The teachers told us that the tornado drills were meant to practice what we’d need to do in an emergency, but the real reason for them is so that in a disaster it’s a bit easier for the authorities to count up the bodies and identify them.
If everyone was running around screaming, the tornado would be tossing them all over the place. Even fat kids… I heard that after one tornado, a fat kid ended up tossed through a tree five miles away.
As for fire drills, okay, go ahead. Run around screaming. See if we care, you bastards.
Tag: tragedy
The Unforgiving Tree
As the old man sat on the stump of The Giving Tree, he pondered all that he had taken from his beloved friend.
Her leaves to make crowns.
Her apples to sell for money.
Her branches to build a house.
Her trunk to build a boat.
And what had he given her?
Nothing.
Clutching his chest, he let out a gasp, and died.
The Giving Tree laughed. “Serves you right, you greedy bastard.”
She laughed for hours, until the old man’s sons dug up her stump and carved a coffin from it, as the old man instructed in his will.
The Daily Special
I can never decide what I want to get at a restaurant.
So, I don’t bother with a menu.
I just let the waiter tell me the specials and I say “Surprise me.”
The most surprised I’ve ever been was when a Turkish chef prepared shish kebab skewers, set them on fire, and launched them with a crossbow at the wall above my head.
It was the best dinner I’d never had, and I thanked the chef, the owner, and the entire staff for that night.
What’s the name of the place?
Doesn’t matter. It burned down years ago.
The Dust
We hide down in the dusty catacombs of the old city, huddling tighter with every thud and shudder when the bombs fall.
The museums… the palaces…
They are all empty, and I look around at the few treasures we managed to rescue.
And then, a loud blast, and part of the ceiling caves in.
Screaming. Shouting.
People yelling ARE YOU ALIVE IN THERE and HELP, but it’s just too heavy to move.
More screaming.
I try to dig, and I pull out an arm.
It is from one of the catacomb’s ancient residents.
More thuds. More dust falls.
More screams.
Washed Up
There’s an old joke that nobody wants to see a tsunami hit Los Angeles because there’s enough washed-up actors there already.
Too late.
I come across another body on the beach, tangled in seaweed.
She looks familiar. Maybe an actress, starred in a commercial or two.
Toothpaste?
Shoes?
Orange juice?
Something like that.
I snap a few photos, record the location, and call for a pickup as I stick a beacon flag in the sand.
Damn. My last one.
I hate it when they’re kids. That’s just sad, sadder than adults.
Another siren. Wave coming.
I run for higher ground.
Red Book
Whenever my parents fought and I had to stay overnight at my grandparents’ house, Grampa pulled a red book from the shelf and read bedtime stories to me.
They fought a lot, so I was over there once… twice a week.
And a new story each night, one I’d never heard since.
When I was a senior in high school, there was a carbon monoxide leak, and Grandma and Grampa died.
I found the red book of Grampa’s stories, opened it, and saw it was full of the raunchiest pornography I’d ever seen.
I guess Grampa was a good improviser.
Assistant Wanted
Remember when she said she’d gotten her dream job? Assistant to that big movie star.
No, not the one always adopting kids. The other one.
Yeah, that one. That’s him.
Didn’t even send flowers. That’s what he had her for, right? To make it look like he cared.
Never had time to date.
Never had time to settle down.
Never took a vacation.
Oh, sure, she traveled, but she never saw the world. Phone in one hand, her boss’ dayplanner in the other.
Did she schedule this, too?
Heart attack.
Die at twenty-six.
Put an ad in Variety: Assistant Wanted.
Penalty Yards
I lay here in my bed, surrounded by family and friends, having lived the best life I could possibly imagine.
I worked hard at everything I did.
I took every opportunity I could find.
I was honest and fair to all.
If I had it to do all over again, I would not change a thing.
I feel my heart beating slower… slower… slower…
And a bright yellow rag hits me in the face.
A clear and steady voice said: “Holding… your mother… ten yards… replay first down.”
I blinked, and looked around.
Bright lights… a doctor’s face…
I screamed.
Pardon
They’re called midnight pardons, and they’re the most dangerous thing a lame-duck president or governor can do.
With the stroke of a pen, a criminal gets their sentence reduced, removed, or their record completely wiped.
They can’t be stopped or revoked, and a departing elected executive can’t be investigated for it.
A lot of these people deserve it, sure, but others had their pardons bought and paid for.
Political favors. Campaign contributions.
Bribes
Yeah, we paid to get Solly The Toucan released from solitary in maximum security.
We also paid for the sniper that took him out.
Worth every penny.
Never
Remember that game
Back in High School
Senior year.
The last of the season
Or, was it the state finals?
The state finals,
So hot, the grass drank in the water
From the clack clack clacking sprinklers
Like the town drunk.
Two outs, bottom of the ninth
And you hit one over the fence so far,
I swear, it’s still going.
Rounding the bases,
Grinning wide as the sky,
And you fell to the ground
Threw down your glove
And… and…
Wait. You weren’t the batter
It was you on the mound
Blowing the save.
You never pitched again.
Never.