Weekly Challenge #442 – Superconducting

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic: SUPERCONDUCTING

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of SKELETON…

Electrical box cat

JOHN MUSICO

Inventor assassinated by G.E.
by John Musico

Traditional superconduction is to cool the conducting wire enough so that the electrons traversing its surface do not impede one another. Professor Minsky had a novel approach. Launch a series of protons along the conducting medium. This accelerates the electrons towards the leading proton and the repulsion of the trailing proton further accelerates the leading proton. It involved no cooling at all. He called it; “The proton accelerator”, a single device that could be applied to an entire traditionally wired network. He presented his work at Stockholm. Before he could complete his presentation; a shot rang out from the audience.

LADY BLUE

I held my breath as the magnet hovered gently over the small tray of superconductor and liquid nitrogen.

The minutes ticked to hours; I thought about my family and how long it had been since I had seen them. How many years?

They promised they’d let me go if I did this for them. They said that my research would change the world.

The magnet continued to hover, even when the metal warmed to room temperature.

I did it. Endless power and energy. To the wrong people.

I took the gun, placed it in my mouth, and pulled the trigger.

JEFFREY

The Pick-Up Line
by Jeffrey Fischer

Pam straightened her skirt and wiped a stray hair from her face before stepping into the room. She wondered how many bad pick-up lines she would get tonight, and briefly considered starting a Tumblr account to document the particularly bad ones. The first few were oldies but baddies, including “Is your name Google? Because you’re the answer to everything I’m searching for.” Pam couldn’t even muster a groan for that; she simply walked away.

But the prize-winner for the evening was a badly-shaven man wearing a shirt filled with equations and a punch line no normal human would understand. Holding a plastic cup of beer, he sidled up to her and said, “Hey, babe, I know you want to go to my place. ‘Cause I’m a superconductor, so you’ve got no resistance to me.” She punched him in the face. “Conduct that.”

The God Particle
by Jeffrey Fischer

The second Thursday in September was Professor Frankenberg’s day to use the superconducting supercollider. He was going to find the God particle and win his Nobel Prize for the work. He had even written out his acceptance speech already.

When the time came, however, the professor had a little performance anxiety. He started up the big machine, but accidentally put the device in reverse. His equations were sound. However, what he ended up with was evidence of the Dog particle. Subsequent research showed how annoying this particle was: it stopped at every opportunity to spray smaller particles to mark its territory, and insisted on sniffing the rear ends of other particles.

Frankenberg didn’t mind the cruel remarks his fellow physicists made about his discovery. The Nobel prize and cash award took away the sting.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 73: Trauma Ward

The trauma ward turned out to be relatively compact, containing only a few beds – things seemed to be going George’s way; super! Conducting a quick search, he managed to locate the bed he’d vacated when he’d first woken up and with interest, scanned the notes hung at its foot.

Car accident. Coma: these words sprang out at him; then more words that made little sense: Candidate sixteen – final batch.

What the hell did that mean?

Turning to the bedside locker, he opened it, expecting to find his personal possessions. Oddly, the locker was empty – so where were all his things?

#2 – MRI

It’s an offputting experience – being slid, headfirst into the MRI scanner.

Claustrophobia grips you in the confined space; you lie stock still, terrified to move, lest you ruin the image, Then the thumping, grinding, clunking begins – every fibre of your being is acutely aware that you’re surrounded by massive superconducting magnets, spinning at thousands of revolutions per minute and cooled in a bath of liquid helium.

But the worst thing of all isn’t the knowledge you could be ripped to shreds and frozen solid.

It’s being forced to lie there, listening to Neil Diamond on those blasted headphones!

#3 – First Violin

First Violin isn’t the most glamorous role in the orchestra – sometimes you’re not even noticed – it lacks the drama of the percussion section and the glitz of the brass but there are perks to the job.

For a start, I have a prime seating position – handy for quick exits to the bar after performances, and I have a great view of the hot blonde playing the cello!

