Tag: fantasy

There will be peace when the Gnomes love their children more than they hate us

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In the nursery, we keep it simple: babies coming in equals babies going out.
Come up short, and security checks the tapes before “Stolen Baby” makes the evening news.
But when we come up with extra, that’s worse.
“Damn those Gnomes,” said Nurse Riley. “They sneak their agents into nurseries to infiltrate our species.”
This giggling, squirming lump in a standard-issue diaper is no child.
Riley pointed out the beard-stubble and bright red shaving rash.
The look in her eyes: sadness and horror.
I signed the authorization. Quarantine, then furnace termination.
They don’t scream, even while burning.
Damn this war.

The Forest Of Fourteen Trees

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Once upon a time, this was a vast forest, with trees as far as the eye could see.
Now, there are only fourteen trees, crowded together in a housing subdivision.
We, the elves of the forest, once frolicked and hunted.
Now, we argue over pizza toppings and order delivery.
It’s not easy, clinging to the past when the future has clearly defeated it, but we are forest elves, and we can no more abandon them as a fish can leave the water.
The government calls us an endangered species, but the gnomes were, too.
They’re gone now, and soon, us.

Comes earlier

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Christmas comes earlier every year.

Stores put the displays and trees before Halloween.

That’s why the elves went on strike.

You see, they’ve been working without a contract for over a century now.

While the reindeer still only work one night, the elves still have to ramp up production faster and faster for these earlier holiday sales.

Faster turnaround means less time for maintenance, too.
More work accidents, drinking on the job – that kind of thing.

Santa didn’t pay attention to the growing discontent in the workshop.

The elves are building a bonfire.

Santa’s tied to a stake, screaming.

The Rider

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They may be hideous in appearance, but no goblin would be caught being rude.
“Sears,” says the creature. “And your name is?”
The topiary, a shrub groomed to look like a green poodle, said nothing.
“I need to be in Waco by sunrise,” said Sears, and he hopped on the back of the topiary. “Let us ride.”
For all the shouting, the topiary didn’t budge an inch.
The morning dew settles on the goblin’s frozen body, turned to stone by the daylight.
“Who put this ugly thing out here?” said the groundskeeper, knocking the goblin to pieces with a trowel.

The Golden Pen

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I was suffering a horrible case of writer’s block when The Devil tapped me on the shoulder.
“Use my pen,” he said, and he handed me his Golden Pen.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“The usual shit,” he said. “Brilliant artistry for your soul and eternal damnation.”
“Pffft,” I said. “I’m already fucked.”
I shook his hand and he vanished.
Sure enough, when I tried to write, it was out of ink.
Fucker.
Oh well. I wrote anyway, scratching the letters into the paper, and I held it up to the light.
I’m damned, but my work will live on.

Dead Players

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My fantasy football team consists entirely of players who are dead.
I’m not sure how I ended up with these stiffs, but once the draft was over, I looked at my roster and it read like the obituary pages.
Damn.
I tried to trade for new picks, but nobody wanted dead players.
“They don’t throw interceptions,” I said. “They don’t fumble or miss tackles.”
My sales pitch didn’t work.
I close my eyes and imagine the team bus… well, it’s more of a hearse than a team bus.
Six weeks in, I’m winning.
And worried.
Will they start killing players?

The Key

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Every morning, the windup girl feels the turning of the key in her back.
She awakens, opens her eyes.
“Mistress,” she says, and smiles.
Mistress strokes her cheek, says the nicest things.
And, her eyes are… red?
She’s been crying again.
Windup girl wants to cry too, but she cannot.
“Mistress,” she says, “Need a hug?”
Mistress wants more, and soon, the windup girl’s clothes sit folded on the edge of the bed with Mistress’s.
“Fuck me,” she whispers.
Windup girl pulls out her key, places it on Mistress’s thigh.
Mistress smiles as windup girl’s eyes grow heavy and close.

Pissed

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Ever gone into the woods to piss on a tree and the tree moves out of your way?
Yeah, you’ve got to be really drunk for that to happen, stumbling around and falling on your ass by the side of the road.
Except this time, I was stone cold sober.
Did I imagine that it had moved?
I walked over to the tree and…
It moved back to its original spot.
“Hello?” I said. “Is anybody there?”
Nobody answered.
I zipped back up and headed back to the car.
It was covered with tree sap.
Damn it!
Where’s my chainsaw?

Atlas

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When I broke my neck, such marvelous places across the world – the Pyramids, Everest – were lost to me.
My bed was my prison, chained by tubes in my neck. My arm. My gut.
When I didn’t just die, they drugged me less.
The cloud became the wall. A television, always on.
I groaned. “I want to see the world.”
So they brought me tapes of these places.
I explored, demanding more… Washington… Amazon… Museums… Galleries….
I was Atlas, map of the world, roaming mind.
Trapped in my head. On a pillow. In my bed.
But not my prison.
My throne.

Fee Fie Foe Fucked

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Jack didn’t realize his mistake until he’d chopped through the beanstalk.
The giant was directly above his farm.
And falling. Really fast.
Gold coins couldn’t buy his way out of this one.
The goose’s goose was cooked.
And the magic harp began to play a mournful dirge as the shadows grew darker and darker.
The giant was falling face-down, and when he saw the look on Jack’s face, he roared with laughter.
“FEE FIE FO FUM!” was the last thing the giant shouted, and the last thing Jack heard.
Jack’s wife, asleep, didn’t feel a thing.
“Magic beans,” she mumbled.