Old Bert looks out the window.
Green. Brown.
The first of his ninety Winters without snow.
He shakes his head. “This won’t do.”
His hand trembles as he reaches for the phone.
There are no buttons. No dial.
He picks it up, brings it up to his ear, and gently whispers “Snow.”
Looking out the window, he watches snowflakes appear, slowly at first, then more… and more…
He smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers, putting the receiver down.
His heart will give out tomorrow morning. They’ll find him in his chair, looking out the window.
Watching the snow fall. And smiling.
Category: My stories
Sting
Unlike you,
Bees have the courtesy to
Disembowel themselves
and die
when they sting someone.
The stinger rips out their guts
To pump in venom.
And unlike you,
Bees
Are peaceful,
And only sting when threatened.
You’re more like…
A wasp?
A hornet?
No.
They are hunters.
Predators.
Feeding their young.
Not their sad, pathetic ego.
You’re soulless
Mindless,
Like a…
Jellyfish.
A thousand jellyfish.
A gelatinous,
Rubbery
Cloud
Of slime and pain.
Swimming away
As fast as I can
Stung!
On my ankle!
On my arm!
On my neck!
Swimming harder
Crawling up the sand.
Screaming curses.
Crawling…
Free!
Worn Out
Some people don’t like it when you say their name.
So, they say: “Yeah, that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
How do you wear out a name by saying it?
I went up to Steve and said “Steve” a hundred times, and it came out the same every time, although I did need to sip my glass of water halfway through the hundred Steves.
When I was done, he was still Steve.
So I did it a thousand times. Ten thousand times.
No difference.
When Steve died, his name was on his headstone.
Cheap stone. It’ll wear out eventually.
Bates
Back in the old days,
Norman ran The Bates Motel on a shoestring,
earning a few bucks here and there from people
who’d stay at the motel.
And for those who stayed
permanently,
I suppose he’d get a bit more,
since those folks didn’t really need all that
money and stuff they had with them.
If Norman had been around these days,
well, he’d have had a problem with social networking,
people tweeting
“A crazy guy in a dress
is stabbing me in the shower!”
and that kind
of hassle.
But at least the Yelp reviews
would actually be: “YELP!”
Forgetful
I’m having trouble remembering simple things.
Things I do all the time.
Like if I turned off the stove before going for a walk.
I’ve done it so much, I can’t remember if I just did it, or I’m remembering doing it thousands of times before.
The same goes for locking the door.
Filling water bowls for the cats.
Even shampooing my hair.
I feel the bottle on the shelf. Is it wet?
Duh. My hands are wet.
I smell my hands, and I’m still not sure.
So, I reach for the shampoo.
Well, it says “Lather, Rinse, Repeat” right?
The Terminal
The dusty old terminal
Finally died
It gave up the ghost
And its circuitboard fried
With a grey puff of smoke
And electrical spark
The green pixels went
And the screen went dark
Decades of data
Burned into to the screen
Are all that is left
On there to be seen
This is the worst time
For the screen to go blank
Because I need to get cash
Out of the bank
I pull out my phone
And tap on the app
To seek out another
Machine on the map
There’s one down the block
(And that is a wrap)
Lemons and Tomatoes
The optimist takes the lemons that life hands him to make lemonade.
But when the artist has tomatoes thrown at him for his art, there are so many more options.
There’s a rich tomato bisque on the back burner there.
Smell that. It’s good, yes?
I made a bottle of ketchup the other day that’s thicker and richer than any store-brand ketchup you can buy.
What else is there on my stove? Oh, that’s a spaghetti sauce.
Here. Taste it. Try it.
A little more salt?
Let me take some out of this wound they tried to rub it in.
Pie Smell
For a year, while my body fought off the virus, I was unable to move.
Blind. Deaf. Insensate.
A machine helped me to breathe, and I was fed through a tube.
Alone in my thoughts. In the darkness.
And then, I could blink my eyes.
Left, yes.
Right, no.
They taught me a simple code to use.
So, I asked for a freshly-baked pie.
No, I can’t eat it. I still have to eat through a tube.
I just want to smell it.
Maybe that… and flowers… and perfumes…
They will draw me out of myself.
Back to life again.
Savage – Eighth Anniversary
NOTE: This podcast is now 8 years old.
I’ve heard stories about jungle tribes that didn’t want their pictures taken because they thought that the camera would steal and capture their soul.
They also thought that there were tiny men inside the radio, cargo planes were gods that dropped gifts from heaven, and that the world was created by a giant fish laying the stars like eggs.
We’d have told them they were full of shit, but it’s kinda rude to be trashing people on their turf.
And they had spears. Lots of spears.
We’ll go back with guns next time.
(The mining company will cover the cost.)
Sighting
For centuries, people have claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary in various caves and grottos, and pilgrims seek guidance and healing in those places.
To this day, you’ll hear about a cheese sandwich or a piece of driftwood. A water stain in the ceiling of some shithole apartment.
So, imagine my surprise that during my colonoscopy, I’m watching the monitor and the doctor goes “HOLY CRAP!” the same time I do.
Yep. The Virgin Mary. Up my ass.
“Oh that’s where that statue went,” I said.
I promise I’ll wash it before I put it back on the dashboard.