The Boo-Boo

                        I was trying to get the bicycle that was in the garage behind an old chest.

The girl I had managed to be falling in love with was going to loan it to me. Her name

was Rene and she went from being the chick that worked at the nearby convenience store

to meaning the world to me. I thought that I was naïve but Rene made me feel that I was a

fountain of worldly ways. We shared a lot of laughter and the best part of the relationship

was she did most of the talking. By that time I’d found a graveyard shift job and was

living in a rooming house. The girl I thought I’d spend my life with had moved on and

was married to J.D.’s uncle. It was weird but I’d become accustomed to things being

strange. Anyway, Rene lived with her parents and was looking high and low for her own

apartment when we got to talking one day. After I told her about the new job’s distance

from the rooming house, she smiled and offered me the bike.

　

　

                        It was a warm July day and I was tired from work but excited to be in her

house. Her dad, John, had told me with a grin where the bike was and how to get to it.

Then we stepped to the garage and he pointed with his cigarette at the spot he had last

seen the bicycle. Hoisting me up to the rafters with a mild strain, he told me to be careful. I

sent a calming smile and replied, “I’m always careful; it’s just sometimes gravity and I

don’t get along that well.”

　

 
                       John chuckled as he took a drag from his smoke. I was amazed by all the

junk that a family of four could accumulate. There were old newspapers, clothes, sports

equipment and makeup kits. While John was having a good laugh and shaking his head, I

spotted a front tire. Then turned and told him that I found the bike. I will never forget

what happened next. He said, “Good, good Chuck now grab the front tire and tug easy.

Whatever you do don’t step,” as he was speaking about what not to do I did, “back!”

　

　

                     The next thing I knew the floor had given out and I went down. Well, my

lower half went down anyway and I could not stop laughter from bursting out of me. The

crash had brought both Rene and her mom, Joan, rushing into the main bedroom.

　

　

                   Hearing mother and daughter giggling up a storm, I peeked to where my legs were

dangling. Joan was pointing to my legs with one hand while the other held her belly. Rene was

leaning against the door with tears of laughter falling down her face. I felt my head warm and said, “I

know this may be a hell of a time to ask but is there any way to get out of this position?”

John rushed inside with a small stepladder which he placed under my dangling feet. He told me to be

careful as I did the chin-up of my life. I smiled foolishly and then bounced upward. By the time I had

retrieved the bike and was looking down at the floor of the garage, the whole family unit (Rene had a

sister named Kate) were there with goofy smiles on their faces. I grimaced as John took the bike from

me and laughed. Then I climbed down off the mountain of junk to Rene shaking her pretty head. She

was a couple of years younger than I and had just graduated high school the year before. I stopped to

take her beauty in before taking the bike.


                                          She had cropped off dark hair, a truly blessed bosom, fantastic figure and

deep brown eyes. Her nose had a slight crunch when she laughed and I always felt a breeze of

wonder as I looked into her face. The rest of the family had gone inside and Rene grabbed my shirt

front. “You are a putz, you know that? They’re never going to fix that roof you know. I’m willing to

bet in twenty years it still won’t be fixed right!”

  

                                            I felt like she was seriously threatening me for a moment. I was wiped out

from work and the ordeal I’d been through. I grinned sheepishly, “I’ll take that bet, if you promise

not to threaten me anymore.”


                                           I leaned in to kiss her and she responded by giving me a lip lock I’d never

forget. Since then, there have been 3 different presidents, a couple wars, and the reinvention of

marriage. I stopped by one day about a year ago to drive past my old haunts and be sure the town was

still there. For the pure heck of it I dropped in to see if Rene was still around. She's been happily

married for years and, after exchanging a good laugh with Joan, I was saddened to learn that I

currently owe Rene for a lost bet. Go figure.



　

　

　

Sweet Mercy

                         When you're out on the street, and morbidity is setting in, and you've lost all sense of direction, lost it all again, smiling at the lady who came on her own blades, sure that somewhere again you'll feel safe.  Don't worry anymore about the rent that's due, 'cause somehow sweet mercy might just pull you through. I started out for home, walked down a familiar road, get back to where you belong that's what I was told. So I searched out the Amber jack to see if it still dreamed, over yonder by the bay, with beer I felt redeemed. But there was something amiss, something out of place, and I looked in the mirror but didn't see my face.

                           Well I stumbled into the bar, looking for a shot of gin, my eyes were tired hopes wearing so thin. She said her name was "Cathy" but I call her Pam, she could've been my mother but I didn't give a damn. And she was crying in a sombrero over someone that she knew, who went skiing on payday and left her to her doom.

                        Then I saw a lady lying on a mailbox, "Send me anywhere at all," she said as she talked, "I been running these railroad tracks and as you can see they've all but broken my back. The enemy is the hand with which I lay, I want it to end but every time he pays, well I play."

                        Tina Marie went off someplace far I could never catch her with the fastest car. She took off from New York and never came back again. Which really pissed me off 'cause I wanted her to be the same. Then someone told me it was me and not her who'd changed. So I looked around for someone else to blame.

                       Well after a while I called my old lover and friend. How nice it was to talk with her once again. She laughed when I told her that I'd gone home. She said, "Home is where you left, not where you went!"

                      And I felt like a fool but I was no longer alone 'cause I walked in on myself and I said, "Man do you look spent." Said to myself, "Man do you look spent!"

                     So I'm out here on the street and morbidity just left town. He lost all sense of direction so he went south. Smiling like an idiot, who just found out, the story was not a story but a joke after all.  And I sat here on the sidewalk and shouted loud, "Sweet Mercy has come again and saved us all. Sweet Mercy has come again, saved us all!

Autmn's Birth

Autumn’s Birth

　

                The day is warm and yet the internal chill I felt seems inescapable. Easing the smoke from the cheap cigar into my lungs, I ponder the reason for my dilemma. With a soft glance, I peer out the window to capture the quietly swaying leaves waving a fond farewell to the summer. The traffic slowly picks up its pace and begins sounding as a stream filled with eddies and currents. My mind caught between vague desire and the urge for activity. Saddened am I that summer will be ending soon. Exhaling the noxious fumes from my lungs in array of grey and blue circles and rings, I sigh deeply. Music falls to my ears from somewhere unseen as I smile despite myself. Summers in New England can be long, hot and muggy. Winters can be harsh, wet and white. In either case, I have found there is a piece of Goodness found in every passing moment.

　

               The dreams of yesterday are today’s reality. Yesterday was one of laughter, strength, hope and the faint whisper of magnificence to come. Today is the sweet remembrance of that promise and though my eyes feel the impulse to weep, I smile in my mind because the tears mean I am still alive. Choices I have made, wonder I have seen, and the glorious splendor that waits make everything worthwhile. Life is always worth living, and never a moment truly goes by wasted.

m

            "Big deal," spoke the fat man occupying three and a half seats, "I take more space because I NEED more space." He almost shouted at the young girl who'd just busted her hump at the local fast food restaraunt. She was looking at the place where she'd usually park her rump after a long day. The fat guy was taking her seat and she frowned inspite of herself.

Fame

             "I must confess right here the type of fame I've gotten wasn't what I had in mind. After all," the man with the narrow eyes and ultra thin body explained to a bunch of mindless gangsters, "it's not everyone who finds themselves trapped in an elevator for 300 hours. After I sobered up I realized that I'd made a slight error. The media types however, have a way of making you think that I planed the entire thing and should be a target of sympathy for the injuries I suffered as a result." He grinned at the crowd to make sure  they were all on the same page before continuing. "The fact is that I have learned fame for the wrong reason is worse than being considered a nobody. Yeah, I whacked my head pretty good and had to go to the hospital. So what? Hospitals are full of, dig this, sick people. Bottom line my friends, I never planned any of this. Since then I've figured out there are no accidents in this world, only choices. Some of the best choices I've made have been because of misinformed ideas. Fame is a silly fickle chicken running from her shadow into a field of molasses."


          He winked and tied a plastic cape around his neck. Then donned a bright yellow belt before dropping off the side of the gondola and into the water.

Today

The sun rose in the eastern skies,
from the bay I felt my spirits,
as they reached upward,
seeking the world,
a gentle smile found its way,
to the lips on my face,
morning star,
ever in bloom,
dreams are calling,
I can see it coming,
feel and know my fantasies,
finding root in reality,
I laughed, danced and wondered at,
the orchestra of life that surrounds,
the world about the places,
I've seen the sweet faces,
everything is light and gay,
for this is the glory,
of today.

My Cheese Dream

　

                       As I awoke one crisp September morning with my mind clear and thoughts of the dream I had the night before racing in and out of my mind a smile crept its way across my face. I bounced from my bed and into my new bunny slippers. Giggling, I floor skated to the bathroom where my mom had taken up residence. After a short shrug, I tiptoed to the kitchen following the scent of bacon. My dad was sitting proudly in his chair with a pleased look on his big face.

