I tried to sort through my bag as quickly as possible. Why hadn't I had my camera out and ready to use. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! The entire crew of the starship "Enterprise" was walking right by me, and my camera was still packed away in my backpack. I had made the 3 hour drive from Yuma to be here for the opening day of the San Diego Comic Con, and I had already blown my first big chance to get some killer stuff for my friends back home. The rush of adrenaline was subsiding I was left feeling like crap. After a few minutes of moping and self deprecation, I collected myself, turned on my camera, and started the hunt.
August 09, 2006
Perceived, Tidy, Cliff, Meat, Drain:
I didn't mean to lose my wedding ring down the drain, but I think my wife perceived it as just another subconscious attempt to wiggle free from our marriage. First it was my inability to be tidy. I have always been a slob, and she knew that when she married me, but I still think she believed I would change the instant that wedding ring slipped around my finger. And then there was my obsession with red meat. I love red meat! I want to eat it, wear it, smear it all over my naked body, and someday I hope to be buried in a coffin made from it, but my wife, the vegetarian, sees it as murder. I'm sorry that a cow must die in order for me to have a cheese burger, but I DON'T CARE!
Of course, all this is just semantics now that she has me locked up in a cage, hanging over the edge of a 1000 foot cliff.
August 03, 2006
Baud, Injury, Dilemma, Lump, Clarity:
Injury of the soul is just as fatal as injury of the flesh. I starred at the bottle in my hand. It was so inviting; the chance to be free of it all. One little pill and I could slip away from the agony that crushes me. One little pill and I could leave my pain in the far corners of my mind and continue to work, make a living, and feed my wife and kids. But that was only half true. One little pill and I would also lose the clarity to see my children's needs, to see my wife's love, and to form the thoughts that my labor's required. One little pill. What a dilemma. My doctors had changed pain killers on me a few weeks ago. The new, shinny pills helped me manage the degenerating condition in my back. I had looked up these new pills on the internet, and with every baud of data I gleaned from the infinite wasteland of useless knowledge, I received a clearer picture of my savior. All opiates have the potential for addiction… don't I know it. I wake up every morning, head pounding as if from a night of binge drinking, my back feels like hot pokers are being jammed through my flesh, and I pop the shinny new pill in my mouth. Soon the pounding goes away. Soon my back pain becomes a far away, nagging presence that I sometimes forget about. My throat is dry, and I swallow hard to drive away the lump. There is a chance that soon, maybe sooner than I'm prepared for, the drug will begin to lose it's affect on me. Such is the way of the opiate; my savior and my downfall.
August 02, 2006
Examiner, Stunt, Rose, Register, Mutter:
The examiner shook her head. I was in deep, deep trouble. I had driven six hours out of my way to registered for my board certification exam, based solely on the advice from Victor. "Bring the proctor a red rose and ask her out." He said. "She's a sucker for an MD and a sexy smile." Now she was glaring at me and taking notes. She got up from behind her desk and crossed the room to stand before me.
"Did you think that because you pulled this stunt, I would somehow let you cheat?'
I was speechless. At this moment I hated Victor more than any human being on the planet.
"Ah, no ma'am, I just thought I would try to be nice today."
She put her hands on her hips and scowled.
"Nice, huh? Well, we'll just see about that. You may begin now. You have Two hours."
She went to her desk and picked up the phone. She dialed, and then turned around so I could not see her face.
I was screwed!
I turned to the computer screen and opened the test application. The examiner finished talking on the phone. She got up from her desk and walked to the door, careful to take the route passing my desk. She dropped a piece of paper in front of me. I looked up surprised. She scowled at me menacingly. I opened the paper and read the contents: 1) A, 2) D, 3) B, 4) D … holy shit! She had handed me my board certification on a platter. At the bottom of the paper was a phone number and the words,
"Call me, Doctor."