And, of course, should the Musical Director be taken ill, or fail to show, then it’s my turn to step into the spotlight… believe me, it really is super, conducting!

#4 – Business Acumen

Supercon Ducting was the family business – not that I could ever work up much enthusiasm for cabling works, but it was a successful company and I wasn’t complaining.

Even so, I couldn’t help dreaming of the bright lights and neon that a more high profile career might bring, and when the chance to sell off the business and pursue my dreams came up, I grabbed it with both hands, and I’ve never looked back since. Hollywood, here I come!

Yes indeed, Supercon Lighting and Signage (Los Angeles), is doing very well indeed, and is much more fun than cabling!

ANIMA

The Remodeling Project

Igor! Come here! Schnell!

Yes, Herr Doktor?

Have you seen this latest electricity research going on in Zurich? Amazing! I think we should remodel the laboratory, replacing this antiquated 18th century copper wire equipment with the latest transformers and fault limiters from ABB. Ja, Think of it! Thousands of amperes of current! With all of that power, the new creature will certainly have better manners than He of whom we do not speak.

Und since the new equipment is so much smaller, we could add that sewing room you have always wanted, Igor. Won’t that be nice?

Oh yes, Doktor :P

TOM

Straight Up Steady State

Gabriel floated up to God. “Sorry to say Lord, but you look horrible,” stated the Archangel “Damnable CERN.” “Don’t get your drift, Boss?” “Since that bloody superconductor started picking off Higgs bosons a bunch of Me has slipped over the Einstein–Rosen Bridge.” “Anything I can do?” “How thoughtful Gabe, could you take that flaming sword of righteousness and whack the first law of thermodynamics into tiny particles. “Won’t that cause a multiverse reset?” “Might, might not We’ll just have to roll the dice.” The Angel whacked, all was blackness.

“This time no entropy. What the fuck was I thinking?”

I Am Jeffery’s Prostate

There has been much mention of Jeffery’s prostate here at the 100 Word Weakly Challenged, but many of you may not know that Jeffery’s prostate is actually a superconductor. Yup it cranks out PH level that are right off the chart. Which has spawn, forgive the pun, a whole new industrial repurposing.. Cutting artistic patterns in rare earth substrates. I got him to write my name out is cursive Further he has been getting proposals, forgive the pun, from all the major Physic Research centers. Years from now Jeffery will be known as: The Father of Bio-Physics, forgive the pun.

Creating in the Pre-Post-Human Era

Living with an artist it not the easiest of relationships. For one practical possessions are forever ending up in art projects. Gail’s battery power Latte frother is in a piece at the Tate. Be friending an artist will reduce your gardening hardware. Dianna’s pitch fork is on loan to the MOMA. Since I am member of the Friend of CERN I have been eyeballing the Hadron Collider superconductor for a LED project. Have you seen that thing, damn colorful as hell and all heavy metal proto stempunk? It will be a giant POV that alternately spells out DOG and GOD.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 71

Banister dropped the superconductor coils into caterpillar mode to compensate for the waves of oncoming g-loads. The last thing they needed was getting enveloped in a blue hole, which was just a tad bit more tolerable that a stay in a black hole. Higgs bosons sparked off the batlofts and the tardic stage. The Duke snaffled down the Higgs and was happily glowing vermilion. The net effect inside the stage was a glowing unbridled disproportal level of optimism. Le Cid burst out gleefully, “Want to hear my evil villain plan for your demise?” Smiling Smith chirruped, “Love to hear it.”

MUNSI

I’ve been good, for the last little while, about the puns.

When the new prompt, each Sunday, is announced, my instinct is to go meta and warp the story toward a gag, but I’m aware that I’m frequently the only one who finds such shenanigans amusing, and I’ve been consciously trying to wean myself away from this behavior.

Mostly successfully.

My stories haven’t always been great, but they’ve at least been on topic.

It’s something I think I’m entitled to be proud of, and that nobody can begrudge my pride in.

