100 Words - Hips

 

After meeting Jane, my junior high soon-to-be girlfriend, my mother commented that Jane had wide hips. I said, “OK.” She then explained to me that meant she was promiscuous. That women had narrow hips until they had sex. I blushed when she told me that.

I looked it up in the encyclopedia, but it wasn’t helpful. I asked my friends at school. They had never heard that before, but decided it sounded like a good thing.

So, despite my mother’s objection, I continued to hang with Jane, and spent the next several months proving my mother wrong. Hips do lie.

Travel vs. Family

A young man tries to convince his family that he isn't the crazy one

100 Words - Autistic Fantasy

 

There she was again, the woman at the bar. Larry approached her and tried his best to exude confidence, but his lack of acting skill betrayed him. He melted before the woman’s awesome visage. His inner critics laughed till he puked, then they laughed some more.

Then he looked up and she was still there, smiling. He turned and ran out of the bar. He stood trying to catch his breath and steady his nerves. Then there she was, standing next to him.

“You have the soul of a mighty warrior.” She touched his cheek. Give me your phone number.

100 Words - Not A Couple

We’d been friends for a long time, but never became a couple. We got drunk a few times and tried to mess around, but we were both control freaks and couldn’t open up enough to go through with it. We never got drunk enough. There was always too much baggage. Friendship at stake.

We planned a romantic date once. We both got all dressed up and went to the fanciest restaurant in town, the same night the Shriners were in town. The food was good there, but not wait two hours good. We wound up the best-dressed people at McDonald’s.

Dark Out There

Something is out there. Maybe.

100 Words - Impala

The biggest shock of my young life was when dad brought home the new family car and it was a black Chevy Impala. Yes, it was a station wagon, but it was an Impala. It has a cool 327 logo on the front fender. My father bought a cool car, and he didn’t even know it.

I never got to drive that car. New England winter roads won the rust race. I had to learn to drive in its replacement, a Ford Country Squire wagon. A powerful car, but nowhere near as cool as the Black Chevy Impala 327 wagon.

What's In The Soup?

Sometimes it's better not to ask too many questions

100 Words - Escape

 

I just wanted to escape. Now the bodies are piling up. Each one another lifetime of sorrow. What price must I, no they, pay for my freedom? Long roads to nowhere to hide. Will I be forgotten? Become invisible? They voices say no.

I am a guilt-based life form. I can never forgive myself for what I’ve done. I expect no forgiveness from others. Least of all, the voices.

They told me everything would be OK. That what I was doing was right. For the greater good. I knew they were lying, but couldn’t resist. The voices are too strong.

Lost The Funny

Two comedians discuss life, death and beer

100 Words - Nephew Man

 

My five year old nephew has a treasure trove of unfortunate knowledge. He knows the 911 operators by name. He knows how to administer Narcan. He can also, without hesitation, spell psychoanalysis.

He lost his father, my brother, to the bottle. His mother, to the needle. Foster care took him away from them several times, but always gave him back.

Now they’re both dead and child care services is looking for relatives to take him. I assumed my tiny trailer would scare them away, but it didn’t. The lady was impressed by the nice couch he would be sleeping on.

Face The Fear

Advice for all young people intimidated by the pressures of modern society.

Waiting

A young man's difficult job is about to get more complicated.

100 Words - Machine War

 The declaration of victory by the machines proved premature. Yes, they had superior intelligence, bullet-proof armor and a masterful strategy, but we had millions of buckets of water, acid-filled squirt guns and super glue.

The acid guns were used to damage the rubber seals, then the water was used to short circuit the inner works. The super glue was used to lock their fingers together, which made it hard for them to hold things. The final step was to snap their antennas off.

This was a slow process, but it kept the machines at bay till we perfected the elctroray.

Cornered

Her logic is undeniable

100 Words - Bramble

 

I woke up in a gnarly bramble. It took several moments to recall what happened to put me in this bush.

When I was last conscious I was riding my mountain bike down a steep path. Then I remembered the instant that caused the problem; rabbit, swerve, tree, swerve again, cliff, blue sky, darkness.

My heard hurt bad. I finally got the courage to sit up. My ribs informed me that the pain in my heard was child’s play compared to how much they hurt. Screaming seemed like an appropriate response. Several strangers came running. They gave me good drugs.

Which Switch

Not everyone fits in your square hole

100 Words - Ice Cream Horror

 

I am most comfortable in a society of strangers. Brought together by some event or tragedy. None of us want to be there, but there we are. When it’s all over I wander back to my hermitage and hide from the world till I’m needed again.

Then, today, I heard a sound that sent chill down my spine. At first I hoped it was wind chimes, but no, it was Three Blind Mice. An ice cream truck was coming. There would be a crowd. I wanted a grape popsicle. People chat at ice cream trucks. The horror of it all.