　

                    “Good morning champ, sleep well?” He asked as I slid into a seat and grabbed the box of cereal that was standing in the middle of the table. Dad watched as I carefully poured the sugary drops into my bowl.

　

                       “Yup, sure did. Dreamt about flying on a cloud of pepper jack cheese.” I answered while looking for milk.

　

                       Dad stood and reached his long arm into the fridge. Pulling out a gallon of milk he dropped some into my bowl while a grin grew on his face. “Do us a favor champ, do NOT tell your mom what you dreamed last night. She’ll tell me that it’s all my fault that you are not dreaming of being a rich podiatrist or president. Your mom has such high hopes for you.”

　

                     “I know she does dad, don’t worry. It’ll be our secret.” I said then dug in my bowl. After a moment I said, “Why would she blame anyone that I don’t dream of going to school? I’d of thought it more normal not to think about that sort of stuff.”

　

                     Dad quickly looked around to be sure that no one could hear what he had to say but me, then whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, especially not mom, I told you this okay?” I nodded nervously and then he continued, “your mom is what I call a faddist, not that I hold it against her. People who follow the latest thing, whatever it is, often lose sight of what’s really important. Little boys, in my opinion, are supposed to have dreams about flying pepper jack cheese.” He smirked then as I laughed and returned to my cereal.

　

                     Sometimes I wonder if faddistical thinkers really believe in dreams at all or if they’re convinced that the only time it is okay to dream about flying cheeses is when people get so old they have to wear diapers.

　

                                                                    -Finis=

Well, really

                        It was a mild day in Hell when a short man with a bright grin stepped over to the small café. He was pleased with the performance of a young widow. She wore a yellow bandanna and had dark slender legs. She bent a careful eyebrow at the man and then sent a short smile back to him. The nerves in his face and neck started bouncing around as he leaned against a mailbox on the sidewalk. He wanted desperately to say something clever to her and grab the widow’s attention. Frustrated as the man lost his vocal chords in the dust bunny that popped from nowhere he stood there blankly. He was determined, though, to make his point. Putting his hands behind his back and slightly dancing as his eyes rolled up in her direction, the man began to hum a song.

　

                        The widow giggled as she placed her hands over her heart and the breeze farted a melody. She then raised her hands and revealed hairy armpits. This action caused the short man to drool, the drool created a long puddle before his feet. She smiled at him fully and her teeth fell out of her head. Then nodded to him and dove into the drool. There she swam and he watched with horror as the yellow bandanna floated before his eyes. A bug named Heb was sitting on the lamppost on the opposite side of the drool pool. Heb produced a notebook and began to sketch.

　

                     After several hours, Heb said to the moon, “Well, now that sure makes a very interesting picture doesn’t it?”

　

                     To which the moon replied, “Sure it does, and someday people will realize that sunscreen causes cancer!”

　

                    Okay, so what? I am entitled to be bored now and then too. Despite all of the technological advances, you can’t tell me that every now and then you don’t get bored out of your mind.

Spaz

                                                                           Spaz

　

                        With a previously unknown feeling of awe, and a pleasant skip in his walk, the man stepped down from the commuter train and smiled. He wore his hair in a tightly braided ponytail and a cowlick drooped to his forehead. The air was warm with a hint of blistering heat and the puddles from the thunderstorm that visited the night before were evaporating. He worked his way through the small crowd en route to the station house that sat next to the tracks on a small hill that was on Front Street. Once inside he stopped in the restroom. With a twinkling smile, he gazed at his reflection and searched his pocket for a comb. He was pleased at his appearance and checked it out in the mirror.

                      The hair was in place, his eyes were wide with crystal green optimism, and his body was in fine shape as well. He had on a loosely fitted blue denim jacket, tight black shirt, stonewashed jeans that hugged his legs snugly, and new sneakers.

　

                      “You are looking great, Phil, especially for a fifty year old man.” He winked at his reflection then fired his finger at the mirror before turning to leave. It’d been over thirty years since he’d been back and he was in a good mood. The idea that he returned to go to a funeral bothered him slightly but, he laughed, he would make his appearance then seek out his old haunts. Phil Dawson had become a man ages ago. He found that people were as real, or as phony, as the individual decided. After graduating from high school (barely) he moved to the city to get away from his mother and her expectations. His mother was a Baptist who believed salvation was only in Jesus. Between the old woman and her gaggle of bible thumbing friends, Phil thought for sure he was going to hell.

　

                         He walked from the station house down the hill heading for Archers Cafe, which was in the town square. Archers was the place he and his buddies (or as his dad used to call them ’fellow thugs’) used to hang around and daydream about conquests like mating, running away on motorcycles, or beating up bullies. For some reason his parents were both still alive. They even somewhat got along with each other, although they lived in different homes and had different names. His mind started to wander back to the days when ‘Hip-Hop’ was an expression used to describe a bunny’s movement, Marlboro was cool, and music was bought on these things called cassette tapes. He worked his way down the hill and his mouth dropped open as he saw that Archers had become a ransacked mess. The sign was broken and halfway hung across the once proud doorway. An old crate collection had managed to form next to the walk and Phil decided to reminisce for a few moments before gearing up to undergo the tasks that lie ahead. He slipped a crate beneath his ass and then pulled a Marlboro 100 from his jacket pocket.

　

                      After lighting the smoke, Phil Dawson breathed in the flavored vapor and returned to a different, simpler time.

　
                        -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
　

                      “Life, can be complicated sometimes son, when I look back there are a number of things I’d have done differently to make it easier. Look, I know it can be hard when the other kids pick on you and then the teachers say: Boys will be boys!” Edgar Dawson was a nice enough man and a great father. With his eyes glassed over by fondness, he was sitting on the stoop in front of the cottage smoking a cigarette and having a man-to-man talk with his son.

　

                      Phil had gotten in some trouble at school that day. The fourth grade was replete with bullies and the like. He was drawing peacefully during recess when he felt a spitball knock him in the head. Drawing on his mother’s Christian examples, he let it pass and softly smirked.

　

                     The smirk was taken as a flippant gesture by the boy who’d spat the ball. His name was Turk and he calmly stepped over and slapped Phil in the head. Turk’s friends all laughed and cheered their leader on to attack. After shoving the hapless Phil to the dirt and raising his foot to kick, Turk sneered, “Dawson, you are a freak!”

　

                     The same group of punks had beaten Phil on since he could recall. This was the final straw for him. He grabbed the foot as soon as Turk was in mid-swing and flipped it airborne. Turk landed in a tubby heap as his friends chuckled. Before the bully could get back at the artist, Phil shouted and leaped on top of Turk. Swinging wildly well-placed fists and a perfectly aimed knee at the oppressor’s balls, Phil beat the tar out of the kid. He was taking out every frustration he had endured since he was in kindergarten. Finally Mr. Parker, the school’s principal heard the commotion and broke it apart.

　

                    Parker grabbed Phil by the back of the shirt and hoisted the angry boy skyward. Turk played his part of the victim to the hilt. He looked at the angry principal’s bulging arms and bald head with fear. “Mr. Parker, I was just sitting here with Benson and the guys when Dawson came out of nowhere and started smacking me!”

　

                  Turk should’ve been an actor because he used the tears that were welling to his advantage. Parker was a bully who’d retired to run the school. He was able to pick a thug out of a crowd (so he claimed in the interview to get the position) and turned to look in Phil’s face. The kid in the air had a smug grin that told stories. The bell rang and the kids all stood in attention to form a line. Parker placed Phil on the ground and then waved his hand in Turk’s direction to tell the boy to get in line. Then the principal stared right through Phil.

                    “Mr. Dawson, you are suspended from this school until such time as one of your parents can come in and speak to me about this. You had better hope and pray this incident does not end up on your permanent record!”

　

                    Then Phil reported to his classroom to gather his coat and lunchbox. Turk saw the dejected boy and smirked as he sat at his desk. As they were leaving the room Turk whispered to Phil, “I just figured out what to call you: Spaz!” The quiet laugh Turk enjoyed shot a bolt of angst through Phil.


                   His dad was home, thank God, and not his mom when the school called. After a brief bit of haggling, Edgar agreed to pick his son up at the school. The ride home was one of silence as son wasn’t sure what father was thinking. The words of Principal Parker rang in Phil’s ears ‘Permanent record’. If this found its way to his permanent record, he wouldn’t be able to work, find an apartment, or get married. Marriage was a long way off but he’d been thinking about becoming a trash truck driver and living somewhere away from his folks. Now his plans might be shattered and his mom was going to have to find out about the fight eventually.

　

                 He went upstairs to his room while his dad sat by the radio and waited for his mom to return from the nursing home she worked. Dad told mom there was a fight and that he’d taken care of everything. Phil listened to his parents from the other side of the wall. He could feel a beehive in his belly about to explode. Mom took it pretty well especially after dad started to tickle her. As she made dinner, Eloise pondered the fate of her offspring. Edgar had told her that he was going to talk to the boy outside.

　

             “So what happened anyway? Boy, I know you just ain’t the kind of kid to haul off and belt somebody that didn’t deserve it.”