Yes, on this point my conduct has been super.

SERENDIPITY

Line a toroidal tunnel with superconducting magnets.

Insert a white-coated, bespectacled and bearded particle physicist at one end, turn on the power, and rapidly accelerate your scientist around the tube.

Once they are approaching something near light speed, slam them into a solid, immoveable object – preferably another scientist.

It’s unlikely you’ll discover anything remotely useful, let alone anything resembling a ‘God particle’ – and it can hardly be described as proper scientific enquiry, but I’m no scientist, just a specialist travel agent.

And it does make for an exciting and entertaining day trip for those fundamentalist church outings

ZACKMANN

It seems to be a fad to wear punny costumes this year. I decided not to combine my Old Man Time and Iron Man Costumes to become the Iron Age. I love the Miss Universe costume but doubt I would look good in a star spangled dress. So I am watching Shining Time Station, skipping to the parts with George Carlin or Richard Starkey. I am studying these two acting greats because this Halloween I will put on a train attendant’s uniform with underwear over my pants and a cape over my shoulders then go out as Super Mister Conductor.

TURA

“At the height of the storm, lightning flashes down and strikes the conductor’s electronic baton. At once he is transformed into Karajan: Superconductor! Wielding his supercharged baton, he conducts vast symphony orchestras in acoustic feats that astound the world!”

“Wherever a crisis looms, Karajan: Superconductor is there! Drawing on the sonic energies of the earth and the sky, he averts volcanic eruptions, turns tsunamis, and routs revolutionaries with the force of music that can make even the dead dance!”

The comic artist finished his pitch and waited breathlessly for the publisher’s answer.

“Don’t call us,” he said, “we’ll call you.”

CHELSEA

He had always been fascinated by the precision of his father getting ready for work each night.

Pressed black pants, stiff leather belt, black socks, shiny black shoes, the fancy white shirt and black bow tie.

Always so careful, it was like a dance.

For his tenth birthday his mother took him to see his father at work.

Bouncing with excitement he waited for the lights to come up.

When they did the the first thing he saw was a long black coat like a cape.

From that day on he told everyone that his father was a super conductor.

LIZIE

“Zero resistance. And… ahm… that’s it, ladies and gentlemen.”

The large audience was perplexed. That’s it? They paid for an overpriced two-hour long seminar.

The abrupt uproar of indignation caught the speaker running away as fast as he could.

Two members of the audience hurried behind him. When they reached the back exit, there was no sign of him.

Later that night, a cleaning lady touched a small round disk and she too disappeared mysteriously.

Like so many before, she returned decades later to say “zero resistance”, right before the Great Surrender. Earth became a popular destination, but… not for humans.

DIONYSIUS

The two boys lay still in the darkness. A faint light crept under the door with the woman’s sobs. The younger boy leaned closer as something shattered, but they better not fuckin’ touch.

Tell me again, T, he whispered.

The older boy came back and spoke. I’m in a library with lots of books studyin’ my superconductors. It’s easy to get food. I know everything there is about superconductors.

What about me, T? Am I there, too?

Not knowing how he knew, wishing he didn’t. You’re safe, D, he lied.

I wish I could go with you, T.

He said, I do, too, and grasped the younger boy’s hand.

NORVAL JOE

Garbage Man tapped on the door. Light glinted off the brass plaque.
“Death was your leader years ago. From what I researched, he’s been in prison for five,” Dergle said.
“That’s true,” Garbage Man said and opened the door. “We haven’t gotten around to replacing the sign.”
A man sat in a chair his hands raised before him and lighting arcing from one to the other.
“What do you want?” The man asked, his eyes hidden by dark glasses.
“Superconductor. This man wants to join us.”
“What are his powers?”
Garbage man looked at Dergle and said, “I don’t know.”

