Author: R.

Ram Dass

The old master sat in his wheelchair, out on the deck, watching the sun set over the ocean.
Slowly thumbing through his bamboo prayer beads with his good hand, the other, limp by his side.
Incense and flowers, white robes and long shadows, we sat and watched him dying.
“We are all dying,” said the master. “You. Me. Everyone.”
We pondered his words in the context of a finite lifespan on a cosmic scale.
When we should have pondered them literally.
The deck collapsed into the ocean.
The one thing we never learned from the master was how to swim.

The Twelve

After the ruckus died down, Joseph and Nicodemus grabbed the body and stuffed it behind a rock.
Several Roman soldiers told the guys to beat it.
The apostles gathered by a tree to restrategize.
“He’s coming back, right?” said Bartholomew. “Right?”
“He better,” said John. “Otherwise, I’m stuck with his bills.”
“How about we call today Good Friday?” said Matthias. “He did for all our sins. That’s good, right?”
“Well, it was a good Friday for Barabbas,” mumbled Peter.
They had nothing to do until Sunday.
So, they had a picnic and threw a ball around.
Thomas played the bongos.

Weekly Challenge #741 – PICK TWO mass, trade, headache, pick me, It’s not you it’s me

Laundry cat

LIZZIE

The entrance to the ship was locked because the entrance ramp got stuck.
“We’re in the 25th century, the most modern, developed world anyone has ever experienced, and the ramp is stuck,” he mumbled.
He tried everything to fix it.
He was so focused, the speakers startled him when they roared “Time Travel Tomorrow.”
“Right, but the ramp is stuck… Stuck.”
“We’re looking for volunteers.”
“Stuck. But… OK, pick me!”
The command center received his telepathic message.
The next day, he was in the 21st century. He landed right in the middle of the famous 2020 pandemic. Everything was… stuck.

RICHARD

Headache

“Not tonight, I’ve got headache”, she said.

Another headache! Just like the last time, and the time before that, for as long as I cared to remember.

We’d had the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk, of course, several times; and to be fair, you’re absolutely right – it’s you! You and that guy you’ve been seeing behind my back, if we want to be strictly accurate.

Well, tonight was the last straw, I’ve finally had enough.

I reached under the pillow and fished out my revolver.

I’ll show you a real headache’, I thought, holding the muzzle to her temple.

SERENDIPIDY

You can’t say you weren’t warned!

They told you I was bad news, even I warned you that I came with emotional baggage – a mass of problems, hang ups and some things that you’d rather not know.

But, you wouldn’t listen; and here we are now at a point of no return. Well, you at least, won’t be returning.

It’s no good staring at me with those puppy dog eyes, and pleading for your miserable life. It won’t make any difference.

You could have chosen any other girl, a good, normal, sane girl… But no, you had to pick me!

NORVAL JOE

Mr. Wienerheimer pointed to the computer screen. “They’re incoming, right here. They should be here in less than an hour.”
Billbert’s mother shook her head. “I’d better go into the office. They’ll need my help. What a headache.”
Billbert’s dad laughed. “I’d trade places with you, Pooky. But you’re the one with the superpowers.”
Billbert squirmed on the couch. “But Mom. Why do they need you to come in? Your superpower is efficiency.”
His mother pulled on a jacket. “It’s an area affect power. Just like Linoliamanda flies with you, people around me become more efficient. Their powers become stronger.”

TOM

Pick Me. Pick Me. No No Me. Please ME ME ME. Hard choice. The circling vice behind my ears was a candidate. Sinus pain driving up my nose a nine penny nail was getting fair reflection. The optic nightmare was pretty much an 11 out of 10. The migraine auras while very four of July colorful was causing projectile tears. Hands down the steel bear-trap ripping through my back and shoulders was the premier deluxe of headaches. Today sadly was trifecta of pain. A win show place of torture. If I had a pencil I’d drive it through my skull.

PLANET Z

Sandy went to Sunday Mass over a YouTube live stream.
She used to watch it through TV, but YouTube made it feel more real.
Crackers and a bottle of wine on the desk.
She got out of her chair and knelt while the priest on the screen waved his hand and recited a blessing.
Then ,she put the cracker on her tongue, and washed it down with a sip of wine.
And then another. And another.
Sandy finished the bottle of wine and passed out on the floor.
Youtube played the next video: a series of cats doing silly things.