The Cabin - Short Story

There was a knock at the cabin door. Usually not a moment of panic, but it wasn’t my cabin. I didn’t know whose cabin it was. It was unlocked, so I let myself in. There was no back door. No place to run. How bad could it be? I answered the door. A big cop was at the door. Smiling.

“You got enough food for a week or so?” He asked.

I looked around the room but found no answer to his question. He then explained that a bad storm was coming and the road was likely to be flooded. I told him that I didn’t have any food. He went to his car and got a box of food out of his trunk. He came in and put the box on the table.

For some reason I will never understand, I said, “This isn’t my cabin.”

The big cop laughed. He knew I didn’t belong there. He explained that the owners always leave it open for wanderers. He looked around and said, “In twenty years, nobody’s done any damage.” Then he told me I should stay put till the storms were done. The owners wouldn’t want to see him hurt. Then he left.

I looked through the box and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. It was yummy, and I was hungry. I put the rest of the food away and laid down on the couch to read a book, but fell asleep before finishing the second page. It was the first time I’d relaxed in weeks.

You don’t relax much when you assume everyone is looking for you. What I committed was not technically a crime. At least, that’s my opinion. Though the homeless guy I bought a beer for agreed with me. It’s feasible that some powerful people were seeking revenge on me. It’s also possible that I’m not important enough to care about.

I wanted to disappear for a while. I slept in dad’s old boy scout tent for the first few days, but it was so heavy and so leaky it wasn’t worth the trouble. Then I saw this cabin. I sat up on the hill for two days, but nobody came. I came down and was shocked to find the door unlocked.

It kept the rain and wind off me and kept me safe from creatures, but I jumped at every noise. Then the cop came and didn’t care. He didn’t even ask my name. Too much paperwork probably. I’ll leave when the storm has passed and the roads are clear.

Maybe I’ll chance a bus ride and visit my parents. If nobody’s contacted them, I might be in the clear. I’ve got the money. I just don’t want to be obvious about it.

I expected there to be clouds today. The big living room window has a wonderful view of the valley to the east. Today is the day the rain was supposed to start, but the valley sky was clear and blue. Having never lived in the mountains before, I assumed that the sky would look the same in every direction.

So I decided to go for a walk. I walked out the door and turned west up the dirt road. The clouds spilling over the top of the hills reminded me of the flying monkeys from The Wizard Of Oz, only creepier. I went back inside and battened down the hatches. I checked that each window was closed and locked and begged them to protect me from the approaching evil.

Then the door opened, and a large gun with a person attached to its end came in.

“I’m unarmed!” I plead.

“Where’s your phone?” A woman yelled.

I told her that there was no phone, but if she stopped pointing the gun at me, she could have a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she told me to sit on the couch. I did, and she searched the cabin for some hidden phone or something. Why would someone hide a phone?

When she was satisfied that we were communication-free, she made herself a peanut butter sandwich. She sat at the table and watched me like I was plotting my attack and wanted to be ready. The gun was lying on the table, but it was still pointed at me.

I got bored, so I picked up the book I started last night. I laid down and read. Apparently it wasn’t all that I was so tired, because once again, after about two pages, I was asleep. I will brag the rest of my life how I fell asleep with a gun pointed at me.

I woke up in the dark. There was a noise I couldn’t identify, then there was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder, like the clouds were resting on the roof, which wasn’t far from the truth. The noise was the rain pounding on the roof. I got up and checked the door, the windows, and the ceiling. No leaks.

Then I remembered that there was a woman pointing a gun at me. I found her asleep in the comfy chair, which turns out to be a recliner. I didn’t see the gun. Probably under her.

I watched the storm for a while and went back to sleep on the couch.

I woke to dim light. I assumed it was very early, but it was almost noon. The sky looked like it was considering killing us all and was just waiting for the right moment. At that sight, I understood why people made sacrifices to appease the rain gods.

Then I remembered I wasn’t alone. Only I was. The recliner was empty. Everywhere was empty. I quickly looked for where she might have hidden the gun. Either she was really good at hiding guns or she had it with her. Then I heard the shots.

I ran and opened the door. I saw nothing. I had no idea where the shots came from. The silence slowly faded as the critters got over their shock and went back about their business. I circled the cabin, trying to see something. I didn’t.

What I did notice was the clouds turning ugly again. I went inside and locked the door, knowing that wouldn’t stop anyone who wanted to get in. I got a knife from the kitchen, turned off the lights, and sat waiting for my fate.

Somehow, again, I fell asleep. I woke up in the dark. The rain had stopped, but I could hear a river rushing down the road. I turned on a light and started reading again. The book was indeed terrible, but this time I finished it. The knock on the door never came.

I was surprised by the sunrise. The rain was over. It was time for me to get going. The cop would know about me by now. If not, he’d have questions about those shots that someone must have heard. I hate not knowing what happened, but not as much as I’d hate being in jail.

