Category: My stories

Return To Ascender

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“Ever since he came back, he’s been a real dick,” said Luke.
“We were out walking when we saw a boy with a crippled leg,” Matthew said. “He begged to be healed, but Jesus broke his crutch and struck him lame in the other leg.”
“Don’t forget the wine!” said Timothy. “We were going to celebrate his return, but he waves his hands and poof! It’s turned into water.”
“There’s no way we can make this church work with him screwing around,” said Mark. “Finish him off?”
Everybody nodded, and they drew straws.
“We’ll just say he… ascended,” said Luke.

Unlicensed to kill

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Bond’s license to kill was revoked last year because he shot too many bartenders who stirred his martini.
“I said shaken, dammit!” he’d shout. “Shaken!”
Three warnings later, he was disarmed for the good of mixologists around the world.
“What do I do now?” growled Bond as his trademark Walther PPK was returned to the gun vault.
“Run really fast,” said the controller. “Or call the cops.”
Assigned to spy on Taleban slavelords, Bond lasted seventeen hours in the field. He was last seen dialing 999 on his bowtie cellphone as three midget ninjas carved him into itty bitty pieces.

Observer Twelve

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Observer Twelve kept his seven eyestalks glued to the monitors flicking through signals from Earth, taking notes as interesting things came up.
Four buildings full of Observers were dedicated to keeping tabs on this information-rich corner of the galaxy, a constant source of amusement and concern.
One day, the endless chaos of entertainment, news, sports and sex polarized into panic and desperation.
Then, nothing.
All signals ceased.
Some Observers were reassigned to other units, but most were laid off. Earth had been a rare gold mine of signals.
Ex-Observer Twelve spat and cursed the “Iranians” for ruining a well-paying gig.

Not Quite Columbus’ Day

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You know the story: Columbus sailed the ocean blue and arrived in America with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, right?
What the story leaves out is that he left Spain with hundreds of ships, arriving with only those three.
Where did the rest go?
Well, Ferdinand and Isabella gave him so much money, Columbus could afford a massive armada. He bought so many boats, he would walk from Spain to America on the decks of his ships lined up in a row.
He was also a gambler. Lost all but three of them in cards.

Robots kill robots

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“Robots kill robots,” chanted the robots as they marched, rolled, tumbled, and hopped into the arena.
The crowd roared, thirsty for blood.
In the last three seasons, they got it. Robots had to consist of 50% organic components by weight.
And not just “dead” weight, either. No useless blood like earlier models used. Critical functions had to be wired through the meat and gristle, forcing the engineers to take risks and make difficult choices.
One engineer went so far as to sacrifice his own brain for his creation.
He’s over there, on fire.
Should have used a monkey, poor soul.

Murder Offer

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Usually, door hangers offer pizza or Chinese. Two bucks off, free delivery, fifteen dollars minimum order. That kind of thing.
This wasn’t one of those. It was an offer for discount murders.
They quoted rates for various circumstances. Like security considerations. Chronic health problems. Or they’re pregnant – that kind of thing.
I dialed the number and got another dial tone.
Two minutes later, my phone rings.
“Who needs killing?” asks a voice.
“My neighbor’s dog keeps barking late at night,” I joked.
A week later, I got a bloody collar and the bill.
Funny. I don’t sleep any better.

Leroy

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Leroy had a habit of shouting when he was angry. Glass-shattering loud.
Okay, so it’s not as much a habit as a reaction to stuff that angered him, but he yelled so loud, I swear you could hear it a mile away.
We took measurements, compared notes, and triangulated with satellite maps on Google. The distance you could hear Leroy shout was determined to be one Leroy.
If you were two Leroys away, you’d be twice the distance from Leroy as you could hear him shout.
But he could still pick up a phone, call you, and shout that way.

Green Monster

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The Yankees versus the Red Sox. What a classic matchup.
The big green monster was messing with left fielders tonight, too.
What? No… no, they were playing in Yankee stadium, not Fenway.
Oh, I’m talking about an actual big green monster. It was from outer space or some science lab.
Thing showed up, dropped over the fence, and started messing with the left fielder.
Cops tried to shoo it towards the dugout, but it messed with the cops, too.
Nobody messes with New York cops. They shot the crap out of it.
I think it’s in the hot dogs.
Mustard?

Piggy Wings

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Smith smiled and put his research paper on the pile.
“So, you grew a flying pig,” said Zambosio. “Good work, Smith.”
Smith opened the paper and pointed to a chart. “Actually, it’s just growing wings on pigs.”
“So they can’t fly?” asked Zambosio.
“No,” said Smith.
“Still,” said Zambosio, “growing a pair of wings on a pig still takes a lot of effort.”
“Actually, it’s just one wing per pig,” said Smith.
Zambosio took off his glasses. “What good is just one wing on a pig?”
“They’re quite delicious,” said Smith.
“At least pigs are tamer than buffalo,” said Zambosio.

Fisherman

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Cursing, Stavros pulled in the line and ran his fingers along the end.
As usual, it was a clean break.
The bottom of the lake was littered with Stavros’ hooks and various lengths of fishing line.
There were also some government-issue four-door sedans down there.
Every so often, another car would arrive. The driver would then get out, look around, take off his sunglasses, and ask lots of questions.
“Drunk drivers,” said Stavros, and nothing else.
Either they left or they didn’t.
Stavros tied another hook, baited it with a bloody chunk of civil servant flesh, and tossed it in.