Author: R.

What’s the point?

My grandmother didn’t have a funeral.
She’d outlived her two husbands, and everyone from her generation of the family.
“Why doesn’t anyone visit?” she’d asked.
“You’re the last one left,” said my mother.
My parents took over caring for her after my mom’s sister had pretty much robbed my grandmother blind, selling off everything, giving her kids all kinds of gifts.
Let’s not talk about my brother. He’s dead to me, okay?
So that just left me.
“What’s the point?” said my mother.
So, I hung up the phone, sat in the parking lot of the grocery store, and wept.

Weekly Challenge #674 – Why can’t you be more like your sister?

Companion

LIZZIE

Kneel and don’t move.
Be obedient and don’t move.
Smile and don’t move.
Never answer back and never look up.
Look down and never up.
Do this. Do that. And never look up.
I’m unique. I’m beautiful.
Why can’t you be more like your sister? Why?
Look at her. So unique and beautiful. She looks up and never down.
She’s independent and smart. She is everything everyone would like to be.
But not you. No, not you. You can’t. You won’t.
Kneel and don’t move.
You’ll never be your sister. Never.
I’m unique and so beautiful, just like my sister.

RICHARD

Sibling Rivalry

I’m sure some siblings get on perfectly well, but I grew up hating my sister.
To be fair, it wasn’t her fault – she happened to be good at everything she did, and my parents’ made it worse.
They’d shake their heads at my school reports, and complain, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
It was like that throughout my formative years, until I left home and put my family behind me.
Years later, I paid them a visit… And they were horrified!
The sex change had made me a hell of a lot more like my sister!

Marital woes

We were going through a tough patch in our marriage, well to be honest, it had been like that for years.
However, it was at the height of one of our blazing rows that I really managed to put my foot in it.
In the heat of the moment, I suddenly blurted out: “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“Oh, and what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, she’s stylish, smart and glamourous, she doesn’t spend money like it’s water, and she’s so much better in bed than you!”
Oops.
Ever said something that you’ve really regretted?

TOM

We Just Did Talk About That Stuff

My father never actually said why can’t you be more like your sister, it was more, just let her do what is needed. At the time I had no idea this reference was a coded message about my grandma’s “condition”. When you’re eight what do you know about alcoholism. If nothing else the 50s and 60s where about burying secretes. If I‘d known this possibility I would have been such a dick to my sister. Surprising how sad my grandma was both myself and sister are pretty happy people. Maybe I’m more like my sister then I ever considered possible.

JON

She looked at him in disgust.

“Which sister would you like me to emulate? That weak, whimpering Cordelia, or Regan? I can’t imagine you are excited by Cordelia, with her oh-so-honest manner and her taste for that fancy French king. –So it must be Regan that you fancy. Tell me, Albany, were you excited by the tale of how she gouged out Gloucester’s eyes with her very own fingers, then watched her servant murder her husband, then kill her servant as well?’

“As a matter of fact, yes, I was, very.”

SERENDIPIDY

My parents really had it in for my sister. She was always in trouble, breaking things and causing upset and problems.
It came to a head when the school called after some of the kids complained she’d been bullying them. Nasty stuff, with razor blades and knives.
That evening, they had a serious talk. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” they asked.
I peered through the door, smiling as she wept.
The great thing about being a twin is that you can get away with murder, without being blamed.
And one day, I sincerely hope that I will!

TURA

Our mother had our twin lives all arranged. One of us would be a dancer, one an artist. God knows where she got the idea, none of her family were at all cultured.
We freaked her out once, by arranging that when she came into our studio, we would be wearing identical tutus, while painting identical pictures, synchronizing our movements brushstroke by brushstroke. After that she was never sure of telling us apart.
Then we tried taking turns to be mean to her. The jackpot was when we got her to say, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

NORVAL JOE

Billbert realized calling Linoliumanda’s report silly was a bad idea, the second the word slipped from his mouth. Scrambling for an appropriate appology, he was interrupted, and possibly saved by an attractive goth girl who plopped down next to him.
Without preamble she asked, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
Linoliumanda only blinked her eyes rapidly when Billbert said, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
The new girl slugged him gently in the arm and laughed. “I wasn’t talking to her silly. I was talking to you.”
Then, it was Billbert’s turn to blink like an idiot.