100 Words - Compliments

 

Peter’s life felt like a long series of social experimental trials, and he was always in the placebo group. Never did he experience the woohoo moments of life. He just trundled along watching everyone else be happy. Neither making nor riding any waves.

Then he met Sheila, who was a very woohoo kind of person. After their first date, and first kiss, she told him how wonderfully non-threatening he was.

The next day he shaved his head and had several things pierced. When he went to pick up Sheila for their second date, she slammed the door in his face.

100 Words - In The Trunk

 

Larry had been warned about his puns. Bill showed him the abacus on which the puns were counted. There was one bead left. Larry responded, “Not one beady little pun?” George pulled the car over. It was the trunk for Larry.

Larry did not believe they would actually put him in the trunk, but there he was. At first he worried about running out of air, but the rust holes provided plenty of ventilation.

After a few minutes the car stopped and the trunk opened. Bill told Larry he was getting early parole. Larry said, “So my sentence was truncated?”

100 Words - End Game

 

My back yard is haunted by a pile of children. Those who can see them, see a literal pile of giggling children, playing some made-up game that never reaches its conclusion.

My nephew Billy says he knows how to end the game, but won’t because he likes watching them. He’s learned their names and says hello to each every day.

One day my sister called and asked if Billy was still in my yard. I looked, but he was not there. We were searching the bushes when the neighbor girl yelled, “There he is, on top that pile of kids.”

100 Words - Sexy Nightmare

 

The heavy metal ballerina danced across my nightmare, sledge hammer in hand. She swung it ever so gracefully at my skull. With dream-only skill I ducked out of the way. She swung again, this time aiming for my crotch. I was saved by the smell of bacon cooking downstairs.

I ate breakfast as quickly as I could, but not quick enough. Mom noticed my eye avoidance and asked me about my nightmare. She knows me too well. I tried to water it down, but it still disturbed her. Of course, she blamed my brother’s video games, which I don’t play

The Prodigal Bird

Not all homecomings go as planned

Grandma's Brandy

Grandma's lack of sense of proportion serves her well.

Caviar

Emily Post's worst nightmare

100 Words - Dream Journal

 

My therapist told me to keep a dream diary. A week later I had nine pages of details on my nightmares. Scary shit. She started glancing through and declared that it was fairly normal stuff. Then she came across the index and source references at the back.

Apparently getting in touch with my feelings is supposed to be a free-form mess of random thoughts. My therapist does not understand how painful it would be for me to not have structure. Maybe I need a new therapist.

Besides that, she always smells like cheese. Good cheese, but cheese none the less.

100 Words - Bop

 

Bop the teddy bear had too much stuffing. It was weighing him down. He needed someone to hug him so hard that some of the stuffing would come out. But Bop was an ugly teddy bear. Not the ugliest, but ugly none the less.

He tried throwing himself on the floor so that people would see him and pity him. “Oh you poor bear. Let me hug you and make you feel better.” Instead, everyone just kicked him out of the way.

Then the dogs found him. Keeping stuffing in was no longer a problem. Careful what you wish for.

100 Words - Ferry Trip

 

Sitting on the top deck of the ferry, Raul wondered what this trip was for. Interviewing for a job that he didn’t want in a place he couldn’t afford. Parole officers are so hard to please. Besides, being around all these rich people made him feel, needful.

The interview went better than expected. The boss didn’t seem to care about what happened in the past. Then came the money talk. He couldn’t afford to live here on what they paid. She told him the others worked as waiters at night. She looked at him and knew that wasn’t an option.

100 Words - Failure?

 I made the mistake of trying to give one of my minor characters a backstory. Ten thousand words later my short story is now a novel focusing on this asshole that nobody likes. I tried to go back to the beginning, but it’s hopeless. The character isn’t good enough to route for, or bad enough to hate.

I have a pile of these pieces. I call them learning exercises, which is better than calling them failures. Failure is a difficult word. To me though, it implies a public rejection, and this story will never make it to the public’s eye.

100 Words - Closet Things

 

There are “things” growing in my closet under a pile of dirty clothes. It may be mutant vampire mice. It may be a new form of sentient mold. I’m afraid to look. What if doesn’t live up to my imagination? What if it’s something mundane? What if I’m boring?

That’s always the question for people of an odd bent. Am I really weird, or am I just a poser? Is my world a construct of my personality, or am I just a contrarian?

Well, the things growing in the closet dissolved all my polyester clothes. Time to call the exterminator.

100 Words - Horror

 

I had to scurry up the stairs. She had my laptop and guessed my password. (It’s not hard if you know me.) Sure enough she was rifling through my browser history. I yelled, “I’m a mystery writer! It’s just research for a book!”

