Category: My stories

Unmaking Plans

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We spent our lives together, always making plans.
We planned to have children, but never did.
We planned a trip around the world, but we never left the village more than a few days.
We planned to build a gazebo and a bridge across the creek, but when you look out back, you see nothing but grass, trees, and water.
For years, we made plans like these.
I sit here, by her bedside, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
They will arrive too late.
“What shall I do?” I asked last night.
“Enough of plans,” she said. “Just do whatever.”

The Infernal Tune

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It was said that Beethoven composed a melody so powerful, it could summon The Devil.
He never wrote it down, and never played it with anyone nearby.
Except his nephew Karl.
Perhaps this is why he fought to keep custody of Karl, to prevent him from revealing this secret?
Or maybe Karl attempted suicide after seeing his uncle plead with The Prince Of Darkness for his hearing back?
His doctor prescribed treatments containing lead to block out the infernal influences, sending the composer into painful and confusing fits.
Karl whispers, “The piano is out of tune. Does Satan listen now?”

Cough And Dagger

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The Dark Days are here.
I see their faces in the shadows, handing cough drops to each other.
There’s something in them. I just know there is.
No, I don’t know what it is. They won’t let me in the lab anymore.
I hear whispers: “Keep them medicated, keep them under control.”
I am offered the coughdrops at every corner, and I palm them to fool the others.
But now, their eyes are starting to glow green.
I can’t fake that, so I’m fleeing the city.
And then… I cough a single cough.
They hear it, growling, and I run.

The Monkey Dance

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For ten years, Dinko Dogan and his monkey entertained the streets of Rousse.
At night, they swam in the Danube, Dinko singing and the monkey hunting fish.
“The fish are bad,” said the rivermaster. “The poison from the factories is in them.”
Dinko laughed. The monkey laughed with him. “Come for a swim, my friend!” he sang.
When the coughing and bleeding sores were too painful to ignore, Dinko ended his nightly swims.
The price of bananas was so high, but the fruitwagoneer said the monkey brought customers and gave them for free.
Dinko sang, and the monkey danced on.

Tell Me A Story

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“Tell me a story,” says the ghost in my bed.
I’m used to it.
So, I pull a book from the shelf, open the pages, and begin to read.
“I’ve heard this before,” says the ghost.
The ghost has heard them all.
I close the book and make up a story about dragons, castles, maidens, and knights.
But this time, the maidens ate dragons and the castles floated in the air.
“What about the knights?” asked the ghost.
“They lived happily ever after,” I said.
The ghost smiled, faded into nothing, and I was finally able to go to sleep.

The Waxlings

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Come here, Waxlings.
The sun is too bright. Our world is melting.
The great mountains of the west are hills now, flowing in all directions.
The oceans are too hot to live near. Our great bridges have fallen and turned to goo.
As has nearly everything else.
Our only solace is that we are of stronger waxes. We sweat and drip, but maintain our lives by eating and finding what little shelter that remains.
One day, the heat will be too great even for us, and we will melt into the core.
Forgive me, my children, but you are delicious.

The Prince Of Scars

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We called the old man The Prince Of Scars.
He was brought to the hospital last winter, frozen solid.
We stripped him and put him in a tub of warm water, reviving him slowly.
His body was completely covered with painful creases, knots, deformations, and agonizing twists.
“What happened to you?” I asked him.
“Life didn’t pass me by,” he moaned. “It took one look at me and tore me apart.”
He didn’t say anything else.
We couldn’t get a name off of him and his fingerprints were long destroyed.
He left that morning.
Think he’ll be back next winter?

The Champ

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It is the Fourth Of July.
Thousands of miles from the Coney Island Boardwalk, Hodo blindly crawls on the cracked earth, flies buzzing in and out of his nose.
There is no food.
There is no water.
There is nothing but dirt, flies, and death.
A pack of hyenas catches his scent, and Hodo doesn’t feel them as they tear into his flesh.
Back at Coney Island, the winner of the hot dog eating competition congratulations the runner-up.
They laugh, throw up on each other, and laugh again.
To Hodo, the pool on the ground would have been a banquet.

A whisper in the ivy

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I hear a whisper in the ivy.
Is it the wind, blowing through the leaves?
On the ground, in a bed of green, covered with shadows, I see something.
I kneel down to look closer, but there is nothing there.
Another whisper. This time behind me.
And yet another. To my left. To my right.
It is the wind, and it wants to tell me something.
It breathes down my neck, past my arms, through my fingers.
“What is it?” I whisper back. “What do you want to tell me?”
Silence. The wind keeps its secrets, locked in the ivy.

The strange coffee

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Mary watched the last drop of coffee slide out of her cup and on to the floor.
There was a sizzle, then a whiff of steam. The drop of coffee burned through the tile to the basement.
Mary looked at the coffee pot, swirling it carefully. She’d used a free sample she’d received in the mail.
After a moment of panic, she realized it hadn’t burned a hole through her.
She went into the bathroom and checked to make sure.
After she got dressed again, she shrugged and filled another cup.
This time, she added sugar, igniting a massive explosion.