PLANET Z

Billy hates it when it’s too hot.
He likes it cold. Really cold.
He keeps the air conditioner on full-blast at home.
There’s no point in keeping things in the fridge. Or freezer.
His place was a walk-in freezer.
One day, it got so cold, that the metal wristband on his watch turned into a superconductor.
The current coming from the battery in the watch now had zero resistance, and the watch began to levitate.
It launched itself across the room, ripping Billy’s arm off.
He quickly bled to death, sprays of red across his frosty white sofa and carpet.

Count Your Gooses Before They Hatch

You’ve heard of the goose that laid the golden eggs, but have you heard of the golden goose that laid eggs?
I’m not sure which is weirder: An inanimate object laying living, organic eggs or a living creature laying solid metal eggs.
I tried to explain this to the guy who owned the golden goose, but he just wanted to melt the goose down and sell the gold.
“Have you seen the price of gold?” he replied.
“This is a miracle goose!” I pleaded. “You can’t melt it down!”
He did anyway.
The goose turned out to be gold-plated lead.

Caller

I called the sports medicine hotline to set up an appointment for my first physical therapy session.
The operator asked me what I needed to work on.
Shoulder
Elbow
Wrist
Fingers
More questions:
Which location?
Referring doctor?
Would October 10th at 2 work for me?
Yes.
It’s going to hurt, she says.
I know. I’m not ready, but I’m ready.
More questions:
My name?
Date of birth?
I tell her.
Oh no, she says. I’m so sorry.
It’s okay. I tell her. I’ll be alright. I’ll get better. Right?
I hang up and sit there… quietly.
Happy fucking birthday to me.

King Bones

The bones of Richard The Third were recently discovered under a parking lot in Leicester England.
His identity was confirmed with DNA analysis, combined with evidence of his famous battle wounds.
The reassembled skeleton confirmed that he suffered from severe spinal curvature and deformity as a result of scoliosis.
When scientists are done with their research, he will be given a proper burial at Leicester Cathedral.
Although one might imagine that Michael Jackson, famous for collecting the bones of John Merrick The Elephant Man, would want to buy Richard’s famous misaligned bones, too.
Thank goodness that disgusting child-molester is dead.

Tonight, I Have A Headache

Holy fuck. I’ve got the worst headache I’ve ever had.
It feels like I’m William Tell’s son, and he’s trying to make applesauce with a machine gun.
I swear, this headache’s going to kill me.
So, let’s fuck. Let’s fuck as hard and nasty as we can.
If this headache really does kill me, at least I’ll die looking into your eyes.
Your beautiful eyes.
Unless you want me to fuck you up the ass. Then, I’ll die looking at your beautiful long golden hair.
And if I don’t, I can just take an aspirin.
This bar’s got aspirin, right?

Adopt A Minefield

Someone told me that there was a charity called “Adopt-A-Minefield.”
I needed a tax write-off, so I sent them a check.
A few days later, I received an envelope from them that contained a receipt and brochures.
They detailed their global projects to eliminate landmines from current and former war zones so that farmers could farm fields and kids could play safely.
One day, they hoped to create a landmine-free world.
I dropped the brochure in horror.
Clear mine fields?
Ban landmines?
I logged into my website, landminesforsale.com, and checked the sales figures.
Good numbers.
I sighed in relief.

Bloody Word Games

Most people work out the crossword in pencil, but confident people work it out in ink.
Then there’s the crazy ones who do their crosswords in blood.
I’m not talking about scratching a nib against a mosquito bite.
No, these are the wackos who slash a wrist or a thigh to get their own blood.
Even though this tactic guarantees a free-flowing supply, it puts a rather draconian time limit on your puzzle.
Well, that, and you’ll stain the newspaper… and the table… and the carpet…
Speaking of which, what’s a 10-letter word for binding wounds?
Hurry… I’m blacking out.

Weekly Challenge #441 – Brass

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic: ALWAYS

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of SUPERCONDUCTING…

Missy!