August 01, 2006
Resident, Terrorism, Perpetual, Sixteen, Dragon:
The resident examined me while the doctor looked over my chart. The doctor must have found something he didn't like because he relieved the resident and continued the examination himself. There, he found them; the sixteen little holes the penetrated my chest cavity. The holes looked like something that might have resulted from some form of vicious terrorism, like a bomb, or a shotgun wound, inflicted from far away. The doctor ran his fingers over the holes, listening to my lungs with his stethoscope. Then the doctor heard it; the huffing sound mixed in with a low rumble. The look on the doctor's face was priceless. He jumped back from me, in shock. The resident looked confused. The doctor slowly approached me again and placed his stethoscope over one of the holes. He heard the sounds again. Suddenly, fingers of fire shot from all sixteen holes in my chest. The doctor's hair was singed as he let out a horrific scream. The resident was long gone. This was the perpetual story of my life. No one ever understands.
What the hell is that? The doctor managed between gulps of air.
It's my friend. I said, lifting my shirt the rest of the way. I turned to my side, revealing my ribs. The flesh had been striped away, leaving the rib bones in place to act as cage bars. The doctor approached, leaning in to get a better look.
Sitting comfortably on my intestines was a beautiful, red dragon. It slithered into a coil, eyeing the doctor closely.
The doctor lifted his glasses to see more clearly, and said, Son, you may have a serious problem.
July 31, 2006
Productivity, Subset, Guilt, Beer, Brass:
I stared at the screen. This couldn't be possible. I typed in the subset run code again; nothing happened. This isn't possible. I had been very careful when I wrote the code for this program. I reached for my beer… but it was gone. My gaze shifted from the computer screen to the empty spot on the desk where my beer can had lain. This wasn't possible. Had I made a mistake that catastrophic? I re-entered the code. The beer can appeared right before my eyes. Maybe the intoxication had affected my programming. Maybe the beer, the very thing I used to increase my productivity, had caused me to make a serious mistake in my programming. It should have been me that disappeared, not my beer. The guilt I felt was eating me alive. I looked over at the brass framed picture of my wife. I had given her the antique frame a week before she had died. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my throat tightened as I fought to control my overwhelming sorrow. I wiped my tears away on my sleeve. I have lots of work to do. I typed in the query and began searching through the code, line by line. Hours passed by as my eyes grew weary. Then suddenly, I found the mistake. It was a small mistake in telemetry, but big enough to shift the temporal displacement by up to a meter. So that was it. I could re-write the line of code, the one my beer soaked brain had stumbled on, and be on my merry way. Off to the unknown, chasing my dead wife down the rabbit hole. I missed her so much. The tears came again. As I shuddered under the weigh of my personal pain, I began to type. When I finished, I paused, my finger suspended over the "enter" key. This was it. One push of the button and I will vanish from this world forever.
"Click."
July 27, 2006
Sealing, Punishment, Listing, Rank, Beta:
I screamed, but no one cared. The bricklayers continued to build the wall, sealing me in and fulfilling my punishment. I would spend the rest of my life, however long that might be, trapped in a ten foot by ten foot room. The only opening would be the small ventilation holes in the ceiling, and the pipe the water spigot was hooked to. A small 30 watt yellow bulb would be my only source of light. The last brick was being laid, and soon I would say good bye to the world forever. Someday, maybe someone would tear down this building and find my lonely skeleton, and wonder what happened here. The bricklayers were done. The room was terribly quiet. In the middle of the room was a small table and chair. On the table was a deck of cards and a place setting for one. Against one wall was a small chest of drawers with a 13 inch black and white television and a Sony Beta machine perched on top. Next to the TV was a small hot plate and a pan. I went to the chest of drawers to investigate. It was filled with old movies on beta tapes. Well at least I had plenty to do for a while. On the opposite side of the room was a wooden pantry. I opened the doors to find it filled with canned goods and pasta, enough to last me a few months. So this was it. This was where I was going to finally die. I wish I hadn't slept with the boss' daughter. I guess being a mobster had gone to my head. I did a good job earned some rank, and got a little too cocky. Now, I'm just dead meat. Maybe I'll make some spaghetti, watch "Desperately Seeking Suzan" and play some solitaire. That should make me feel better.
