Category: My stories

Trashman

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You thought you could hide from me.
You were wrong.
Every morning, I want to see her there, feel her touch.
You took her away from me, left her under a garbage heap.
Her hand in mine. Her other hand. Her foot.
Torn to pieces By you.
I want to see you bleed, but the years have taken their toll. I am blind now.
I will have to satisfy myself with feeling the warm, slick blood running down your throat.
Maybe I will taste it, seeking the flavor of your rapidly ending life.
I want to see you bleed.
Forever.

The Roar

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All he could remember from the speech was saying “Thank you” and descending the steps from the stage.
“Great speech!” said his assistant. “Inspiring!”
He thought for a moment. Still a blank.
“What speech?”
The audience, applauding even louder, shouted for more.
He looked at his notes.
Blank.
“Go ahead,” said his assistant, pressing a sheaf of paper in his hand. “Give them an encore.”
“An encore of what?”
He looked at the new set of notes.
Also blank.
He shrugged, stood up, and raised his fist in the air as he walked back up the stairs to the stage.

Tossers

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Spotters located asteroids.
Grabbers grabbed asteroids.
Shovers retrieved asteroids.
Chewers pulverized asteroids.
Sniffers analyzed asteroids.
And Gulpers ate them for sorting and processing.
Thanks to goofball rules held over from Terran Days, there were also Packers and Tossers. They packed the tailings back into dense balls of spacerock and launched them back into the belt.
Sometimes, tossers liked to have a little fun, whizzing a million-ton boulder inches from a control pod or a cruise ship.
Tosser 7-D used millimeters instead of inches. Another holdover from Terran Days, that stupid Metric System.
Bye bye, Titanic. We’re still counting the bodies.

Sammy was the Sole Survivor

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Five kilometers past Strayhorn Reef was where the map said the lost freighter exploded and sank.
Bits and pieces of the vessel littered the ocean floor, if 2-ton glowing chunks of iron and steel could be described as a bit or piece.
The only survivor of the wreck was a one-legged parrot. All it said was “Sammy!”
The investigators tried to coax more out of the parrot, using crackers and peanuts, but all it ever said was “Sammy!”
Divers went down, but never came up. Even when tagged, their signal would vanish.
And so did they.
“Sammy!” shrieked the parrot.

Scenario D

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“Scenario D,” said a voice.
Darkness everywhere, his ears ringing.
Was he indoors? Outdoors?
Ed thumbed the switch on the flashlight.
Dead.
He twisted off the top, rattled out the batteries, and felt for the poles.
He put the flashlight back together, and flicked the switch again.
Still dead.
Ed felt around the ground, but it felt somewhere between concrete and pavement.
No ambient noise. The ringing.
“HELLO!” he yelled.
No echo. Or…
“HELLO!”
The ringing wasn’t helping.
He got down on the ground and crawled around Scenario D for what seemed like hours.
“My name is Ed,” he mumbled.

Rat Killer

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Each operative was named for a letter of the alphabet. As one died, each agent shifted a letter and a new agent took the name of A.
Nobody retired.
Headquarters sent out a Rat Alert. “D has turned. Kill.”
Z took the assignment. The Z always killed Rats.
A week later in Nairobi, Z pulled the trigger.
Perfect shot.
“Rat killed,” reported Z.
“That was F,” said Headquarters. “Don’t you remember the promotions last month?”
Z looked over the body. “Oops.”
Y hunted him down in Finland.
“Why?” said Z, dying.
“Not Y,” said Y. “My name is Z now.”

No Exit

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Toby spent all afternoon eating popcorn, peanuts, and cotton candy at the county fair.
Watching the clowns tumble and joke under the big top, the midway feast now wanted out.
As she ran for the exit, a spotlight shone on her and the ringmaster grabbed her hand.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Ever rode a horse?” he said, grinning. “I’m hung like one.”
The crowd roared, the world spun, and Toby heaved up everything she’d ever eaten.
She woke up in a pile of hay, covered with clown makeup.
The ringmaster turned out to be hung more like a shrimp.

Liver

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Despite the best efforts of the best doctors in the world, Jenny needed a new liver. I’d give her mine, but it wasn’t enough of a match.
For a million dollars, Rico said he could get one that would be a perfect match.
I sold everything and gave the money to Rico.
It was barely enough.
Within hours, a medical cooler was being rushed to the hospital. In it was Jenny’s new liver.
The hospital paged the transplant team, and they all rushed in.
Except for the lead surgeon. He’d already arrived in the morgue hours ago.
Without a liver.

Piperkitty

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Piper has a long, pretty tail.
When she gets mad, she growls and swats at it. I suppose this is better than her swatting and attacking the other cats. Or me.
If she’s about to pounce on something, she wiggles it before she leaps.
She sticks it in her mouth and walks in circles when she wants attention.
She’ll do this on top of the fence every so often, even if it is raining.
As I type this story, Piper is sitting on the back of my chair, gently tickling my ear with her tail.
Tails are very useful things.

Mutiny

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Palmer killed the captain, knocked out gravity, fried the radio, and nearly blew the drive core before we stopped him.
The crew wanted him dead, but I insisted on a trial. Procedure is procedure.
It didn’t take long, though. Guilty of murder and mutiny.
Minor problem: the lawbooks were seriously out of date.
Punishment was still death by drop-hanging.
“Can we yank on his legs to choke him?” asked Victor.
“Nope,” I said. “No weights. Free drop.”
Palmer laughed at us. “String me up and leave me there for a day,” he said. “That’s the law.”
So we did.
Outside.