Category: My stories

The quiet city

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Downtown is quiet, abandoned for the holiday.
We get out our skateboards and own the sidewalks and streets for a day.
If we tried this during the workweek, we’d chased by the cops. Maybe even caught and arrested.
No cop cars. No sirens. No noise at all but the sound of our wheels grinding up the pavement.
At the end of the day, we get in our cars and go home.
It takes hours to get home, dodging and weaving the skaters and thrashers filling up the neighborhood.
They work Downtown, so they’d rather stay out here.
Goddamned clueless amateurs.

Is it pie?

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I’m looking at my windowsill.
There is a pie there, cooling slowly.
I try to smell which flavor it is, but I can’t tell.
You should be able to tell what flavor a pie is from smelling it.
So I’m wondering if this is really pie.
I’ve heard rumors about this. Stories.
Bad stories.
I should be careful.
So, I poke it with a knife, and the pie crust moves.
It’s a fake. A doppieganger, pretending to be pie.
I stab it with the knife.
It’s a delicious, blueberry doppieganger.
Satisfied, I reach for the ice cream and a fork.

Kill Wilson

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Every prospective assassin is given a run through the simulation to determine if they’d fit into the agency.
They are handed a note that says “Go to the Foster Building and kill Wilson. Do not check in until you have killed Wilson.”
There are three people in the Foster Building with the last name Wilson, two with Wilson as a first name.
If the assassin does some basic research, they’ll figure out which is the right Wilson to kill and pass the test.
Those that kill all five fail the test.
And blowing the building up is a huge no-no.

group therapy

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every time i hear someone say that i’m as crazy as a shithouse rat, it pisses me off.
i’m far, far crazier than a shithouse rat. in fact, in group therapy, when i was put in a room full of shithouse rats, the shithouse rats all cowered in a corner while i just sat there and grinned.
one by one, i bit their heads off and ate them. their crazy skulls crunched between my teeth, like rat-flavored candies.
now the doctors just drug me and tie me up. but to be honest, i’ve never been a fan of group therapy.

Dancing Rocks

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The louder the speakers, the greater the vibration.
Ever had drinks rattle off of the table in a loud bar?
Sound vibrations.
What if the sounds were huge? What could they do?
We built the test facility far out in the desert, miles from everywhere.
The entire floor is a gigantic set of speakers.
Workers pile up boulders on the floor.
The camera system is good, says Control, and we race off to the bunker to perform.
I flip three switches, slowly turn a dial, and the boulders dance on the monitors.
Experiment? What experiment?
This is just for fun.

Brickle Me Elmo

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She goes absolutely everywhere with that Elmo doll.
Those two are inseparable.
Five year-olds do that kind of thing. Clinging to your toys,
But when they’re sixteen, that’s when you should be concerned.
So, am I concerned?
I’m not.
Try not to be surprised.
You see, Staci emptied out the doll’s head and put a brick in it.
So far, she’s brained two rapists and a mugger.
“Self defense” worked for the DA. No charges filed.
That’s my girl.
I wish she’d let me wash it. The dried blood and bits of scalp don’t quite match the red fabric fur.

The Future

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Even though security is almost completely done by biometrics, we still call it “handing over the keys” when you buy a car.
The dealer syncs your vehicle’s scanner with your retinal pattern, thumb print, voice print, and everything else that identifies your biological uniqueness.
No keys at all. The strip of metal with the logo on the keychain is just symbolic.
We also still call them cars, even though they’re not much more than automated floating bubbles these days.
I step into the bubble, wave my hand, and I’m off.
Yes, we still call it driving when it’s really riding.

Schnauzer

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I have a giant Schnauzer.
That’s giant with a small G. Not a big G.
He’s not a Giant Schnauzer breed. He’s a giant Schnauzer.
One hundred feet tall.
He’s still growing, too. He’s been growing ever since I got him as a puppy.
What do I feed him? Just the usual dog food.
Lots of it. The manufacturer gives me the stuff for free.
They get to put my Schnauzer on the bag and in the commercials.
He doesn’t know any tricks. Or know his name.
So I gave up, and I just call him Schnauzer.
My giant Schnauzer.

The Salad Races

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We both order club salads and watch the lady behind the counter pull out two metal bowls.
The race is on.
She grabs twice the usual amount of ingredients each time, dividing them between the bowls.
Lettuce, chopped ham, eggs…
It was neck and neck until it was time for the dressing.
“One scoop or two?”
We both said one. Two would slow us down.
She mixes things up, scraping the bowls loudly with the salad tongs.
Bowls are poured into plastic clamshells.
And I get the first.
Victory!
I celebrate with a lap around the restaurant and leave.

Apartment Circus

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I couldn’t stand to see the carnival rust in the junkyard, so I bought it.
How you fit all that into a two bedroom apartment in Manhattan, well, that’s my secret.
Kids line up at my door, and I sell tickets to the rides, the midway games, and the various tent acts.
At first, the Condo Association protested, but now they’re all in the show: the fat lady in 5H, the super’s a sword swallower, and 16A tells fortunes.
It’s a good crowd tonight.
I adjust my nose, check my floppy shoes, and lead the clowns into the center ring.