The whirlwind catches the leaves on the ground and tosses them everywhere.
It’s hard to see, Becky holds my hand tight, running as fast as we can to the barn.
Her long blond hair, waving in every direction, caught by the breezes.
As we make it to the barn, I slam the door shut. “Are you okay?”
She is covering her baldness, scowling at me.
“Go get my hair,” she demands.
I push against the door, fighting the wind.
“Can’t you just wear a hat?”
“Go get it.”
The look on her face was…
I’d rather face the damn tornado.
Category: My stories
Saucy Tim
Sometimes, I wonder if A Christmas Carol was just a CIA experiment involving hallucinogenic mustard.
The ghosts.
The memories.
The visions.
All his deep-buried secrets and fears, unleashed in a night of guilt and terror.
I mean, even Scrooge was suspicious, right? “Tis only a blot of mustard.”
If only he’d followed that suspicion instead of dismissed it so readily, the world would be a different place.
Sure, Tiny Tim would have died, but all those hookers he killed when he grew up to become Jack The Ripper wouldn’t have been brutally slaughtered.
God bless them, each and every one.
The Darkness Upon The Deep
Ever been on a boat
Out on the water
Miles from shore
No maps
Waiting for the night
The sun goes down
Laying back, looking up
With just the stars
No waves
No noise
No light
Looking up at the stars
So many lights
So bright
So calm
Falling up
Into the midnight sky
You’re nowhere
You’re everywhere
Feeling nothing
No cold
No heat
No breeze
So peaceful
And then, a horn
What?
How?
Oh no
Falling from the sky, you rush to the engines
Start… start… start…
Will you get out of the way before that container ship hits?
A Rainbow At The End
I take the stuffed catnip rainbow from the shelf, turning it over in my hands.
Of all the catnip toys, this was his favorite.
The memorial candles, the collars, the others’ favorite toys.
The boxes of ashes.
And a note: Their tenth lives are our memory of them.
The kittens run around, chasing each other.
Two years old, but I call them the kittens.
The older one, much older… naps in the bedroom, with his uneasy stomach.
Will he be fine tonight? Yes? No?
I reach down, his head rises to meet my hand.
Not yet, my friend. Not yet.
Drip
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The faucet on the bathroom sink is leaking.
I get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and tighten the knob.
And then go back to bed.
The water company will probably charge us more this month.
Not because of the wasted water, mind you. They have plenty of water.
Too much water, and it’s gone to their heads.
Now, instead of charging people for the water they use, they hold everybody ransom with the threat of opening the valves at night and drowning you in your sleep.
It starts with a drip, I hear.
Drip.
Drip.
The Tarmac
Hey, Scotty!
Put your helmet on and meet me on the tarmac in five.
You and me, we’re going flying!
That’s right! I got the biplane fixed.
Repaired the wing, replaced the engine, and even got the control cables tightened up.
Good as new.
Well, okay, it’s better than new.
Because when it was new, yeah, we crashed into that tree.
Don’t remind me. It still hurts when I sit down.
But we’ll forget all about that when we’re back in that plane and in the air.
Just to be safe, though, how about we cut down that tree first?
Points
My fat pal Bob and I got stuck behind a chick on a bicycle.
“How many points you think she’s worth?” Bob asks.
“Vehicular homicide is six,” I said.
“No,” said Bob. “Weight Watchers points.”
We pulled alongside the cyclist and I gave her a good look-over.
“Not much fat,” I said. “Thirty or so.”
Bob swerved, and knocked her down.
Helmet saved her, but I finished her off and got her in the trunk.
Bob cooked and ate her.
“Yeah,” said Bob, patting his stomach. “That hit the spot.”
I killed Bob and ate him.
Fifty points, I’d say.
Stability
I moved to this town years ago.
Got this house, picked out some furniture, and started my new life here.
I was alone.
Confused.
Afraid.
After years of shakiness and instability, trying one self-help book after another, I turned to religion.
I sought out every faith there was, and they all gave me holy books to take home.
The Bible.
The Torah.
The Q’Ran.
The Book Of Mormon.
All of them.
I tried them all, and after years searching, I finally found one that was the right fit.
Steady as a rock.
No. Really. My kitchen table doesn’t wobble anymore.
Unfusion
It looks simple, doesn’t it?
Get a cruet, pour in olive oil, toss in a few peppers or basil leaves. Maybe some rosemary.
Let it sit, and the flavor gets all infused and stuff.
So, I gave it a try, buying gallons of olive oil and a dozen cruets.
I filled them all up and put different herbs in each.
The taste was subtle, but enjoyable.
That’s when I started to feel the stomach pains, and I ran to the bathroom, shitting blood.
Yeah, you’re supposed to dry the herbs and heat the oil.
Otherwise, it gets infused with botulism.
Crazy Little Thing
Freddie Mercury sang about a crazy little thing called love.
The crazy little thing in my life is my midget cousin Edith.
Yes, despite her madness we love her, but we also keep her locked in the basement.
However, every so often, she manages to get out, slipping past my wife as she brings up the laundry or stacking boxes to bust out through a storm window.
This is why we keep the cutlery on high shelves or in drawers with locks.
As for the firearms, well, that gun cabinet is kept locked.
Right?
What? It’s open?
Oh my God!