Category: Halloween

They take snapshots of everyone’s memory every hour.
A backup, in case of accident. Or emergency.
What they can do with those backups, well, not much.
They can’t exactly put you back in your body. Or a new one.
They’ve tried to upload them to a brain simulator.
We can ask them questions, they answer.
But are they alive in there? Like they would be in a body?
Nobody is sure unless they’re in there themselves.
We ask them, and they say yes.
They are blind, deaf, unfeeling.
Endless though, and nothing else.
We shut them down as a mercy.

Apparently, if you are in imminent danger and you can’t openly call 911, you’re supposed to call 911 and order a pepperoni pizza.
This is a secret signal to 911 that you’re in imminent danger, and that they should send help.
Unless the imminent danger is a pack of Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Because they like pepperoni pizza, and you can offer them the pizza.
Then, while they eat the pizza, you can run away.
Of course, it takes up to thirty minute to deliver the pizza.
So, in the end, you’ll end up feeding the assholes who killed you.

It’s been a strange few days… few weeks… few months…
When has it not been strange?
Or maybe I’m what’s strange.
I see the world through strange-colored glasses.
And I can’t take them off.
How long has Jimi been dead?
How long has Jim been dead?
They say they live on through their music.
But that’s all the music there is.
Maybe some stuff in the vaults and studio sessions.
Things they wouldn’t have released themselves, but we still want more.
So, they give us more, until there’s no more to give, no more blood to squeeze from the tombstone.

The family next door just came back from a funeral.
Their kid tipped over a dresser and it fell on him, crushing him.
They sued the furniture manufacturer, like so many others have.
“Use the wall mount,” the company said.
Never kind that you have to mount the dresser to a wall stud.
And know basic carpentry skills.
Things that cheap furniture customers don’t have.
So more children die, and the companies do nothing.
Until…their own children start dying.
A serial killer was on the loose, hunting the families of furniture executives.
Mounting their children to walls with a nailgun.

I bought a ghost.
It’s supposed to be a famous ghost.
But they say that about every ghost.
Who’s ghost is it?
Or, I suppose, was.
Who’s ghost was it?
No idea.
And it’s not like you can ask the ghost.
Open the bottle, and it escapes.
Ghosts don’t hang around.
Especially near the bottle that held them.
They get as far away from it as they can, as fast as possible.
So, there’s no telling who it was.
Or if there even is a ghost in the bottle.
I’ll just hold on to it.
And, some day, sell it.

When you think about the Library at Alexandira, what do you imagine?
Shelves and shelves of scrolls?
Couldn’t be further from the truth.
Sure, back then, the Egyptians had papyrus, but you know the saying “Life is cheap.”
They would write things on their slaves, skin them, and then stack the skins on the shelves in the library.
Kinda gruesome, but properly-preserved skin had a longer shelf life than papyrus.
And it also provided an incentive not to piss off the librarians with a late return or lost book.
You’d have your library card taken away. And your skin, too.

She opened the french doors, stepped out to the balcony, and howled.
And waited.
There was no reply.
Too many hunters in the forest.
There had been a treaty.
The woods belonged to the wolfkind.
But too many men went into the woods to hunt.
For sport, not food.
They had enough grain and livestock, why hunt for sport?
And the wolfkind defended their territory.
So many more men came to hunt now.
Hunting the wolfkind.
And now, were none left to hear the call? Was she alone?
She stepped back off the balcony, closed the french doors, and wept.

Gratias Tibiago was the most grateful man in the world.
He thanked everybody for everything.
Even if they did him harm, he’d find good in what they did, and he’d thank them.
This annoyed the bullies and sociopaths who did him harm, so they tried to harm him worse.
And Gratias would thank them that much more.
One day, a bully killed Gratias.
His ghost thanked the bully.
“I no longer need to thank anybody anymore,” said Gratias. “Thank you for that.”
The ghost thanked the bully over and over again, driving him mad.
Oh, and thank you for listening.

Kenny wanted to wear a stormtrooper costume for Halloween.
But his parents wouldn’t buy him the kit.
So, he got a paper route, mowed lawns, and babysat.
It took him a year to earn the money.
The costume kit arrived… in November.
Too late for Halloween.
Kenny waited a whole year, during which he grew seven inches.
A few pieces broke when he tried to wear it.
He couldn’t return it, so he threw it in the trash.
Sitting on the porch moping, he saw a kid wearing the patched-up costume, and he beat that kid with a baseball bat.

I live in a condo complex.
The kids don’t trick-or-treat around here.
Every year, the complex throws a Halloween party, but it’s for the adults.
Alcohol and costumes, that kind of thing.
I don’t know my neighbors, it’s just a place to live, so I don’t go.
I put Charlie Brown’s Great Pumpkin special on the television.
Make some pumpkin spice coffee.
Decaf, I can’t have caffeine anymore.
Or all that much sugar, so no candy for me.
They’re being noisy out by the pool area.
I put on my noise-canceling headphones and turn up the television a bit louder.