Category: My stories

Fruit

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Are tomatoes vegetables or fruit?
After decades of research, Dr. Milton still didn’t know the answer.
In fact, his latest findings suggested that they were both.
This is not an unreasonable conclusion, fruits and vegetables are just two terms created by man to describe his surroundings, right?
A wave of depression fell over him. All those years, completely wasted.
He hung up his lab coat and just wandered for a while.
He roamed through war-ravaged Spain, angry and frustrated.
“Care for a tomato?” offered a pushcart vendor.
“Damn you,” growled Dr. Milton.
Bunol. Spain. 1945.
Yep. That’s how Tomatina began.

Green Tea

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The mystic prepares to read my tea leaves.
“Drink,” she says when the tea ready.
So, I do, and she turns the empty cup on the saucer.
As she lifts the cup, her eyes open wide.
“This is horrible!” she says. “You are going to die soon!”
“What? How? Why?”
She picks up the phone and calls for an ambulance.
“How am I supposed to die?” I ask, grabbing and shaking her.
She draws a gun and shoots me in the chest.
“That’s how,” she says, checking my wallet and taking out the money. “He attacked me!” she whined, practicing.

Lawnmower

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I don’t like mowing the lawn.
So, I bought a robotic lawnmower.
It’s eco-friendly, running on batteries charged by solar cells. And the motor is very quiet, almost a whisper.
This way, it can run during the day or at night.
It knows where to mow using a set of guide wires I’ve buried along the property line.
Just charge, set, and release inside the invisible fence.
The next morning: a beautifully-cut lawn.
And three dead hookers on the grass.
The first time I ran it, there was only one.
I’ll bury these three next to her.
Under the grass.

Bessie

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It’s winter in Detroit, midnight.
Bessie sits alone out on the patio in her nightshirt, waiting.
A black robe comes out from the shadows.
“Where have you been all these years?” she asks it.
A raspy whisper, like dry bones scraping against each other: “It was not your time.”
“My sons, my Stephen are all gone.” She feels a chill deep within her. “Is it my time soon?”
“Soon.”
“Will you wait with me?”
Death sits down next to her, they hold hands, and wait for morning together.
Sleep.
Deep sleep.
She wakes up in the hospital with pneumonia.
“LIAR!”

Crimson

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Crimson waves, the blood tide is rising.
This is no moon. We have landed on a living thing.
Are the natives a roaming immune system? Parasites?
No idea. We will samples so researchers back on base can make the call.
We can’t stay much longer. The landing gear cut up the creature something fierce, and it’s wanting to scab over.
The more we dig out the struts, the more patch-cells it sends.
As we lift off, I figure next time, maybe we’ll use a bubble-craft, something soft.
That’s when the tentacles hit the hull.
Brace yourselves, we’re going back down!

Make me pretty and dead

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“Make me pretty and dead,” said the model to the robotic plastic surgeon.
At least, that’s what the translation engine thought she said.
She stripped naked and stepped into the surgical chamber, watching the various lasers and scalpels warm up.
Behind her, a defibrillator prepared to administer a lethal jolt of electricity.
A technician ran into the room and shouted “STOP!”
The lights on the robotic surgeon all turned off, and the model covered herself with her hands.
The technician handed her a robe.
“Sorry, mistranslation in the software,” he said. “And, come on, aren’t you already drop-dead gorgeous enough?”

Lottery

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We entered the lottery, hoping for a big family.
It’s not likely though. The government reduced the prize pool again.
We’ll be lucky to get a dog.
As a pet. The Lottery Law says no eating pets without government approval.
What happened to us? Where did we go wrong?
Hope? Change?
How did we get from The American Dream to the government sterilizing and executing people for eating a stupid dog?
Madness.
Maybe, just maybe, we’ll win. We’ll get the big family.
The lottery agent whispers “No laws against eating children anymore, you know.”
And they taste better than dog.

The Guest

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“You have a guest,” said the investigating priest.
Sally rocked back and forth on the vomit-covered bed, staring back at the priest with weary red-rimmed eyes.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said.
“We refer to occupying spirits as ‘guests’ now,” said the priest. “No need for rudeness while negotiating a mutually-agreeable solution to this dispute.”
“SHUT UP AND GET THIS FUCKING DEMON OUT OF ME!” shouted Sally.
“I need to consult my manager,” said the priest, and he pulled out a cell phone.
“WHAT??????”
The demon was shocked, too.
And easily dislodged.
“Works every time,” said the priest.

Betrayal

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My friend, my love battered bloody through the streets of Jerusalem by the angry mob.
I feel every blow.
This was a mistake.
He falls at my feet.
“I forgive you,” he groans, and falls.
I should not have pointed him out.
I kneel to help him up, but I am pulled back by two Roman soldiers.
“Thank you, Iscariot,” says one, the other tossing me a bag.
Clink.
I pour out the silver coins into my hand.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
He asked me to do this. He wanted to die.
I throw down the coins and scream “WHY?”
Silence.

Molt

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Looking down at the stumps of my thighs, I knew it would be a rough morning.
I dragged myself into the kitchen and ate my way through the food inside.
The horrendous pain came next.
Biting down on a dishrag helps a little.
Close your eyes. Try not to scream.
When the burning sensation dulled to a warm ache, I flexed my new toes and stood up, wobbling slightly and steadying myself with a chair.
The old ones are rotting in the hallway.
I hope these feet are a size I’ve already got. Buying new shoes is such a hassle.