Monthly Archives: September 2011

#Saturday Shorts, April 30, 2011

Maleficent, Dorothy and the Italian Rabbit’s Hole


Near a quiet English stream on a quiet English day was a quiet English girl thinking quiet English thoughts. As she was thinking these quiet thoughts, she came across a hole, a rather curious hole at the base of an ancient elm. She was a curious little girl and as a curious little girl she had a propensity for staring down strange holes at the bases of elderly elm trees.


Suddenly a rabbit raced up behind her, “Fuori del mio bambino di strada. Sono in ritardo!”


“Oh my!” She said startled and jumped aside.


“Grazie!” he said and politely tipped his hat before disappearing down the strangely curious rabbit hole.


“I believe he was supposed to say, ‘I’m late! I’m late!’ or some such thing?” said a voice from above. There on a branch sat a very small man in a very large hat.


“Merlin’s the name.” He said, jumping down to offer a greeting.


“My name is Dorothy.” The little girl replied matter-of-factly, bending down to take his outstretched hand.


“Dorothy. Dorothy! Oh my, that just won’t do!” He exclaimed. “That just won’t do.”


“But that is my name.” She frowned.


“Yes, yes.” He rambled, “but it still won’t do. Tell me, how do you feel about wind? Oh, nevermind, nevermind.” He pulled a wand from beneath his cloak, “Oh, don’t go in there.” He said pointing to the rabbit hole, then tapped himself on the head.


She looked at the hole then back again, but he was merely a thought. Dorothy shrugged and continued merrily along the stream with her newly empty head.




Enchanted enchantments I make you all mine!

No happily ever afters, no kisses divine.

All magic on earth shall be crushed in my grasp,

and true love shan’t conquer, but fail in my wrath


Lightening rappelled from the angry skies while the witch sang. She released a loud cackle making the forest cower in fear. Every living thing that could escape did, even mighty oaks attempted to uproot and run only to come crashing down in defeat.


Enchanted enchantments no wishes come true,

wolves will eat children, by ones and by twos.

Flutes and gold lamps will have wishes no more

all charmed magic trinkets shall fall dead at my door


“Hello Maleficent,” Merlin said, having been watching amusedly from a mole hole. “At it again I see?” She stopped in mid-verse. Merlin popped from the hole. “You know Sorceress, if you wish to be rid of her, you must try much harder.”


“But,” she stumbled, “the rabbit hole.”


“Not this time. Did you think you could change the tale without my noticing? Aurora, Snow White, Alice. I will always keep her safe no matter how many times you changer her name, no matter how many times you re-write the story she will always be saved.”


She turned away, “Yes,” She quietly plotted, “but has she ever been to Kansas?” Merlin of Oz was already one step ahead.

#Saturday Shorts, April 23, 2011

Irony Behind Bars

He hadn’t seen the point in eating. For an hour he stared at his final meal, enjoying it for its beauty. A top-cut steak; cooked precisely as he’d ordered, with tender baby asparagus and a baked potato, topped only with cheddar cheese. He had already eaten the apple pie; certain things he just couldn’t resist.

The first time he held human life in his hands had been at the age of twelve, Mrs. Kilgour. He worked for her on weekends doing odd jobs, the oddest being to help her commit suicide. Experts would blame this incident on his sickness but the truth of the matter was that this experience was simply the tipping point to the inevitable.

The problem with being a genius and “Shit-balls Crazy”, as the doorknob of a guard who was last on duty, once called him, was the awareness. It took fifteen years for them to even know there was a serial killer stalking the southern states. He was exceptionally careful. He knew how all of the serial killers got caught, Jeffrey Dahmer, Dr. Harold Shipmen and Ulysses Velveteen. His victims were woman, men, children the elderly, rich, poor, black, white, it didn’t matter. He could make each victim appear to have died in all different manners but each had suffered. He held their lives as long as he could, watching the spark nearly leave their face then returning it. If they were still begging to live they had months, if they were pleading to die, weeks, if they had succumb to insanity, prisoners within their own minds and bodies having survived levels of torture medieval in scope and modern in execution they had days. Once their brains had stopped coping and went dead it was time to move to the next.

