Category: My stories

Does it snow?

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It never snows in the colony. It never rains, either.
We keep the environment stable. The crops like it that way, and we don’t have to keep clothes around for seasons we don’t have.
Still, every year, kids keep asking about snow and rain they see on the video we brought from Earth.
We’ve tried to shave and blow ice to recreate snow in the refrigeration chambers, but it’s just not the same.
When the kids whine, we show them the live video feed from Earth.
Well, live, as in current. No life there now.
Which is why we’re here.

The Little Muse

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I know a girl who buys notebooks with a watercolor kitten in the corner of each page. She calls the kitten her little muse.
Sometimes, the kitten will take an interest in what she’s writing, romping among the words, chewing on commas, batting the letters around like wadded-up newspaper.
Other times, the kitten curls up on a warm, light sentence for a peaceful nap.
Once, she tore out a page and taped it to another to see if the kittens would play.
They didn’t.
And that’s how I found her body seven hours later, the blood-soaked notebook in her lap.

Pyramid Sam

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Pyramid Sam offers to take us on a tour of Giza for fifty bucks, the most authentic and comprehensive tour around, he says.
That’s way cheaper than the government guides. And he says it’s the most authentic tour, which I’m not sure what he means.
The signs say to only take tours from the government guides, but what’s the harm, right?
So, we follow Sam into his tent, and that’s when he reaches for a set of controls and sends us hurtling into the past.
Outside the tent, Ancient Egypt awaits.
I hope I bought enough batteries and memory sticks.

Afraid Of

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Susan was afraid to fly. You couldn’t get her on an airplane, let alone anywhere near the airport.
She’d scream in horror the moment a commercial played on television for an airline.
Her life was an absolute wreck.
Then, she went to the hospital for a special research project they were conducting for people afraid of flying.
And, three weeks later, she was cured of her fear of flying.
However, she slowly but surely became deathly afraid of not flying.
Pretty soon, she had to be suspended from the ground by wires.
Maybe we can change her fear to pancakes.

A Night On The Beach

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I wake up and shake the sand from my shoes. This happens every morning.
But I haven’t been to the beach in years.
Only in my dreams.
Sometimes, there’s driftwood in my hand, seaweed wrapped around my ankle.
Salt in my hair from the ocean spray.
On a shelf over my mirror, I’ve put my seashell collection.
All these things, I dream of. And bring back with me.
When I dream of you, take my hand, and let me bring you back.
I will leave my sadness on the sands of my dreams.
To be washed away with the tide.

Adoption

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Once upon a time, there was a fluffy orange kitty that nobody wanted, so the people at the shelter brought him with them to a television station.
He was so pretty and fluffy, the producer of that newscast begged to take him home with her.
He loved being in a new home, and he played with a dog named Aspen, riding on his back.
When the producer was moving to Los Angeles, he ran out the door and hid under the house.
It took two weeks to get him out from under there, and the producer’s best friend adopted him.

Delays

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Through the tears, the sky glistens like the clouds are coated with glass dust, spread across a smear of powder blue.
Beyond, stars twinkle in the darkness. You can’t see them during the day, but they’re out there, all around us, a snapshot from tens, hundreds, thousands, and millions of years ago as the light tries to get here as fast as it can.
Once, I heard thunder a year after lightning had struck a tree. I was walking past a tree stump when a loud blast shattered the air.
Better late than never, I always say, but enough’s enough.

The Monster Under The Bed

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Every kid has a monster under the bed, but I’m grown up now.
And yet, right under our bed, there’s a monster.
No, not the orange fluffy cat down here. His grabbing at ankles and biting hands trying to pet him are behind him now.
He’s sleeping, or…
The monster under the bed is not knowing what I’ll find when I look under there again.
The monster is my fear.
The monster is his suffering, and not being able to do anything about it.
The monster takes away every good memory, and replaces it with the sadness that is now.

Jacob

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Jacob”s violin was the pride of Minsk. But that didn’t matter, because the Nazis put everyone on the trains.
The commander of the camp was also from Minsk, and he knew of Jacob. He commanded him to play for the officers during dinner.
Jacob refused, demanding to play for the workers.
So, they let him. And after a minute of playing for us, he was shot.
The commander was Klaus Gustav. Years later, I found Klaus in Cairo, and I strangled him with one of Jacob’s violin strings.
The sound of Gustav’s croaks doesn”t haunt me at all.
Only Jacob.

The Scissors

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Hi, my name is Roy. I have a pair of scissors.
They’re big sharp scissors, with thick plastic handles.
Hold them up, and they look like eyes.
Open the scissors and it looks like a bird’s beak. Or a mouth.
I open and close the scissors, and it looks like it’s talking.
Then I played a song by Britney Spears on my radio, and it looked like the scissors were singing.
My scissors were singing like Britney Spears.
I love Britney Spears. She’s so hot.
I wonder if they give head like Britney Spears, too.
Oh, okay… let’s find out!