what exactly is heaven above? Does that mean Heaven, or does that mean the air?
Scholars and rabbis pondered this for years.
“It probably means the air,” the Head Rabbi concluded. “But, Yahweh’s a smart cookie, and would say air if He meant it.”
The Head Rabbi also happened to like clouds and birds. So, paintings of clouds and birds were fine.
And naked women on trampolines. He liked those a lot, too.
“Bounce higher,” he said.
The dumb dream
The lot across the street used to be a credit union.
After that, they made it an ATM outlet.
And now, it’s an empty lot.
Parking for the truck that hauls in wrecked beemers and benzes.
Or a place for cops to write tickets.
I had a dream of buying it, razing it, and making it a park.
But that’s a dumb dream.
Because people would just bring their dogs to shit in it.
When they’re not letting them shit on the apartment complex sidewalks.
Some carry plastic bags and pick up after.
Some are respectful.
But too damn few.
The new insurance
The first thing I do when I plan to leave one job for another is to refill all of my prescriptions.
Who knows how long it will take for the new company to start insurance for me.
Or, if I’m doing contract work, then I’ll end up having to pay for my own insurance.
Might as well stick the old job with the cost of the pills before it goes on my tab.
And I have to fight with the new insurance plan to reimburse me for the expense.
Which makes worse the high blood pressure these prescriptions are for.
The porthole
Cobblestones and gaslamps, old brick buildings back when they were new.
Fog-filled alleyways, whores in corsets and skirts,
The time machine is like a glass-bottomed boat, a window into the past.
A keyhole into history.
The danger is, if there’s too many watchers poking holes in the fabric of time-space… the birth of Jesus, D Day, Jack the Ripper… the fabric will rip apart.
There’s no way to sew the fabric back together, so we turned our time machines to one moment:
The invention of the time machine.
History repaired itself quickly, but the future broke apart like shattered glass.
Two weeks notice
Oh no. You forgot to announce you’re back.
You forgot to email a followup for a case.
Or sign and turn in every report for the week.
Does it matter? You’ve turned in your notice.
In two weeks, you’re out of here.
And with every slight transgression of procedure, policy, and rules, you should laugh.
What are they going to do… fire you?
This should be going through your head every time.
With a cackle.
A loud, throaty cackle that echoes off of the walls and rattles windows.
One that invites the gods to bring clouds, thunder, rain, and lightning.