One day the police arrived as he was removing the intestines from his latest victim. They had allowed him to replace the guts and sew her back up before he peacefully surrendered. She had survived and here he was, inside Ellis Unit, now three hours past his scheduled execution wondering what the hell was going on. There was no one. The Gargoyle of a guard, Luther had not been around to take his supper. Father Alex hadn’t made one last attempt to save his soul. Even his annoying lawyer, campaigning against state executions wasn’t there to convince him to make one last appeal. It was as if the world had suddenly forgotten him. He picked up the plastic fork and began to eat.


The true irony of the situation for our character is that he is a survivor. All around him the world has collapsed under a cloud of radioactive dust. In his climate-controlled impenetrable cell he was immune. Perhaps the one man who deserved and wished to die the most lived. Let’s hope, for the sake of our world that this man dies alone, for if he is to survive, there is no telling what kind of humanity would remain on earth.

#Saturday Shorts, June 15, 2011



I watched my father create my world. “What’s that Daddy?” I asked, pointing at nothing and everything. He smiled knowing my game. He swept his brush back and forth, blue overlapping blue, greens, grays and whites. I loved my world. It was enough for me then.


“Dad, I’d like a friend.”

“Perhaps it is time to make your own.”

“But what should I draw?”

“What ever your heart desires and your dreams can create.”


I sat at the edge of my world staring across the horizon. I closed my eyes and lifted my brush letting it guide me through the colours and lines of my imagination. Sounds and smells filled my senses. The skies pulsed and the seas bubbled. From desert to snowy peak my world filled with life.


“What beautiful creatures,” my father said. “But have you made a friend?”

“Not yet.”

“Perhaps something you have already created?”


I attempted to make friends with my animals. A frog allowed me to stroke it’s back but leapt into the water and out of site. A vampire bat would chase sticks I’d throw but in the daylight he could not be found. For a time a cat kept me company but he grew tired and meandered away for other distractions. I began to draw anew.


Feet and legs; a belly, a torso, arms, hands with short fingers, brown eyes, turned up nose, a shock of dark hair all emerged from the tip of my brush.


“Hello!” He said when I finished. “Who am I?”

“Your name is Manny.”

“And yours?”

“Son, but you may call me friend.”


Manny and I would run through meadows and climb trees but as I grew older I had to help my father more with his work and Manny became lonely. “Friend, would you make me a friend?”

I did not have time to make so I gave him my brush.


Later I found my friend, holding the hand of another. “Who is this?”

“This is Ava. What do you think of her?”

“She’s beautiful.” I could not lie. Her golden hair, pale skin and azure eyes were beyond what my dreams could have created. Jealously I asked for my brush.


Hurt, I did not return for many days. My father saw my pensiveness. “Father, should I return?” He merely smiled, knowing I must make up my own mind.


It was easy to find Manny and Ava. They had built a cottage at the edge of the meadow.

Manny greeted me warmly. “Hello Friend, there is someone I would like you to meet.” He welcomed me inside. Gently cradled in Ava’s arms was a child.

I did not understand. “But you no longer have my brush.”

“I do not need it. Love also creates life.”


I could not leave the warmth of their home. Perhaps tomorrow I shall draw myself an Ava. Perhaps tomorrow I shall leave the creation of the Everything to my father and settle down to create with the colours of love.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 69

Smart Cookies

“In my considerable experience, drug dealers are more likely to die a violent death than get hit by a bus.” I said.
The rookie stared at me dumbly. “But he didn’t get hit by a bus, he got hit by that sheet of glass from the construction site.”
I didn’t want to have to explain what a ‘figure of speech’ was to this snot nosed, fresh out of the academy, maggot. I shook my head and continued with my search of the scene.
Lee Petersen was a well known dealer, not the street level kind either, no, he was the dealers dealer, he was one of the big three, a group that brought drugs in from South America and the Middle East and distributed them all through Wichita. This was Karma. I had been tracking him and his cohorts, Trace Hansen and Steve McCoy for years. I would have loved to have been able to bring Lee in alive, but this splattered and flattened specimen would do.
“What do you think happened Rookie?” I asked my new partner.
He looked at me dumbly again. “Sir, a piece of glass fell from up there and hit him, I believe it was an accident.”
“You’re a smart cookie son, just remember, smart cookies don’t get eaten.” He stared blankly at me. I bent down and inspected the glass. A palm print. Odd, maybe he didn’t get ‘hit by a bus’ after all.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 68