JOHN

The Brass, Not Impressed
by John Musico

I didn’t get the promotion to head of IT, because of my reply to: “Demonstrate your enthusiasm for the job?” I replied; “ A dog, never walked, angst when other dogs heading towards greater things trotted by the window.
Then one day, the owner clipped a leash on him. The door opened in slow motion, as golden sunshine flooded in. At the curb, he was unclipped, and galloped into the sunset, ears flapping in the wind, thundering to the mountaintop.”
I then galloped down the executive table, smiling widely. They didn’t smile. “We don’t hire people as odd as you.”

Everything You Never Knew About Brass
by John Musico

Brass conducts sound well, so, it is used as the material to make musical instruments as trumpets.
Brass, traditional in Indian tableware, contains copper which makes it antibacterial.
Brass hat; the metal braid on a high military officer’s hat commonly thought to be made of brass.
Brass monkey; shaped like the rack to carry billiard balls; the rack that held the stack of cannon balls on a ship. Incidentally that was called a “monkey” because it was manufactured by the Monkey Brass Company.
Brass doesn’t rust.
Getting down to brass tacks; the basics, as the anchoring tacks of upholstered furniture.

LADY BLUE

The Siren Hunter

I took brass bullets
and the occultist’s advice:
Aim between the eyes
and shoot her twice.

I hunted her down
and dreamed of the day
that I’d kill the one
who that took him away.

To avenge him,
and pay my dues, too,
with determination
I sailed with my crew.

In uncharted waters,
we would find her.
But our spells
could not bind her.

She stood with two others
as I aimed my gun;
but before I could do anything,
her song had been sung.

I couldn’t move.
Bound as I was,
to the siren’s spell
and my lost cause.

JEFFREY

Tacks
by Jeffrey Fischer

I’ve never understood the concept of “getting down to brass tacks.” Getting down how? Like K C and the Sunshine Band, getting down tonight? Going down to the farm? Or just sitting down? And brass tacks. Those seem expensive compared with regular tacks, so you’d only use them for special occasions. They still seem sharp, however, so sitting down on brass tacks seems needlessly painful, and expensive. The whole expression seems like something old people made up to confuse the young. Damn wisenheimers. Wait a minute – what’s a wisenheimer?

The Mall
by Jeffrey Fischer

Harry dreaded shopping at the local mall. He much preferred to buy what he could online, and let the mailman deliver the goods. Every so often, however, he found himself entering the gates of his own private Hell. The teenagers running around as though they owned the place bothered him, but not nearly as much as the rude sales people – the aggressive kiosk owners, the indifferent department store clerks, the snobbish hipsters in stores that wanted to be trendy, and wanted nothing to do with Harry. All of this was capped by an intrusively loud sound system that always seemed to be playing a brass band’s cover version of a Metallica song.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 72: ???

George’s search proved fruitless and, by the time he’d finished, he had a sneaky suspicion that this wasn’t the trauma ward at all… there were just too many prostates for his liking.

He fumbled the crude map he’d drawn from the plan at reception from his pocket and almost immediately realised his error – it would help to have it the right way up.

He left the ward, heading across the corridor to an entrance opposite, where an imposing brass plaque proudly informed him he was entering the ‘Sir Donald Cuthbertson Trauma and Surgical Wing’

He entered, leaving the prostates behind.

#2 – Brassed off

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, your kids are never satisfied.

My son’s fourteenth birthday should have been awesome, but he spent the day sulking after opening my present to him. The trombone wasn’t appreciated, yet I was sure he’d said he wanted to be in a brass band.

I tried again the following year – the oil drum did not go down well. My guess at steel band it seems was also wrong.

His sixteenth left me stumped… was it lead, copper, iron? Finally, I gave up and asked him:

“It’s heavy metal, dad! Just buy me a guitar!”

# 3 – Brass

Granddad used to say, “Where there’s muck, there’s brass”

Aye, I believed him too – set up me own business, I did – more fool me.

I’m telling you, all my life I’ve been up to me neck in muck, and never once found a bit o’ brass!

Aye… plenty of gold, tin, even the odd sapphire, and all I made from it, went straight back int’ business… but it did no good – I never found any brass.