LAIEANNA

“Susan was promoted to management today, and her boyfriend, Edward,
proposed,” Steven’s mom updated him over the phone. “And you?
Dating? How is the job?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Steven admitted.

“Steven,” his mother sighed with disappointment. “Why can’t you be
more like your sister? Follow her example.”

“Sure, Mom.”

He understood all the reasons why his mother saw Susan as a good role
model, but staring at himself in the mirror and envying the curves and
delicate features his sister possessed, Steven wished he was more like
her for other reasons. He just wanted to feel right in his own skin.

PLANET Z

“Why can’t you be more like your sister?” my parents say.
We’re twins. How can I be more like her?
Okay, she gets good grades. She’s nice and has lots of friends.
Head of the cheerleading squad.
I kept waiting for her to snap.
But she didn’t.
So, I did.
I killed her.
But not before letting my hair grow back out. Cleaning myself up.
Learning how to be her.
Then, when she said how proud she was of me, I killed her.
Or did she kill me?
After all, I’m pretending to be her, right?
Is it real?

Sneak

Billy Smith was a great quarterback.
He could throw, he could run.
And he was the best quarterback ever at the quarterback sneak.
If all he needed was a yard, then he’d get it.
TOUCHDOWN!
Not only would he get the yard, but he’d steal the defensive line’s wallets.
“Here you go,” he says, tossing them back.
Lose your car keys? Billy’s got em.
He was so sneaky, he’d fuck one or two of their girlfriends without them noticing.
The problem was, he was the holder for the extra point kick.
And that’s when the defense would kick his ass.

The Chair Helps

I used to type a hundred words a minute.
Now, I stare at the alphabet on a screen and blink to form words.
It takes patience to write this way. And I have to slow my thoughts, because I cannot write as quickly as they form in my mind.
I find that I produce better writing now than I did when I wrote with a typewriter, or pen and paper.
Did I have a car wreck? A disease?
No, I just needed to slow down.
I’m perfectly fine.
But the twitching geek who I threw out of this chair isn’t.

Face for radio

Ted has a face for radio. His face is shaped like a sound booth, and radio talent step into his face and speak into his nose.
He also has a penis for radio. It’s a thousand feet long, and when he lays on his back, it’s an antenna mast to which he can mount a transmitter.
In fact, pretty much every part of Ted’s body is for radio. His eyes, his ass, his feet… they’re all for radio.
One day, the amplifier in his spleen burned out, and he needed surgery.
The surgeons didn’t ground themselves, and everyone was electrocuted.

Doctor Odd’s Castle

Doctor Odd used to own a castle in Eastern Europe, but he got tired of angry mobs of peasants with pitchforks and torches.
At first, he hacked Google Maps to lead the peasants over a cliff, but that only worked once. Eventually, the peasants followed road signs.
Doctor Odd removed the road signs, but that made it difficult for the Post Office to deliver his mail.
Sure, most of it was bills and junk mail, but he didn’t want to have to get a Post Office box and risk going into town.
Where the peasants waited. With pitchforks and torches.

Bidding War

His name is Fritz Fitzimmons.
You can call him Fritz, or you can call him Fitz.
Every Tuesday, he’s down at the Auctioneer Union Hall, playing Bridge with his buddies.
He’s not very good at it, but neither are they.
They used to shoot pool, but arthritis made it hard.
They can barely shuffle, deal, and hold the cards now.
But the bidding’s pretty fierce.
Rattling off their hearts and spades and diamonds.
And their no trumps.
When the bidding’s over, the dealer shouts SOLD! and the winner takes the cards.
As I said, they’re not very good at Bridge.

Vanish

All across the world, bright lights have appeared in the sky, and people have risen into the lights and vanished.
Nobody has seen the source of the light, and nothing appears on radar or cameras or other means of detection.
Some say it’s UFOs. Others say it’s God sucking the people into Heaven.
There’s no pattern to the disappearances at all. Analysis of the victims reveals no rhyme or reason to the incidents.
There aren’t many of them though. Ten or fifteen a day.
So many more people die of other things every day, but still, the fear spreads quickly.

