Tag: tragedy

Poking Parker

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Parker screwed up. Nearly got me killed.
“Poke him, Chief” said Vasquez.
Everybody agreed.
So, before my shift, I went to the Suit Room and poked a hole in Parker’s moonsuit.
Relax – the airlock cycles quickly. Long before he blows out. One tiny hole will just whistle a bit at Zero A.
I laughed as he cycled… and he blew out fast.
Blowout? I must have poked the moonsuit too deep.
Crap.
As Crew Chief, Parker died on my watch, so it was on me.
I confessed about poking Parker.
Vasquez also confessed. And Petersen. And Goldberg. And Sanders. And…

Noble Savage, Lend Me Your Grandmothers

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Otto knelt among the trees, looking at Mother Nature’s beauty and growling with rage.
In two years, this would be a massive subdivision.
Worst of all, Jim had beaten him out on developing it.
The sound of Whitefeather’s pickup truck arriving jarred Otto out of his rage.
“Got the bones?” asked Otto.
Whitefeather pulled out a burlap sack and tossed it on the ground.
“Excellent,” said Otto. “When they dig these up, they’ll have to stop. Now all we need to do is bury them.”
“We?” Whitefeather tossed a shovel to Otto. “Good luck, Paleface,” he said and drove off.

Special delivery

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Lots of nines on the odometer, each one showing up quicker than the last.
Wheel in one hand and phone in the other, Bill was ready to snap a photo of the big rollover.
“Million Mile Club gets you a bonus,” said the boss. “Gets you moved to a better shift, too.”
Bill had covered a day shift for Hector once. It was much more interesting than weekends.
As the zeroes started to appear, Bill pushed the button.
Nothing. No flash.
Did it work?
While Bill fiddled with the camera, his van slid off of the bridge into the river.

Handling the pressure

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Arthur’s control panel was a thing of beauty.
So many switches, so many dials, and so many pretty green lights.
Day after day, Arthur would sit in his chair and whistle a happy tune.
When one of the lights turned yellow, Arthur stopped whistling.
He tapped the bulb a few times, just to see if it would change.
It stayed yellow.
Looking in the manual, a yellow light meant… something… to be… corrected.
So, like all the other yellow lights before it, Arthur got out his marker and colored the lightbulb green.
Arthur’s whistling covered the pressure valve leak nicely.

You shoah me yours, I’ll shoah you mine

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Despite eating five meals a day, Schultz was as thin as a rail.
The doctors tore out too much, he thought, and he fell asleep listening to the camp radio.
He woke suddenly, hearing the alert.
The Americans are coming!
Schultz looked around the camp, but his comrades were long gone.
All that was left were… those filthy survivors.
Schultz shed his uniform, rolled in the ashen dirt, and stumbled along with the skeletal crowd.
The Americans caught up with his group, put blankets over their shoulders, and led them to a Red Cross station.
“Goldstein of Lvov,” groaned Schultz.

Weaponized

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After years of research and experimentation, Dr. Odd managed to isolate the chemical compound which was responsible for luck.
He tried to bottle the stuff and sell it over the counter, but he kept running into all sorts of problems in production and distribution.
The Food and Drug Administration sprung a surprise inspection of his facilities and ultimately shut his labs down for a wide variety of violations.
“This is concentrated Bad Luck!” moaned Dr. Odd.
The Pentagon was very interested in a weaponized form of Bad Luck, so Dr. Odd shipped them a sample…
Back on September 10, 2001.

The Headless Nessman

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Shaking nervously, Herb Tarlek looked out into the hallway.
“Do you see him?” whispered Mr. Carlson. “Do you see… Les?”
“No,” said Herb. “He’s not out here.”
“Well, no wonder why you can’t hear him,” said Johnny Fever. “Your jacket’s way too loud.”
Venus and Bailey cowered in the corner. “We’re all going to die,” whimpered Bailey.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “Who’s watching the back door?”
Just then, Andy let out a hideous moan and fell to the floor, an axe buried in his neck.
The Headless Nessman drew back the axe, hacked again, and dragged off Andy’s head.

The Dotted Line

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Diva Chandelier and the record company fought for years, but in the end her army of lawyers fell to the combined might of the entire music industry.
The facts were clear: she had defaulted on an exclusive billion-dollar ten album, five concert tour deal.
But what was worse was that she had taken to singing in public… for free.
“A contract is a contract,” said the judge from inside the record company’s pocket. “Judgement is for the plaintiff, the defendant will surrender her voice.”
Her last public statement before going into the clinic for forced cauterization was a profanity-laden curse.

Zeno

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You know Zeno’s Paradox? Motion is meaningless because you go halfway, then then halfway the remaining distance, and then half of that, and so on – never quite reaching your goal?
Let me tell you the truth about Zeno: he would borrow money, lose wrestling bets, and run afoul of bookies.
“Pay up,” they’d say “or we’ll break your damn legs.”
“Why?” he’d respond. “I’d just pay half, then half of the remainder, half then of that, et cetera – never paying the whole debt.”
So they broke his legs in half. And then the halves in half.
Et cetera.

Rise

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The room had been so noisy and busy before.
Now it was empty.
The nurses offered to pack Ellie’s things, but my hands needed to do something besides paperwork.
Photos. Trinkets. Music box. Bear.
She’d want Bear with her when…
I looked around for her teddy bear, but it was gone.
Not under the bed.
Not behind the machines.
None of the other children in the ward had it.
Where was Bear?
And where were her balloons, too. Ellie always liked those. She said they rose because they held souls, yearning for Heaven.
I’ll let one go for her later.