Disgraceland

Elvis Presley bought his Graceland.
It was the last house he ever needed.
And across the street, Vernon McTavish bought Disgraceland.
Vernon built a tower, taller than Graceland’s fences, to spy on Elvis.
He took photos and made films and reported Elvis’ movements.
Those of Elvis’ family, too.
And he’d sell them to the press.
When Elvis went overseas, he made a deal with Vernon.
Watch over his family for him.
So, Vernon did.
Up to the day that Elvis’ mother died.
Vernon had pictures of that.
When Elvis came back, he burned Vernon’s tower down.
With Vernon in it.

Farmer Joe

Nobody knows what Farmer Joe grows.
Some say it’s carrots. Others say it’s potatoes.
And for a while, I thought he grows corn, but what do I know?
He’s got a wall around his farm, with electrified barbed wire on top of it.
Satellite photography on Google Maps just shows a blur.
Trucks go in with fertilizer and machinery, and trucks come out loaded with… well… we don’t know.
He doesn’t even hire migrant workers to harvest whatever he grows in there.
Maybe he uses robots. Harvesting robots.
They don’t talk like people do.
“Rumors,” says Joe. “I grow rumors.”

The Snuggliest Cat

When I get home, I like to lay back on the sofa and let Tinny jump up and cuddle.
She is the snuggliest cat.
When I move around, she squeaks and gets annoyed.
Sometimes, she jumps off and goes to preen or loafing up.
Twitching the fur on her back in contempt.
She’ll return eventually, jumping back up and snuggling and rubbing her face in mine.
At some point, she’ll cling to my shoulder and go to sleep, or she’ll flop on her side and drool.
It’s hard to type with my arm pinned by a cat.
So I don’t.

The Bagels

Every morning, I like to have a toasted bagel with cream cheese, chives, and basil.
I buy a bag of bagels and a tub of cream cheese every Sunday, and bring it to work on Monday morning.
I used to buy basil and chives, but I bought a set of hydroponic units to grow those at work.
Not only is this convenient, but the basil and chives are fresh. Just pick the basil leaves, and clip the chives.
Now, I just need to remember to bring in the bagels and cream cheese.
Which… I now realize… I left at home.

Senator Alfred

Senator Alfred had a love-hate relationship with the media: the media loved to hate him.
The feeling was mutual. Senator Alfred hated the media just as much as they hated him.
They’d shout insipid and disgusting questions at him, and he’d hurl insults and snide comments back at them.
“The voters elected me!” he shouted at the cameras and microphones. “Nobody elected you parasitic vermin!”
The media kits at his press conferences contained rat-poison soaked nails and an explosive rigged to go off when the lid was opened.
After a few accidents, his press agent outsourced that job to Haliburton.

Uncle Edwin

We are predisposed to see faces in things.
We see a face on the moon, a face in the clouds, and faces in the water.
We also see faces in the furniture and machinery and other devices we make, but that’s not quite the same.
Some of those faces are deliberately there to spark some kind of visceral connection between us and that product.
So we connect to it and buy it, I suppose.
The faces you see tacked to the wall in the basement, however, are actual faces.
Your Uncle Edwin doesn’t much like trespassers.
Or nosy little brats.

Weekly Challenge #740 – What’s that on the radar?

Nest

LIZZIE

The dot on the screen appeared and disappeared. Damn radar. The next shift would take care of it.
Everyone had turned in for the night and the city lights had been dimmed down. His favorite time of day. He walked by himself. And that was the last walk he took.
They appeared in white robes and masks. They treated everyone like cattle.
They always said this was a planet… It wasn’t. It was a ship that had completed its mission. The people were nothing but lab rats. And life would never be the same again. The radar was shut off.

RICHARD

Blip

The call to battle stations rang out and all hell suddenly broke loose!

Half blind, I stumbled through the chaos, sirens blaring and flashing red lights confusing and disorientating me as I ran to my post. Typical, I thought to myself, it couldn’t have picked a worse moment to happen!

Squinting in the dim light of the bridge, I received my briefing: “Unknown vessel in the protected zone”.

