Category: My stories

This looks like an ordinary statue, but it’s actually the legendary Golem of Prague.
Write a name on a piece of paper, put it in the Golem’s mouth, and the Golem will hunt that person down and kill them.
It’s not all that discriminating.
If you write JOHN SMITH on a piece of paper and stick it in its mouth, it won’t just go after the John Smith you want dead.
It will kill as many of them as possible.
Oh, look. It’s moving.
I stuffed the phone book in its mouth earlier.
I hope you have an unlisted number.

I know that microwave meals aren’t healthy.
Too much salt, too many preservatives.
Which is why my freezer is full of bags of mixed frozen vegetables.
Before, I had to dump a bag into a big mug, put a small plate on the mug as a cover, and microwave it.
If the bag was a solid block of veggies, it took a while to break it up to get everything into the mug.
Now, the bags are microwaveable, so I can microwave them and then dump the ready contents into the mug.
Either way, they also made excellent ice packs.

Back in my day, I went to a one-room schoolhouse.
And Miss Cavanaugh taught everybody, from toddlers to teenagers.
All of the kids were brought to the VR lab and hooked into the colony’s computer.
Jacked into our lessons individually, with a personalized lesson plan and curriculum.
With our own Miss Cavanaugh.
Everyone came out book smart, but even with breaks and evenings and weekends, we came out socially awkward as all hell.
They changed up the simulations to include friends, rivals, cliques, and bullies.
It works so much better now. Miss Cavanaugh agrees.
And she never wants to retire.

The Holy Land Theme Park doesn’t have any rides.
“The Gospel is the greatest ride of all time,” said the park’s owners. “Come take a ride with Jesus.”
There were protests at the opening of the park, calling their hiring practices discriminatory against non-believers.
Other protests called the park a giant fraud when the owners claimed religious tax exemptions.
And then there were those who accused the owners of trying to commercialize their faith.
One guy in a robe and beard overturned the security tables.
He was dragged away, and rumored to have been crucified.
So, how’s your Goliath burger?

Once a year, we go to the temple of dreams to dream.
The priests welcome us in, past a crowd of stumbling people
Sitting out in the hot sun, sweating out our sins.
Writing our prayers on strips of paper.
Lighting the sacred lamps, filled with sacred oil, and burning our prayers.
The smoke, rising to the gods.
As the sun goes down, we pass out, and we dream.
The gods tell us things, things for us and us alone.
Waking up the next morning, thirsty and hungry.
The priests usher us out the gates and welcome more pilgrims in.

We should have never read “The Frog and The Princess” to Melanie.
Every night, she wants us to read her that story.
And now, her room has frog pillows, lilypad rugs on the blue carpet, and a frog night light.
She even made me put up frog wallpaper.
One night, Melanie snuck out to the swamp, looking for frogs.
I don’t know if she was trying to kiss them or put them in a bowl to keep as pets.
The sheriff found her, and it took her a while to shake off that pneumonia.
And longer for her frog obsession.

Han Solo became a deadbeat dad.
Luke Skywalker, a failed teacher and pathetic hermit.
Willow… whatever that midget’s name was, a squib of a sorcerer.
While the hero, Mad Mordigan, dies offscreen of toxic masculinity.
The last of the heroes, Indiana Jones, a sad, worn out old man, dragged across the world by his goddaughter, until shot in the chest and begging to be left to die.
Queen Kathleen looks over the graveyard of Lucasfilm heroes and grins.
Her plan complete.
Bob Iger taps her on the shoulder.
Shows Kathleen the balance sheet, and says: “Get the fuck out, asshole.”

It didn’t matter how long it took John to get back from the liquor store.
His parents would beat him with a belt for being so slow.
So, he’d sit on the curb and watch the stars.
And when he saw a shooting star, he’d made a wish.
One day, that wish came true.
The house was gone. Just a flaming crater.
Years later, he made a ring from the meteorite.
Proposed to his girlfriend with it.
She handed it back.
Nobody’s seen John since them.
Not at school, not at church, not at graduation.
Maybe he made another wish?

I thought back to the days when I watched Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, all the wonder and hope and fear and challenge.
So much potential our species has… had…
Hearing the sirens blare, the warnings on the television.
It started with one bomb… then another… and then… too many to count.
Cities, countries vanishing in flashes of light and heat and fire and the most powerful winds to sweep across the world.
So few survived… so few wanted to survive.
All the hopes and dreams for the future, gone in storms of hate and greed and anger.
And the endless night.

The circus train comes through Rockport twice a season, but when it stops at the station, it just takes on coal and water.
Kids are kept in school that day, the sheriff’s orders.
Still, some manage to sneak out, and they see roughnecks wave through the windows, lions pace in their cages, and elephants trunks reaching through the bars.
The sheriff fires his shotgun in the sky, and the kids scatter.
A letter falls from a window, DEAR FATHER, I MISS YOU.
The sheriff doesn’t look, just crumbles it up.
The whistle blows, and the train starts back up again.