Category: My stories

Shadow Birthday

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When Bob had his birthday birthdays, he always shared it them with his shadow.
Happy Birthday, Bob!
All of Bob’s friends would come over for cake and ice cream, and so did their shadows for the shadows of cake and ice cream.
Bob blew out the candles, and so did his shadow on the wall.
It was a race between Bob and his shadow to see who could open presents faster. It was always a tie.
Sometimes there was a goofy clown. Other times, a magician showed up to work his magic.
One year, a strange man came to make interesting shadow puppets.
The shadows of Bobby and his friends were entertained by the hands of the puppet-master.
Why? Well, since when have you seen a rabbit or duck turn into a pair of writhing hands?

The Old Man’s Clock

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My grandfather’s clock stopped when the old man died.
Nothing could restart it. Six feet of frozen-solid works.
When the clock started back up with the first full moon we were concerned.
His tomb had been opened and his body – missing!
We looked down and saw his footprints leading out to… to…
He was out and on the prowl, one of the living dead.
We followed his tracks right up to the first tree.
He’d walked straight into it and knocked himself out.
We sealed him into the tomb, still moving.
Clock’s worth more when it runs, you know.

The Bullet in the Bible

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bang*
Bucktooth Billy lay on his back in the dusty street.
He sat up and felt his chest.
No blood. His Bible had stopped the bullet.
Billy held it up, laughing.
“Holy shit!” he shouted. “Lucky Bible! Jesus has saved me!”
The gunslinger walked up to Billy and looked at the bullet-pierced Bible.
“So He has,” said the scowling figure. “Right up to Deuteronomy.”
“It’s a miracle!” shouted Billy. “I am reborn! I will fight no more and stand at the right side of The Lord!”
“Here,” said the gunslinger. “Let me help.”
The gunslinger shot Billy in the head.

9/11

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Once the time engine was charged, I went back to the subway platform under the towers and looked for my parents.
They were trapped in the rubble, broken gas lines breathing fire all around, but I worked feverishly to free them.
Too much concrete. Too much metal.
Looking at my bloody hands, I realize I should have brought gloves.
The fire was coming closer, and they told me to leave them.
I held their hands for as long as I could, and I left them photos of their grandchildren before heading back to the engine.
We do this every year.

In His Pocket

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Leon always left his wallet on the nightstand, so Sally would put it in his jacket pocket.
For whatever reason, Leon would take it back out and leave it on the nightstand again.
So, Sally would put twenty dollar bills in all of his work shirt pockets. That way, he’d have money for lunch.
The little miracles of everyday life. They don’t last.
Sally died in WTC2, 100th floor.
After a period of mourning, Leon went back to work.
And he forgot his wallet.
At lunch, he checked his pocket, and saw the money.
He never forgot his wallet again.

Wheels on the bus

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The wheels of the bus went round and round.
Right over the skateboarder.
Sure, he had pads and a helmet on, but the bus crushed his chest and killed him.
The pads, helmet, and skateboard gathered dust in the garage until they got sold at a garage sale.
That kid flew out of a half-pipe and was impaled on a fencepost.
Once again, the gear was passed along.
Kid after kid, the bodies started to pile up.
Until a restaurant bought the stuff as wall decoration.
Nobody else got hurt from using it.
But the restaurant burned down, killing ten.

Prom Coup

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For once, everything went according to plan.
We waited for the Prom King and Queen to finish their dance before rising up and overthrowing them.
Aside from Greenbaum’s nosebleed, it was a bloodless coup.
Under our regime, there’d be spiked punch. There’d be better tunes. There’d be limos for everyone.
The First Citizen’s Party Party promised lots and delivered little. The disappointed partygoers wanted to hold elections, but we tried to keep power.
From exile, the King and Queen maneuvered their loyalists against us.
The battle was fought well, but lost. They took their thrones once more, and we danced.

Eden

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Ever since those humans were kicked out, it’s been pretty quiet back here in the Garden of Eden.
I’m the Gardener. I take care of the Garden.
Every day, I do an inventory of all the animals, just to make sure none are missing. They never do, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
Someone could get eaten by accident. Somehow.
Well, not really. There’s no need to eat here. Not even plants. Just soak up sunshine and dream all day long in perfect eternity.
Don’t tell God, but every now and then I punch a giraffe. Just for fuck’s sake.

Roast Duck

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During the winter, the King’s servants and advisors moved into the central rooms to converse fuel.
The oddest couple was the pairing of the court wizard and the head chef.
One night, the alarm was raised: ice demons at the gate!
The wizard grabbed a spell book and raced to the fight.
Without looking, he flipped to the page with Firestorm.
He read off a recipe for Roasted Rosemary Duck instead.
“It’s a cookbook?” he muttered.
The chef handed him another book. “I think this is yours,” he said.
They won the fight, and feasted on Roast Duck to celebrate.

Confessor

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We’re not sure how he did it, but all of the evidence points to this guy who walked in and confessed to the murder.
There’s one problem, though. The murder took place in the Fifteenth Century. A simple assassination in Rome. A bishop history barely remembers.
Fingerprints, DNA, and a painting from the time confirm it’s him.
Not just a long-distant ancestor. It’s actually him. He did it.
There’s no statute of limitations on murder and he’s confessed to the crime, so we’re going ahead with the trial.
Maybe he’ll tell us how he did it. And maybe he won’t.