Tag: mystery

Sticky Situation

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I can’t decide which is worse – having to scrape all this gum from under these desks all day or mopping up the shit and piss from a dead kid.
Yeah, it’s a real headscratcher.
You see, bubblegum is easy to poison. Just use a powder that looks like the sugar they dust this crap with.
The wrappers untwist without tearing. A little heat seals them back up.
Then you leave it out in a candy dish, the kid takes it… and WHAM problem solved.
Usually, they swallow it.
I hate it when it falls out and sticks to the floor.

Eleven… um, I mean Twelve Step Program

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I was sitting on the toilet when I suddenly realized that I forgot to lift up the lid before taking a dump.
My mind’s been fuzzy since the accident. I may look okay, but I forget steps.
Like yesterday: I put my shoes on before my socks. That kind of thing.
It used to be worse. One time, I handed my fiance the hairdryer while she was still in the shower.
That’s why I’m here. Well, that and a verdict of “Not Guilty By Reason Of Mental Defect.”
Although, from the awful things she’d yell at me, I’m not sorry.

Testing Sam

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Mommy took Sam to Sears for new mittens, but he saw video games and ran over to play with them.
Usually, Mommy came after him and scolded him not to run away.
Not this time.
The game was boring, so Sam went back to where he ran away from Mommy.
She… wasn’t there.
Sam tugged on a clerk’s sleeve. “I’m lost.”
They announced Sam’s name over the speaker.
An hour went by. Two.
Sam also gave them his address and phone number.
Disconnected. An empty lot.
From inside a coat display, Mommy watched.
And tried not to laugh too loudly.

And then there were seven

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I looked up from the battered, scratched pass to look again at her garishly made-up face.
“National Spiritual Advisor?” I asked.
After several checks, National Spiritual Advisor Melinda Gauche’s security pass was stamped VALID.
She smiled. “Ronnie was so nice to indulge his Nancy,” said Gauche, adjusting her veils.
“Follow me,” I said, leading the jangling mysticist down the hall.
When she entered the room and laid her charts on the table, the discussions stopped.
“What’s wrong, Spooky?” asked the President.
“I can’t chart it,” said Gauche. “Uranus is missing.”
I swear, the president turned to the Surgeon General first.

A twist of metallic fate

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I don’t even bother listening to the bum’s story. My hand goes into my pocket automatically for the change in there.
I shake it out, and find The Paperclip.
It’s been a long time since its glory days at NASA, when during the 12th Apollo mission it bridged a navigation circuit that could have splattered the capsule across Utah.
After two decades jumping from binder to binder, it was unbent to reset a critical communications computer for the shuttle program.
A hero among office supplies.
I hand the bum the change, unbend the paperclip, and pick my teeth with it.

The Body

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A hiker stumbled over The Body last night.
Yes, that’s right – It’s The Body. Capital T, capital B.
He’s been out here long enough to grow stubble on his head, looking at the bits of scalp the vultures left.
You’d think a former Navy Seal would have been prepared for this rough terrain, but I don’t think Jesse Ventura had planned to be out in the desert long.
Or at all. Tracks led from the canyon. From the depth, wheelbase length and tread we’re thinking some kind of stretch-limo Hummer.
I squint, fold up the feather boa, and follow them.

Vanity

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Doctor Odd’s red-rimmed eyes peered at the hundreds of monitors on the wall.
“Why are you watching all of these science conferences at once?” asked his assistant.
“I must remain current,” said Odd. “I cannot allow ignorance to take a hold of my great mind. I must know everything.”
The assistant smirked. “Don’t you need to sleep at some point?”
“I am asleep,” said the mad scientist, tapping the glowing green steel cap on his head. “This device allows me to dream all of this.”
His assistant shrugged, turned into a hot dog, and flew back to the Mushroom Kingdom.

Cross Country

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Derek hated flying, but Mother was very sick and he couldn’t drive home cross-country in time.
His hands clutched the armrests until his fingertips turned purple.
“Are you okay?” asked a flight attendant.
“No, I’m not,” said Derek. “Can you please hit me with this book?”
The attendant refused, so Derek bit her.
“Stop it!” she shouted.
Then she hit Derek with the book.
Derek made it to Mom’s town safe and sound, and in police custody.
He refused to post bail, and he went to jail.
Mother was waiting in the prison infirmary, about to finish her life sentence.

Knit Wit

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Halfway to Mars, communications stopped working.
Commander Gregg had plenty of supplies, a library of movies and books, and all of the yarn he needed to keep his hands occupied.
At first, he thought he’d make a cap. Then, he knitted up a scarf.
The sweater was finished as the retrorockets fired, slowing down the lander’s descent to the Martian surface.
Gregg tried one last time to call Houston, but he’d forgotten about the communications delay.
Sixteen minutes later, Mission Control screamed in futility for Gregg to take off the cap and put on his helmet before cycling the airlock.

Mother? Mother?

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Mother really likes to play Scrabble.
We’ve played for thirty years now. Whenever I come back home, that Scrabble board is out and ready.
So when she went into the hospital for surgery, sure enough, that Scrabble board was there on the rolling table right next to all the food cups with straws in them.
We play for a bit, and I notice she’s occasionally pushing a black button.
“It’s for the morphine,” she says.
I hold her hand, click the button a few times, and she gets way-out loopy.
Maybe now she’s fully whacked out, I’ll win.
Mother?
Mother?