Category: My stories

The Crabs

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I was walking along the beach when a swarm of crabs came out of the ocean and began walking in unusual geometric formations before my very eyes.
Then, they stacked up in a pyramid, building up until the crab at the tippy top got in position, waving its claws around.
After gracefully disassembling the pyramid, they slowly walked back into the ocean.
Last night, it was turtles.
The night before, it was lobsters.
Do you think the ocean is trying to tell us something?
Probably, but I sure do like the gymnastics routines.
I wonder what will do them tomorrow.

Every Five Minutes

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Every five minutes, the strange man in the top hat pulls a lit candle out of his coat, bends over, and places it on the ground.
He stands back up, and then waits.
For five minutes.
Then, he does it all over again.
Where he’s getting these candles, I have no idea.
But he’s been doing it for a while. There’s at least a mile of candles along the Interstate.
Strange thing – it’s windy out, but the candles stay lit.
Nobody’s stopping, either. They’re just driving by, completely ignoring the weird scene on the side of the road.
Their loss.

Making Ice

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You know that old Polish joke about losing the recipe for ice?
Well, that joke has my friend George Koslowski written all over it.
Most folks, when they stick a tray full of water in the freezer, they pull out a tray full of ice.
George, if he’s not following the recipe on his notecard, pulls out the best Chicken Florentine you ever tasted.
He did this trick on Letterman the other night. Paul Shafer begged for seconds.
George didn’t join Dave and Paul at the table. He went out for a hamburger after the show.
He’s allergic to spinach.

New Beginnings

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After your funeral, I met with the representative from the hospital.
They had the malpractice settlement ready for me. All I had to do was sign my life away.
So I did, and swallowed the pill from the Hemlock Society.
It tastes like… strawberries.
I could have been selfish and taken the first offer they gave me: growing a clone of you.
Healthy. Happy. Together.
But there would still be me, always knowing, resentful of how their incompetence took you from me.
Why make you suffer that again?
We will both be born again, fresh and innocent.
Healthy. Happy. Together.

Hippos

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I don’t know who I can trust with this, but things have been really weird the past few weeks.
When I’m with my friends, all of the sudden, they turn into hippopotamuses.
Yes. Hippopotamuses. Gigantic grey beasts with huge mouths, eating straw and wallowing in the mud on the riverbank.
Just as soon as they turn into these creatures… they’re back.
The first time it happened, I got up off the floor and said “Did you just see that?”
Nobody did. It was just me.
What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Have I… turned into… a… hippo?

One Block Away

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I work in the Theater District. There are events going on all the time in this area.
And yet, I’ve gone to so few of them
I pulled up each venue’s calendar and looked over the past few months of events.
I missed a touring Broadway show I wanted to see.
A popular comedian came and went without catching my attention in time.
There”s that ballet someone was raving about in a local forum.
From my desk, it takes me 95 steps to walk to the performance hall next door.
I really need to get out more to these things.

The Memo

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Everybody who reads the secret memo dies.
So, it’s been filed away…
deep in the archives…
locked in a filing cabinet…
which is locked in a closet…
which is in a locked room…
accessible only by locked stairs…
and the door to the stairs is locked, too.
But I have the keys on this keyring.
Let’s see…
To the door.
To the stairs.
To the door.
To the room.
To the closet.
To the cabinet.
Here. Take this keyring.
If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.
Read the memo.
Oh, and when you do, can I have your stapler?

Dancing Goddess

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When the Goddess begins to dance, people from all around will gather by the shore and watch her move in the tide with such grace and beauty.
They drop everything and sway in the evening mist.
Mothers let their babies slip from their grasp and fall into the surf.
Nobody notices the splashes. The Goddess laughs as each sacrifice is made.
Sometimes, after the dance, their bodies wash up on the shore, and there is much grief.
The Goddess has rejected the children.
But when the children wash out to sea, it is said they have become her royal consorts.

Yorick

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The old jester imagined that he would be telling jokes in court to laughing royalty, screwing maids in the barn, and dining on the best of what the castle’s kitchen had to offer.
Instead, he had a mouth full of mud and his back ached from the weight of the young prince.
“Horsey!’ shouted Hamlet.
Yorick groaned with each kick to his ribs.
At first, it was a delight. But with each passing week of being a plaything, Yorick grew weary.
Yorick never did get the laughter, maids, or feasts.
He died a broken man, a feast for the worms.

The Hive Queen

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Ambassador Grindmar’s report to the Hive Queen was positive: the negotiations were going well, and peace would come at an insignificant price, easily made up for with future mutual trade and growth.
“Where is that Grindmar now?” asked the Queen.
The bodyguards upended a preservation-cask, spilling Grindmar’s butchered carcass on the throne room floor.
“That’s unfortunate,” said the Queen. “But the negotiations completed, correct?”
“Yes,” said Grindmar’s replacement. “The war is over.”
“Good,” said the Hive Queen. “Let us Prepare a feast in Grindmar’s honor.”
That night, Grindmar was as delicious as she had been skilled in crafting peace treaties