If you Can’t Go Around It…
Finally, the digging was over. Hank shut down the engine of the drill and marveled at his work. It had taken him a lifetime to make the tunnel from Sarasota, Flordia to Jinx-Chieng, China. Along the way he had discovered deeply buried civilizations, archaeological and paleontology finds never before seen. He found rock formations that nearly destroyed his bit and molten rock that nearly destroyed him.
He no longer knew what sunlight, fresh water or sex was like. He had known nothing but the shroud of carbon-fiber and the sound of chomping diamond tips, now, all he needed was a hot bath, a friendly face and a cup of coffee.
As he closed the door to his rig he realized something, sitting on the front seat were two items of great importance, the keys to the door and his English/Chinese dictionary.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 67

Real Fiction

I always thought that if I were going to write a novel, this is how it would start, a down and out detective, a sexy blonde in trouble and a fist full of cliches. This was noir. This wasn’t a novel though, this was real, you see a down and out writer needs a day job and there are always cheating husbands and jealouse jealous wives (or vise versa) and there was always a scumbag needing a few bucks willing to find said cheating husbands or wives doing the deeds and take lurid photos of them. That’s me, well, it’s not who I am, just what I do. It’s a means to an end. Now it appeared as if my day job and my night job were coming crashing together. This blonde, buxom, and dripping with sex appeared at my door, if she was any closer to a character from one of my stories she would be wrapped in words and adorned with letters. It was time for a drink.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 65

The Sister

When the ten gods of the Kingdom of Rezzia went to war with the mystics of the lands of Pawelon, neither side could gain any advantage until the sun and moon melted bringing the world into brief darkness.

No one knew of this except two sisters, Ravitha and Ryline, twins. Each had been swept away in different directions during the war and grew as one would expect of a demi-god within their own worlds.

Ravitha was filled with the wisdoms of light and peice where as Ryline learned of the darkness of power and the control of many. Neither shared their secrets but instead waited until the dusk of the eclipse to plan their moves.

The sparks of swords and fires from the castles were taking over the role of the sun when the two raven haired witch gods stepped from the shadows.

“Sister,” Rayitha said.
“Sister,” the other nodded back. “It is time.”

They had never spoken aloud before but each knew the other through shared thoughts and visions. The took each others hand and stared skyward. The last focused glint of sunlight blinked from behind the moon and the field of battle went dark, there was no sound. A fog engulfed the battlers, the fires went out and peace came. When the sun returned the scene was not what it was before. The fields, once filled with blood now bore wheat and grains, farmers pushed heavily on plows and prodded oxen and mules to help them with their loads. Children danced on the roads and ran through the crops.

“Thank you sister,” Ryline said, then smiled but a glint in her eye set Rayitha in a state of unease. Suddenly, their link was lost. Rayitha watched her sister stroll away, black cape billowing in the breeze. She must know the truth.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 64

