Category: My stories

The Socks

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After years of blisters and other problems with my feet, I changed from ordinary cotton socks to special space-aged wicking socks.
They draw moisture away from the feet while providing extra padding.
Don’t ask me how they work. All I know is that they work.
No blisters since.
However, you’ve got to be careful with them. Going to sleep with a pair on will suck some water out of your body.
Going to sleep with 14 pairs of them on your feet and hands will leave you a desiccated husk.
So, any other questions about the mummies in this exhibit?

Lazarus

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Tradition says that the priests pondered putting Lazarus to death because of the miracle which returned him to life, but other stories tell of him living out his life as a bishop in Cyprus.
Neither of the tombs in Bethany or Cyprus are his.
He is nothing more than an ancient blind husk, curled up into himself on the seabed, unable to drown.
Every so often, he snatches a fish to chew on with empty jaws.
As do many, he waits for Christ’s return, but not for salvation.
Yearning for release, the rest of death denied him for so long.

Oops

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My kindergarten teacher had a cat named Oops, solid black with a white O on his chest.
She lived next to a maple tree farm, and every year she took classes there to see how syrup was made.
Oops wandered around the woods, but the moment he spotted a class coming through, he’d run off and hide.
That was over thirty years ago, and the teacher is long gone.
The maple syrup farm is gone too, but the trees remain.
A black shadow crosses my path.
After all these years, how can…
I see two glowing red eyes. And…
Oops!

Home

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Lincoln said that it is not the years in your life, but the life in your years.
Drifting between the stars for centuries, solar sails and cargo pods.
In the control center, two brains wrapped and connected with millions of miles of nanocircuitry.
Ours. Together.
So many years ago, frail and weak from disease, we volunteered.
We had nothing to lose but each other, and this way, we could have more time.
It has been over eight years since she last told me that she loves me.
She is gone.
I change course, and we sail into a star.
Home.

The Good Place

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After days in the library and on the Internet, Bobby turned in his paper.
Time and time again, rich people have treated poor people like crap with the promise of eternity in a good place if they put up with that crap.
The threat of eternity in a bad place prevents the poor people from treating the rich people like crap.
Priests are paid by rich people to come up with a lot of crap about the good place and the bad place, then shovel it at the poor.
Miss Krabapel sighed, lit another cigarette, and gave it an A.

India

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Just as Christopher Columbus landed in the New World and thought he’d reached India, Arturo Gustavani sailed for India and thought he had reached the New World.
Looking around the marketplaces full of rare spices, Arturo threw down his voluminous hat and cursed.
“Where are the worthless flint arrowheads and corn?”
Merchants brought him the finest silk and woven carpets, but he dismissed these riches and inquired about crude fibrous mats interlaced with bird feathers.
Calling the expedition a failure, Arturo headed back to the ship and was clubbed to death by his crew.
They returned and retired wealthy men.

Phantom

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I wake up and struggle with the call button.
“NURSE! NURSE!”
The morning nurse arrives at my bed, taps the IV, and checks the bandages on my hands.
“Fingers still hurt?” she asks.
“It’s like they’re being dipped in fire!” I groan. “Please, make it stop!”
I try to move my hands, but they’re strapped down to the rails on the bed.
“No, we’re not going to loosen those,” she said. “Remember the last time we did that?”
She loosens a bandage and I look.
Bloody stumps.
“Your toes still hurt?”
That’s when I remember… I bit those off, too.

You only die twice. Or three times. (How about four?)

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Resurrection procedures have never been entirely reliable, but over time they’ve become more reliable than longshot treatments such as chemotherapy for advanced pancreatic cancer.
The insurance companies won’t cover the procedure.
And they’ll drop coverage for the revived patient, too.
“Our responsibility ends at death,” they say.
But they won’t pay off on life insurance claims, either.
Congress subpoenaed the heads of the insurance companies for a hearing, grilled them for several days, and passed a set of toothless legislation concerning the matter.
Since then, have you heard of a Senator or Representative dying in office?
Me either.
Strange, that.

My Medicine

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I wake up, naked, surrounded by my servants.
They have strapped and chained me to a table.
I have a good view of the ceiling. Daylight through the windows.
I don’t taste blood. My hands aren’t sticky.
Still…
“I forgot my medicine again, didn’t I?” I asked.
“Yes,” said my secretary.
“How many died this time?”
“Seven, I think. You made quite a mess.”
They release the chains and straps, and I get up.
“Thank you for washing me off.”
“You made quite a mess.”
I must remember to take my medicine.
Or my prescription will change… to silver bullets.

In or Out

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“In or out?” shouted the bully.
The third-graders along the wall lifted up their shirts to show off their bellybuttons.
Today, he was punching the Ins.
Kid after kid, he’d look down and either take a swing at their gut or they’d run away.
The last kid on the wall didn’t lift up his shirt.
So, the bully did it for him.
And saw nothing.
“Test-tuber!” The bully pulled out a knife. “I can fix that.”
The kid pulled out a neurodisruptor and stunned the bully.
“Not test-tube,” said the kid. “Arcturan researchpod.”
He reported the incident and teleported out