We lay down, I hold her close, and she’s shaking.
She tells me she has bad dreams.
So, I whisper “Tell me about them” into her ear.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I hold her tighter, then… i breathe in deep.
I feel her relax as I suck the bad memories out through her ear.
They taste horrible, vomit and burning slime.
I reach for the jar, and spit the dreams out.
I seal the lid tightly.
Done.
She smiles, her eyes distant… vacant…
Safe.
I lay back down, hold her close.
Maybe this time, she’ll not drink them again.
Tag: mystery
Fresh Breath Of Fear
A long time ago, I had a bronchial infection.
The doctor prescribed antibiotics, painkillers, and inhalers.
The weird thing is, after I’d take a puff of the inhaler, I lost my fear of heights.
I could lean over railings or ride glass elevators, and instead of freaking out, I’d look around and enjoy the view.
I’m sure it wasn’t the antibiotics or painkillers, because I ran out of those eventually, but had plenty of inhalers.
They didn’t last forever, though, and the fear came back.
At least asthmatics can’t put up much of a fight when I need a fix.
Martian canals
Astronomers in the 19th Century said there were canals on Mars.
Whether this was because of the poor optics available or the construction of several major canal projects here on Earth, I’m not sure. But over time, better telescopes demonstrated that there were definitely no canals on Mars.
Still, I like to imagine ancient Martians, punting gondolas from domed city to domed city, chanting Martian chants as young Martian lovers watched the clouds, hand in hand, talon in talon, tails entwined.
Ah, Science! You foul destroyer of Romance!
I push the astronomer’s head back into the toilet and flush again.
Drill
Due to an error in Shipping, my dentist received a deep-ocean oil drill instead of the replacement enamel drill he’d ordered.
My tooth was killing me, though, and the referral was across town, so we went through with the appointment anyway.
I swear, I went through three tanks of nitrous, and damn if that thing was uncomfortable, but seven thousand feet down, he struck oil.
After venting off the natural gas, he capped the well, put in a temporary, and made an appointment for next Tuesday to fix a permanent crown.
Sadly, my insurance plan doesn’t cover pumping or tankers.
nanowrimo
Every year, I sign up for National Novel Writing Month.
One year, I wrote eighty-seven words on the side of a church and spent the month in jail.
The next year, I got drunk and had the word “Bilious” tattooed across my ass. Oh, and a pelican in a top hat holding a shotgun.
Then, there was the year I used Dragon Dictation, a speech-to-Text program. Thought I could just talk and talk and talk up the novel.
Yeah, I lost my voice.
This year, I’m going to write.
I’m going to write this all off as a bad idea.
Mousetrapped
Long ago, I was poor.
Really poor.
Lived in a total rat-hole, infested with mice.
I guess that made it a mouse-hole instead of a rat-hole.
Anyway, because of the mice, I had to put mousetraps everywhere.
Except that I was so poor, I couldn’t afford cheese for my mousetraps.
I tore out pictures of cheese from the newspaper and put it in the traps.
The next day, I checked the trap.
There was a picture of a mouse from a newspaper in it.
I gave it to the picture of a cat I had as a pet back then.
Spectactle
The town hung criminals from a tree outside the courthouse.
People came from miles to watch.
Over time, it became an event.
Hawkers shouted LEMONADE and PRETZELS as they pushed their carts through the jubilant crowd.
The town decided this was in bad taste and ended the public hangings.
Instead, they made the hangings private.
The new county arboretum is a beautiful building, built around the old hanging tree.
Hangings are now private events. Invitation-only.
No people coming from miles to watch.
No pushcarts. No lemonade or pretzels.
Just the witnesses, the criminal, the hangman, and a bottle of champagne.
The Third Thumb
I once heard of a psychic claiming they had a “third eye.”
Well, then I’ve got a “third thumb.”
You see, I’m a movie critic. The Celluloid Spy.
And I’m afraid of the dark.
Yeah, I hire mailroom interns to stand in for me at movie screenings.
My trademark trenchcoat, fedora, and fake beard make sense now, right?
So, when you wonder if the critic saw the same movie you did, you’re right: I didn’t.
But here’s the thing. I’ve been perfectly accurate in my plot synopses and ratings.
Stupid kid, getting hit by that truck.
Never saw that coming.
Creation
I stepped out of the time machine and tripped over a dead cougar.
A deep voice hissed “Who’s that?”
I got back up and rubbed my eyes, not quite sure I was seeing what I was seeing.
It was God, standing at a workbench, piled high with burnt and bloody animal parts.
Behind him, stacks of scorched trees and polluted rivers and other things.
“I went back in time to witness Creation?” I gasped.
“No, you went forward,” God growled. “After the nuclear war. I’m just trying to scrape something together.”
He pointed a lightning bolt at me. “Without humans.”
The Tale Winner
The Canterbury Tales are a collection of stories about a group of pilgrims heading to a shrine, passing the time with a storytelling contest.
The winner was to get a free meal upon return from the pilgrimage.
Today, only a portion of the manuscripts are known to the public, as many tales are missing, and we are left without knowing who won the contest.
Until today.
Reading the ancient papers on a lighted workbench, I learn of a man dressed in a black cloak and hood, silent as the night, dining alone.
Yes, it’s true.
The Ninja won the contest.