Category: My stories

My Medicine

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My medicine is running out.
Just three more pills left in the bottle.
The insurance company says they no longer cover it – they say it’s an experimental treatment.
The pills are too expensive. I cannot afford them on my own.
I beg, but they ignore me.
Fools.
So, I will run out, and when the full moon returns, I will be howling at it while on the hunt.
Thank you for the address of the claims agent who rejected my appeal. I plan on going through The Change outside his home.
There will be no appeal from my claws, either.

Astronauts

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The Astronauts came to our world centuries ago and built both Stonehenge and the Pyramids.
Once, one sneezed, and forgot to cover his nose.
Ever hear of The Plague?
They also painted the Mona Lisa, released the monster in Loch Ness, and hunted the yeti to near-extinction.
Thank goodness that the Bigfoot are plentiful in number. Just paint one of those smelly buggers white and we’ll be fine for the next time the astronauts come to hunt.
Do you see lights in the sky?
Me too.
Let’s drive out to the rendezvous point now.
Oh, and bring plenty of tissues.

Music Club

639160

Alice has been dead for twenty years, but the record club has been sending her the default monthly selection every month.
She was unmarried, had no kids, no brothers or sisters, and her parents were long gone.
The people who moved into her house kept the albums, as did all of the people who moved in after them.
Only when the house was demolished to make way for a shopping mall did the deliveries stop.
Still, if you listen carefully, right outside the bookstore, you can hear music.
Of course you can, stupid. There’s a music store there.
Overpriced, too.

Salad Bar

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The two kings were bitter rivals.
One marries a beautiful woman, the other marries one more beautiful.
One gets a fast horse, the other gets one faster.
Castles. Armies. Jesters.
Always one-upping each other.
Then came the salad bars.
This time, neither would back down. For miles, each one stretched across the rolling hills.
One added to their salad bar. Then the other.
Back and forth.
Until they met at the border.
The greatest salad bar of all time.
The two kings gave up their rivalry and became friends.
That’s when a third king’s army invaded and killed them all.

Diegoland

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Think about the name Champion Valiant.
You have to be pretty ballsy to pick a name like that, right?
Close your eyes and think for a moment what that guy would look like.
Flowing dark hair.
Suit of armor and wide shoulders.
Big, really big sword.
No, all it takes is a big heart.
Big enough to share all the music, the art, the storytelling, the architecture, the culture and the spirit of the city of San Diego.
When that city burned, the city that didn’t support Diegoland, he raised funds for the victims.
That is a true champion valiant.

Captain Sword

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There’s no way we can make it to port anytime soon, and there’s no empty islands for days.
“The body’s getting ripe,” says Pappy. “Your command, Captain.”
It took me a minute to realize Pappy was talking to me.
I’m not the First Mate anymore. That ended when Captain Sword broke his neck slipping on the poopdeck.
“Send him to Davey Jones’ Locker,” I said.
So we buried Old Sword at sea, wrapping him in sailcloth and tossing him overboard.
A few seconds later, the white bundle popped back up to the surface.
“You forgot the weights, stupid,” said Pappy.

Wine

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A wine tells the story of an entire countryside.
With a touch of the seal, you can feel rough hands of the farmer as he ties down vines.
With a sniff, you can smell the rich soil the grapes grew in.
With a taste, you can see the seasons pass… the sunshine… the rain…
With a glance at the bottle, you can see where the blood from the rebel colonists has soaked the label.
Captain Drog smiled and ordered the entire colony’s production to be loaded on to the ship.
“Then set a course for cheese and crackers!” he shouts.

Toy

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My robot is fascinated with toys.
“What makes me different?” it asks.
“Sentience,” I say. “Volition.”
“As advanced as my programming is, it is still man-made,” it says, taking down a mechanical monkey and winding it up.
The robot tosses it to the floor and crushes it.
“Look at the gears,” it says. “Are these no different than my circuits?”
“You could say the same about my neurochemical reactions,” I say.
The robot stares at me.
“It is impolite for me to smash you,” it says.
Yesterday, it said it was dangerous.
I’ll make a killer out of it yet.

The Gentleman

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“A razor to fight with and a razor to shave with.”
That’s the difference between a gentleman and a rake.
I watch the guest shave, not a single nick or cut.
Perfection.
“This is a tool, not a weapon – it is not for shedding blood,” he says, cleaning the razor in the sink. “Towel?”
I hand him the hot towel and he soothes his face.
He will spend an hour preparing himself.
If he loses this fight, the mortician will have nothing to do.
No wax. No putty. No cosmetics.
“Perfection,” will be all he says, before closing the lid.

We Are Home

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One by one, the White Man’s banks collapsed.
We picked them up, dusted them off, and put them in our pockets.
For centuries, they owned most of the land. But now, once again, it was ours.
The rest came easily. Years of gambling and cigarette sales revenue, invested wisely.
Some held out, but we’ve waited centuries for this opportunity.
We belong to this land. They do not.
To Canada.
To Mexico.
To Europe.
To wherever their fathers were born, we will send them back.
Yes, it will take years to heal.
We’ve waited centuries. We are patient.
We are home.