Attach, Syndicate, Craft, Emptying, Rope:
The world is emptying itself. As I watch the whole thing sink into chaos, dying at the hand of some diabolical fatality syndicate, I can't help struggling to save myself. I see a strange water craft on the edge of my mindscape. I swim to it and haul myself aboard, looking back as the end nears. I see my loved ones and I fashion a rope, attach it to something sturdy, and rescue those worth saving.
July 26, 2006
Pressing, Ax, Answer, Luck, Pole:
All you ever need is luck. I ran down the tunnel towards the light. If I could make it to the surface I might get out of this alive. I can hear the footsteps of the angry mob behind me. I arrived at the source of the light. It was an opening in the roof of the tunnel, possible leading to the street above. The rung of a ladder dropped down from the opening. I hooked the handle of my ax through my belt, and I grabbed for the bottom rung. The sounds of the mob were getting closer. I pulled myself up, struggling to cope with the axe handle hanging between my legs. It smacked me on the knee sending a jolt of pain up my left side. I managed to hang on and pull myself through the opening and into the long shaft leading up to the light. I climbed like there was no tomorrow.
Why was there an angry mob chasing me. Well, the answer might lie with the dead teenage girl they found in my room. I didn't kill her, I'm one of the good guys, but it didn't help that I was discovered by the cops, leaning over her dead body, having just pulled the bloody ax from the back of her skull. Yup, who ever set me up did a magnificent job. I barely escaped with my life. I had managed to dive out the window, and slide down the flag pole outside. By the time I had made it into the woods, a giant mob had started chasing me. If I hadn't stumbled upon the sewage drain pipe, I'd be hanging from a tree buy now.
I made it to the top. There was a manhole with several drain holes big enough to let the light cascade down into the darkness below me. I couldn't hear any traffic. Maybe everyone had left town to hunt me down. The mob reached the ladder below. I could hear yelling and angry voices. Soon they might start shooting at me. I pushed up on the manhole. It wouldn't budge. I wedged my shoulder under the flat surface, and pressing with all my might, managed to push the heavy metal plate a few inches into the air. I sucked in air, straining under the effort it took to hold the manhole up. With my last ounce of energy, I slid the manhole cover free and hoisted myself up and onto the ground. I slowly dragged myself to my feet, breathing in huge gulps of air. Suddenly, I realized that the whole area was bathed in very strange light… like car lights. I could make out the headlights of a dozen or so cars, forming a circle around me. A shot rang out. I felt a stinging in my torso. I looked down and saw a red dot on my chest, slowly growing and expanding.
"But I didn't do it!" I staggered. "I didn't kill the girl."
I dropped to the ground holding my chest, my fingers covered in my own blood.
A man stepped out of the light, holding a pistol in his hand. He walked up and knelt beside me. He pulled the ax from my waist.
"Sure you didn't"
It was the Chief of Police. He stood up and barked orders. "Come here and give me a hand with this scum bag. I wanna hang him before he bleeds to death."
I looked up at the night sky, my world turning dark.
After careful analysis, it has been determined that the criminal mind has a unique aesthetic. Full of anger and hatred, the chemical landscape of an evil mind can reveal an interesting secret, found only after a full appraisal. Of all the motivations and triggers that influence its deviance, the one true cause of insanity and imbalance is revealed. A criminal's desperation comes from their drug of preference; caffeine!