Granddad were wrong. So listen to me: don’t believe what they say – brass mining won’t make you rich, but it will make you bankrupt!

TURA

Brass
——–
An alchemist sought to make gold not from lead, like his rivals, but brass. For, he said, brass is already near to resembling gold, and must therefore be easier to transform.

He alloyed copper, zinc, and esoteric minerals by secret rituals, and at last produced metals exactly duplicating the appearance of gold. But they lacked weight, and he concluded that only lead might provide this.

So he encased discs of lead in his finest brass and pronounced this to be the true gold. But so expensive it was to produce, that he spent all his mundane gold in making it.
——–

TOM

A Final Solution

The brass needed a definitive roll into Paris “we are your liberators” moment. If they could get Chalabi in chains leading the parade all the better. The ISiS lads had to have read the collisions playbook and laughter their asses off at the local revolutionary bar. “Crazy Americans.” General Bennet Larson Startlore had an inspired and simple plan. The Joint Chiefs sent to the White House and council mulled over the human right implications. “Are the Germans absolutely possessive of this drugs shelf life ? “ asked the President. “Alph pheroic D metabolic pathways go inert in six weeks time.

Join together with the band

My younger brother Len was hell bent on joining a brass band. Once he locked onto a desire he would follow it down to its ruinous end. What he excelled at in terms of focus was matched with a depth of a lack of talent that was apparent to all but he. Len worked two summers to afford a top of the line Trombone. That brass should have produced grace notes, what Len produced drove animals under the bed. This is how I inherited a trombone. I had no desire to play the thing, but it was just sitting there.

Copper and zinc

Every age has its official metal. Iron Age, Copper Age, Bronze Age, the Age of Steel. We of the Silicon Age driven by nano seconds long for a simpler time, but are incapable of leaving our lust for technology behind. So we have create a fictitious age of brass, one with ray gun, goggles, and airships. I guess those wouldn’t be made out of brass, but pretty much everything else. Even brass corsets, or maybe a brass derby. The center of my brass bolection is a masterfully crafted keyboard. All I need is steam power computer and sterling engine mouse.


Well Defined Relationship Part70

“Mom, I’ll be ok. Really”
“Bold as Brass same as your father.”
Mrs. Parsons walked towards the Guild.
“Mom?”
“Tell the Duke and Doctor if a hair is harmed on your lovely head I will have their balls.”

“What!” came the chorus?

She didn’t glance behind, nor change her course.

“I don’t think she’s coming with us.” said Sparky cover in mud.

Banister landed the stage in front of the company

“Shotgun?” he yelled tossing Timmy a brass rail gun.

“I’m your man.”

Tim swung up into the jump seat.

They all climbed aboard.

“Off to the Boardland we go-ho.”

SERENDIPITY

I like a brass bedstead – so much more tactile than wood or wrought iron; it gives a sense of opulence that you just don’t get from other materials.

Brass has all the character of gold, but is so much more practical, not to mention, it’s considerably more affordable.

A proper bed, with down-filled pillows and a good, old-fashioned, heavy satin quilt deserves a proper, polished brass bedstead – anything less is just plain wrong.

But the best thing about a brass bedstead is that it makes the perfect blunt instrument, and it’s so easy to wash the blood off!

MUNSI

Marching Band

By Chris Munroe

It seemed like a good idea at the time, allowing the marching band to choose its own playlist.

Students would be more invested in their band, morale would improve, school spirit would soar, what could possibly go wrong?

We agreed it was genius, and so the plan went forward.

It wasn’t until halftime, first game of the season, that we saw the problem with what we’d unleashed.

When the song they chose was Big Sean and Nikki Minaj…

Brass brass brass brass, brass brass brass brass, brass brass brass brass, brass brass brass brass…

STOP.

Now make that motherfucker Hammer-Time.