Weekly Challenge #673 – KILL

Lifeguard

LIZZIE

The innkeeper tossed some logs in the fireplace. The room was warm enough but being slightly warmer always made people drink more. More drinking meant more money. And he needed a lot of money. He was desperate to rescue his daughter. He considered telling everyone. But he didn’t. If he told them, he’d go to Hell. He had crossed the line before when he and the blacksmith’s wife… Well…
What the innkeeper didn’t suspect was that the blacksmith knew how to drive one of those things that had landed in his back yard. And his daughter… She was already dead.

RICHARD

Killing time

I hate airports.

Well, not airports per se…

It’s the interminable waiting I can’t stand. I just don’t see why all those hours of hanging around doing nothing are necessary. And what are you supposed to do to kill the time?

Personally, I hit the bar, and after three hours of steady drinking, I can barely walk, let alone find my way to the right departure gate.

Of course, they never let me on the plane in that state; so it’s back to the departure lounge to kill more time while I sober up.

Next time, I’ll take the train.

TOM

Oh Ya Same to You

When I was a child I was fond of says let kill this or kill that. Of course I had never actually killed anything. I guess it was just talk to make me feel serious. The word entered my mental structures very early, as in THO SHALL NOT without must framework. Further it was pretty much ubiquitous in the late 1950’s early 1960’s. I sort of got the boarder meaning as unending image flood the air waves during the Vietnam War. Kill are a very raw and ignoble action. Now I only use the term to refer to deleting a computer file.

SERENDIPIDY

The factory floor was running smoothly, when suddenly a blood curdling scream rang out.

Eric had fallen into the processor.

I hit the kill switch and the machines fell silent, but it was too late. Even if we could have got him out, there wasn’t much of him left to bury.

There was also the question of what to do about the batch he’d tainted. We used it anyway.

People think that it’s the blend of secret herbs and spices that makes our chicken nuggets so good…

But actually, it’s down to the occasional employee we throw into the mix!

TURA

Kill

————

I had thought this neighbourhood secure, but suddenly, something shuffled out of the trees and ran at me. A zombie! I fled for the house and slammed the door, but it was already half way inside. Its arm fell off, but that wouldn’t stop it. I leapt for my pump-action shotgun.

“Muahahuhhh!” it wheezed through its rotting jaws. “You cannot kill what does not live!”

“This for your fallacious zombie philosophy!” I replied, blasting it into fragments. After checking that it wasn’t regenerating, I got a shovel to clean up the mess. Whatever it was before, it was dead now.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert noticed Linoliumanda wasn’t eating her lunch, so he asked, “So, Mr. Ziegler said your report was too wordy. Did he give you a grade?”

She blinked back unshed tears. “He gave me an A minus.”

“An A minus?” Billbert almost shouted. “I’d kill for a B minus. A minus is great”

Tears finally broke free. “You don’t understand. Harry Potter is the perfect story. It’s everything to me. It’s my life. I don’t know how I can go on if I don’t get a perfect grade on my report.”

“Honestly, Linoliumanda. Don’t kill yourself over a silly book report.”

LAIEANNA

As the machine mapped out and adapted to her brain patterns, Lady
Francis Garbone, gossip queen, slowly began to reveal information she
had accumulated over the years from her position in high society and
politics. Each word was recorded for later use, and even when her
speech grew quicker and nonsensical, we let her carry on. The exercise
was more than a reveal of hidden rumors. It was a punishment for
secrets already spilled – our secrets, a crime she had to pay for and
the execution was of her own doing as we allowed her to talk herself
to death.

PLANET Z

If looks could kill…
That’s what they said about Medusa, you know.
She could turn men to stone with just a single look.
They also said that the snakes on her head were poisonous.
But pretty much everyone was turned to stone before they were bitten by the snakes.
Tiresias was an ancient Greek prophet.
And he was blind.
“Do you hear hissing? said Tiresias to his boy companion.
But the boy didn’t speak.
He’d already been turned to stone by Medusa.
Tiresias felt around until his hands landed on the ghastly woman’s rack.
“Nice,” he said. “Fancy a kiss?”

Gift card

Never stare a gift horse in the mouth?
Who gives a horse as a gift?
How the hell do you wrap it?
And what if they don’t like horses?
Can they exchange it for a sweater or a waffle iron?
I never got any horses as gifts.
I got my horses with hard work.
It took a lot of effort to steal them.
Horse thieving isn’t easy, you know.
Maybe I have a few leftovers I could give as gifts.
If I give you a horse, don’t just regift the thing, okay?
And don’t look it in the mouth.