I thought it would help to show her some of my recent writing and explain how it related to the research I was doing. She was hesitant, but agreed.

For the first few pages it was going well. She laughed at the cops’ witty comments. Then she got to the disemboweling scene. I’m going to miss her.

100 Words - Abandoned

 

Forgive my failings, my follies and my offenses. I seek mercy. I’m only human. I was young. I didn’t know better. Every night I pray for forgiveness. Every night the voices in my head say no.

I wander the abandoned streets seeking justice, revenge, peace or whatever I can find to break myself out of the bleakness that inhabits my soul. Failing again.

There is a woman out there somewhere. I’ll know her when I see her. She will love me, but she will not love me. There is no redemption in her arms. I’ll have none for her either.

100 Words - Dictator

 

With a minimal amount of effort, Raul could have been a great dictator. He had the education, attitude and charisma. Most importantly, he had the empathy of a metamorphic rock. Other people existed to serve, and in many cases, worship him.

He would pace in his tower lair, AKA attic apartment, and plot his rise to power on a series of vision boards covered in little yellow sticky notes he stole from his mother’s office.

Fortunately for the world, even minimal effort was too much to expect from Raul. His lethargy was a black hole, absorbing any inkling of work.

The Border

Was it worth it?

100 Words - Sack of Marbles

 

Mixed in with the pile of uninspired knickknacks on the thrift store shelf was a small sack of green marbles. They didn’t look like regular marbles. You could almost see through them, but your reflection got in the way.

There was no price, so the clerk sold them to Billy for a dollar. He studied each one that night while lying on his bed, putting them away as sleep overtook him.

In the morning, he was dead. An x-ray showed that his brain had shrunk to nothing.

Two weeks later, his family donated all his stuff to the thrift store.

100 Words - Ghost Road

The problem with most RV parks is that are built on land not good for much more than an RV park. That means that most are built many miles away from anything interesting. The upside of this is that I get to go on cycling adventures.

I rode my bike for miles along the dirt road across the dessert to explore a ghost town I read about. I reached it after nearly three hours, and turned right around when I saw the toll booth. They wanted eight dollars and had big guns. Back to camp I went. Another great adventure.

100 Words - Sloth

 

I miss sloth. Several years ago life forced me to get up off the couch. I slowly learned to exercise more and eat better. Now I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been and stressed out beyond belief. There was no stress back on the couch. I miss the couch.

I considered the other deadly sins. Gluttony is out of the question. I’ll never be fat again. Pride, greed, wrath and envy have no obvious upside. That leaves lust.

So lust it is. Time to be the creepy old guy at the end of the bar, hunting for some creepy old gal.

100 Words - Haunted?

 

I just found out that the house I lived in for 18 months, 20 years ago, is haunted. It was on TV. I was never haunted. Not a single ghost. Why didn’t the ghosts like me, or hate me, or whatever it is that makes them want to haunt someone? What’s wrong with me?

So I did some research. There were no reports of ghosts till the current owners bought the house. I also found that one of my favorite ghost debunking channels on YouTube went there and didn’t find anything. Makes me doubt the veracity of the TV shows.

100 Words - Save Me

 

When I was young I imagined that someday I would save a damsel in distress. Turns out that I was the damoiseau who needed saving, but my Dame in shining armor never came.

There were a couple close calls, but none of the woman understood their role. How could they? They, like me, expected me to be the hero. Most women are not raised to be heroes.

So I remain trapped in my self-inflicted tower. Advanced well past saving age. Slowly becoming part of the furniture.

100 Words - Hot Clerk

 

Every week for the last month it’s been the same. The hot gray-haired clerk glares at me over her glasses and the young bag girl smiles at me. Today the girl caught up to me outside and asked, “Are you ever going to ask out Shirley?” The ran back into the store.

So two days later, embolden by the bag girl’s question. I asked out the clerk. She gave me the death stare and said, “Never.” Not just no, but never. The only thing that saved my failing dignity, was that the bag girl was as shocked as I was.

Fallen Barn Valley

 

There is a valley in Pennsylvania that few roads find, where all the barns are falling down. Not some, or a lot, or even most. All the barns are falling down. Some were once huge, some were little more than sheds, but they were all tipped over, dilapidated, and in ruins.

I stopped to take pictures, but every time I raised my camera I was overcome with dread. There was something wrong. Something there that should not be recorded. Something evil was in those barns. Something that was dying, and should not be removed, even in pictures.

I tried approaching a few houses where I saw people watching me through clenched curtains. I waved as I walked up their drives, but all except one old woman shut the curtains and would not answer the door. The old woman waved back, but then also shut her curtains and would not answer the door.

So I left the creepy little valley to it’s inflictions. Left the frightened people. Left whatever was in those barns. Left them to die.

Wasteland

What to do with the wasteland?