LIZZIE

A year of planning and a 10-hour drive didn’t discourage Gene. He was used to hardship. Well, he was used to corporate hardship mostly, being the CEO of one of the biggest oil companies. His stress levels had been building up dramatically. So, the retreat would be an intense spiritual experience. At the end of his stay, Gene was feeling great. The problem was when this guy drove into the back of his car on the local country road. Gene was definitely not ready for this kind of hardship. He ended up at the bottom of a hole, intensely dead.

CHELSEA

I never understood why they’re called brass bands. Not all the instruments are made of brass.

Silver flutes and delicate piccolos with there sweet trills,

Calf skinned drums booming out the march,

Clarinets of wood and reed humming softly with the melody,

Tambourine with its gentle shivering tinkle.

Sweet voices telling stunning stories.

Brass bands are just so much more than just brass.

What would it sound like if a brass band was only brass?

They would just sound funny with only the thundering of the tuba, the triumphant trill of the trumpet, and the tremulous vibrato of the trombone.

ANIMA

Jerry, how much further you think we have to go down? I mean, we’ve dug down like 8 feet and I have pricked all of my fingers dozens of times…

Shaddup and keep digging! What did I tell you when we got to the gold ones?

All that glitters is not gold, and to keep digging…

And when we passed through the silver?

Every cloud has a silver lining, but this wasn’t what we were after…

And the lead?

You said to get the lead out…

Hello, what have we here…? At last, We are down to the brass tacks!

DANNY

The devil walked down my driveway today in the odd shape of a redneck woman, her spindly legs barely able to manage the weight of her enormous gut that protruded from her skeleton frame. She was after the soul of my Maltese mix Freddie, who died earlier this week. I stopped the devil by refusing to open the front door. “You have some Brass balls coming here, you cannot have the soul of my dog, he is already in Heaven,” I said. The devil, unable to see her own crotch, walked away not knowing if she had brass balls at all.

DIONYSIUS

Scavenger

It could have been called a mystery but wasn’t.

Nobody paid attention to him except to avoid him — a big, physical teenager — until he was sent up for breaking and entering. When he got out he brought a knife to a fist fight. That’s assault with a deadly weapon.

Even if they’d looked, they wouldn’t have found that single casing melted into the brass by his partner, or noticed the buzzards circling over the rocky ravine out in the middle of the reservation. It was, after all, a country where buzzards circled endlessly over innumerable deaths.

Wherever he’s gone, said the sheriff, he’s there and I’m here. Good riddance.

Brass in Pocket

He was nearly 65 when they met, depressed that he’d never have enough to retire. His wife had lost all interest in sex, unnecessarily, but he was over arguing.

Sitting at the next Starbucks table over, she said, What kind of music do you like?

He thought she must be talking — on the phone maybe? Me?

I want to start a brass band. She was barely 20 if that.

Do you play tuba?

We’re only gonna play brass songs. Like Brass in Pocket.

Lay Lady Lay.

Brass Monkey.

I don’t know that one.

She sang it all the way through for him.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle followed Garbage Man through the door at the end of the alley. Long John had overcome his fear of the ambulatory heap, and dashed through the entryway, sniffing along walls and in corners that Dergle could only imagine in the pitch darkness.
Once the outer door was closed, Garbage Man flipped on an interior light revealing a large windowless room equally as filthy as the alley they’d left. Long John gave up his chase of some small creature and trotted back to the men.
Incongruously, across the room a meticulously polished brass placard on a singular door read, “Death”.

PLANET Z

Mr. Dan, our chemistry teacher, is teaching us about alloys.
Alloys are metals that are mixed together. Or metal and nonmetals.
It gives them special properties, like strength or malleability.
For instance, brass is a mix of copper and zinc.
While bronze is copper and tin, or arsenic.
Steel is a iron and carbon.
I raise my hand and ask if a screwdriver is an alloy of vodka and orange juice.
“Those aren’t metals,” says Mr. Dan.
That’s my way of reminding him to give me an A, or I tell the school board about his drinking on the job.