Category: My stories

Mr. Fist Around My Throat

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My throat hurts.
It feels like someone clenched a fist around it.
But you can’t see anyone with a fist on my throat.
Maybe it’s my old imaginary friend.
His name was Mr. Fist Around My Throat.
Looking back, he wasn’t much of an imaginary friend. He was more of an imaginary bully. And he beat the crap out of me day and night.
I got even with him, though. I took medicine which stopped my imagining him, and he vanished.
Now he’s back.
Are these the right pills?
I knew I should have drilled a hole in my head.

Shedding

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We have a black cat and an orange cat.
Despite both being short-haired cats, they shed. A lot.
Every time I lay out a black shirt, the orange cat lays on it and sheds.
Every time I lay out an orange shirt, the black cat lays on it and sheds.
I know what you’re thinking: don’t lay out any shirts. Hang them up as soon as they come out of the dryer and the cats won’t shed on them.
You’re not the one carrying a pile of shirts around and the cats looking so cute, you have to pet them.

Pot Of Gold

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The Leprechauns lost their gold to humans who followed rainbows right to them.
Leprechauns have long memories and even longer lives, so they worked with what little they had left to make real estate deals and investments to build up their fortunes once more.
Late-night advertisements offered cash for gold, luring desperate humans to mail the shiny metal back to the Leprechauns.
They learned their lesson with the rainbow-attracting pots, and built massive secure vaults deep under Ireland to store their treasure.
To keep the curious humans at bay, they set out a few pots filled with poison-coated Iron Pyrite.

Sushi dealer

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The dealer skillfully floats the cards, gently landing in a pile in front of each of us.
He stands there with arms at rest, waiting for the first bet.
We stare back at him.
He doesn’t blink.
“We ordered sushi,” I said. “What’s with the cards?”
The plastic on the cards is starting to melt into the cooking surface of the table.
We look at each other. Did we go to a Japanese restaurant or a casino?
The cards are a mess.
Somewhere, in Vegas, a sushi chef is waving knives around.
He’ll probably get better tips than our dealer.

The quiet city

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Downtown is quiet, abandoned for the holiday.
We get out our skateboards and own the sidewalks and streets for a day.
If we tried this during the workweek, we’d chased by the cops. Maybe even caught and arrested.
No cop cars. No sirens. No noise at all but the sound of our wheels grinding up the pavement.
At the end of the day, we get in our cars and go home.
It takes hours to get home, dodging and weaving the skaters and thrashers filling up the neighborhood.
They work Downtown, so they’d rather stay out here.
Goddamned clueless amateurs.

Is it pie?

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I’m looking at my windowsill.
There is a pie there, cooling slowly.
I try to smell which flavor it is, but I can’t tell.
You should be able to tell what flavor a pie is from smelling it.
So I’m wondering if this is really pie.
I’ve heard rumors about this. Stories.
Bad stories.
I should be careful.
So, I poke it with a knife, and the pie crust moves.
It’s a fake. A doppieganger, pretending to be pie.
I stab it with the knife.
It’s a delicious, blueberry doppieganger.
Satisfied, I reach for the ice cream and a fork.

Kill Wilson

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Every prospective assassin is given a run through the simulation to determine if they’d fit into the agency.
They are handed a note that says “Go to the Foster Building and kill Wilson. Do not check in until you have killed Wilson.”
There are three people in the Foster Building with the last name Wilson, two with Wilson as a first name.
If the assassin does some basic research, they’ll figure out which is the right Wilson to kill and pass the test.
Those that kill all five fail the test.
And blowing the building up is a huge no-no.

group therapy

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every time i hear someone say that i’m as crazy as a shithouse rat, it pisses me off.
i’m far, far crazier than a shithouse rat. in fact, in group therapy, when i was put in a room full of shithouse rats, the shithouse rats all cowered in a corner while i just sat there and grinned.
one by one, i bit their heads off and ate them. their crazy skulls crunched between my teeth, like rat-flavored candies.
now the doctors just drug me and tie me up. but to be honest, i’ve never been a fan of group therapy.

Dancing Rocks

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The louder the speakers, the greater the vibration.
Ever had drinks rattle off of the table in a loud bar?
Sound vibrations.
What if the sounds were huge? What could they do?
We built the test facility far out in the desert, miles from everywhere.
The entire floor is a gigantic set of speakers.
Workers pile up boulders on the floor.
The camera system is good, says Control, and we race off to the bunker to perform.
I flip three switches, slowly turn a dial, and the boulders dance on the monitors.
Experiment? What experiment?
This is just for fun.

Brickle Me Elmo

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She goes absolutely everywhere with that Elmo doll.
Those two are inseparable.
Five year-olds do that kind of thing. Clinging to your toys,
But when they’re sixteen, that’s when you should be concerned.
So, am I concerned?
I’m not.
Try not to be surprised.
You see, Staci emptied out the doll’s head and put a brick in it.
So far, she’s brained two rapists and a mugger.
“Self defense” worked for the DA. No charges filed.
That’s my girl.
I wish she’d let me wash it. The dried blood and bits of scalp don’t quite match the red fabric fur.