Category: My stories

Was A Rabbit

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A cop fireman-carried the lifeless body into the morgue.
The cause of his death is listed as “Basketball.”
Every so often, the coroner gets bored with Heart Disease and Cancer, so she cuts loose a little with the weirder cases.
“Old man died while playing ball with some kids,” said the cop.
“We all gotta go sometime,” said the coroner.
“I guess so,” said the cop. “Do you have the money?”
“I need another week,” said the coroner.
The cop shot the coroner twice in the head, put the gun in the old man’s hand, and walked out the door.

Spaceship

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Last night, a spaceship fell from the sky and landed on my driveway.
A small green man climbed out a hatch, waved hello, and asked me if he could borrow my tools.
At least I thought that was what he was asking.
“Sure,” I said. “Do you need English or Metric?”
The alien shrugged. “Grobnick blasdo,” he said, and he grabbed a few things from the garage before working on his engine.
It took him an hour before the ship was pulsing a greenish glow.
“Grobnick bladso,” he said, waved, and flew off into space.
Little fucker stole my tools.

The Wacky Adventures of Abraham Lincoln #99

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Abe lay back in his coffin and thought.
Johnson should be kicking out Mary Todd and Tad just about now.
I’m not even cold yet.
Bastard.
He’ll probably command the Army to freeze over the lawn for a skating rink. Andy loved skating, and it didn’t matter if it was a hundred below or a hundred above.
I loved skating.
Or perhaps he’d pull a Gotcha on the slaves and enslave them again.
Abe felt angry. He tried to get up.
Oh, wait. Hold on. Um…
I’m dead, he thought.
Ouch.
This is sure going to mess up my ice-skating.

Remix

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It’s fun to mess with memory tapes.
I reversed Johnny’s timestamps and he spent weeks sucking his thumb and shitting his pants while the reindex ran.
Dell hasn’t stopped speaking in French, despite restoring his mind from an old directory.
Tracy and Thomas woke up Thomas and Tracy. They didn’t know each other before I swapped their nodes. Now, well, a little better.
Oliver was supposed to be a remix. I had a great set of financials and old movies spliced into his mind. Instead, he became Corrupted.
This is a picture of Oliver. Find him.
Before he kills again.

Caricature

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The revolting, hook-nosed caricature loaded his grocery cart with every discount Kosher food he could.
When finished gathering food for tonight’s blood rituals, he haggled with the young lady at the checkout counter, protesting every penny.
She kept sweeping every item over the scanner. Beep. Beep.
“Want paper or plastic?” the bagboy asked.
“So hard a decision,” said the caricature. “Does the plastic come from petroleum stolen from Arab holy lands? Does the paper come recycled from shredded and defiled Korans?”
The girl stopped scanning the items and the bagboy stared into empty space.
There was nobody there.
Never was.

The Peace Hunt

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It was an awesome peace concert in the park, and at the end, we opened the cages that released the doves.
Majestically flying into the air, a cloud of white wings upon the air.
That’s when the hawks came.
Doves became puffs of white feathers as the raptors hit them with their talons and flew off with their prey.
Bloody chunks falling on the crowd, the remnants of collisions raining down.
Everybody staring at the hunt, unable to move.
“This is a disaster,” whispered the concert promoter.
“No, it’s not. It’s totally natural,” said the lead singer. “It’s fuckin’ beautiful.”

The Lenses

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At the rank of Mage Ultimor, the wizard will grind a Diabolical Lens.
Infused with ancient spells, this looking-glass deciphers messages from The Beyond.
The messages are often mundane, but occasionally an interesting and useful command makes it through the torrent.
Most mages grow bored with the filtering process. Others remain at their scrying table, peering into the hazy glass circle, lips trembling.
When he was an apprentice, his duty was to smash his master’s lens.
Voltmaster never took on an apprentice, so he never escaped the lure of the lens.
Surging with power, his eyes glow with distant rage.

Pickles

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Know what the worst thing about getting old?
I hate going bald.
Yeah, I used to have so much hair, but now. all my hair is falling out.
Some guys cover up with hats, and others shave their heads and go totally bald.
Me, I like to cover my head with sliced pickles.
How do I keep them on my head?
Well, the mustard acts like glue.
A few fall off during the day, but I keep a jar with me.
And in a real emergency, I can buy a hamburger and ask for extra pickles.
Lots of extra pickles.

Eighties

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The club is dead on Wednesdays, so I picked a theme and bought a few ads.
One after the other, these old people started to wander into the club, using walkers and canes.
A few had powered scooters. I had to move the tables further apart to handle those.
One woman with an oxygen tank and a white beehive wig complains about the music.
“What’s with this rock and roll crap?” she says.
“It’s Eighties Music,” I say. “Duran Duran. Flock of Seagulls. Van Halen”
You know, Eighties Night.
Oh. Right.
I switch to Benny Goodman for the happy geezers.

Fifteen Seconds

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Once you hear sirens, you have fifteen seconds to seek shelter.
Will the rocket land in the fields?
Will the rocket land in a school?
Will the rocket land in the streets?
Will the rocket land on you?
The shelter is across the street, you can get there quickly, but a child is standing there on the sidewalk, crying.
Run for the shelter now? Or cover the child with your body and close your eyes?
We watch the images on the television, and so many of us judge.
What would YOU do to protect that child from the deadly rain?