Tag: magic

We, the Confused

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Hey, man. We’ll go sit around a fire in the woods, passing a funstick around.
“Cmon, lick one side, then the other, and then pass it on.
After a few seconds, you’ll notice a bit of wobbling around the edges of everything.
Colors change.
Shapes change.
Everything changes.
Trippy!
Then, normal comes back in a rush.
For a while, normal feels like change, and everything around you is new and strange.
Okay, now get up. Feel the bark on the trees. Feel the grass.
Look at the stars.
Wicked, right?
Just don’t reach for the flame, dude. Total party foul.

Do you believe in magic?

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How does that old song go? “Do you believe in magic in a young girl’s eye?”
I sure do. Which is why so many girls in this village have eyepatches and I’m still healthy after ninety years on the throne.
They make the most potent longevity potions.
I’ve warned the royal magician to be fair about his harvesting of eyes, though.
Visit each girl only once, and pay twenty gold coins. No sense in getting a reputation for miserliness and unnecessary cruelty.
And, despite my desire to live forever, I’d rather not be king in the valley of the blind.

Drawers

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Sandy took off her shoes and sat down.
Then she slid off her jeans, took off her top, and tossed aside her bra.
Stepping out of her panties, she opened her drawer and dropped her breasts on a towel.
Then she reached between her legs and peeled quickly.
(It stung less that way.)
Shutting the drawer, she opened another, and put himself back together.
Looking in the mirror, he wiped the makeup from his face.
He checked the clock: a little early.
He smiled, and opened the first drawer.
A gentle, soft caress – and then he got dressed for work.

Keep Warm

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Winter is coming, and we watch the nearby islands raise their sails to catch the tradewinds for warmer seas.
But ours will not join them in the Great Migration.
“We stay,” says the tribal chief. “We have plenty of food, warm houses to live in.”
“But it will be cold!” the people say. “We can be warm all year round like the others.”
“Then go join them,” said the chief. “Get in your canoes and go to them.”
Many leave, but even more arrive from other islands.
“We will help you stay warm,” they say.
The chief winks and grins.

Father

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Sitting here on the park bench, watching the kids run and play, I feel like I have been missing out on the joys of fatherhood.
What would it be like to raise a child? Would all my doubts and fears fade as I take on that role? (Or, I suppose, the role take over me.)
No. The doctors warned me about thinking like this, trying again.
My hands clench and release, over and over.
Stop.
Not again. No more blood. No more screaming.
I get up slowly, walk back to my workshop, and stare at the puppet-boy.
Stay wood, Pinocchio.

Green Tea

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The mystic prepares to read my tea leaves.
“Drink,” she says when the tea ready.
So, I do, and she turns the empty cup on the saucer.
As she lifts the cup, her eyes open wide.
“This is horrible!” she says. “You are going to die soon!”
“What? How? Why?”
She picks up the phone and calls for an ambulance.
“How am I supposed to die?” I ask, grabbing and shaking her.
She draws a gun and shoots me in the chest.
“That’s how,” she says, checking my wallet and taking out the money. “He attacked me!” she whined, practicing.

Lazarus

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Tradition says that the priests pondered putting Lazarus to death because of the miracle which returned him to life, but other stories tell of him living out his life as a bishop in Cyprus.
Neither of the tombs in Bethany or Cyprus are his.
He is nothing more than an ancient blind husk, curled up into himself on the seabed, unable to drown.
Every so often, he snatches a fish to chew on with empty jaws.
As do many, he waits for Christ’s return, but not for salvation.
Yearning for release, the rest of death denied him for so long.

Clots

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The ugly red clots are in my handkerchief, spelling out a message I can’t quite understand yet.
Three months? Four months?
I wad it up, toss it in the sink, and light another cigarette.
No point in quitting now. The clots tell me that clear enough.
Back when they were green or yellow or white, I could read the future.
If I spit them up in your hand, they’d tell your future.
Money. Love. Fame.
I knew it all. And they were always right.
Now, they’re red, and they tell my future.
As much of one there is, I guess.

Wishbone

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Tommy is my older brother.
He’s a bully. And a jerk.
Every year when it’s time to break the wishbone, he puts his thumb on it so it breaks in his favor.
This year, I made a wish:
I want him to be gone.
Totally gone.
When it came time to snap the wishbone, I started on it with my thumb high on the bone.
We struggled, and then I heard the snap.
I opened my eyes.
I had the bigger piece of the wishbone.
And… and…
My dad held the other piece.
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling. “Make a wish?”

Cashews

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Yes, this is a magical nut dish that I am posting on eBay.
I put peanuts in the nut dish, close the lid, and they turn into cashews when I lift the lid.
I don’t like cashews. I like peanuts.
Turning peanuts into cashews has no appeal to me.
Sure, it’s cool that it changes one thing into another in a manner that defies explanation, but as many times as I show my friends and scientists, I still end up with mounds and mounds of cashews.
And I don’t like cashews.
Want a nut dish? And want some cashews, too?