　

                Phil explained what had gone on between Turk and him for as long as he’d been in school. After that, the relationship between father and son improved and even mother and son got along much better. School, on the other hand, was a colossal mess. The entire class began calling Phil ‘Spaz’. He wasn’t happy about the moniker but figured that as long as Turk no longer beat him up he could deal with it. After grammar school and junior high, the social system changed considerably. It was funny how things had turned around. The same boy that had been criticized for being an ass kisser who’d rather sit and peacefully draw than get in trouble found comfort in hanging around with stoners. He’d discovered the truth of his old man’s words when it became clear that girls were the one thing everyone wanted. Life indeed became a complicated mess with which he had to deal.

　
              __________________________________________________________________
　

              Tina St.Mark was the girl’s name that brought sex to the table. She was a slut who enjoyed the height of popularity and passed around through the group. Phil, however, developed true feelings for Tina and was hopelessly in love when it was his turn. Sadly for him it ended after she had her older brother, Walter, kick the hell out of the affectionate boy. He did what everyone else seemed to do at the time: more drugs than ever. Then, while alone and crying by the tracks, he watched as a puddle formed disappearing rings from a pebble he’d kicked into it. The lesson he learned was that while the pebble remained in place, its effects went on for a while then vanished. He breathed a sigh as this occurred to him. Then impulsively retrieved a beaten up notebook from his pocket and started to draw.

　

              The drawings became alive and he was just the intermediary between inspiration and action. He truly let himself float along in the wild spree that followed. His dad, by this time, had found work as a traveling shoestring sales representative. Leaving the boy alone to face his heartbreak, (mom was never any good at handling emotional problems, she’d just tell him to give it to Jesus) which annoyed him until now. He then found a paint store and went crazy with artwork. Tina St.Mark had become the pebble and the art was the resulting rings of water. He knew a strange peace as a result. His friends now consisted of people with names like, Jaybar, Ribald, and Lonnie. They were what the papers all called dropouts and bums. Phil was happier though than his mom had even thought possible. She was also very nervous about what path those boys were leading her son.

　

           She tapped lightly on his door one Saturday morning after Walter’s assault. Her mouth dropped as soon as she opened the door and saw the walls decorated. Smiling weakly, Phil offered, “Hey ma, what do you think of my artwork? Don’t worry I can wash it all off before noon.”

　

             She hushed his statement with a wave of her hand and then carefully inspected the work. “What was her name?”

　

             Before he realized what he was, doing Phil told his mom the story of how Tina St. Mark had broken his heart. He wisely left out the sexual parts. As he was speaking, he rose from his bed and used hand gestures to explain. She embraced him and they shared tears. Time passed and, though he struggled to succeed, he squeaked through the last year of high school. After that, life became its usual tedious boredom. He managed to find work in various fields.

　

             The local restaurants provided Phil with dishwashing chores and odd jobs. Then he briefly had a spell with the DPW and soon found that there were no prospects that maintained his interest.
　
Eventually he found a job working east and drove a golf cart for a while. Life seemed to keep getting in the way of his dreams. He had discovered some time past high school that the love affair with creating colorful pieces of art was the only thing that made him feel whole. Tina St.Mark had been the initial reason for his fascination but that was merely the start. He’d created thousands of portraits, pictures and fabulous works of art. They accumulated in hundreds of notebooks that gathered dust in his bedroom closet. The styles that had come and gone were something to which he’d paid no heed. Kids changed from wearing long hair to none, tight jeans to loose ones, and Marlboros had become cancer sticks. Seatbelts, safety helmets, and organic foods had become nuisances.

　
           -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           None of any of this bothered him at all. He had discovered the style, which suited him best and wore it with pride. He was also aware of the fact that he could potentially have become father to a small handful of people. In his early twenties, he’d been something of a whore monger without concern for his actions. This bothered him a bit because he’d wanted to have a family when he was younger like his dad. However, he considered as he extinguished his smoke, there’s still plenty of time for that because I ain’t dead yet!

　

          With a winsome smile, he stood and gazed at the old cafe again. Then considered the reason for his return home: Mr. Othello Parker had died after a bout with pneumonia and he had to attend the funeral. His reason for attending was simple: his dad had told him that Parker was an old enemy who’d turned around and become a good man.

           Phil grinned at his reflection in the window of a new car that parked under the train bridge. He was happy now that childhood was finally over and life was treating him better than he’d ever thought it would. Bearing this in mind, he started to walk toward the old cottage where his mom still held residence. Distracted by his own thoughts he bumped into a homeless man who had taken up the spot next to the dumpster under the bridge. He opened his mouth to apologize but before he could utter a sound, the homeless man shouted.

　

           “What the hell do you think you’re doing to me? Think I don’t feel anything because I got no place else to call mine?” The disheveled vagrant acclaimed a fighting stance. Phil’s eyes rolled and he smirked as he studied the bum.

　
　
             The vagrant who tried shoving Phil took the smirk as a flippant gesture. Then the man paused and looked Phil in the eyes. “Spaz? That is you ain’t it?”

　
             The years had not been friendly at all to Turk. Phil grinned and then rolled his eyes. “Spaz? Nobody has called me that for years. Do yourself a favor Turk: grow up will you?”

　
             Phil reached into his pocket and handed his former tormentor a ten. Turk snatched the bill and hobbled off to his corner. Phil shook his head and started toward the cottage. Some people will remain the same children forever.

The Art of Smoke

            The day was long and tiring, he'd finished work and stumbled home with a yawn in his throat that wouldn't quit. Opening the door clumsily, the man who reeked of sweat, plopped on his sofa and laughed. Then reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a cigarette from a small pile. After lighting it and taking a deep inhale, he closed his eyes with a smile. "After the day I have had, this cigarette makes everything worthwhile."

           He then took another long drag and let it out slowly, making rings and lines of the glorious blue smoke. He was thrilled as his decorative puffs evaporated. He then flicked the ashes into the tray while grabbing the remote and flipping the TV on. His smile turned into laughter as the news reporter condemned cigarettes as the worse possible thing in the world. The reporter turned and changed the topic to a war.

          The man shrugged with a giggle, "I'd rather be smoking cigarettes than fighting in a war in some country on the other side of the world! Face it: smoking is an art form and always will be."

Cat & Mouse

             The mouse wanted to eat. She was hungry and determined to gobble anything she could. It was an idle Thursday morning when the fat little rodent peeked from her hole atop the stove. It was a nice enough place to live in the winter but a real pain during the warm summer months. The stove was old and still worked, though barely, enough so the old woman who lived in the house was able to feed herself. The hunger noises that came from the mouse’s belly caused the small critter to roll her eyes with exhaustion. She scanned the area for a morsel in need of devouring. Then a tickle of aroma grazed across her tiny nose. She smiled as she turned to face the scent. A small chunk of liverwurst had managed to find the good graces to leave its sandwich and now cried out for attention.

             As soon as the mouse scurried over to the vacationing piece of meat she found a surprise. Leaning against the fridge with a sleepy grin was a skinny tabby with the nametag: Bruce. The mouse began to calculate the various factors involved with this operation. Her own speed versus that of Bruce’s, and her need against the cat’s desire to eat her. The grandfather clock that rested in the far corner chimed three and scared the little fat mouse’s hunger pain. She considered the respite welcome. Bruce yawned as he put a paw in front of his mouth he then said, “Are you hungry? I’m starved. That goofy lady told me I could have all the mice I wanted to eat. Do you believe that? In this day and age she thinks cats don’t have anything better to eat than mice? Please lady, get a clue. I tried eating a mouse once and, no offense to you or your kind, it tasted gross.”

           The mouse rested her eyes on Bruce for a second. This could be the ruse she’d been warned about by her mother. Mom always told her to be careful about with whom you speak and ever leery of cats in sheep’s clothing. She’d often wondered how a cat would get into a sheep’s clothes especially because sheep don’t wear anything. After considering her options, the stomach spoke again. She smiled slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I must admit I would enjoy a bite. I was planning on relieving that lonely piece of liverwurst its misery, if you don’t mind.”

　
          Bruce laughed. “Aw heck, you don’t want that. The old goofy broad spat that out because it went bad. There is,” Bruce’s eyes dipped as his voice lowered, “a cabinet on the other side of this kitchen with a half-opened box of cookies. I was hoping someone might come by and help me get them. What do you say we work together?”

　
        They did and left the box in such a state that nobody could tell it’d been tampered with. Politics make strange bedfellows, hunger even stranger ones. Don’t you think?

The Move

           She offered a simple smile to her friends as her parents proudly exhaled with beads of sweat dripping off their big noses. The house wasn't the biggest but it was their first and packing it all into the borrowed pick-up wasn't easy. Marie's mom had always been the family planner so she saw to it the entire unit (there were only three of them, mom, dad, and Marie) was up before dawn and dug in to their respective tasks immediately. Marie was tired enough after saying a long goodbye to her fifth-grade class and teacher. She was also annoyed because the family had to move. Dad had gotten a promotion at the mill he worked for and found a new house in a different neighborhood. The idea that people had to leave the place they loved and try to make new friends bothered her a lot.

