Category: My stories

The Best Tea

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Back in WW1, as our boys fought the Kaiser, we made sure they were provided with the best.
The best guns. The best uniforms. The best food. And, most of all, the best tea.
Now, conditions weren’t always the best, and it’s hard to transport millions of teacups through enemy lines. And no civilized man drinks tea from a tin cup.
So, the boys would put tea leaves on their tongues and we’d pour in the boiling water.
They made a contest of it, who could hold their tea the longest before swallowing.
Sugar? Lemon?
Pathetic Nancy boys, those were!

Sign Here

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Nobody notices as she slips in through the back door, silent as a whisper.
Everybody’s busy getting ready for the last scene, shoving props around. Costume changes.
She recognizes a few of the actors and gets out her little autograph book.
“Excuse me,” says a voice. She nearly jumps out of her skin as a man with a clipboard taps her on the shoulder. “Are you with the press?”
She’s frozen. She doesn’t know what to say. She-
“Yes,” says an actor. “She’s here to interview me.”
The clipboard-holder vanishes.
The actor opens the book, signs his name, and smiles.

Punisher

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The Mystic Sisters have a good racket going.
One’s a punisher for hire, taking clients down into her dungeon and beating them within an inch of their lives.
A few days later, they see the fortune-teller sister, the one who read bruises instead of palms.
Sometimes, guys go into the dungeon but don’t go to the fortune-teller. Other times, they see the fortune-teller, but they got their bruises elsewhere.
And then, well, one day, the punisher limps into her sister’s house. She’s got two black eyes.
“Save the bullshit and just get me some ice,” she says.

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.

The Butter River

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In the morning, we walk to the river of melted butter that runs through our village.
Others are already there, waiting for the Buttermaster to proclaim the river clean.
He inspects the flow, confirms that our upstream neighbors are still neighborly, and measures some samples in his testing apparatus.
A light shines green.
“Safe!” he shouts.
We cheer.
Lined up on the shore, we dip our toast and biscuits into the river and savor each bite.
“The river is good,” I say.
My family grunts their agreement.
Nobody double-dips here – that is impolite, unsanitary, and a crime punishable by flogging.

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.

Bowling Alley

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A neighborhood only gets a movie theater when people there go to the movies so often, some chain finds profit bringing the movies to them instead of making those folks drive an hour or two.
It’s not the same with bowling alleys. Those chains use satellite photography to watch empty fields for kids playing sandlot bowling, rolling balls over the uneven, rocky ground at makeshift pins.
Or maybe they put their agents in shoe stores, listening for when someone asks to rent the ugliest pair in the store for a few hours.
Whatever you do, do it fast.
We”re desperate!

Jersey Girl

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Shirley the Mermaid had been around. She’d seen everything.
She and the girls were getting their nails done when they talked about their first times.
The first time Shirley saw a human, she swam after it for a closer examination.
It looked like a mermaid, but instead of fins, it had two limbs coming out of its hips leading into a solid stone-like block.
“Mob informant,” she thought. “Should have kept his goddamed trap shut.”
She took his wallet, emptied out the cash, and swam away.
Whether you’re over or under the Boardwalk, a Jersey Girl is a Jersey Girl.

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.