Category: My stories

When the occupying Army caught the dictator, we announced it to the press.
And the press cheered.
People took to the streets and cheered, firing their guns in the air.
Tearing down posters and pulling down statues.
Burning police stations and army bases.
Destroying all of the books in libraries and schools.
Looting stores and banks.
It was absolute chaos.
The interim governor asked the dictator for advice.
“Sound like a you problem, not a me problem,” were his last words.
His supporters in the prison rioted, and they took over the prison.
Finding his body, hanging in his cell.

It’s been a long time since Dee died.
Her kidneys failed, and she’d been on dialysis, but needed a transplant.
Her family didn’t match, but her brother was a match for someone, and that someone’s brother was a match for her.
So, they arranged an exchange, and the surgeries were a success.
Except, her body rejected her kidney.
I was also a match, but she died before anything could be arranged.
A few years later, I came down with kidney stones.
And those are really painful.
A pain worse than death?
Probably not, but it helps me sleep at night.

So, it’s May.
Mother’s Day came and went…
My father’s birthday coming soon…
Then father’s day… and my mother’s birthday.
Last year, they were making their moves to trap and exploit me.
This year, they’re dead.
All I wanted was to forgive them for everything they did.
But they tricked me… they manipulated my emotions.
They fucking used me.
I still have twitches and a bit of PTSD from it all.
But in the end… it will be okay.
And if I am condemned to Hell for what I did to protect myself, well, I’m sure I’ll see them there.

I like to go down to the beach at the bay every now and then just stand there, listening to the water on the shore. When it’s a nice sunny day with a few clouds, I can just stand out there and feel the sun on my skin. But I think I like it better when it’s cloudy and raining because of all the deeper blues and grays and shapes of the clouds, there’s a lot more character to them and watching them slowly roll across is relaxing. I shake the sand off of my shoes and drive back home.

There’s a few car washes in town and two of them are with the same chain that uses a subscription model, and sometimes the wash is broken at one, and the vacuums are broken at the other, so I get washed up at the first and drive to the other and then do my shopping and come home. Not that I drive much but this gets me out and about sometimes I pick up a cheeseburger on the way home, small drink and some fries. Oh it’s for my wife, not me. I don’t need to be eating that stuff.

A member of Hamas died in a Lebanese village.
His stash of weapons and explosives exploded.
So, they held a funeral for him.
A riot broke out, and three people died at the funeral.
At each of their funerals, three more people died.
For a total of nine.
And then at their funerals, twenty-seven.
Funeral after funeral, riot after riot, explosion after explosion.
Until they suddenly stopped.
There was nobody left to riot.
There were no more stashes of weapons to explode.
And there was nobody left to attend a funeral.
Finally, peace was achieved.
(People still blamed the Jews.)

Why did I forsake my father? Why did I forsake my mother?
When it’s friends that you love like family, they matter.
And I will do everything I can for them.
But when it’s family that aren’t your friends, they don’t matter.
It takes a lot of self-control and power to overcome the guilt they abuse you with.
Yes, you owe them your life and your education.
But they don’t own you.
And anything they did for you was to help you make a success of yourself.
Exploiting that, after years of neglect or distance, will make nothing but failure.

Hell isn’t all fire and brimstone, you know.
That’s just a little light show the welcoming committee uses to scare the new residents.
Once you get past registration and assignments, it’s actually palm trees, sand, and a gentle breeze.
Not that you’ll notice, as you’re dragged in chains.
Dropped into the line for your eternal punishment.
Demons sipping coffee, chatting with each other, as you wait in line for… for…
“What are we in line for?” you ask.
“We’re on break,” mumbles a demon. “Quiet.”
The line never moves, the breeze never stops.
And you wait… and wait… and wait…

Fred was an assassin.
That’s what he put on his taxes: Assassin.
He killed for money.
But not just anyone.
He only killed IRS agents.
People with tax problems would hire him.
You know, to kill an investigation. Literally.
Then they’d write off Fred.
And raise an audit flag.
So they’d have to hire Fred again.
Made for good repeat business.
The IRS audited him one year.
But all his books were in order.
Everything down to the penny.
The FBI showed up, but Fred had hired Joe to take care of them.
Joe, being an assassin of FBI agents.