       "Why do we have to go away?" She'd asked her mom with tears running down her brown cheeks. "I love it here and the kids in the new place are mean!"

         "Oh come on," Mom wrapped her arms around the child, "you don't know that for sure. They could be the greatest kids in the world. For all we know the new school could have girls like you who love teddy bears and playing Bingo." Mom was always trying to cheer everyone around her up and had the most beauriful big, dark eyes.

        Marie gave it some thought. Mom wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone, and she sure as heck would never lie. The calm embrace and kind words had their desired affect despite Marie's best effort. She drew back and kissed her mom's cheek. "I don't know, maybe."

       That was yesterday though and after Dad had explained to her the whole idea was a new adventure. There was happiness to be found," he smiled broadly as he spoke and an orchestra filled Marie's ears. The room was flooded with light and she watched as Dad described the wonders that awaited them in the effort to find the elusive ball of happiness that was stolen by an evil wizard and must be retrieved. She found herself thrilled by the prospect of slaying the evil wizard's fierce dragon named Loopy. She slept with the images of her parantes and her soaring across a red sky and into the arms of a tickle monster named Fannie.

       It was Saturday afternoon now and Marie's two best friends had managed to come and bid farewell. Marie was excited because the idea that Mom had given her about playing Bingo and with teddy bears, and Dad's imagery of the battle between them, the wizard and Loopy. Then a sadness drifted down and dragged her heart to her feet. This was really happening, she told herself in the far recess of her mind, I'm really going to go away. The pick-up was started and Dad hung his head out the window. "All righty then, I think we have everything. Hop aboard family and prepare for the adventure of a life time."

      Mom swooped Marie up and into the back seat. Marie was mesmerized by the whole thing. She followed the procedure of belting herself into the seat without comment or thought. Dad revved the engine and they were gone. Marie felt a bee's nest inside her belly about to burst. Dad had told her there was more money in store so she could get new stuff. Mom could hang around with peopleshe liked more thanthe ones from the old neighborhood and Marie would have the third floor all to herself.

           She tried to console herself and repeated over and over again, "It's all for the best, you'll see," Despite this: She really didn't want to change her whole life.


                                                                    -Finis- 

Rainstorm

          Woke up late. Smiled as the cat licked her paw and washed her head. Ran to the shower where no hot water was to be found. Threw some clothes on and ran out the door with a half-spilled cup of hot coffee. Saw the bus and felt a mild relief. The speckles of water drifted from an overhead cloud. Grinning at the sky. Lightening burst across bringing a flash of excitement. Bus stalled and sat waiting for maintenance. Tooting horns as traffic backed up. Sighing as the thought of a bus shelter enters. Step to the shelter as the rain accumulates and bursts on the scene. Soaked now as the shelter is blown away by a gust of wind. Cars float on the street. Curses spew from tired mouth and the flood waters wash toward. Shrug as the determination of a thousand years frustration sets upon the mind. Smirk now as the swim is begun. Minutes (maybe hours) later the door shoved open and gazes of curiosity are met with an apology. Punch in at the clock. Step through to the office and see the television showing the damage created by the storm is getting worse. Tears fall from weary eyes as the recognition of home on the screen being swept away enters the eyes. Boss now within two inches, screams obscenity, "You're fired, four times in a row late!"

        Can't stand hurricanes!

The Song

           It was last night as she tossed and turned trying to find both the right position and the mind-set to sleep. It was not working remotely the way she'd planned. Iris Thomson was becoming concerned that she may never again be able to sleep and therefore found herself nervous. Like a silly goose, she'd drank a huge cup of chamomile tea before hitting the sack. Listening to Randy (her almost boyfriend who studied the rituals of Indians and was becoming a brain surgeon) seemed a good idea and she made the tea. Unfortunately, the only affect the tea had was to tease her bladder. This was also a tough thing because today is payday and she had planned to head to the store for toilet paper, she had none.

         Then the thought dropped on her like a hammer banging a nail home: Music soothes the savage beast. Her folks used to listen to music to put them to sleep. With the faint hint of a sarcastic grin, she turned the radio on low and sought  a gentle station to help her sleep. She found there was a country oldies station that would fit the bill. After tuning the radio to receive, she closed her eyes and found a soothing beat into which she could fall. When she awoke the song was playing again. It had a perfect beat, sweet harmony and great lyrics. The song was called: "This Too" and one of the lines from the chorus went, "I know it's hard, I can see the end of the world, but don't worry, no need to be sorry, nothing forever lasts, this too will pass," Iris laughed. She got out of bed and as the coffee machine started to fill, took a shower. Humming the melody line to "This Too"  without realizing what she was doing.

       By the time she got to her office the song was starting to drive her batty. She didn't recognize it was having a similar effect on those around her until she collected her check and watched the clock. She then belted out, "Nothing forever lasts, this too will pass," she allowed her head to bob. She then looked up to see the entire staff angrily standing over her carrying baseball bats. Mr. Dinger, the shift supervisor said, "Thomson, shut up with that stupid freakin' song. We've all heard enough of it to quote the damn thing line for line. If anyone here EVER sings that song again they will DIE! Is this understood?"

      Iris grinned sheepishly and then ran for the door as she sang it once more. The crew with whom Iris Thomson worked is now collectively serving time for aggravated assault. Which means they were aggravated as they beat the snot out of her, right?

So she said

              "The way it went down," the girl began speeding up as she spoke, "was not as pretty as people will let you think." She caught a glimpse at the muddy ground of the field, "Truth is that I wasn't even there. You have to believe me Shar, I really didn't do anything wrong."

             Her name was Deb and her friend was Shar. Shar had just been told that Deb was the person that stole Shar's latest package. She was always a sentimental girl so she was pissed almost beyond thought. She had dragged her friend to the now abandoned soccer field to drum the truth out. Her package was a desirable, dark delight who had come a long way to entertain and share himself with the girl. That being the case she was a tad uptight as she regarded her friend and wasn't sure what to believe.

            Deb was good looking enough to get her own damn "package" regardless of colour or size. After a second of quiet as Deb tried to see if she was successful in her bid to have Shar listen, she gazed at her friend's eyes. Then, "Yeah, I admit I was jealous and wanted it badly. I was there as your brother brought the package over to your yard. You hadn't gotten back from the pool yet. So I started to talk to him. Your brother, that silly goof, left me alone laughing as he smiled at us."

          Shar heard enough, "So you just decided to take a bite out of my action while there was a chance right? Just swoop in and take what was mine?"

          "No, you dummy, I didn't touch him. In fact I showed him the tree and left him under the fort so he would know the best place to find you. When I left he was untouched, looking good, but untouched."

          Shar rolled her eyes for a moment then, "So when did you find out he'd been molested?"

          "When your brother called and told me you were looking to kick my ass for taking a bite."

           "And you say that my brother is the only person you've talked to?"

            Exchanging looks of understanding with each other, the girls ran with vengance for the brother with an appetite. They found him sitting by the pool with a smear of chocolate on his face. Shar grabbed her numbskull brother by the ear. "You creepy little turd! You ate the little guy didn't you? Let me think it was Deb!"

          The brother, a portly young scamp with a smile that would let one think butter wouldn't melt in his mouth named Dick, said, "Well dang it all, she said she wanted to have a chocolate man so bad I figured I'd get away with it. Nana sent it to you, yeah, but what did I get? Nothing but a basketball!"

           The girls decided to feed Dick the basketball.

             

Life and Time

           Kip was thrilled. Today was the most exciting of his short existence. He hopped up and down as he looked at the drop ahead of him with eagerness. The line was forming and he smiled as he stepped in behind some of the bigger guys. They'd all been trained for this event and were just as anxious to please as was Kip. The roar of thunder folled by the crackling of lightning brought the youth to full attention.

           "Over the land you will fall and aim for the plants please. They need you to operate at full capacity. Thank you for your service. I speak now for all of the Earth and its contemporaries. The signal has been issued, now jump!"

         The drill drop was an old wet hen but she was right. The line jumped one by one and Kip welled with anticipation. He smiled a sigh as he dove behind a huge drip. Then laughed merrily as he drifted toward the dirt. To know purpose and truly feel important was the greatest thing in the universe. Especially if your name is Kip and you're a raindrop.


                                                                    End.

The House on Hartshorn Ave.

 

              From the corner tree where the sidewalk met the road the old place looked just that-old. It was dimly painted a fading shade of blue. The very idea that it was a structure that time forgot persisted in my mind as I stepped off the bus. My Uncle Lewis was supposed to pick me up after school right by the old dump. He was nowhere to be seen and it pissed me off because I was all set to hang out that afternoon. My friends and I were going to the park to shoot a couple games of HORSE. Now it looked like my plan was in the toilet which is where I'd have to put Uncle Lewis when I caught up with him. I slid my backpack off and slung it toward the ground out of anger. It didn't crash on the pavement though, instead it flew and landed on the porch of the creepy old place. I walked over to pick it up and slammed my feet on the way. I reached out to grab it and it moved, sliding toward the old screen door. Then I stared at the door as I noticed how badly the years had treated it.