Tank, Arrow, Unseen, Faithful, Upbringing:
As the tank rolled closer we huddled fearfully behind the outcropping of rocks on the hillside. The tank had been chasing us ever since we had walked out of the ice cream shop on 1st Street. Every time the unseen tank driver would catch sight of one of us, he would fire the mighty cannon that spun on the tank's turret. The resultant explosions had thinned our numbers from ten to only three in less than an hour. My upbringing had been very unique for these parts, and had included outdoors skills. One of these skills was archery. I spotted the Sports Authority across a big parking lot. I told the others that I had a plan, and after carefully laying out the details, we all agreed to give it a try. The tank was now driving down each aisle of the parking lot, trying to locate the remaining three members of our party. As the tank turned away from us, we sprinted across the lot, heading for the sporting goods store. The mysterious tank driver caught sight of us and gave chase, firing several volleys from his cannon. As we dashed pass the cars in our lane, the tank's shells would hit the cars nearby. First a Geo Metro exploded into flames, followed by a Hummer and a Jaguar. We barely made it to the Sports Authority in one piece, but we did make it. We scrambled inside, trying to find the archery section. One of my party spotted a rack of bows, just as the tank burst through the huge plate glass window at the front of the store. As the tank fired wildly, tearing huge holes in the store, we made our way to the archery aisle. I grabbed the most powerful bow I could find and scooped up an arm full of arrows. The madman driving the tank must have figured out what our plan was, because the cannon on the turret was firing volley after volley of deadly explosive shells. One of my compatriots was hit and vaporized before my very eyes. Now the last two of us had found the back door, swung it open and slipped into the alley behind the mall. I saw the perfect spot for the last stage of my plan; a small tree overlooking the narrow alley. I climbed the tree, and sent the last surviving member of my group into a dumpster to hide. Suddenly the tank crashed through the Sports Authority's back wall. I raised the bow and drew and arrow on the string with all my might. I needed to be faithful. I did. I believed that I could see the villain driving the tank. I believed that I saw his beady little eyes through a narrow slit in the tank's armor. I believed in myself. I let loose of the arrow. It flashed through the air, singing as it went. It slipped through the tiny slit and found its mark, squarely between the eyes of the monster. The tank rolled to a halt. The cannon was silent and the rumbling engine stopped. We were finally safe.
July 20, 2006
Coloring, metric, spring, clone, compiling:
When I was a kid I built myself a brand new puppy. My parents wouldn't buy me a puppy, probably for fear that I would perform crazy experiments on the poor, unsuspecting creature. So out of pure frustration, I decided to clone my neighbor's pit bull, Thor. I spent a whole week compiling Thor's genetic profile, collecting hair, saliva and any piece of genetic material that Thor would let me have. Once I had the complete profile, I began the cloning process by combining every single bottle of food coloring I could find in my mom's kitchen. Then I placed the hyper colorized cloning material into my sister's Easy Bake Oven, and 20 minutes later, I had a brand new pit bull puppy. Unfortunately, my parents had purchased my sister's oven in Europe. This meant that the oven operated on the metric system, not the North American standard system, like I had calculated for. My gross miscalculation left my new puppy with a terrible deformity… he was germinated without his legs. After hours of careful contemplation, I finally came up with a wonderful solution. I surgically attached a shiny new spring at the end of each legless stump, leaving me with an incredible bouncing, baby pit bull!
Customer, therapy, ruler, secondary, tearing:
My toes curled up as the almost orgasmic wave washed over my body. As a long time customer of Kelly's Paper I had earned the right to come into any of their stores and do that thing that makes me happy… my twisted version of therapy. I took the ruler in hand and again carefully placed it along the edge of the sheet of exotic rice paper. I carefully tear the paper along the ruler, the crisp sound sending shivers down my spine. I suppose that if I take a closer look at the narcotic effect this action has on me I would see that the tearing is actually secondary to the sensual, electric sound the paper makes as it separates down the length of the ruler's sharp edge.
Lover, purple, deck, genre, author:
As the author of this little story, it is up to me to carefully select the genre that best fits the intent of this tale. I will pull from my deck the devices that will be used to propel the two lovers at the center of our journey towards better and greater adventures. And of course, I will try to avoid the pitfalls faced by Prince when he wrote the story for the loathsome movie, Purple Rain.