In The Name Of Thy Father

“It was the look in your father’s eyes that finally convinced me.” My mother said.
“Convinced you of what?” I asked.
“Convinced me to end his life.” Mother wept, I merely stood staring in disbelief. “Please don’t judge me.
I had to judge her, I had no choice. What she had done was wrong, illegal, it was murder and I am a cop after all. “Jesus Christ mother, why are you telling me this? Are you hoping that I’ll help you in some way, there’s nothing I can do except what I have to do.”
She looked up at me with tear filled eyes pleading, “no, you couldn’t, you can’t! For your father’s sake.”
“My father is dead and you murdered…” I drew out the word, letting her ingest the full meaning of the word, “…him. For my father’s sake I’m bringing you in.”
“But he was dying, he was in pain, can’t you see I did this for him, for you, for all of us.”
“No mother, you did it for yourself. Years you spent complaining about having to look after him, trapped in this house looking after his bedpan, caring for bedsores giving him his medication but your forgot. You forgot that he was still a person, a man, MY FATHER! No, all you thought about was getting out from this prison, the prison that his illness put you in well guess what mother, you’ll be in a whole new prison now.” I felt nothing but icy steel as I reached behind me for the cuffs.
“I beg of you son, please don’t. You’ve lost your father, don’t take away your mother too.” I didn’t respond. She had stopped being my mother the day she murdered my father. She reached for a hug, some last morsel of love, instead of accepting it I took her wrists and shackled her.
I tuned out her sobs as I escorted her to the car, reading her her rights as she shuffled grimmly from one prison to another.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 63

Your Ass Smells Like Ass

“You point it at a group of people and it’ll obliterate everything in its path.” She said disgusted.
“Oh baby, it ain’t that bad, just a bit of gas.” He lifted one cheek off of the perfectly contoured couch cushion and let another one go.
“Beau, you’re fucking disgusting, Jesus Christ, why did I marry you?” Her eyes were watering now. She stood up and opened a window hoping that the smell of the pulp mill across the street would cover the smell of her husbands rotting ass.
“Because you luuuuve me.” He took a big gulp of his beer and let out a belch followed up by another sphincter ripping fart. “And I knocked you up.”
“God, I can’t believe I actually had sex with you.” She shivered.
“And you do it every night too.” He smirked and motioned for her to come over. She smiled back. He was disgusting but he did know how to fill a void. She sat on his lap and let him fondle her saggy tits.
In the heat of the moment another gas attack hit. “Aw for fuck sakes Beau.” She waved her hand, hoping to swat the almost think stech away. “She got off him and pulled out a cigarette. If she was going to fuck him she had to have something close to her nose to alleviate the smell.
She stuck the dart in her mouth and pulled out the lighter. Another ripper, she couldn’t get it lit quick enough, and then…
They couldn’t find the gas leak, actually, they couldn’t even find a gas source. The fire department determined that somehow a cloud of methane gas had settled into the area around the trailer but had all burnt up in the explosion along with Tracy and Beaufort Prast.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 60


Perhaps my reaction was a little less than it should have been, after all it was a full onslaught of supposed state-of-the-art nuclear warheads that hit my exposed belly. “Ouch,” was what I said. I said it calmly and without much feeling. I did sting, admittedly but what did they expect? I’m an asteroid roughly twice the size of their moon. I can’t help the fact that I got pulled into a trajectory that put me in line with their planet. If I could help it I would.

The unfortunate thing about no longer being an inanimate object is that I have feelings. I don’t know when this occurred exactly. I think it was after I blasted through Gabingga Tsuyala. I only guess that because that is the first impact which I remember the name of. Something happened after that. I could feel the psychic energy off of some planets, I could read the future and see the destruction I would cause. It brought me great pain. I have been struggling with my emotions since I witnessed the gas creatures of Jinga-Jinga float and implode as their atmosphere exploded with my impact. I bounced off, changing trajectory again. I felt no pain, that time.

The next time I knew that I was on a path to destroy living feeling entities. I hoped that I would miss the tiny planet, or if I didn’t that it would somehow stop me from travelling further, but it did not. My feelings intensified, as if the thoughts and feelings of those that I destroyed clung to me, hoping to live on.

My new found self awareness did not translate into being able to move. I focused all of my energy on altering my coarse, but to no avail. I wished to die now, I have no reason to live. The beings on this blue planet are the first that have attempted to protect themselves, they have known I was coming before I was even aware of them. I knew what would happen, I would glance a soft blow, pushing their planet but a slip further from their sun, but enough that they would suffer in cold and starvation for centuries.

As another flurry of explosions crackled upon my chest I prayed that at least one would end my suffering so I would not feel theirs.