               The springs were rusty and creaked, the spot where the screen was supposed to be was empty and the handle was split down the middle. I snapped my mind back to the job at hand and climbed onto the stoop to grab my backpack when the door whisped open and the stench of dying flowers hit me hard. Holding my nose I was overwhelmed with wonder so I found my feet trekking inside. A second later there was a furry yellow cat that shrieked at me and decided to see how long it'd take for me to leave. I took the challenge personally and figured I'd have a look around. The place was left behind God knows when and I could see there was furniture still inside. Cobwebs, dust, and cat turds were all over the place. I bumped into a cord which gave me a fright. I didn't make a noise instead I bit my lip as I checked the floor to see on what I'd stepped.
          
             A cool stiff wind came in from a window I couldn't see and it made a shiver run down my spine. My backpack got tossed at me from behind and I caught it with the whisper of a satisfied smile on my face. It then donned on me there had to be someone else inside this creepy old house. I mean backbacks don't usually just throw themselves at you, do they? I was nervous but once again I was too curious to turn back. I called out: "Hello, I don't know who is there but I only came here for my pack okay?"

           The reply sent a line of goosepimples up and down my entire body. The place was dark until a voice called out to me and then there was a pale red light that emerged from the ceiling. It said: "Heya Porky, I need to know if you're part of the demolition crew. I guess you're not, which is good because I don't like the idea of being forced to move. You know what I'm talking about?"

           My mind became much clearer than I thought it could ever be under the circumstances. Before I knew what was happening I said, "Yeah, I know just what you mean. My ma really pissed me off with that crap too. She told me we had to move and that I'd make new friends so don't worry about it."

         "Yep, and while you do make new friends your parents drive to see their old ones all the time." Then I watched with amazement as a full vase of flowers sprand to life and washed away the scent of their dead ancestors. The new aroma made a loud belly laugh come from my insides. "That's the same thing my parents told me when they died and left me here alone. The next thing I heard, some schmuck said he was buying the property and was going to wipe away the house. I convinced him not to touch the house but he bought the land. Uh, got a question for ya?"

         I was enjoying the conversation so I said, "Sure thing, what's up?"

        "Just wondering what year it is? It was a couple days ago, I think, that I got rid of the creep."

        "Hee-hee-hee, it's 2015. What year d'ya think it is?"

         The voice became a noisy laugh as the whole room shook and the light flickered. "Last I knew it was 1965 and the Beatles were happening. Wow, it's been a while then since that jerk wanted to wipe out my place."

        I smiled and we talked about what it was like to be a kid a hundred years ago and all of that. The next thing I knew my watch alarm went off and I was suddenly going to be late for dinner. The voice, as it turned out, belonged to a kid named Buckley. Buckley was born on the other side of town by the Bay River and had to move to the house on Hartshorn Ave. when he was fourteen. He was pissed about it but made the best of the whole thing. His folks and he got killed one night in seperate places. They left him home to beat the flu while they went out to eat. The old man fell asleep behind the wheel and they crashed into a tree. Buckley threw his guts up and died that same night. Since then he's stayed at the house so he could make peacewith his dumb parents.

       After I told him what my problems were he said he'd help me. We shared a laugh and then agreed that I could return whenever I wanted. I walked out into the cool evening and saw Uncle Lewis pull up in his beater. He grinned as he opened the door and I climbed into the warm seat. "Sorry I'm so late there little buddy, I had to break up with my girl and she was pissed. The screwed up thing is that I forgot your mom asked me to meet you here. Then as soon as I left Cindy's a breeze whispered your name and I floored it to get here. I know that sounds weird but it's true!" He looked freaked out and I nodded. We pulled away from the house and I felt a rush of the giggles come over me.

     The old place is still there and every now and then I like to go back and shoot the crap with Buckley. Ghosts make great friends you know?


                                                                 -Finis-           

Ellen's Favor

            The girl laughed like a dolphin in heat as the old woman tried to stand. They were both a little tired and weary after the day's activities. The old woman was the girl's last living grandparent and the girl herself was a handful. A tiny terror, if you would, because of her rambunctiousness and low tolerance for boredom. The old woman, we'll call her Mary, had planned on a simple trip to the market followed by a restful afternoon nap. The child from hell, named Ellen, determined that food shopping was a boring thing for anyone to do. Therefore she pulled everything within reach into the carriage, screamed bloody murder after being told to behave, and then pooped to show her dissatisfaction all over the seat. Mary was livid. The cashier, a bouncy lad named Doug, giggled like a school boy as he clicked the order through his register.

         By the time they returned to Mary's studio apartment the old lady was damn near ready to have a heart attack. She placed Ellen carefully inside her playpen and stepped toward the cabinet to put the groceries away. Then she slipped and fell to the floor. Ellen started to giggle and pointed at her grandmother. Mary was ready to scream at the sound of her grandchild's dolphin-like racket. The doorbell rang and the old lady sighed relief. She yelled, "It's open damn it! Come in already!"

       Denise looked marvelous as she stepped inside. Her hair was done up perfectly and the new pantsuit she wore with pride. She rushed to her mom and, as she put the groceries in their place, said, "Ma, you'd never believe what a great day I've had. What do you think of my hair? This pantsuit looks good doesn't it? I thought for a minute the girl was trying to rip me off but then I saw the regular price." She stopped yaking and helped her mom to a seat. Then heard the doplphin and smiled. "Wow, Ellen is really happy. Thanks mom, I hate to be so rude but it's time to rush her home and put her down for a nap. I hope she wasn't too much trouble?"

      Mary wasn't sure if she should scream or cry. Instead of either she simply nodded as Ellen was picked up by Denise. The child from hell yawned in her mother's arms and then fell asleep. Denise leaned Ellen over so Mary could kiss the child goodbye. With a weak smile she then bade her child and her child's child a fond farewell. Watching them walk out the door, Mary slid onto her sofa and thought, "Someday, my precious child, Ellen will have a few and return the favor!" 

  

The Shrink and the Addiction

             "Let's be honest for a moment John," the therapist smiled insincerely as he sought the proper expression. His problem was clear: if he offended this man (a rich Mexican-American who had discovered a problem with smoking lilac bushes, they were addictive) it would be the third time in as many days he'd lost a customer. They were still called "patients" technically but Dr. Bradford and his
colleagues had decided they preffered to refer to the people that saw them by a much more accurate title. At least among themselves. Bradford pushed his squared-off glasses against the bridge of his nose as he watched Juan Gomez stare at the empty fish tank in front of the small desk. "You have a problem with t he scent of the bushes because your mother forbade you from enjoying the flowers as a child. It seems to me that a person with the despicable financial enviorment from which you came would have a significant amount of difficulty adjusting to the wealth you have amassed." Dr. Bradford was proud of his manipulation of the English language. He could've just said, "Look ya dumb gringo, you were a poor kid who stumbled into a lot of cash. Your mom was a snot who told you boys play with toy guns. Get over it and leave the damn bushes alone will ya?" That would certainly have offended the wealthy fisherman's boat navigator/owner though and he'd have lost another customer.

            Juan took his attention from the tank, "You think maybe that's it? Momma was worried I would grow into a homo so she didn't let me near the flowers, and that's why now I smoke them? Makes sense, wierd, but yeah I guess so." Juan grinned as Dr. Bradford felt his face warm. "So what do you think I should do about it then?"

           Dr. Bradford was at a loss for what to say/do next. He played with a pencil on his desk pretending to be lost in thought although he was really bored. The small alarm clock that slept inside his desk came to life. He breathed a sigh of relief. "That is something we can get into next Tuesday. Right now I have another appointment to get to and you, I believe, have to return to work."

          Juan stood and stretched his hand toward Dr. Bradford. "Si, you are right. Thank you Doctor Bradford, I'll be back next week."

          Bradford shook his customer's hand and watched as the man stepped out of his office. After Juan Gomez was gone, the good doc opened his window and took his bong out of the bottom desk drawer. He filled it with potpourri and then dropped a lit match on the bowl. As the aroma filled the corner and he inhaled from the bong, Dr. Bradford thought, "Wow, ma, you have no idea!"
  

Whatever Happened?

                        Devon and Harris were the names of the two most irritating brats I ever met. They had a laugh that grated on every nerve in my body. They were also incredibly stupid and had no idea how to pass a test on their own. The teacher’s name was Mrs. McNairy and she wasn’t the brightest either because Devon and Harris had seats too close to each other. The thing of it is this: Devon was on my left with his body odor and Harris was to the right with a constant barrage of insults and an endless supply of thumb tacks. I don’t know the name of the guy that invented thumbtacks but something tells me he was a real jerk. At least four times a day I’d find a strategically placed tack in my chair. I am not as dumb as the kids seem to think. I learned to be careful about where I put my ass because the idiot Devon put one of those things on my seat the first day of school. I yelped as it sent me airborne and almost bounced off the ceiling. Everyone erupted with laughter as I felt my face heat up and make a mockery of me.

