Category: My stories

Measure

639171

They say Helen Thomas has been in the White House Press Corps for the past 9 presidents, but measuring things in terms of presidents is a horrible idea.
How often do you have presidents around.
“Hey, someone wake the president… we need to measure this piece of string.”
They did that back in Ancient Egypt. A cubit was the length of pharaoh’s arm.
Every five minutes, someone asking him “stick out your arm!” Like he’s a common junkie.
Got a house to build, gotta measure out the two by fours.
No wonder why he buried himself under tons of rock.

No Gloves

639173

She covers her whole face with a mask, even though it’s just the left side that has the worst of the scars.
“Symmetry,” she growls.
She changes masks throughout the day, some smiling, some angry, some expressionless… just a white shaped piece of ceramic with two holes for eyes.
The left eye is fine, but the right one is different.
Bloodshot. Dilated.
“I see better with it than with the other,” she says, and she goes back to painting.
She wears the mask, but not gloves.
The brush in the blackened claw of her right hand dashes along the canvas.

The Key

639171

Every morning, the windup girl feels the turning of the key in her back.
She awakens, opens her eyes.
“Mistress,” she says, and smiles.
Mistress strokes her cheek, says the nicest things.
And, her eyes are… red?
She’s been crying again.
Windup girl wants to cry too, but she cannot.
“Mistress,” she says, “Need a hug?”
Mistress wants more, and soon, the windup girl’s clothes sit folded on the edge of the bed with Mistress’s.
“Fuck me,” she whispers.
Windup girl pulls out her key, places it on Mistress’s thigh.
Mistress smiles as windup girl’s eyes grow heavy and close.

Earthquake

639160

Something smells good.
Is Alvin in the kitchen?
Is he making hamburgers?
He makes great hamburgers.
What’s that rumbling? Why is everything shaking?
Earthquake?
I ran for a doorway to brace myself.
Alvin didn’t stop making hamburgers in the kitchen.
Once you get Alvin started on something, it’s impossible to make him stop before he’s done.
The rumbling stops and everything stops shaking.
A few glasses have broken, some things have fallen off of shelves and popped off the walls.
Nothing important.
The hamburgers are almost ready.
I should set the table.
With paper plates and cups.
You know. Aftershocks.

The Code

639473

They talked in code, a quiet series of taps and gentle coughs that went undetected by the teacher.
Questions… answers… who’s kissing… who’s not seeing each other anymore…
Every year, they change the code so that teachers can’t decode their messages.
Out on the playground, Seniors teaching the pre-schoolers the basics… cough… tap… a click of the tongue…fingernail tap… fingertip tap…
Every so often, a new signal is added, like tapping a wristwatch. Or an archaic one is removed, like the sliderule swish.
At reunions, conversation is polite.
But the code?
She’s twice divorced… he’s so fat…
Oh, so brutal!

Vista

639470

The videos of Al-Qaeda training in Afghanistan – firing guns, running obstacle courses, and all that running – you never saw them with laptops, programming and coding, did you?
Those guys got H1 visas and headed to Seattle, where they were greeted by Microsoft.
“We’ve got housing ready for you,” said a blonde in a suit. “Just sign the NDAs on top of your welcome packets and we’ll head down to Redmond.”
Each programmer signed their forms, praised Allah, and looked forward to the day when their latest weapon against the Western infidels would be unleashed.
“Vista,” Osama had told them, grinning.

Business Card War

639181

I’m the office manager. I print up business cards for everyone.
I keep a set of everybody’s handy for reordering purposes. Just mark your changes and go.
I keep another set for playing War.
Shuffle the business cards and deal them out.
I turn over a card, you turn over a card.
Now, who would win in an argument, the janitor or the CEO?
CEO wins, so I take your janitor card.
We go through the deck, turn over our piles, and start again.
It was a fun game, until my boss caught me playing, and tore up my card.

Pushbutton Moon

639179

You can’t see the stars in the city because of the lights.
So, Rico takes all his dates to the planetarium.
He knows the security guard there. Rico brings him weed for when the night gets boring.
One switch dims the lights and another turns on the machine, making tiny pinpricks of light spread across the dome.
“I can name them all,” he says, laying with his cousin Rosarita.
His finger traces the ancient outlines of constellations, telling stories about legends and monsters.
His other hand traces a line on her cheek.
It’s 3 in the afternoon, and they kiss.

Coins

639169

I stacked up quarters by the jukebox.
Everybody in the bar sighed and knew what was coming.
Six… Five… One…
It was her song.
It became our song, but before it was our song, it was her song.
She shared it with me.
She shared everything with me.
Until… the accident.
They said she fell asleep at the wheel, but she was parked when the other car hit her.
The guy that hit her disappeared, abandoned his car.
The registration and plates were fake. Stolen from a dealer’s lot.
I put in another quarter.
Six… Five… One…
All night long.

Donor

639169

Cheryl had put “Imagination and fingernails” on her organ donor card
It wasn’t easy to find, but tucked away, hidden behind her nightmares and dreams, there was her imagination.
“So fragile,” said the surgeon, and she gently lifted it out and put it on a ceramic dish.
Her assistant checked the national registry and found a match – an artist, skilled with a brush but without inspiration or the creative spark.
“Call them,” said the surgeon. “And have them ready by ten.”
The assistant nodded. “Anything else?” he asked.
“No,” said the surgeon, and she put the fingernails in her pocket.