Fixing, knight, hall, infallible, direction:
I didn't choose the direction that I traveled through time. I simply ended up where fate saw fit to deposit me. Of course, traveling through time does not guarantee one any great status or ranking in society. I still had to feed myself and the only job available to me at this point in time is that of lowly stable boy. I now work for King Arthur, picking up after his horses and slinging their slop. My big break came one day when one of the knights was having a problem with his armor. It needed fixing before the big jousting tournament, and since I had graduated with honors from MIT with a PhD in Nuclear Engineering, I thought I would help this guy out and possibly get myself promoted out of the dirty, smelly stables. Of course my skills as a nuclear engineer, may not have translated well to blacksmithing and the repairs that I felt so confident about, were in fact not infallible and the knight was killed when his armor suffered a catastrophic failure in the first three seconds of combat. Hey, shoveling shit sure beats being impaled on a razor sharp lance.
16 Mar 2006
Five Random Words: Magician, Washbasin, Cheese, Toupee, Smoke
The smoke in the lounge was thick. Cornell the Magnificent was struggling through his act. As magicians go, Cornell was over the hill. His last trick had gone horribly wrong, and the best part of his performance had happened in the restroom before the show.
Earlier, as he leaned over the washbasin, one of his pigeons had freed itself from the secret pockets in his jacket. The pigeon, incensed by his recent captivity, had plucked Cornell's toupee from his bald head, and flown out the door and into the lounge. Patrons who had gathered for the show watched in delight as Cornell danced around the room, desperately trying to catch his bird. Within minutes, an enterprising waiter named Andy lured the bird to his hand with a piece of ripe blue cheese.
Andy brought the ravenous bird to Cornell and said, "Here you go, Mr. Cornell. I loved your show last night."
Andy smiled at Cornell the Magnificent, who quickly tucked the bird away.
"Thank you, son," the magician said, a look of honest dignity in his face, "The show must go on."
Five Random Words: Sculpture, Vaccine, Himalayas, Refugee, Ark
In my dreams, I often find myself climbing the Himalayas. This ferocious struggle to conquer the towering heights serves as a vaccine against weakness and malaise. I am a refugee from the shadows; that place where we have locked away our spirits and accepted defeat. I seek the ark that will carry me along with the flood, wiping away the disease and allowing me to look down at the world. I see the world, and it is a beautiful sculpture that has been hidden away from those who cower in fear, too afraid of themselves to see past the darkness and into the light.
13 Mar 2006
Five Random Words: Caravan, Raffle, Puppet, Ant, Wine
I had a Mohawk back then; crazy three foot high hair dyed red, white and blue. In the afternoons, my friend Willie Bean and I would drink cheap wine, smoke toxic clove cigarettes, and listen to hardcore punk music. After the wine was all gone, we would stumble into the woods in search of fun and adventure.
One day, while stumbling through the woods, Willie Bean and I came upon a strange caravan of hippopotamus sized ants. The ants were far too busy marching in perfect step and whistling show tunes to notice the two of us, so Willie decided that something should be done. As one of the larger ants approached, its bright red body, glistening like polished armor, Willie jumped in its way, held his hand up, and in his best tough guy voice said, "You there, with the crazy looking antennas and sharp looking teeth, stop and tell me what this is all about." Willie had used his hand to deliver the universal sign for "stop." However; ants must be from a different universe, because to both Willie and my amazement, the lumbering ant began to dance. Soon all the other ants joined in, and before we knew it, the whole forest was shaking.
This was almost too much for Willie and my wine soaked heads and as we both started to laugh out loud I said, "What the heck are you dancing for?"
The big ant with the crazy antennas and the shiny red body gritted his teeth and said, "We're Amazonian Dancing Ants, we always dance when we're spotted."
"When you're spotted," Willie exclaimed, "who could possibly miss you? You're the size of a hippopotamus!"
