Category: My stories

Business Card War

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I’m the office manager. I print up business cards for everyone.
I keep a set of everybody’s handy for reordering purposes. Just mark your changes and go.
I keep another set for playing War.
Shuffle the business cards and deal them out.
I turn over a card, you turn over a card.
Now, who would win in an argument, the janitor or the CEO?
CEO wins, so I take your janitor card.
We go through the deck, turn over our piles, and start again.
It was a fun game, until my boss caught me playing, and tore up my card.

Pushbutton Moon

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You can’t see the stars in the city because of the lights.
So, Rico takes all his dates to the planetarium.
He knows the security guard there. Rico brings him weed for when the night gets boring.
One switch dims the lights and another turns on the machine, making tiny pinpricks of light spread across the dome.
“I can name them all,” he says, laying with his cousin Rosarita.
His finger traces the ancient outlines of constellations, telling stories about legends and monsters.
His other hand traces a line on her cheek.
It’s 3 in the afternoon, and they kiss.

Coins

639169

I stacked up quarters by the jukebox.
Everybody in the bar sighed and knew what was coming.
Six… Five… One…
It was her song.
It became our song, but before it was our song, it was her song.
She shared it with me.
She shared everything with me.
Until… the accident.
They said she fell asleep at the wheel, but she was parked when the other car hit her.
The guy that hit her disappeared, abandoned his car.
The registration and plates were fake. Stolen from a dealer’s lot.
I put in another quarter.
Six… Five… One…
All night long.

Donor

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Cheryl had put “Imagination and fingernails” on her organ donor card
It wasn’t easy to find, but tucked away, hidden behind her nightmares and dreams, there was her imagination.
“So fragile,” said the surgeon, and she gently lifted it out and put it on a ceramic dish.
Her assistant checked the national registry and found a match – an artist, skilled with a brush but without inspiration or the creative spark.
“Call them,” said the surgeon. “And have them ready by ten.”
The assistant nodded. “Anything else?” he asked.
“No,” said the surgeon, and she put the fingernails in her pocket.

The Cookie

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The timer goes off, and I open the oven.
There’s just one cookie on the baking sheet, but it’s a big one.
It’s bigger than a dinner plate. And it has chocolate chips the size of quarters, ready to melt in my mouth.
It’s cool out, so I put the sheet on the window ledge to cool.
Milk. I’m going to need milk.
I hop on my motorcycle and head to the store, pick up a quart of milk, and rush back.
The cookie’s still there, waiting.
I can’t eat it. It’s too… perfect.
I drink the milk and sigh.

Jealous Aquaman

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Aquaman lays back in his tub, watching the Olympics on a portable television.
The announcer says Michael Phelps’ name, and the superhero winces.
A twinge of jealousy. A scowl. A clenched fist.
He looks at his costume folded up on the toilet seat.
Orange, green, black, and yellow… sure, the colors are ugly, but it’s a classic.
And functional, too, he reminds himself. That technological suit they wear in the Olympics still can’t produce race times like a true superhero.
Or let them talk to fish.
“Give it up, dude,” says his pet goldfish.
Aquaman sighs, and changes the channel.

Vlad

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They called Count Vlad a crossdressing pervert.
He likes to wrap himself in bandages and sleep in an Egyptian-style coffin.
“They think I am a mummy,” he laughs. “While my assassins hunt for canopic jars with my vitals or try to torch my body, I just laugh and smile.”
I asked him about the dress, heels, and lipstick.
“That’s none of your business!” he hissed.
Tonight, he goes with a red wig.
“It’s my lucky hair,” he says, and walks out into the night.
He won’t have much trouble getting blood tonight at the bar.
Crossdressers eat that look up.

Leon

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We keep Leon in a dark pit, sealed and guarded.
I don’t know how he eats.
I don’t know how he drinks.
I don’t know how he breathes.
Once, I wanted to let Leon out, but he refused to unlock the door to the pit.
“Leon doesn’t want to be let out,” said a guard, escorting me from the door.
“He has to come out eventually, I said.
“When he wants to, he will, said the guard, and I leave.
Leon’s been in there for a very long time.
For now, he’ll be staying there.
Even if it’s my turn.

Justice Soup

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We stood around the body, wondering who had killed the man.
So, I got out a can of alphabet soup, waved it over the corpse, poured it into a mug, and microwaved it.
When it was ready, I chanted the magic spell and threw the mug at the wall.
It shattered and splashed everywhere.
“Look!” gasped the police inspector.
The name of the killer was on the wall, spelled out in noodles for all to see.
“Simple divination magic,” I said. “Nothing to it.”
The killer was found, his bloody knife retrieved, and justice was done.
So, want some soup?

The Movers

639160

When I was little, seven or eight, we moved from Chicago to Columbus.
Everything was packed into cardboard boxes. The boxes each got a numbered sticker. Then, they were put into trucks, and arrived at the new house a few days later.
My brother and I collected all of the stickers.
Red.
Blue.
A few yellow ones.
I can’t remember the highest numbers. They were in the hundreds.
But in the end, we never did find the sticker with the number one on it.
Meanwhile, our parents were trying to figure out just what the hell is in each box.