I grew up in the country, but I live in the city now.
Can’t afford a house, so it’s apartment life for me.
If there’s a excuse for a patio, I grow a pocket garden.
If not, I hang as many windowboxes as I can.
Sometimes, I get roof space and garden up there, or out in a community garden.
But I’d rather not. Some folks don’t like the kind of plants I raise.
The feeling’s mutual.
Yes, the flowers are beautiful. Go ahead. Try to take one.
Oh, did you get stuck?
Here’s the antidote. Better drink it quickly.
Category: My stories
Amy
I remember the day the stranger came.
Opened up his guitar case, pulled out a contract, and handed me a pen.
“Sign here,” he said. “I’ll make your name last forever.”
I said no, but so many said yes.
And now this girl, Amy.
The stranger’s men keep close tabs. When you’re worth more dead than alive, the party ends, and your friends find you with a needle sticking out of your arm.
Not me. I had my moment, but I outlived it.
Living legend?
No. A living ghost.
My hands, my head, my everything hurts.
But I’m still going.
Push
She keeps pushing me.
“Leave me alone,” I say. “Quit pushing me.”
So, she lets go of my wheelchair and stands there, arms crossed over her chest.
I hate it when she does that, because I have to twist around, and it hurts my damaged neck.
“No, not that,” I tell her. “I mean quit pushing me as in nagging me. Telling me to do things. When to do things.”
She uncrosses her arms, walks back around, and pushes the chair again.
“Thank you,” I say.
That’s when I notice… we’re going pretty fast…
Towards a really long staircase down.
Loop
Congratulations, Sarah. Valedictorian. Well done.
The scholarship was a good investment. Welcome to TimeLoop Industries.
Our First Object Sent was a stapler. This stapler.
It won’t bite.
Guinness doesn’t recognize violent acts, so First Person To Paradoxically Murder Their Grandfather isn’t in there. Still, damn Papa Spencer had it coming!
He won’t hurt us anymore.
We’re going for the big challenge: Becoming Your Own Mother.
And we did.
You. Me.
Us.
That embryo we’ll put in you, that’s you.
Me.
Time travel hurts, but putting you up for adoption, watching from afar… that hurt more.
But it was worth it.
Well
Welcome to the Five Wells, stranger!
One is a wishing well. You can make wishes there for things like wealth, fame, and power.
The second is an unwishing well. That’s where you can take back wishes you make in the first well, because wishes always come with unintended consequences.
The third is a wishing unwell. Toss a coin in there if you want to wish something bad, like someone getting sick or something.
The fourth is an unwishing unwell. Just in case you regret using the third well.
The fifth one’s for tossing in strangers who ask too many questions.
Bacon Feast
Ted finished his sixth plate of bacon, sucked his greasy lips, and moaned with delight.
“One more?” asked the waitress.
Ted gurgled “No, just the check.”
The waitress thanked him with a smile and left a vinyl folder on the table.
Ted took it, and it slid out of his hand.
He tried again, and it popped out of his hands and on to the floor.
So did his napkin.
“Help?”
The waitress slid him into the parking lot, where he was sprayed with soap and hosed down.
“Thank you,” said Ted, and he waddled away.
(Without paying the bill.)
Ken and Barbie
His name was Ken, short for “Telekenetic.”
Her name was Barbie. It wasn’t short for anything.
Barbie would bring things to Ken, and he’d lift them with his mind.
Barbie laughed.
So did the researchers, watching from behind one-way glass and through cameras all throughout the testing area.
They called it “The Dream House.”
Ironic, since Ken and Barbie didn’t dream. They gave them drugs so they wouldn’t dream.
The body paralyzes muscles during sleep, but it doesn’t disable telekinetic abilities.
Before the drugs, everything would fly around the room, the building would shake.
Now, they just wet their beds.
Elevens
Bob rolled the dice… eleven. Win.
Bob rolled the dice again… eleven. Win.
Bob rolled the dice once again… eleven. Win.
The base dealer rapidly exchanged chips, and then the stickman pushed the pile to Bob.
The pit boss put his hand on the stick. “Late bet,” he said.
The stickman raked the chips back in.
“Excuse me?” said Bob. “I didn’t move anything.”
“I said late bet, sir. Place your bets.”
The videotape showed Bob shoving the stick up the pit boss’ ass, shouting LATE BET THIS!
The casino owner chuckled, and added it to his all-time favorites shelf.
Hit The Sauce
My friend Tony has been hitting the sauce pretty hard recently.
Hitting it hard enough to shatter the glass jars it comes in.
I wish he’d do it outside on the driveway so I can hose the sauce off into the gutter, but he does it in the kitchen and it splatters on the countertop and on the stove.
What a mess!
I told him that it comes in bags now. Those can take a beating.
“What, like cheap wine?” Tony growls. “So you think I should be getting cheap sauce, too?”
God, he’s so stupid. I need a drink.
The Patient Patient
Seth ran into the storeroom, slammed the door shut, and pushed a table against it.
WHAM! A zombie hit the door, rattling Seth.
The lock held. For now.
He pulled out a cigarette, remembered he was inside, oh screw it, the world’s ending, right?
He reached for his lighter… damn it, where… where… no lighter.
More pounding. Loud moaning.
“Want a smoke?” he had asked Dr. Grant. “Not like these guys are going anywhere, right?”
Oh, how he wrong he’d been. All he wanted now was just one smoke.
Grant had his lighter.
Seth moaned. And the zombies moaned louder.