As the Amazonian Dancing Ants continued to shimmy, shake, and dance like puppets, the ant we were speaking to said, "No sir, you must be mistaken. We Amazonians are always discrete."
By now, Willie and I were beside ourselves with excitement. What a wondrous thing we had discovered - ants the size of Hippos, dancing in the forest!
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"We are going to the Mushroom Carnival, to buy some raffle tickets." said one of the other ants.
"I've never heard of the Mushroom Carnival." I said, "What will they be raffling there?"
By this time, an old ant with grey antennas and a shaky dance had made his way from the front of the procession to where we were standing.
"What in damnation is going on!" barked the old timer, "this lollygagging will make us late."
The ant with the crazy antennas and shinny red body pointed a hairy leg at us and said, "These two boys have bushwhacked us, your majesty"
The old ant gasped, "I am King Felix. How dare you bushwhack a caravan of Amazonian Dancing Ants? Explain yourselves, you filthy hooligans!"
By now, the ants were all tired and winded from dancing so long, and Willie Bean was laughing so hard he had snot shooting out of his nose. I too was having a good laugh, but my mother's manners and good nature compelled me to try and assure the ants that we meant no harm.
I smiled at King Felix, "I assure you, sir, we have not bushwhacked your caravan. My friend Willie and I were just curious, that's all."
"So are we free to go?" asked the King
"Of course, your highness" I said, "but I have just one humble request."
"What is it?" asked the king impatiently, his legs growing tired and weak.
I smiled and reached in my pocket. "If I give you a dollar, will you buy a raffle ticket for me?"
Willie Bean stopped laughing, a look of surprise on his face instead.
"Yes," he said, "buy me one too. In fact," he said, reaching for his wallet, "here's ten dollars. Buy me nine more."
King Felix grumbled and snatched the money from our hands and said, "Don't think I'll come looking for you if you happen to win."
Willie and I looked at each other and smiled.
"Don't worry," I said, "We'll meet you right here tomorrow."
"And we'll bring some wine and cigarettes too." Willie added.
The king turned and walked back up the caravan line, his old, tired legs trembling as he went.
"Don't be late." He cried over his shoulder, and then he was gone.
Suddenly, the ants stopped dancing and started to march. As each of the amazing Amazonian Dancing Ants passed by Willie Bean and I, each one would nod his head and say, "It was so nice to meet you. I hope we see you again tomorrow."
And then they were gone. Willie Bean and I were alone again.
"We need more wine," I said,
"And cigarettes too." said Willie.
04 Mar 2006
Five Random Words: Theatre, Recorder, Library, Serviette, Reporter
Like any good reporter, I had brought along my tape recorder, and a flashlight. As I descended the dark staircase, I pressed the record button and made a note, "Entering secret chamber found at rear of London Royal Theatre. Velvet curtains and posh carpeting give way to solid, old world, Byzantine style stone and ironwork. This is amazing craftsmanship." When I pressed the stop button, the sound echoed off the moss covered walls, sending a chill down my spine. If I really did find the notorious London Bridge Mangler, I would be famous the world over. I could return to the Albuquerque Star News, not just the Sunday fashion and design columnist, but an honest-to-god, real life journalist.
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I found a solid iron door. Flickering light seeped from the gap at the floor. I reached for the rusty old knob and gently turned. It still worked perfectly. Before I entered, I made another note on my tape recorder, "Opening large, medieval style iron door with Celtic lead engraving and beveled frame rivets… old world mystique meets Disneyland." I pressed lightly and the door swung open, its hinges creaking and groaning under the door's massive weight. Just beyond, illuminated by a dozen or so fantastic candelabras, was a wonderfully quaint old library. As I entered this new room I began taking notes again, "Discovered magnificent library, reminiscent of Tom Jones' Las Vegas mansion library, covered in June, 1980 Home and Garden." I quickly crossed the room and began scanning the thousands of titles on the shelves. I pressed the record button again, "There are thousands of large, leather-bound volumes with intricate scrolling and decoration." I removed one of the books to examine it, "These books appear to be printed with the finest quality paper, perhaps cloth or cotton, with gold edging." I placed the book back on the shelf and continued to scan the titles. "It is curious, however, that all of these books appear to all be from unknown authors, Tolstoy, Nabokov, Dumas..."