100 Words - Love and Pain

 

It’s easy to cherish a sunset on the beach. True love is cherishing the scars you got when you fell off the ladder climbing up to her window. Cherishing the nightmares the concussion gave you. It all hurt, but it was all for her, and she loved you for it.

Then there was the time she hit you with the car. The look of confusion as she looked down at your still breathing body will live forever in your heart. The angry-sounding obscenities she screamed in shock endure as the greatest poem ever written.

What adventures lie ahead? What pain?

The Shaman's Tale

 

Clara was shocked when the police let her in to see The Shaman. He told the cops that she’d be coming and was his only living relative. The cops brought him in and left them alone, though there was a suspiciously large mirror on the wall. The Shaman told her not to worry. He said no one was listening.

She had expected to see Edgar in his eyes, but he wasn’t there. It was just the Shaman grinning that evil grin. He repeated what he said to the media, and she didn’t believe a word of it. She accused him of using Edgar as an excuse. He laughed.

He explained that he had hoped to use her spare soul to pull this off, but it was too innocent, and she seemed too strong. Edgar fit the bill better. Now, all he had to do was to pawn Edgar off on some weak-minded person, have them kill someone, and he’ll be proven innocent.

Clara explained to him that he just confessed. She went and banged on the mirror. "Did you hear him? He confessed!" He told her not to waist her breath. They didn’t care what he said now, he’d already confessed to the killing. She sat down, almost in tears. He reached to hold her hand, but she knew better than to let him touch her. "You learn quick." He said.

She left the police station and sat on a park bench, trying to figure out how to stop him. The surprising problem though was trying to find a reason to stop him. She assumed that he’d pick Edgar’s next victim in prison, who would then probably kill someone else in prison. Where would it stop?

Were those people her responsibility? Edgar wasn’t hers. He was Paul’s. Though, she wouldn’t have had Paul’s soul if it weren’t for Edgar. And what was she to do? Her main advisor for such things was now the enemy. Or was he always the enemy?

The enemy? She rolled the phrase around in her head for a while. It had a certain power. An importance. Was he worth killing? Clara had never considered killing someone before. Would it help? What would happen to Edgar if The Shaman died?

She had never before thought of killing someone. Could she do it? Would it help? Did she want to go to jail? Too many questions. She got up and started walking. Walking away from the thought of murder. You can’t just kill someone. You have to keep control.

Control? Paul controlled Edgar. Or rather, the drugs that they gave Paul controlled Edgar. Or rather, the drugs they gave Paul made it impossible for Edgar to make Paul do anything. Could Clara use that to stop The Shaman? Was he too smart for that?

The secret to fighting someone bigger than you is to use their weight against them. Redirect their force rather than facing it head-on. How does one redirect whatever Edgar is? What does he really want? A body of his own? A body of his own. Redirection!

It took a bunch of meetings with police, social workers, more police, and finally, a mass murderer who recently found God. The plan was stupid elaborate, but in the end, just about everyone decided, "Why not?"

So The Shaman was declared mentally fit and sentenced to life in prison. When asked if he had anything to say, he replied, "I’ll prove you all wrong." The next day he was brought to the penitentiary and placed in a cell with a fellow murderer, who wouldn’t stop reading the bible, out loud.

That Saturday, he was surprised when a guard came to get him. He had a visitor. His niece. Clara was sitting at a table in what appeared to be the guard’s break room. He’d expected to be behind a glass wall and having to talk over a phone.

Clara told him that they were meeting here because the warden thinks The Shaman is crazy. Then she put a thermos on the table, explaining that it was the rest of the goop that made her throw up. She said she decided he was doing the right thing. He had been planning a month’s worth of incantations, but the potion would be a lot quicker. He took the cap off and sniffed. It smelled right.

Clara couldn’t resist returning to the penitentiary the next day. She had to see for herself if the plan worked or not. It was worth it for the The Shaman’s shocked look alone. He asked her what she was doing there. She asked him what he was doing there.

He told her that he was there to give emotional support for his roommate at his hearing. Clara told him that this was no hearing. The Shaman had been so freaked by Clara being there he hadn’t looked around. He went pale when he noticed the isolation booth.

Just then, they brought in the born-again killer. He still had the goop on his face. He winked at Clara as he was led into the booth. Through the bulletproof glass, she watched him get strapped to a table. They put an IV into his arm, the minister blessed him, then everybody left the booth.

As they locked the door The Shaman started screaming, but the guards were ready for this and dragged him away. Clara watched. At exactly one PM, a guy in a lab coat hit a switch, and a dark liquid started to flow into the killer’s arm. Soon he was asleep. Another button pressed, and a clear liquid appeared.

The coroner would normally now go in and declare him dead, but it was agreed to wait two hours. Nobody knew how long Edgar could survive without a body, but two hours seemed good.

