Category: My stories

A forest in winter.
An early frost.
A fresh blanket of snow.
A gentle breeze.
An iron chain, two iron chains.
A leg, a foot, an arm.
A beautiful girl, in rags.
A baby in her arms.
A tracking dog
A sheriff.
A radio in his hand.
A pickup truck on an icy road.
A small Kentucky farm.
An old red barn.
An iron cage.
A bucket. A plate.
A bent spoon.
An open lock
A clenched fist.
An angry farmer.
An altar.
A blood sacrifice for Spring.
A search.
Another girl.
A dark prayer.
An angry god listens.

Stacy’s cat vanished the other day.
The neighbor kid Billy brought over some teriyaki jerky as a condolence gift.
It was delicious.
“I have to confess,” said Billy. “I made it out of your cat.”
Stacy ate the whole bag anyway. “Do you have any more?” she asked.
They set out traps and caught a few strays.
LOST CAT posters appeared on every lamp post.
Stacy volunteered at the local shelter.
She smuggled out cats in her backpack.
The shelter owner didn’t care.
“It’s either that or drown them in the lake,” he said.
He suggested barbecue flavor. And sweet-and-sour.

In the Northern Hemisphere, most birds fly South for the Winter.
Just as in the Southern Hemisphere, most birds fly North for their Winter.
Except for birds that can’t fly, like Kiwi or Ostriches or Penguins, of course.
I’m not sure what they do.
Do they dig burrows and hide in them?
Do they check into motels?
Or do they hop on trains?
Because I’m sure that they aren’t allowed on buses or planes.
Maybe cargo ships. There’s a lot of cargo ships out there.
But they tend to go from China to America.
And oil tankers just carry oil.

Most people use trackpads or wireless laser-mice these days, but I insist on using an old-fashioned mouse with a ball in it.
Of course, the ball accumulates grime, and I have to clean it out.
Not just so that I can control the mouse, but also prevent the grime from coalescing and achieving intelligence.
The pulsating glob managed to point and click its way into my word processor, and it worked up some kind of manifesto.
I pulled out the ball and scraped out the grime.
No need for a wireless laser-mouse yet. This time, I’ll use some antibacterial wipes.

Back in high school, I tried out for the school’s marching band.
I wasn’t good at any traditional marching band instrument, such as a trumpet or tuba or slide trombone. I couldn’t even learn how to beat a drum.
“This is going to be impossible,” said the band director. “You’ll need an impossible instrument.”
He pulled open a drawer and lifted a strange twisted triangle that hurt my eyes to look at it.
“Here’s the Penrose,” he said, handing to to me. “Go practice on the stairwell.”
I tapped the triangle and climbed up the stairs… and up… and up…

A werewolf bit George.
Now, George is a werewolf.
He does his best to maintain his condition.
During the full moon, he locks himself in his basement with raw meat.
It’s very expensive, but his insurance company covers the cost.
They didn’t at first.
Luckily, he lives near an executive with the insurance company.
George showed up at the executive’s door with a stack of LOST DOG and LOST CAT posters.
“I’m still hungry,” said George. “You love your wife and kids, don’t you?”
The meat deliveries were approved with one condition.
“Can you please eat my mother-in-law?” he asked.

It’s not easy to write about something different and new every day for over ten years.
That’s why I made a set of writing dice.
Each face has a different word on it.
I shake the dice in a cup and pour them out.
Then, I look at the words, and I let my imagination run free.
Sometimes, the ideas come easily, and other times all I can think about is “dice.”
So, I wander to a nearby craps game, and I lose a hundred bucks.
I’d better write and sell a story quick before the month’s rent is due.

Sylvia cheats on her taxes.
She’s been spending time with Mary’s taxes.
She finds them exciting and romantic.
After all, Mary’s got all those deductions and investments, while Sylvia’s on a simple fixed income.
“It’s complicated!” indeed!
After the fling with Mary’s taxes, Sylvia found a couple on Craigslist that were filing jointly, and they had a fivesome.
They had spreadsheets everywhere!
Sylvia went to night school, got a degree, and became a CPA.
She was doing everybody’s taxes! What a slut!
The fun didn’t last. She got sloppy, her clients were audited.
Now, everybody’s cybering safely with Turbotax.

Back in grade school, there was a contest to see which class could collect the most Campbell’s soup can labels.
My brother took the labels from all of the cans we had.
Mom got mad because she didn’t know what was in each can.
My brother blamed me, and despite my denials, I got spanked.
In the meantime, I ripped off a few dozen labels every time we went to the grocery store.
On the last day of the contest, I turned in my stack.
My class won.
“See, he lied!” said my brother.
And I got spanked again.
Asshole.

The Vorcent arrived in our solar system centuries ago.
They’ve been quietly mining the asteroid belt for construction material and fuel.
Only now, we’ve been able to detect them.
And, I suppose, launch rockets that might pose a threat to them.
So, they sent a delegation, introduced themselves, and offered to help us in exchange for mining rights.
We signed on the dotted line.
Soon after, a Vorcent Planetbuster shattered the moon, and harvester units collected up the useful minerals.
“Should have read the fine print,” said the Chief Negotiator, as another Planetbuster turned towards Earth. “Nothing personal, mind you.”