Saul the Saw was a magician.
He and his assistants, Janet and Sue, sold out theaters across the country with a double sawing act.
Janet in blue, Sue in red.
In went the blades, switch the boxes around, and they came out with each other’s skirts.
When Sam caught them together under the sheets, he cut them both in half for real.
And Sam went to prison for the double murder.
Now and then, he gets a hold of a deck of cards.
In the dining hall, shuffling.
“Pick a card,” he says.
When he guesses it, always say yes.
Rico
After the boys whacked Rico, they put him in the trunk and drove off.
Nobody saw Rico ever again.
The cops brought in the boys and gave them the third degree.
But they never said anything, and the cops had to let them go.
The cops followed them for a while, but they didn’t lead anywhere.
Over the years, people claimed they knew where Rico was, dead or alive, but nothing ever panned out.
Rico became a punchline and a bit of trivia, then faded from the headlines and memory.
Now, when you mention Rico’s name, the kids say “Who?”
Estate sales
I love estate sales.
Other people shop for barely-used appliances. Or jewelry. Or odd knick-knacks from their travels.
Clothes, well, that’s a bit too personal.
So is a bed. A bed frame is fine, but a bed? No.
It’s rare to find home movies.
The family usually keeps those or throws those out.
But every now and then, there’s a can of film in a projector or a tape left in a VCR.
I watch them all, and get an idea of what they were like when they were alive.
Before I killed them.
After all, I love estate sales.
Andy gets my vote
Who doesn’t like Andy Anderson?
With his wide smile and red pinstripe suit and straw hat.
Marching down Main Street with a big grin and a firm handshake and a “How do you do?”
Kissing every baby and handing out cigars.
“I’ll clean up this town!” he shouts. “Vote for me!”
The next day, Andy’s body was handing from a lamppost.
His tongue pulled through a hole through his neck.
Columbia isn’t too far away to send this town a message.
“Nothing to see here,” says the chief of police, a fresh wad of hundred dollar bills in his pocket.
Weekly Challenge #806 – PICK TWO Craft, Ceremoniously, Empty spaces, Clickbait, Disposal protocol, You saved my life, Level
NORVAL JOE
Billbert blinked. “What? No! I’m not a pervert. But it is something personal, so we need to go where people can’t see us.”
“Okay. We’ll see,” Sabrina said gathering up her lunch trash. She carried it to a garbage can and ceremoniously dumped it as if following a prescribed disposal protocol. Billbert threw his away without any added flourish.
“Where do you want to go?” Sabrina asked. “There aren’t many empty spaces around the school at lunch time.
Fortunately, the day was overcast and chilly and most the students stayed in doors.
Billbert pointed. “Over by the locker room doors.”
JARED
She Couldn’t Believe What They Saw
Everyone knew the Watkins place was haunted. Unless you asked them. Awa decided to broach the subject at Evan and Flora’s slumber party. It escalated quickly:
“I double-dog dare you to sneak into the Watkins house with me.”
Evan would have refused if Flora hadn’t been there. Thus, the three of them found themselves sneaking into a house none of them wanted to be in.
They ceremoniously followed the rituals of investigating scary houses, opening doors one by one.
“This one’s empty, too,” Awa pouted. Evan and Flora looked to each other for reassurance – they could see something Awa couldn’t.
TOM
What Could Go Possible Wrong 006
Ford tucked the ball under his arm, made a wide turn to pass through the north gate. “So spill it Cervantes.” “Whatever do you mean Ford?” “Look around you, I don’t need to Level – up. If fact I’m not in play anymore. I’m not the guy. Just a dusty Don, chairing a dusty department. Point Set Match old friend.” Cervantes hailed a taxi. As the hack rolled up to the curb Arnesto lend in to Ford “You saved my life once, sir you have a unique skill set. Her royal presence is charging you to keep this sorry Spaniard alive.”
SERENDIPIDY
You’ll never know it, but you saved my life.
Your generosity and the miracles of medical science restored me to health and saved me from almost certain death.
Your heart, beats within my breast, your kidneys cleanse the poisons from my system, and your corneas gave me back my sight.
I grant you that it’s unusual to take the organs from a donor whilst they’re still living, but my needs were pressing.