She read later that the killer was declared dead at three PM. Six months later, there has been no word of any possessed killers. The world felt safe. Clara felt alone.

100 Words - Limbo

 

Another evening in limbo. Dinner eaten. Crap on TV. All the words that can be typed have been typed, at least for today. Too late to nap. Too early to sleep. Coat on. Out the door. Left into the dark alley doorways, or right towards the neon lights?

Both hold their dangers, and pleasures. It’s a matter of mood. To be the hunter or the hunted.

Neon it is. I entered the first bar along. It was empty but for the bartender. I asked him where everyone was. He grunted and walked away. Four more bars, same thing. Wrong Way.

With A Little Charm

A seeker of love gets more than he bargained for

100 Words - Gas Nerd

 

Norman insisted on buying the cheapest gas, no matter how out of the way the station might be. He would not understand that driving 50 miles to save ten cents per gallon was not a winning strategy. I made a spreadsheet proving this. He called me a nerd and kept driving.

When we finally got to the gas station, Norman pointed at the attached car wash. “See, that’s how I save my money.” Then explained that he gets an extra twenty cents a gallon if he gets a car wash. The car wash costs seven dollars. No logic can help.

The Yellow Pillow and Cyber Boy

What is the secret of the yellow pillow? (An exercise in improving my lip syncing skills)

Raul's Eyes

A man named Envy goes where he does not belong.

100 Words - The Agreement

 

My freshman year in high school was difficult, but I managed to come out of my shell in several ways, including attempts at relationships.

I had a massive crush on JoAnn. JoAnn though, had a massive crush on my friend Pete. Pete, unfortunately for JoAnn, had a massive crush on me. After weeks of tension, we worked out an agreement while on the Freshman Spring Dancefloor,. All we needed now was a quantity of beer and a rather large bed.

Unfortunately, we never got drunk enough to go through with it. At the end of term, my family moved away.

cuteNfuzzy

Agrizoophobia - The fear of Teddy Bears

100 Words - Corningware

 

Pete returned his mother’s Corningware dish. He apologized for the crack he put in it. He offered to buy a her new one. Mom told him not to worry about it.

When he was gone, she put the dish on the kitchen table and stared at it for a long time. She’d had it since the day after her wedding. It’s been a part of her life for so long that she never imagined it could be damaged.

Two days later, she buried the dish next to her husband. She cried more for the dish than she had for him.

Fidget Or Die

That’s going to leave a mark

100 Words - Silos

 We made love in the shadow of the grain silos. It was dirty, there were bugs and we were almost fully clothed. It happened so fast. I apologized and offered further services, but she said, “No. I got what I wanted.” She never told anyone I was the father.

It was hard watching Charlie grow up. He was loved. She was a great mother. They weren’t rich, but did OK. Her mom helped when she could. He was valedictorian at his high school graduation. The whole town went to listen. He was going places I could never imagine. Without me.

Planning The Caper

What could go wrong?

100 Words - Knocking

 As long as the door remains closed I’m safe. The knocking may be Girl Scouts selling cookies. It could be Mormons harvesting souls. Or it could be the police thinking that I robbed that guy on the news. Kind of like Schrodingers Arrest Warrant. Not guilty by means of staying inside.

The knocking stops. I peek through the curtains, but don’t see anyone. There are no police cars in the street. Then a face appears a couple inches from the other side of the glass. It’s my sister. She brought me food. She puts it on the ground and leaves.

Edgar's Tale (Continued from SPARE SOUL)

Clara woke up in a hospital room. She pushed the nurse button and was quite relieved to learn that she was no longer in the mental hospital. She and Paul had fainted simultaneously. Neither would wake up, so they were both rushed to the emergency room. Paul was under heavy guard down the hall.

There was something wrong. At first she thought her spare soul was gone, but when she relaxed and let herself inside herself, she found that it was still there, but it felt different. It felt damaged. She tried telling the nurses about it, but they thought she was traumatized and not thinking right.

Then a nurse introduced him to the head psychiatrist. She was afraid she was going to be committed, but he asked her questions that made her believe he believed her. He then confessed that he'd been talking to Paul, who was all excited that he finally had a soul of his own.

When they entered the meeting room, Paul jumped up to hug Clara, but the orderlies shoved him back into his chair. He thanked her for taking such good care of his soul. He was talking about how he could finally start a life of his own, but the orderlies kept telling him that he was still committed.

After the asylum’s lawyer explained the process towards freedom Paul cheered up again. Then he frowned and said, "I wonder what happened to Edgar."

It turns out that Edgar was the name of the soul that kicked out Paul’s soul. Now Edgar was gone. Hearing that Clara took a few deep breaths and looked inside herself. She still had an extra soul, but it was very different. She knew it was Edgar and she knew she was in trouble.