　

                      It really pissed me off but like I said I’m not dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. Anyway, we had a vocabulary test and the two giggling baboons were up to their usual no good tricks as we sat. I am not a genius but spelling is a simple thing to do. I was ready for the test but shaky because I knew Devon and Harris would try to cheat off my paper. Being unpopular sucks especially because even the teachers think you’re no good. I was thinking that maybe McNairy would think either I gave the right answers to those two or I was cheating off their papers. After we all got our blank slips of yellow paper with horizontal margins, I jotted my name and the date down and waited for the test to begin. That’s when I had a brilliant flash of insight. The creepy turds would get answers from my paper alright, but they wouldn’t get the right ones.

　

                     I grinned inwardly as the big-nosed McNairy started to spout our vocabulary words. The hairs in her nose looked ready to free themselves from the cavern as I watched her try to invent sentences using the words.

　

                  “Momentarily, I will take the garbage out Momentarily.”

　

                    With Devon’s crummy odor breathing at my neck I put the word M-O-M-E-N-T-I-L-L-I-E on my yellow paper in very light number one pencil. As soon as he was done copying the word I noticed Harris was on the other side acting like he’d gotten something stuck in his eye as he snatched the word. As soon as the test was done they grinned at each other. One good thing about McNairy is that she always gave kids a few seconds to double-check their work before handing it to her. I used that precious minute to repair my spelling while Devon and Harris laughed and schemed together. After recess we got the test results and it was my turn to laugh.

　

                   McNairy had the most rolling eyes as she spoke to the turds. “Devon I can’t believe even you are this much of a dope. Cheating is never a good idea but really, Harris is the slowest dope we have in class. The two of you are going to have to see me after class because this is not only deplorable but also absurd.”

　

                 They wanted to pound me but couldn’t do so under the circumstances. I smiled proudly at McNairy and then at Devon and Harris. I got an “A+”. The plus was for good penmanship and chuckled loudly as class ended that day and the turds remained with big-nose.

　

               Standing in the office of Friendly Toys, Herb Fosdyke beamed as his supervisor, a thin woman with narrow eyes and a long nose sent him a silent half-grin. Her name was Olivia and she’d been running the quality control department for the last six months. When Devon James and Harris Mitchell were accused of screwing off and not working in favor of making the skinnier workers do everything, Olivia called Herb to ask if he’d had any history with either of them. Fosdyke had become a toy engineer and found a supervisory position at the company. He had no idea that his two chief tormentors from grade school had been hired.

　

             Olivia said, “Okay Herb, basically the company goofed when they hired these two? Rather than fire them on the spot,” she smiled with a hint of sadism, “I’m curious about what we can do.”

　

            Herb was a decent guy who never bore ill will to anyone. While he mulled over her proposal he couldn’t help but ask himself: "I wonder how many morons forget the crap they put other people through when they were kids?"

　

          Which reminds me the lesson to be learned here: If you’re nice to people and don’t make them jump out of their seats from thumbtacks you won’t have problems down the line. I don’t know, what do you think?

　



　

　



　



　

　

　

　

Another Complication

                              The day was supposed to be perfect. The plan was simple enough and the weather report even looked good. The dumbest thing in the world is that I really thought everything would go off without a hitch. Right! I was going to ask Deb if we could go hang out at her place after school. Deb is a babe with dark hair and killer green eyes. She’s been sitting in front of me in English all year and we’ve been trading glances for a while. According to my old man the first sign that a girl likes you is she trades grins with you and wants to ask you out after a while. I ain’t the best looking guy around because I got freckles all over my body including a dash across my nose. I keep my hair hanging down over my eyes for this reason and kids are always goofing on me because of the mullet I got.

　

                            The day seemed to be off to a good start as I woke up and managed to get into the shower before my sister and mom could take over the place. Then I jumped out of the can with bright teeth and a killer smile. Breakfast was quick and easy and then I skipped out the door to catch the bus. That’s when things started to screw up. I was standing at the stop across from TJ’S Superette and feeling great about everything when a truck carrying more chickens than any I’d ever seen splashed through a giant puddle caused by a huge pothole in the street and doused me with mud. My older sister, Leanne started laughing her damn ass off as she stepped close to the stop with me.

　

                            I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought about going home and changing clothes real quick but the next thing I knew the bus blew its horn and rattled me. I flipped my homework in the air and it scattered about the muddy ground. Leanne kept laughing and pointed at my bad luck which made everyone on the bus join her including the driver (a twit of a guy who looked like a used balled up sock) named Allen. He was a jerk but waited for me to pick up all my papers so I could get on the bus. I managed to climb on board and look for a seat. I sat down next to this chubby kid who smelled like he never wiped himself. His name was Chuck and nobody liked him.

                          Chuck belted out a good chuckle as he said: “Dude you got crap on your head. Looks like this just ain’t your day huh?”

　
                           I nodded once and tried to smile. After tolerating the aroma around Chuck for what seemed like an eternity, Allen finally pulled up to the schoolyard. I tried to beat the rush to the door but got trampled by the tough kids and their girls. By the time I got out of the bus Allen was having a cheap cigar outside the door. He was happy to see me struggle and shot a look at me. “Hey Bo, learn to laugh at yourself. What the hell-everyone else has!”

                          I didn’t bother to reply to the creepy clown. I gave him a short smile and thought about heading to the gym to raid my locker for a change of clothes. My name is Bob but asses like Allen and bullies always call me Bo. I guess the reason is because it sounds like a hick’s name and they’ve got nothing better to do but make fun of people whenever they can. There’s about a fifteen minute gap between the time the bus arrives and the first homeroom bell sounds. I had just that much time to rush to the gym and change my duds. I ran to the gym which is on the other side of the cafeteria. The idiot custodian decided to mop the floor that morning without posting any signs. The end result is that I found myself hydroplaning across the floor and hearing the cackling laugh of the stupid custodian: Nick.

　

                         By the time I got to the locker I had less than eight minutes left. I opened the door and a pile of stuff fell all over me. The stench of dirty underwear, sweaty socks, a spilled bottle of aftershave and an old tuna sandwich, hit me then as I climbed my way out of the mess. My gym partner is a slob called Russ and he was the last person near the locker. I was down to four minutes. I didn’t have time to stuff all the crap back into the locker so I just grabbed Russ’s coveralls he’d left behind and slipped them on over my muddy clothes. I then snatched my gym bag and dumped its contents in the locker. After stuffing all my papers into the bag I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. I had only two minutes to get to homeroom. I closed my eyes to fight back the frustration I was feeling and ran as fast as I could.

　

                        Because of that jackass Nick, I took the back door toward the hallway. The coveralls were bulky and I discovered that I only touched the ground every third or fourth step. Thank God that my homeroom teacher was Mr. Pike. Pike is a complete boob and never takes attendance on time. By the time I got to the room he had just rolled his eyes up from his morning nap. Whew, I thought as I snuck to my seat, just made it. There were only a handful of minutes before classes were to begin. After that rotten start I thought things had to improve or I’d kill myself.

                       Suicide began to seem like an answer then because as soon as the bell rang I gathered my stuff and tripped on the edge of those stupid coveralls. I plunged headfirst into the trash barrel and then tried to get it off my head but the damn thing stuck. Everyone, including that boob Pike, laughed at me. I was trying to get free and heard Deb pass in the hall with her friends as the class emptied amid laughter. I finally got the stupid barrel off of my head and escaped homeroom when the place was starting to fill up with kids who had it for first period geography. My head felt strange then as I realized the hallway was empty and I was running late for my first class. I tried to jog to English when this dumb blind kid’s dog yelled at me as it stood frozen in place.

                     My pants and coveralls were soaked by pee because the dog scared the living hell out of me. That’s when Principal Walcott saw me and hollered at me to leave the poor blind kid alone. She was taking her sweet time to calm the mutt down. Walcott said, “I mean it Robert, if I ever see you screwing off or around that poor animal or his owner again I’ll have your ass in detention so fast it’ll make your head spin!”

　
                    I nodded quickly as he looked at his watch. Then the jerk pointed at his watch and motioned me on to English. I tried to smile through gritted teeth as I watched him turn down the hall to the right. Then I came to class and Mrs. Stein was replaced by a substitute teacher because you were sick. The sub was a real stain and gave me a bunch of crap for being late. Then he stuck his nose at me and said, “Did you flunk potty training? Get the hell out of my classroom and get yourself cleaned up. You aren’t fit to be with the civilized world!”