Thump! Suddenly, I saw stars and my whole world went dark.
When I awoke, wave after wave of pain washed over me. The pain radiated from my left leg and caused a great deal of nausea. I felt something wet and sticky under my body. Then, as my vision returned to me, I saw a large, strange man standing with his back to me, just a few feet away. He wore brown, dingy, ill-fitting corduroy pants with a tacky red velour vest and horrible patent leather shoes. I mustered the strength to speak. "Are you the London Bridge Mangler?" The beast of a man turned and faced me, a wicked smile set upon his face. In his right hand he held something; something long, slender and crooked. I strained in the candle light to make out what he was holding. The maniac took a bite from the object, tugging and tearing with his teeth through what looked to be sheer, black silk stockings, and some sort of well marbled meat. Something fell from the end of the object and clattered on the floor. I caught a glimpse of it… a Dolce & Gabbana suede pump, with snakeskin detailing and rhinestone inlays, available at the finest women's wear and department stores. Then it hit me; that was my shoe!
The London Bridge Mangler smiled, his blood stained teeth clearly visible in the flickering candle light, "Pardon me, Madam, but might you have a serviette?"
03 Mar 2006
Five Random Words: Abacus, Accordion, Tree, Aerosol, Glue
Everyday I would sit at the base of the Tree of Life and watch the world tumble, crumble and fall. In the evenings, Odin would join me while I played my accordion. Such sweet songs of sorrow I would play, for the Earth was nearing her end. Odin would listen intently to my melancholy songs, and then quietly whisper lies in my ears. He would tell me what a good little soldier I had been, and promise me a place of honor in Valhalla. But I knew these words were lies. Odin had betrayed the world and given the Cripps and the Bloods the spray paint cans that had doomed us all. The aerosol from these cans was eating away at the very glue that held the Earth together. After Odin left me, I would go to my bed and find my abacus on the nightstand where I left it. The abacus never lied, and as I computed the destruction I had witnessed today, I realized that tomorrow would never come.
Five Random Words: Paint, Ink, Stereo, Ladder, Handbag
From upon my perch I watched her cross the street, her Rodeo Drive handbag swinging madly as she darted through the traffic. She ran into a store and then I could no longer see her. Panicked, I leaned out from my ladder, straining to get a better look. I craned my neck just enough to see her standing behind the display window, captivated by a classy India ink blouse. With a woman like that in my life, I would give up this stupid job painting signs. A woman like that might support me, and my habits. A woman like that might buy me a brand new stereo.
02 Mar 2006
Five Random Words: Hotel, Patient, Ribcage, Sawdust, Luggage
I checked into the hotel around midnight. I hurt so much I could barely hold my luggage off the floor. As I climbed the stairs to my second floor room, the splitting pain in my side forced me to take tiny, strained breaths. Once through the door, I tossed my bags on to the bed, crossed the dingy floor and passed into the bathroom. I lifted my shirt with my hand to reveal a huge hole in my ribcage. As I watched in the mirror, the tiny dragon inside me puffed sawdust into the air and then lit it on fire with her terrible breath. I quickly slid the shirt back down to my waist, robbing the dragon of the air it needed to light her wicked little fires. I looked into the mirror. My eyes dropped to the thin, yellow patient's bracelet on my wrist. Maybe I should return to the hospital. Maybe Dr. Krank could remove the beast within me… before someone else gets hurt. But I don't want to go back. I like the songs the dragon sings. Maybe I can learn to control her.
SUPER SHORT STORIES FORGED FROM FIVE RANDOM WORDS. These stories are not edited, and only a quick check for spelling and puntuation is made. Please forgive any mistakes found here!