Tag: tragedy

Left Behind

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I watch from my twisted prison, two birds soaring over the water, free to ride the breezes.
They are the craftsman, Daedalus, and his son, Icarus. Escaping Knossos on wings of feathers, wood and wax.
They are abandoning me, and I howl with rage.
In our youth, Icarus and I were brothers. Royal blood may flow through me, but Daedalus taught me, and we struggled against my monstrous nature.
More of a father than the tyrant who sends the children of his enemies for me to devour.
A flash of flame on the horizon. Icarus is falling.
My brother! No!

Back In The Day

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Back in the day, Batman would be all over Gotham City, battling villains, busting crooked capers, and solving crimes.
Then, one day, instead of coming up with an elaborate way to kill Batman that he could escape from, The Joker stabbed him in the heart with a knife.
After that, all the fun of being a bad guy just went away. They had nobody to match wits against anymore.
Most retired. But others, well…
Sad, really, watching The Riddler going around, taunting passers-by with “What have I got in my pockets?”
Oh well. Fun while it lasted, right, Mr. Kent?

Spider

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I’m watching a spider climb up the side of this fence.
This is fascinating.
It extends each leg, one by one, and pulls itself along.
It’s graceful, smooth – like walking your fingers up the board.
But with a spider. More legs.
For five minutes, I watch it, but it feels like an eternity. Like watching the sand run out of a gigantic hourglass kind of eternity.
When the spider reaches the top of the board, it slips around the edge and stands in the sun.
A bird swoops down and eats it.
For a moment, I stand there, just staring.

Cursed Town

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They say Westchester’s a cursed town. I wouldn’t know.
I was sent here to computerize the county’s record-keeping. Getting all those stacks of marriages, births, and deaths from the old ledgers to my laptop for processing down in Albany.
Three days in, The Town Hall burnt to the ground.
Here’s the weird part… everyone ever born in Westchester vanished like smoke. As if they’d never existed.
And everyone who ever died and got buried here, well, they weren’t dead anymore.
Not a problem for those not born. But the rest, well…
Damn Zombies make you wish you’d never been born.

Dictator

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The townspeople got word that the country’s dictator, after many years of ruling with an iron fist, had died overnight.
There were celebrations, cries of freedom, and they threw together an effigy of Old General Montcastle for burning.
Then, they looked around and realized things really hadn”t been all that bad with Montcastle running things.
They put the effigy in the town square and started to pile up flowers at its feet, turning it into a memorial of sorts.
Montcastle’s son got word of the memorial and said “Collect the flowers, but we’re still burning the place to the ground.”

The Belt

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Mother likes it when we come to dinner, especially when I bring the kids.
When dinner is over and Dad loosens his belt, I see something in Mom’s eyes.
She’s afraid.
Sometimes, she’d call me at the strangest times. Early. Late.
But when I ask her if anything is wrong, she doesn’t say a word.
What does Dad do with that belt that scares her?
I found out last week. Mom was in the kitchen, beaten to death. Dad was hanging in the basement from the belt he beat her with.
Thanksgiving will be at home this year, I guess.

Heartless

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The kidnappers sent Julius one of Edna’s toes, but he still had trouble rounding up the ransom.
Time was running out for Edna. The deadline was Valentine’s Day, and they”d threatened to cut out her heart.
I won’t bore you with the details, but things went sour.
What arrived at Julius’ doorstep on February 15th, wrapped in paper, was her stomach.
The kidnappers didn”t know much about anatomy.
“This means she”s still alive, right?” begged Julius.
The FBI agent looked at his partner.
They started to pack up their equipment and notified the office that it was homicide’s problem now.

Way With Words

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Felix’s novels were a War Crime against Literature. So, for these crimes, he was banished to the circle of despised Literary Critics.
He didn’t just have a way with words – he had his way with words. In the worst possible way, in the back of his unmarked white van.
When he was done with them, he’d send his article to the publisher and leave the bloody, sweaty, shivering words on a playground for the children to discover.
His headstone will be blank. No words would associate with this monster, and no numbers are brave enough to cross the picket lines.

My Bloody Valentine

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Five hours ago, this bum was using his pen knife to cut aluminum cans into hearts to give away on Valentine’s Day.
Now, he’s a bloody pulp under a bench. Some other bums beat him up for the aluminum cans, cashed them in for beer money.
He could have defended himself with the knife, but to him, it was a tool and not a weapon. Just as Cupid”s bow and arrow are for love, not war.
A mother tells her son not to worry. He’s up in Heaven now.
I hope they clean him up before they let him in.

Breaking Glass

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Moishe was always breaking glass.
Schlomo was always gluing glass pieces together to make beautiful art.
Moishe and Schlomo were the perfect team.
Sure, Schlomo needed Moishe, but Moishe needed Schlomo because Schlomo amazing glass artworks were beautiful enough to convince someone that it was okay that their window got smashed.
When Moishe got married, Schlomo glued the crushed wineglass into a beautiful swan and presented it to the bride.
He kept one piece for himself, which later that evening, he used to cut his own throat.
Oy gevalt, what a mess! Hierschel, what gets blood out of a carpet?