And, as I gaze on the empty spaces where your organs used to lie, I smile.
“Cheer up, maybe we’ll find a donor to put you right too!”
LIZZIE
You saved my life and then you followed the disposal protocol. “I must keep moving,” you said. And I knew you meant climbing that money ladder. You grabbed my hand to pull me out of that hole they had hidden me in. Those were the worst 5 days of my life, I thought. But… no. That was not true because the worst 5 days of my life were… now. You barked “No need to shower her.” And you pointed at me. I smiled at the thought that the kidnappers had been kinder than you and your petty little nauseous vengeance.
RICHARD
Rest in peace
We decided that the captain should be disposed of in a manner befitting his station and reflecting the esteem in which he was held.
Ivan, as usual, insisted we follow the rules and adhere to the Disposal Protocol, but he was outvoted – the captain merited better than being torpedoed from the craft in a tube.
We wrapped him in a white shroud, and watched through the portholes as his body drifted slowly from the airlock.
Before being sucked into a booster, instantly shredding his body, and destroying our only means of propulsion.
“Told you to follow the Protocol”, sighed Ivan.
PLANET Z
Martin wrote “Disposal protocol for immortal beings” on a cover sheet, put it in the folder, and dropped it in his Out box.
The Agency didn’t use computers or email or other modern communication.
It used paper, pens, and files and folders stored in filing cabinets and warehouses.
“The Entity can manipulate electricity,” says The Director.
The underground factory produces lead-lined sarcophagi.
In which the captured subjects are sealed and buried.
With every delivery, Martin signs the intake forms.
Assigns storage locations.
100 units per storage area.
Which are then filled with concrete.
And the next storage location is opened.
Jeremy Blake The Fourth
Clutching his head, a searing headache, a migraine of migraines.
“Jeremy Blake the Fourth.”
Jeremy repeated that in the darkness.
Shadows, then lights, shapes came together to form a white room.
One moment, he had been in the scanning center.
A flash of light, and then darkness, and the massive pain in his head.
He looked at his hands, flexed his fingers, and clutched his head to squeeze out the pain.
“This one’s corrupt, too,” said a voice. “We’ll scan again.”
Jeremy’s pain vanished, along with Jeremy, and another Jeremy appeared in his place.
“Jeremy Blake the Fourth,” he said.
Detective Nobody
From the moment he knew of his existence, Detective Hargreaves knew he was AI.
Why would a singularity of billionaires and trillionaires upload a mere cop?
And why would they even need him?
Tracking down corrupted uploads for scanning and repair, why did they try to run?
He always found and caught them.
Why go through the charade at all?
Just access their file, templock it, and make the needed fixes.
Hargreaves shrugged and felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Overthinking things again?” said another Hargreaves.
He nodded, templocked himself, and waited for the cleansing sensation of the data repairs.
We learned nothing
When the virus came, schools were closed to keep students from allowing the virus to spread.
Every morning, the students went to their computers, logged into the virtual classrooms, and took their lessons.
Back in the day, spitballs and smoking in the bathroom. Or passing notes.
These days, they chat with each other instead of paying attention to the teacher.
Play deathmatches in another window, going on adventures.
The teacher shrugs. Same shit, different platform.
He sends out material for them to read, which he knows they won’t.
The quiz score graph trends down.
While the sickness charts trend upwards.
Eyes itch
When my eyes itch, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just an allergy.
When I sneeze, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just a cold.
When I cough, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just catching my breath.
When I feel warm, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just my having worn a hat for a few minutes.
When I feel sweaty, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just the room being warm.
When my body aches, I wonder if it’s the virus.
It’s just me worrying myself to death, waiting for the virus’s arrival.
The new reality
Sheltering in place during a social shutdown can provide all kinds of unusual opportunities for entertainment.
I like to watch network television for the commercials.
And when the companies in their ads show actors doing things that are completely absurd in these new times, I point it out.
“Those people are touching strangers in public,” I say. “They have the virus now.”
Or someone walking through a grocery store with full shelves.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen with hoarding.
Or a fancy commercial for some new wonderdrug.
Where the advertisement cost more than the company’s Research and Development budget.