Tag: tragedy

Roll Out The Barrel

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As the band played the Beer Barrel Polka, we rolled out the barrel and propped it up.
Something shifted inside. Something solid.
We opened it up and found a corpse.
According to the wallet in his jacket pocket, he was Jimmy “The Fish” Muldoon, a heavy with the Chicago Mafia.
“So, what do we do?” said the tuba player. “Any ideas, guys?”
“Hey, it’s the Beer Barrel Polka!” I shouted. “Let’s roll out the barrel of fun!”
We tapped another keg and partied hard with Jimmy.
The next morning, we all envied Jimmy, being too dead to be hung over.

The Clock Struck

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Commissioner Gordon handed Batman the note.
“At half-past twelve, the clock stuck three,” said The Caped Crusader.
“What does that mean?” growled Chief O’Hara.
“I don’t know,” said Batman. “But it’s almost twelve-thirty now.”
Across the street, an explosion rocked the First City Bank Tower.
All three ran to the window, just as the building’s massive clock broke from its moorings and crashed through the office.
Batman. O’Hara. Gordon.
Dead.
Later that evening, Riddler and Joker divvied up the loot.
“I told you it would work,” said the Clown Prince Of Crime. ”Hey, let’s go kill Superman.”
They both laughed.

The River Ice

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One day, the river was flowing.
The next, the river was covered with a sheet of ice.
I have never watched a river freeze.
So, when I heard that the forecast called for a deep freeze, I got bundled up and headed out to the river to watch.
The temperature dropped quickly, and I could see my breath through the scarf.
Snow falls, I can see white on the riverbanks… then dark shapes in the dark, shimmering water.
My eyes are heavy with the cold, but I still watch.
The shimmering water slows, until…
Until I have frozen to death.

The Shadow

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The groundhog pokes its nose out from its hole.
It sniffs the air and smells death, millions of times over.
Burning ash in all directions.
Was it an asteroid?
Was it a nuclear war?
To the groundhog, it doesn’t know. Or care.
It doesn’t matter whether it sees its shadow or if there will be six more weeks of winter.
There will be plenty to forage on when the burning storm dies down. Plenty of water in cracked pipes and cisterns to drink.
Unless there are survivors.
Then, it will be hunted.
It goes back into its hole to hide.

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.

Money can’t buy you time

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Today was a very expensive day.
Nardo was sick this past weekend, and had a few problems with the litterbox, then didn’t eat for a day.
I got him to the vet today.
He needed to go in anyway, being an older cat. You’re supposed to take them in every six months.
They looked him over, took some blood, and said he’s probably fine. Just something he ate.
Yeah, I spent a lot for a tummyache, but then I look at the shelf where Piper, Edloe, and Frisky are.
Boxes of ashes.
Once they’re gone, money can’t buy more time.

The Leap Of Faith

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At Windy Canyon’s edge, construction workers are putting the finishing touches on the Leap Of Faith ramp.
People can jump off of the platform and then get caught by safety netting mounted out of sight below the ledge.
Since it’s quite windy at Windy Canyon, it should have come as no surprise that the barriers and barrels had blown away overnight.
Before they could install the netting, a few people had already jumped over the side and fallen to their deaths on the rocks below.
Is it ready?
I can’t tell.
Want to jump off and find out for me?

Sylvia

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On my screen, the auction timer crawled down to zero.
I won! I won!
I paid the seller, insisting on overnight delivery.
They accepted. Unlike when I offered to buy it outright for a thousand dollars.
They said they’d risk their rating.
Jerk!
I’ve wanted this all my life. I can’t wait another day.
The next day, I grab the box out of the postman’s hands, tear it open and pull out…
Sylvia Plath’s oven mitts!
I can’t wait to cook with them.
I turn on the oven… and…
Oh, what’s the use?
Goodbye, cruel world.
(And enjoy the cookies.)

Budget cuts

Budget cuts and belt-tightening had already impacted our agency’s ability to field operatives and gather intelligence from our enemies.
Looking at the reports of dead agents across the globe, I knew that the pennypinchers had pinched too hard.
All agents had been given suicide pills in the form of false molars they could crush and swallow.
Except that we’d gone with the low bidder, and those that didn’t accidentally crush the cheap replacements eventually succumbed to the poison when the enamel wore through naturally.
We had to pay a hefty fortune to keep the families quiet.
Penny wise, pound foolish.

PENALTY STORY: The City Of The Dead

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The entire city is rubble.
No bombs. No floods.
Earthquake.
Bodies covered with dust, blood, and debris all over the place.
There is no light, except for the fires sweeping through buildings and the moonlight in this grimy night.
No sirens of ambulances. Water flowing through busted pipes.
Just endless screaming, crying, and shrieking.
In French, Spanish, and English they shout “Why?”
Another aftershock, a rumble… more clouds of dust kicked up in the air, people run but have nowhere to go.
I pick up the remote and bring up the program guide.
There must be something else on TV.