Category: My stories

Unicorns

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I hate unicorns.
I especially hate the ones that leave a trail of sparkles everywhere they go.
Sparkles turn to soggy ash after a while.
You see the sparkly herd of unicorns prancing and running, but I have to deal with the disgusting grey piles they leave behind.
Speaking of piles, did you know that unicorns do not shit rainbows?
If you don’t know what they shit, then you don’t want to know.
Just sit there in your fantasy bubble with unicorns and rainbows and sparkles.
One day, you’ll get gored through the chest, and you’ll finally see the truth.

The Gamblers

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Vinnie and Joey liked to gamble.
They were always betting each other about this or that.
Especially about their hits.
What kind of hits?
They were hitmen, you see.
Joey liked to play How Much Money Is In Their Wallet?
Sure, they always split the take, just like they split the contracts.
One day, they took a contract, but the hit didn’t happen.
By the time they realized he’d skipped town, Joey and Vinnie were picked up.
Right before they were tossed off the roof of the building, Vinnie said “I bet you five bucks I hit the ground first.”
Joey grinned. “You’re on.”

The Pair

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Teri had the most beautiful blue eyes.
So, she sold them.
You’ve seen them in some fashion magazines, I think. They made the model who bought them famous.
Teri used the money to buy a set of multispectrum sensorpods. She also paid her way through college and grad school.
The rest went to a startup in Silicon Valley, where genetic replicator tanks worked on the challenge of biological replacement technologies.
The research was a success, Teri having volunteered for the first human test.
She looked in the mirror and declared victory at the sight of her perfectly-reconstructed… and now-cancer-free breasts.

The Zoo

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I love going to the zoo.
You can get so much information about the animals on the signs while walking through nearly-natural habitats.
I see from here that the giraffe is from Africa, has a very long tongue, and is worth four Weight Watchers points.
“What wine goes with giraffe?” I ask the zookeeper.
He calls up the sommelier on his walkie-talkie. “A fruity red,” he says. “We have those in the gift shop.”
“Fine,” I say. “Open one now, put another on ice, and I’ll take the giraffe on the left.”
The zookeeper smiles, nods, and loads his rifle.

The Belt of St. Judas

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A simple, ancient belt of rope cinched around a tattered burlap robe, a bag of old coins in a purse.
The Abbot of Saint Judas bears these relics.
Without Papal sanction, the mission continues in secret. Every night, the faithful gather, and he returns to the hovel in the shadow of The Basilica to preach:
“Jesus asked to be betrayed. He was forgiven. Judas’ only sin was to martyr himself.”
The old monk closes the book as the soldiers rush into the abbey.
Arrests are made, the veneration of a false saint.
The abbot shakes the purse. A lucrative trap.

Returning Fire

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The humans watched as the vulture tore into Prometheus’ side.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said just there,” groaned Prometheus. “Bird trouble. Could you say that again?”
“We said we’re sorry,” said the leader of the humans. He held out a torch. “If we give this back, will they let you go?”
“Probably not,” said Prometheus. “Just as well you keep it. Might come in handy.”
The leader shook his head. “We’d just feel guilty about it.”
He apologized again, left the torch on the ground. and led his people away… right off of a cliff in the darkness.

April 1917

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At first, I thought the letter was dated April 1917.
Then, I realized it was addressed to someone named April 1917.
What kind of last name is 1917?
A trip to the Post Office confirmed their identity and the clerk at Window 3 asked if I had opened the letter.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, at least you’re honest about that, the clerk said, and a set of tongs held by a pair of thick rubber gloves extended from the wall. “Just place the letter on the tray and we’ll get you decontaminated shortly.”
Damn postman. My name’s 1918, not 1917.

The Field Manual

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To be caught behind enemy lines is a dangerous thing, but as long as you have a flute, you’ll be fine.
The Army Field Manual has all sorts of unusual regulations like this one:
Leaving guns out for the Bullet Fairy to reload.
Smearing mud over your eyes to make you invisible to your enemies.
Licking a jeep’s steering wheel to make it start.
I’m on my third highlighter already.
Maybe it’s some kind of sick joke? Someone’s pulling a prank on me?
Then I look at the publishing credits: Published In China.
I wonder when the invasion will be.

The Good Dishes

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We keep the good dishes in a cupboard, only taking them out for special occasions.
On the other hand, we keep the evil dishes in an iron-bound wooden chest in the basement.
They rattle and clatter angrily in their prison, demanding to be set free.
Not a chance. The last time we let them out, they gave the mayor and his wife food poisoning.
We’ve tried to destroy them, but every time we break a plate or a dish, the pieces reassemble themselves the next morning.
It’s best to keep them locked up, no matter how pretty they are.

Poland

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It’s rare to find a travel agency these days. Websites have all but eliminated the industry.
Maybe it’s just an old habit, but I still go to the travel agent downtown.
I think it’s the desks, the window displays, and posters that draw me.
One in particular. It’s a beautiful valley scene, and below is written: “The Nazis were cruel fuckers and Poland is beautiful.”
Every other travel poster has a beautiful scene and the country or city name, but my eyes keep getting drawn back to the Polish one.
Maybe, when all the Nazis are dead, I’ll go there.