　
                       I was ready to bawl my eyes out then as Deb stared at me like I was the most pitiful excuse for a person she’d ever seen. I then stepped back into the hallway with no idea about what I should do. That’s when this crazy bastard drove a moped through the hallway and started shooting at the school with a short gun. I felt more pee coming from my leg and slumped against the wall. I gave up as the guy on the moped made the whole school jump to attention. He cackled loudly and turned around to head toward me. I thought that would make my day perfect. This lunatic would kill me and end my pathetic life. Right! The moped skidded out of control as soon as it contacted the pee I’d spilt. The gun flew out of his hand and the next thing I knew the guy cursed as he crashed into a window by the stairs.

　
                        The halls were flooded with kids and teachers as they were all scared for their lives. It was a mess because before I knew what was happening the crowd lost their balance and were slipping through my pee, I had to chuckle at the whole thing and that’s when I turned around to see the cops rushing up the stairs. The guy on the moped was busted and they were looking to see if anyone got hurt. They found me laughing and figured I was a part of the ass’s plan to destroy the school.

　
                      As you can see, Mrs. Stein, I’m just a guy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. All I wanted was a date with Deb.

　

-----------------The young man in the padded white room has been sent there because a physiological evaluation was deemed necessary by the judge at his hearing for aiding and abetting a fugitive. He has been allowed the privilege of being able to have a notebook and a pen. The preceding is a factual account. The poor schmuck.

                                                                     -Finis-

　

　

　

　



　



　

　

　

　

Trial

                                                                            Trial



                                   The judge was a stern old bird with twisted eyes and a semi-wrinkled brow. The DA was an angry twerp with a brass monocle covering her left eye. The accused was a young woman in her early twenties with a bright look across her face. The witness, a middle-aged man with a buff body (who was also the accuser and victim) smiled an unhappy grin as the proceedings began.

　

                                  Sitting in the accused box while daydreaming of being anywhere else, the young woman: Stella Simpson showed a mixture of confusion and surety on her bright face. As the DA moved in for the accusation, the judge’s eyebrows were raised. The DA spoke clearly to the accused, “Are you aware the penalty for such a heinous crime? Do you understand that after you’ve been found guilty the judge will have no alternative but to sentence you to a minimum of thirty years hard labor?”

　

                                The vindictive smile sent a shiver down Stella’s spine. She cleared her throat and looked directly into her accuser’s eyes. “Does anyone else here think this is the most ridiculous circumstance they’ve ever seen? If I’m guilty of anything it is the crime of honesty.” Stella could do nothing to prevent the laugh that emerged in her stomach. “This is pure, unadulterated, silliness, you know.”

                               The judge glowered at her and then said, “Young lady, you will refrain from making this court into a mockery. The victim of your crime has been made nervous and upset by the crime for which you’ve been accused. Have you opted to change your plea to one of guilty?”

                             Her defense attorney stood up and hushed his client with a glance, and then he said, “Your honor, my client is a young artist who was simply following her instincts. If there is to be any change in plea it would be to include the phrase, ‘by reason of innocence.”

　
                            The judge looked at the defense attorney then at the DA then back to Stella. Mickey, the accuser and victim, looked at the judge with an expression of doubt
and intimidation. The judge then said to Mickey, “Approach the bench Mr. Michaels, you too DA Fitzgerald.” They did so and she continued, “Mr. Michaels, you stated that Miss Simpson was walking by your house on Albert Street, and stopped to tell you that you looked marvelous, is this true?”
                           “Yes ma’am, the way she said it though made me feel like she was trying to seduce me. I’m a simple man who never would entice anyone into inappropriate behavior. She looked at me with those radiant eyes and made the comment.”

　

                            DA Fitzgerald was taken aback as she said, “Your honor, it’s been written in the code of law that anyone who outwardly indicates to anyone else their attraction level should be sent to prison for offending people. Miss Simpson, though young, knows the statute as does everyone else in the community. She was wrong, ma’am, and as such I see no reason she should go unpunished.”

　

                           The judge motioned for Edgar Alexander (the defense attorney) to join both DA Fitzgerald and Mickey Michaels at the bench. Edgar limped over while maintaining eye contact with Stella. “In all seriousness your honor, what was done? A compliment was given and received as a threat. It is my opinion, for all that’s worth; a compliment should be accepted with a thank you. It certainly should not be punishment.” His legs shook mightily as he finished his statement.

                          The judge found herself at an impasse; the laws were made at the turn of the century because people found themselves phobic of other people. They’d been enforced in an effort to calm the populace. Words had become stale and overused to prevent offense, even the slightest, and the language had suffered as a result. She examined Mickey for a moment before fixing her eyes on him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Michaels, but you are a marvelous looking man. Stella Simpson was correct in telling you so; however, her methods do need improvement.”
                         Stella turned to the judge as Mickey’s face flushed and DA Fitzgerald smiled at the victim. Edgar took this opportunity to speak again, “Precedents have been set before in your court your honor. It’s high time they were again, don’t you think?”

                        The judge ruled in favor of the defense and it became the law of the land that whenever a compliment was given the receiver had to repay with a ’thank you.’

　

　

                                                                    Finis

Silas Rutabega's Secret

Death by . . .!

　

After the war was over the winning government sent groups of fifty or so men and women to explore the rubble and find any survivors. The small group lead by a Captain Willis Jameson came upon a formerly advanced society with their arms ready and loaded. His second in command was a thin man known only as Jed. Jed grimaced as he moved a door and stepped into a former office. He looked around and shouted to Captain Jameson, “Holy shit, Willis look at these people!”

　

Captain James stepped behind and saw the expression of dullness and apathy on the three people that were lying on the floor. He looked around for any sign of what exactly killed these people and took checked the radiation levels in the vicinity with a hand held device. Not finding any radiation whatsoever, the Captain shot Jed a confused glance. “My readings indicate nothing out of the ordinary, Jed. What could have killed these people?”

　

Jed studied the room with a detective’s eye then shrugged with a plastic smile on his face. “I tell you, I have no idea. They seem to be fine and the reinforced walls are without leaks. These folks should be up and about. I can’t understand it, how about you Dr. Baker, any ideas?”

　

Both of the men turned and looked at Dr. Louise Baker, the psychiatrist that was assigned with them, for any clue as to why these healthy people were dead. She brushed a long red hair from her eyes as she checked out one of the bodies. Then grinned cynically at Willis and Jed before she said, “Captain, these people were dead before the war even began. Jed, you’re right, there is no medical reason they shouldn’t be alive. As near as I can tell, they all died of excessive boredom. They were tuned in to the World Wide Web, television and radio and it, quite literally, bored them to death. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

　

Louise was from the school of thought that said people were creatures that needed things to do and others with whom to do it. Apparently, the school of thought was correct after all, huh?




End

　

　

　

　

Danny’s Last Party

　

He was laying on his deathbed with the faint twinkle in his eye that spoke volumes about his life. Only nineteen years had passed since that cool April morning when he was born, but he had indeed lived a full and interesting life. Gathering around the young man were his family (God knows how he managed to have so many relatives) a scattered amount of close friends and his pet iguana Don. His father, an out of work computer technician, and mother, a current reality TV star, were looking down with concern on their faces.

　

Raising a hand to draw his father’s ear closer, Danny shot his mother with a finger and she backed off. His dad leaned over to listen to what the boy had to say. Danny cleared his throat and simply stated, “Where are the nude ladies?”

　

His father wiped a few beads of sweat off his hairy head, looked around and dismissed the crowd of onlookers quickly. Danny smiled brightly as the hospital room cleared and the lights went down. The disco music that followed had the young man shaking his head to the beat as red, green, and blue lights started to flash. Then a line of about twenty nude strippers started encircling the hospital room. Danny’s eyes lit up as if it was New Year’s Eve and the fireworks display had begun. A gorgeous young stripper wrapped her long ebony arms around is head and plunged it into her giant hooters. She whispered to him, “I hope this makes you happy?”

　

His voice was muffled but she says he stated the following: “Are you kidding, this is the only way to die! I’m in heaven right now; it only gets better from here!”

　

He smiled then took his last breath of the ebony stripper’s perfume and died. Danny was not a pervert or anything, just a person who knew what he wanted. Damn, sometimes I wish I were him.

　

　

End.

　

　

　

　

　

　

The Photographer

I’m sitting here over a scalding cup of the blackest syrup ever to be considered coffee watching the people come and go in the city. Baybridge wasn’t always my home but for the last several years it has come to mean a lot more to me than I could’ve ever imagined. The people are simple enough so there’s little conflict. As long as everyone works hard, minds their own business and takes care of their own, there seems to be a lot more good times than bad.

　

The coffee, however, leaves something to be desired and the blackberry muffins are usually as hard as baseballs. I grin as I overhear a short woman with a poof of red hair talking the ear off of a slender blond cop. She’s disturbed by someone in her neighborhood she’s convinced is a serial child molester. The cop sighs as he barely prevents his blue eyes from rolling to the back of his head. She continues by saying, “I’m telling you Bert, the sick son-of-a-bitch peeks at these girls and takes pictures at random as soon as he thinks no one is looking. I swear, if I see him poking around near my daughter, I’m not going to call the police or anyone, I’ll just shoot him.”