Paul’s tale of growing up was horrifying. The older he got, the stronger Edgar got. When puberty hit, it was over. Paul’s consciousness was stuffed into a corner, and Edgar took over. Paul then learned to fight back. The more weight he gained and the less exercise he did, the more Edgar hated being inside him. Then Edgar killed a man in a failed attempt to jump to another body.

Fortunately, Paul’s attempts to explain Edgar to the authorities led to him being declared criminally insane. He wound up at the mental hospital under heavy medication. Medication that allowed Paul to detach from Edgar.

Unfortunately, when Paul’s soul recognized his true vessel he jumped across the void, leaving Edgar a path to escape. However, Edgar was unable to dislodge adult Clara’s soul and was very unhappy playing second fiddle.

Clara was worried and uncomfortable. Her spare soul was gone. She felt the emptiness where it once was. Then there was this new thing. Not a soul. Something evil. Something that wanted to hurt her. Something that was trying to convince her that it was harmless. She knew better. So did the Shaman.

Unlike the spare soul, Edgar was something the Shaman said he could handle. Clara went to his place, and he had all these candles and things burning. He had her drink this foul drink, and after that she could feel Edgar screaming.

The Shaman had her sit on the floor and he began circling her and chanting. He placed a large bowl in her lap. The third time around, Clara started to twitch. The fifth circle and she vomited. With the vomit went Edgar. She was free.

She went to thank the Shaman, but froze when she saw the Shaman drinking her vomit. He drank it all. He went to put the bowl down and fell over. He started convulsing violently.

Clara went to find some water. She didn’t know why she thought she needed water, but she did. She found a glass in a kitchen cabinet, filled it and brought it to the Shaman. He wasn't convulsing anymore though. He was standing and smiling an evil smile.

He told Clara that she should leave. She was free and unburdened. She told him that her body and soul may be hers now, but she felt responsible for that evil smile. He laughed and told her that Edgar would be no problem for him. He was strong enough to control Edgar till it was the proper time to dispose of him.

Clara did not sleep well that night. Both her emptiness and her fear for the Shaman played catch with her attention. She finally distracted herself by planning her future life as a unisouled person. That was wonderfully boring, and she drifted off to sleep an hour before her alarm went off.

She had no excuse now for not having a normal life. It was time for a career, not just a job. Maybe a boyfriend, not just a few dates. Her life, body and soul were all hers and only hers. For the first time in a long time the future was hers.

Hers, for three days anyway. First she heard it on the radio, and hoped she was wrong. Then on TV, proving she wasn’t. The Shaman had killed three men. There was no question. There were witnesses. The Shaman confessed, but said right into the camera, that it wasn’t his fault. It was Edgar’s.

(to be continued…)

The Stubborn Cat

They tried to warn us!

100 Words - IT Guy

 

Paul put his head on his desk. He felt like crying. Yet another new boss was standing over him telling him that he needed to show more team spirit and participate in the team building exercise. Paul was the IT security guy. The ONLY IT security guy. Everyone hated him, which was the way it had to be.

Paul was the company’s official harbinger of doom. He had given up trying to make friends. They all bitch about unclickable links in emails, but they’re not the ones who have to clean up after all the messy viruses that get downloaded.

Omar at the Bar (The complete saga)

People are rarely what they seem

100 Words - Inner Critics

 

My inner critics will not behave. They are poking around in my brain causing random tears, laughter and erections. I’m 60 years old. I should have control of the these things. My family says I need therapy. I just think I need more beer.

Therapy scares me. It eventually helped my mother, but she went through Hell on the way.

It’s all puberty’s fault. I had a wonderful singing voice before all those hormones got involved. Then I had to stop hugging my friends. My friends then were mostly girls for some reason. I never actually needed to question why.

The Popsicle Fairy

When dad fails in his popsicling duties

100 Words - Raul's Women

 

Raul’s taste in women trended towards the dissonant. He loved women who got on other people’s nerves. Vegans, goths and Amway Saleswomen. He loved them all, but they all left him for his passivity. Women of action rarely love sloth boys.

He found the love of his life in a woman who hated the world to the point that she refused to participate in it beyond the absolute minimum needed to stay alive. Some days she didn’t even pull that off. They worked out a deal. Sex of alternate Wednesdays, and going out to piss off Raul’s friends on Saturdays.

Omar - Epilogue

When the end is as empty as the start

Who Died?

Having friends is more important than reality

100 Words - Endless

 

The lady at the surf-side motel said the white beaches were endless. I set out to prove her wrong. Three days later I’m burnt to a crisp, dehydrated and starving. If I ever find my way back to civilization I’m giving her five stars on Yelp.

The idea of infinity has always bothered me. Nothing can be endless. Not because of any scientific principle, but because I can’t realize it in my head. Everything should have limits. That’s how we make sense of things.

