Category: My stories

Smell And Stop

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Arthur watched with pride as his daughter walked to the podium and led the congregation in prayer.
She’d been waiting all her life for this moment.
Arthur, too.
He pulled a rose from his pocket, sniffed it, and let the aroma fill his mind.
Time stopped.
Arthur strolled the pews, appreciating the delight on each face admiring his daughter’s recital.
Until… Elliot Laslo.
There were rumors about Elliot. And from how his hands sat in his lap… his expression…
Arthur returned to his seat, crushed the rose, and let time start back up.
He’d settle Elliot later. Probably brake lines.

Tough On Crime

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The mayor grimaced at the camera, rubbing his backside.
“Hello to all the citizens of our fair city,” he said. “I’d like a moment of your time.”
“We’re all aware of my campaign to put a camera on every streetcorner, but City Council decided not to adequately fund the necessary staff to monitor these cameras.”
For a moment, the attack came back to his memory. A camera panning to his battered body.
Then wagging a bit.
The motors sounded like laughter.
“Using prison labor to monitor them and dispatch officers was a mistake,” he said. “One that we’re correcting soon.”

Weaponized

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After years of research and experimentation, Dr. Odd managed to isolate the chemical compound which was responsible for luck.
He tried to bottle the stuff and sell it over the counter, but he kept running into all sorts of problems in production and distribution.
The Food and Drug Administration sprung a surprise inspection of his facilities and ultimately shut his labs down for a wide variety of violations.
“This is concentrated Bad Luck!” moaned Dr. Odd.
The Pentagon was very interested in a weaponized form of Bad Luck, so Dr. Odd shipped them a sample…
Back on September 10, 2001.

The Headless Nessman

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Shaking nervously, Herb Tarlek looked out into the hallway.
“Do you see him?” whispered Mr. Carlson. “Do you see… Les?”
“No,” said Herb. “He’s not out here.”
“Well, no wonder why you can’t hear him,” said Johnny Fever. “Your jacket’s way too loud.”
Venus and Bailey cowered in the corner. “We’re all going to die,” whimpered Bailey.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “Who’s watching the back door?”
Just then, Andy let out a hideous moan and fell to the floor, an axe buried in his neck.
The Headless Nessman drew back the axe, hacked again, and dragged off Andy’s head.

Those Daring Young Men Without GPS And Their Flying Machines

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Trailing black smoke, Baron Von Schmidt’s mighty war zeppelin chugs across the Munich sky.
Henchmen with spiked helmets sing with the thrumming impeller blades, and the zeppelin begins its bombing run.
They open the portholes, hold out the bombs, and…
The Baron shouts a command to halt. The henchmen draw back their bombs and snuff out lit fuses while the nose of the zeppelin jerks upward.
“Nicht das London!” shouts the Baron.
There is an argument, and the navigator is thrown overboard, crashing through a church roof.
The Baron, ever the gentleman, apologizes and pays to have the roof fixed.

The Dotted Line

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Diva Chandelier and the record company fought for years, but in the end her army of lawyers fell to the combined might of the entire music industry.
The facts were clear: she had defaulted on an exclusive billion-dollar ten album, five concert tour deal.
But what was worse was that she had taken to singing in public… for free.
“A contract is a contract,” said the judge from inside the record company’s pocket. “Judgement is for the plaintiff, the defendant will surrender her voice.”
Her last public statement before going into the clinic for forced cauterization was a profanity-laden curse.

A twist of metallic fate

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I don’t even bother listening to the bum’s story. My hand goes into my pocket automatically for the change in there.
I shake it out, and find The Paperclip.
It’s been a long time since its glory days at NASA, when during the 12th Apollo mission it bridged a navigation circuit that could have splattered the capsule across Utah.
After two decades jumping from binder to binder, it was unbent to reset a critical communications computer for the shuttle program.
A hero among office supplies.
I hand the bum the change, unbend the paperclip, and pick my teeth with it.

The Body

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A hiker stumbled over The Body last night.
Yes, that’s right – It’s The Body. Capital T, capital B.
He’s been out here long enough to grow stubble on his head, looking at the bits of scalp the vultures left.
You’d think a former Navy Seal would have been prepared for this rough terrain, but I don’t think Jesse Ventura had planned to be out in the desert long.
Or at all. Tracks led from the canyon. From the depth, wheelbase length and tread we’re thinking some kind of stretch-limo Hummer.
I squint, fold up the feather boa, and follow them.

Zeno

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You know Zeno’s Paradox? Motion is meaningless because you go halfway, then then halfway the remaining distance, and then half of that, and so on – never quite reaching your goal?
Let me tell you the truth about Zeno: he would borrow money, lose wrestling bets, and run afoul of bookies.
“Pay up,” they’d say “or we’ll break your damn legs.”
“Why?” he’d respond. “I’d just pay half, then half of the remainder, half then of that, et cetera – never paying the whole debt.”
So they broke his legs in half. And then the halves in half.
Et cetera.

Hammered Shit

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Master bursts through the front door, stumbling across the room to fall on the couch.
“What would you like for dinner?” I chirp.
“Don’t bother me,” groans Master. “I feel like hammered shit.”
Master bought me for these kinds of days. He can rest while I take care of everything.
Dinner, chores – everything.
I don’t do some things so well, sure, but I can try.
I mediscan Master. He’ll probably wake up at seven.
I scuttle to the kitchen and phone the hardware store.
They can deliver hammers in less than an hour.
Now where will I get the shit?