　

Bert looks at her, sips his coffee, grins and then says, “Martha, do yourself a favor and calm down okay?” He makes a face then pinches his nose as he downs the cup. “There’s no need to take the law into your own hands. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, you give me a description of this man and I’ll run a database check on him. If there’s anything there we’ll pick him up. If that sounds good to you then let’s do it.”

　

Martha looks like she’s just won first prize at a brownie contest. She smiles brightly at Bert as he calls for a refill. The waitress steps over with a pot as Martha begins to draw on a napkin. Describing the man in question as she sketches a picture of the ’alleged’ molester. When she is finished she holds the drawing up with a vindictive look on her face and says, “This is the man, he always wears that stupid beanie hat with all the colors. The way I figure it, he does this to attract really young girls like a clown.”

　

Bert sips his coffee then looks Martha up and down studying the drawing carefully. Then he says, “How long have you been out of police work Martha? You still have a great talent for capturing images; maybe you should ask Chief Bell if you can come back.” Bert’s praise has Martha on the verge of hubris and I can tell her face is warm.

　

Then he takes the drawing from her and mutters a brief laugh. “Martha, my dear friend, do you have any idea who this is that you’ve drawn?”

Their eyes lock as the grin on his face turns into a bright smile. She shakes her head while the concern on her face becomes wonder. “I’ve told you, I think he’s a child molester that’s tying to grab every little girl in Baybridge.”

　

Putting the napkin down, he takes her hand and then says, “No, Martha, I’m afraid not. In fact he’s homosexual and maybe one of the greatest photographers in history. The man you’ve just drawn is the famous Chelsea Getty. The whole police force has been keeping a very close eye on him to protect his life from a would-be assassin. We think he was threatened by a competitor. He’s been in touch with us and has been looking for his new prize model. He does this by taking random photos and, after having them developed, assess their potential. Mr. Getty is a very nice guy actually.”

　

Martha bows her head in shame as the realization that she needs some other way to spend her time slowly slaps her hard in the face. She looks at Bert then to the drawing and closes her eyes and then says, “Do you think Chief Bell would take me back? I am really bored lately and could use something to do.”

　

Bert laughs heartily then takes another sip of his black swill. I shake my head with amusement and wonder where some people get their ideas. It must have something to do with having nothing to do. Am I right?

　

End.

　



　

　

　

　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Snowed In

The bitter wind descended across the once amber fields bringing with it white sheets of ice that encompassed the city. The man with the golden eagle tattooed on his bald head stared out the window with a longing for spring that brought with it a sad realization. Spring was months away and he was trapped by its predecessor. He felt lonely and frightened by this occurrence as he wondered the truth of the rumor that no two snowflakes were identical. Looking at the storm’s wrath he decided it was another myth brought about by some bored nitwit of an old wife.

　

From behind him he heard a pair of feet being dragged inside. Slowly he turned to see who owned the feet and was mildly pleased to see a young woman for whom he had romantic inclination named Trish. Thoughts of how he wanted to rush into her arms and hold her amused him as he shook his head with doubt.

　

Despite the warnings issued by the local media, the man’s boss, Mr. John Albright, had called that morning to make sure the store would open. The man, Gerry Tamer, was short and stocky with a desperate desire to show the world how tough he was. At the moment he was filled with regret that he had this character defect. Were it not for said efforts he’d be at home where it was warm and dry. Albright wasn’t really a hard man just a determined one so when he asked Gerry to be sure the store was open he would’ve accepted the decision to leave it closed and Gerry would be able to remain home.

　

Trish smiled weakly as she approached Gerry with a shovel in her hand. She wasn’t ugly but she could use some sprucing up. Her hair was Butch-cut, blond and she had big green eyes, the body she had under her snowsuit was heavy-set and she had a nice bum. She spoke to Gerry with all the confidence of a little girl asking her parents if it was okay for her to play in the snow. “Gerry, how are you holding up?”

　

He paused as he turned to her and then said, “The winter can seem so long when it’s white and cold you know?” Then he smiled brightly as he said, “Then again, summer can seem too long to when it’s sticky and hot, right?”

　

She smiled as she stepped closer to him and gazed into his eyes. Then bashfully she turned away and concentrated on the floor. Trish said, “You know I’ve never realized before how cute you are?”

　

　

　

His face got warm as he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and kissed the woman deeply. Pilling his face away a moment later he said, “I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry but I’ve always thought you were attractive and there doesn’t seem to be any business today.”

　

She smiled seductively in return and kissed him more deeply than he had done. Soon they were making out and fondling each other like a couple of horny teenagers. The storm picked up speed and they found themselves snowed in but happily so. By spring they were a hot item and that June the wedding bells chimed as the baby was due in October. They now live in Hoponable Falls with their two kids and dog, Buck.

　

Which just goes to prove absolutely nothing does it?

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

-Finis-

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

The American Dilemma

　

“Unfortunately,” began the mother whose son was wearing a polka-dot dress and a puffy wig, “I really don’t care for the color scheme you’ve come up with.” She hesitated as his face turned from joy to sadness and she waited for the wailing to begin.

The little boy, all of eight years old, felt the burning tears start flowing from his eyes. He looked up at his mother and then said, “You like the boots Shelly had on,” referring to his kid sister’s attire, “you even liked the black leather and fake tattoos she had found. Why don’t you like my dress mommy? Am I not good enough to be one of your kids?”

　

The mother looked skyward for an answer to her child’s query. She was trying her best to keep the kids at the school for goofy people to like her kids. It sure didn’t help that their father had to go and find a job making money. Things couldn’t be any worse; she thought as she pondered, the government will probably give us less than nothing now. The worst part is the kids of mine can’t figure out which outfits will please their peers.

　

She began to cry and the little boy hugged her as she wept and they both shed tears. It makes you wonder why a white heterosexual will never be president of the Untied States doesn’t it.



　

　

　

　

　

　
　

                                                                   Silas Rutabaga’s Secret



                                His cigar had burned for what seemed time indefinite. Despite looking twenty-nine, he had the mannerisms of an old man. With a lopsided grin he flashed a toothless smile at me and spoke clearly. “Don’t hardly seem fair that after all this time only my teeth are lost, does it?”

　

                              I was in my first year of community college and had been sent to the mansion to interview Silas Rutabaga for my assignment. Mr. Rutabaga was rumored to be the oldest man in the county or the most prolific father. It was uncertain whether he was the same man or if his descendants had replaced the family figurehead every so often. As he puffed away on the cigar, I seriously began to suspect the former was true. There was no cough or even a brief wheeze from the man. I smiled as humbly as I could, “Well, sir, I really can’t say. It seems to me that as long as a man can do what he enjoys and doesn’t hurt anyone while doing so, he should be entitled to keep as much as he wants.”

　

                              He nodded a couple of times, “You see, that’s why I thought you’d be perfect for this interview Ms. Calloway, you got decent sense about you.”

　

                             He turned to face me and looked at me with the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. My mind became aflutter with sexual images of he and I surrounded with bubbles doing an erotic dance. Before I was aware anything had happened I was undressing and he just puffed away on that cigar without taking his eyes from me. Then he opened his mouth and a puff of bluish smoke came over me and I dropped to my knees with a smile. My sense of time and space was gone and I melted into his arms.

　

                           While making love, I realized that he was much older than anyone I’d ever met (including my great-grandparents who were both still alive) and yet more sensual than every lover I’d ever had.

　

                          By the time I awoke there was no sound and I recognized the canopy bed I was in from an old photograph that was in the museum. I rolled over and saw Silas Rutabaga laying on his side with the cigar still burning.

　

                       “Well, what can I tell you, I agree with your analysis? Truly you are a bright girl, thank you so much for reminding me that vitality is a sexual sensation, my dear. I rather enjoy having more than one partner and believe they have all been satiated. Do you agree?”

　

                         I wasn’t sure what to tell him so I nodded in reply. Then my whole body ached to be touched by him again and know the pleasure he could bring. Then I thought about how selfish that would be. I said, “Thank you Silas, I won’t tell anyone the truth about you.”

　

                        “Excellent, that way more curious people, preferably of the female variety, will be able to stop by and share in the sexual indulgencies I so very much enjoy. For your trouble I have taken the liberty of writing your report for you.” He pointed at a small pile of papers next to an old typewriter and smiled.

　

                         I stood and got dressed while keeping a close eye on him. After I was dressed, Silas put a pair of shorts on and walked me to the door. Papers in hand, he gave them to me and I parted with a bow. The old man laughed a little and I stepped out into the brightest, most beautiful spring day, I have ever seen.

　

                         The report was enough to catapult me to the top of my class and spread enough innuendo to keep the legend alive. Now I’m sixty years old and the editor of the Hoponable Chronicle and every now and then I get a glimpse of Silas Rutabaga springing around town with some eighteen or nineteen year old girl. Ah, to be so young and full of sexual energy.