I finally gave up walking and turned around. I wondered how far I’d walked. Too far.

Spare Soul

 

Clara’s name needed nine letters to spell it correctly. For her eighteenth birthday her parents gifted her an official name change, an embossed letter of apology, and the family’s hand-me-down Opel Station wagon.

The name change didn’t have much effect. She’d been using the simple spelling since she was old enough to realize that nobody cared to enforce her spelling, outside the first day of third grade when the teacher insisted on using the full spelling. That only lasted a few days.

The freedom from the tyranny of her archaic spelling didn’t have the expected effect. Though it was nice to have her own car, even the least cool car ever built. However, there was still something wrong. Something she had always felt. Something she thought was part of her name.

It was still there. The “something” she carried was inside her and was nowhere. It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t a tumor. She felt the weight of something with presence, but no mass or substance. Something that interfered with her being a normal human being.

She went to a string of doctors, physical and mental, but none offered any assistance. She slowly drifted from conventional to the spiritual. On a dare from her friend she went to see a native shaman. As she described her problem to him his smile grew.

She finally asked him what he was smiling at. He responded with a series of questions about things she’d seen and felt. He knew her answers before she could say them. He finally stopped the questions and told her that her problem was that she had one soul too many.

For the next hour the shaman was unable to answer any of Clara’s questions, mostly relating to where did this soul come from? He kept saying things like, “Where did the penny on the ground come from? Who put it there?” He finally, she thinks he was enjoying this game, told her that she was the only one who could identify the soul’s origin and purpose.

Carla had been so busy worrying about how, she hadn’t considered the why. Then all the questions flooded her head. Who, what, why, when and how. So basically, all the questions.

She waited a few days to let the weirdness sink in. At first she tried to deny it, but somehow she knew it was true. Later she realized that knowing made it easier to deal with. Accepting this she started working backwards and suspected that it must have happened sometime between conception to just after birth.

It took the length of Sunday dinner and a couple after dinner drinks to work up the courage to discuss her spare soul with her parents. They were surprisingly unsurprised. They knew nothing of the spare soul, but admitted that something happened just after her birth.

She was born a normal crying baby, but a couple hours later the crying suddenly stopped. Everyone told the parents they were lucky, but they were worried. The doctors said that Carla was perfectly healthy. As she grew, she progressed as normal. She just cried less than the other kids.

She still didn’t cry as much as other people. At least that’s what people tell her. Having only need her for her whole life she really had no other experience to go by. She always thought her friends to be the unstable ones. Perhaps the other soul comforts her.

Carla made the rounds again. Therapists, gurus, kooks and quacks. Nobody could help her. Most chose not to believe her. Finally, two years after the Shaman’s revelation she started looking for answers internally. Meditation did not come easy. Clearing her mind took several months to go from pretending, to trying, to achieving.

One day across the void of her empty consciousness came a voice. It startled her out of her trance. After that she went from meditating for an hour to meditating for hours. She took time off from work, told her family she was skipping Sunday dinner.

It was a tiny voice. Very far away, or rather, very deep inside. It said two words. Always the same. She started whispering what she thought the words might be. She assumed it was a name. She tried for a week till she whispered, “Paul Watson.” Her brain exploded like she was being electrocuted.

She woke up to her mother shaking her. Carla asked her who Paul Watson was. Her mother didn’t know. Her father did, or at least his friend who was a cop did. Paul was Carla’s age but was too crazy to go to school, so she never knew him. He finally killed a guy and was sentenced to the mental hospital.

Carla did not tell anyone her plans to visit Paul. She was sure that have her committed right alongside him if she did. It took some talking to get by the receptionist, but she was finally allowed to see Paul’s doctor. He was odd receptive so she figured she should be open with him. She told him the whole tale and when she was done he nodded hi head and said, “Fits.”

The doctor called and had Paul taken to a visiting room. On the walk down he explained that Paul, who insisted they call him Edgar, had always complained about his missing soul. Carla nearly fainted when he said that. The orderly at the door unlocked it and told the doctor that Edgar was calm today.

The man sitting at the table was calm, well dressed and almost handsome. Nothing like what Carla had expected. He greeted the doctor then smiled at Carla. He started to say something when he froze. Carla felt the need to flee. The tiny voice inside her was screaming for help.

(to be continued...)

Omar visits Joy - episode 9

Is there Joy in jail?

100 Words - The Swan

 

 Pete tried to convince the police that he wasn’t insane. He told them how the park’s big fiberglass swan’s eyes followed him. The cops all laughed except the old sergeant, who asked, “Does he wink at you too?” Pete said no, so they locked him up.

“Does he wink at you too?” Pete went over this question a thousand times. “Does he wink at you as well as staring?” “Does he wink at you like he winks at me?” Which did he mean?

Three days later they let Pete go. Someone took a chainsaw to the swan. He was free.