Author: R.

Thumbs Up

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Alicia wasn’t just a thumb model, but she was the thumb model.
If you had a photo shoot that needed a close-up of the perfect thumb, you called Alicia.
Sure, it was her left thumb, but her left thumb reversed was better than any right thumb on the planet, too.
Ten years ago, it was insured for two million dollars, and on every billboard on every highway across America.
Then, she thumbed her nose at the whole shallow modeling industry.
Now, you’ll see it by the side of the road, hitching a ride just a little more down the way.

Lighter

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Howard spent a lot of money on his silver torch-style lighter, so he wasn’t about to give it up when he went through airport security.
“Can’t I just get it checked?” he asked the TSA agent. “I’m late for my damn flight.”
“It’s too late for that,” said the agent. “Please surrender the item and proceed through the detector.”
Howard argued with the agent for a minute, and it ended with “Well, if you’re so worried, how about the lighter I’ve got hidden up my ass?”
Howard took a later flight. He also asked for a blanket to sit on.

Blind

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Like all of the test-tube psychics, Maria was born blind – genetically engineered to prevent her from seeing the physical world around her.
Instead, she saw the potential of the world around her. Meadows of possibilities and forests of decision-making trees wobbled through a fog of free-will.
Most of her group were passive observers, but Maria was one of the special ones. She could bend and shape her surroundings.
This was handy in important negotiations, and more than once she had wrestled an apocalyptic conclusion into an elegant and beautiful agreement.
It also kept her from walking into closed doors.

Gus

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When I was little, I had an imaginary friend.
Gus wasn’t another kid or a cowboy or a dragon or an astronaut.
Gus was a fireman.
Over the years, I made real friends, so I didn’t need an imaginary one anymore.
Gus became sad and slowly disappeared.
Last night, I lost control of my car and rammed into a tree.
The last thing I remember was the door being ripped from my car and Gus reaching in to pull me out.
“Thank you, Gus,” I said.
When I came to in the hospital, Gus was gone.
So were my legs.

Goodnight, Bum

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After my daughter died and my wife left me, I missed a lot of things I had taken for granted.
The thing I missed most of all was reading bedtime stories.
I knew the stories by heart, we all do. But there’s something special about opening a book and reading aloud.
It’s not just the pictures. It’s something about that book. Holding it up while you’re sitting at the foot of the bed, nightlight’s on, covers pulled up.
Now, I go out into the city’s alleys and read bedtime stories to the homeless.
It’s not the same. Certainly smells worse.

Weekly Challenge #14 – Heat

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Welcome to the fourteenth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was heat.
Nine stories were submitted this week, two of them are first-timers. The word is spreading… spreading…
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorite:

Who wrote the best story this week?
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Laieanna
KPayne from YNE
Andrew of Dodgeblogium
Marcus from LITB
B
Kolek from The Kollektive
The Mystery Man From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme will be posted shortly.

Egg Timers

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Two egg-timers sat across the negotiating table from each other.
One was an antique of iron, clear crystal, and sand.
The other was made from plastic, filled with a fine powdered silica.
Both were cracked and pitted, weary of endless war. But neither was yet willing to yield to the other.
Another arbiter was led into the room, and he sat down at the table.
“I’m sure we can find something in common,” said the arbiter. “You’re an egg-timer, and you’re one too.”
Five hours later, the arbiter left for a cigarette and never came back.
Just like the others.

Blood Donor

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Like clockwork, Harold went to the blood bank every sixty days.
At first, he kept a calendar. Big red circles, dutifully crossed off each time.
He’d been doing this for twenty years when one day the receptionist held up her hand.
“There’s a note on your file,” said the receptionist. “One moment please.”
Harold wondered what it was about…
Was it some kind of disease they found?
What is a horrible, incurable disease he’d gotten somehow?
Was it… was it…
The receptionist put a cap on Harold’s head.
“Happy twentieth anniversary!” everybody shouted.
Harold thanked them when he came to.

Chicken’s Soup

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Wally’s pet chicken was sick. Wally hated to see his chicken sick, so he took him to the vet.
“Is my chicken gonna be okay?” asked Wally.
The vet said that the chicken would be fine. The little clucker just needed rest, that’s all.
Wally thought back and remembered what his grandmother used to say:
“Bed rest,” she’d say. “And chicken soup.”
Wally thought for a moment. If a person is sick and needs chicken soup, would a sick chicken need person soup?
He put his foot on the cutting board, reached for a knife.
What’s a toe between friends?

It’s all fun and games until someone loses an I

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Frantic, Marcia followed the paramedics rolling her daughter through the ER into the trauma room.
“I swear, I didn’t know!” shouted Marcia. “Oh, God, can you save her? Please?”
A nurse grabbed Marcia by the shoulder and tried to calm her down.
“How old is she?” asked the nurse.
“Seven,” said Marcia. “She’s turning eight next week. She turns eight next week!”
Marcia babbled and cried some more while the nurse looked at a box in Marcia’s hand.
“SCRABBLE: Ages 8 and up” it said.
The nurse shook her head. Third time this week.
Damn parents, always rushing their kids.