He pointed to the screen: “You’re the expert, what’s that on the radar?”

I peered at the glass, leaning even closer, then smiled.

So that’s where my contact lens had got to!

TURA

What’s that on the radar?
———
“What’s that on the radar?” I said. “Twenty km, dead ahead.”

Everything that flies up here has an ID transponder, so we don’t have to guess about dots on the screen.

“ALN01,” said my copilot, grinning secretively. “What could that mean?” He tapped for the detailed report.

“Alien craft” it said. “Top secret. Keep under observation. Do not engage. Report for debriefing immediately on landing.”

“Er,” I said. “Is this for real?”

“You’re in on the secret now,” he said. “I guess I can tell you about them. We call them Identified Flying Objects.”

We had an interesting flight home.

SERENDIPIDY

ou know that film? The one where the aliens are advancing towards your location, and you’re tracking them as they come, until, finally, they’re upon you and there’s nowhere to run?

Well, my little game is a bit like that.

Now you’re firmly restrained, I want you to watch the screen in front of you.

What’s that on the radar? Those green dots moving steadily in this direction?

Those are rats. Hungry, starving rats and they’ve caught your scent… The scent of food!

They’ll be coming through the door very soon, but not before I’m long gone.

Here they come!

NORVAL JOE

Billbert descended the stairs, Linoliamanda’s hand in his, wondering what his parents would think. His father worked at a computer while his mother read a book.
Billbert cleared his throat. “Linoliamanda came over to tell me something. I’m going to walk her home.”
“Just walking, right?” his father asked.
Billbert was about to respond when the computer pinged.
His mother looked up. “What’s that on the radar, dear?”
“Billbert,” his father said. “You two better have a seat. This doesn’t look good.”
His mother hurried to his father’s desk. Bending over his shoulder she said, “That’s not good at all.”

JUSTIN

The radar showed something right where he expected it. Ever since the oceanic transposition event he’d done so much research. And it all led here, unsurprisingly, the Bermuda Triangle.

He plunged into the sea, and at the bottom there it was. He rested his hand on the massive entity.

“Why did you stop giving is the dream of Mr. Mushroom?” he thought.

The reply reverberated in his mind. “It was to prepare you, and when the time came, you succeeded.”

“Why is everything so bad then?”

“Find my sibling, the one making everyone dream the dark dream that nobody remembers.”

TOM

Mushroom

Long ago my grandson SNZ was called SNL. People performed on a thing called a stage. There was a character called Emily Litell who’s bit was doing malapropos. Funny stuff. And Music was played in huge room. Right in front of the band was an area set aside for fans to mush together. Imagine people actually mushing together. They call it a Mushroom. Oh those were days … Gramps it wasn’t a Mushroom, it was called a mush pit. wall of death pogo windmilling, two stepping, floorpunching, picking up pennies, axehandling and bucking wheelbarrowing. Demolition Dance. Never Mind.

Story with no name, it was good to get out of the rain, no one can remember your name.

Lt. Baxser what’s that on the radar? “Bird Sir.” “Birds?” “Sir, yes sir.” “Are those screen set to scale?” “Sir yes Sir.” “Could we please reduce the numbers Sirs” Sir yes Sir.” “Never mind.” “Sir ..” “If that screen is correct that there bird is the size of Nebraska.” “Sir that’s big bird?” “Big Bird.” “Yes sir, sir.” “Like Sesame Street.” “Kinda.” “Kinda what.” “Sir that is what the Russian call her, sir.” “Her?” “Sir long story, Sir.” General TickMaster reached across the control panel and press the orange button. “Not no more,” said he and left the mushroom.

PLANET Z

There’s something on the radar.
A bit of ketchup, maybe?
That fat pig Corporal Blake was always eating at his station, and today’s lunch was a burger and fries.
And ketchup.
Packets and packets of ketchup
Tearing them open, oozing all over.
The screen, the keyboard, the buttons.
He never cleaned up after himself, that fat pig.
The morning shift complained about Blake all the time.
But the base commander never did anything.
Wasn’t Blake the commander’s nephew or something?
So, they ran a drill.
Blake choked on his burger.
Carried off on a sretcher, fry still in his hand.