memories

by bofa xesjum

johnny looked through the keyhole at laura doing her math homework nobody paid any attention to omar and the psychopath who had terrorized the neighborhood was strangely quiet remember last summer? the termites under the stairs? victory was there for the taking except for the young people he argyle sock man had nothing to say beyond empty condolences the dead did not emerge from their graves franklin got back together with geraldine how insistent we all were! just in time for our karate lessons let us make the same mistakes again no one will laugh, especially the policeman

the deal

by anonymous

edward smith was an ordinary guy, with an ordinary (though not very secure) job in a minor department in a small city in a medium state in the greatest country in the world. so he was surprised when he was chosen, out of all the people in the greatest country, and all the people on the planet, to be picked up by a galactic empire spacecraft and presented with a proposal of the galactic empire to be transmitted to the rest of the human race. seated in the comfortable lounge of the spacecraft, sipping a can of mountain dew that the aliens had thoughtfully provided him with, edward scanned the printout of the proposal. the proposal read as follows: all earthlings, beginning with the inhabitants of the greatest country, will be relocated to a spot in the southern pacific ocean where they will be organized into work gangs which will construct a new city where all earthlings will subsequently reside. when the new city has been completed, all earthlings will be permanently housed in it and will work as directed by the empire, mostly in factories manufacturing new weapons for the empire’s further conquests. every earthling will be required to work twelve hours a day, and exercise one hour a day. each human will be allotted three liters of water, one half gram of protein, and one and a half hours of sunshine a day. each human will be allowed one hour a day - under the strictest supervision - to engage in so-called “cultural activities” , such “cultural activities” to be pre-approved by the empire. edward finished reading the document and looked up. “well?” the alien who seemed to be in charge asked him. “what do you think? do you think we will have a deal?” “a deal?” edward asked. “how is it a deal? what do we get out of it? what is in it for us?” “we will get rid of donald trump for you.”

slicer

by horace p sternwall

reginald was a nasty child, and completely unafraid of servants, policemen, and other adults. he was always asking them questions like, what do you do? and, are you useful in any way? one day reginald and his twin brother rudolf (a gentle, docile, well trained child) were taken to the seashore by their nanny. there was a boardwalk on the beach, which projected about three quarters of a mile out into the ocean. various booths were set up on it,, selling cold drinks and popcorn and such, and there were also booths with shooting galleries and other games of chance where prizes like teddy bears and brightly colored neckties could be won. also taking up space on the boardwalk were some musicians, and artists selling their paintings, and their hand crafted jewelry and whatnot. reginald’s attention was attracted by a very old man (very old to reginald) who had set up a piano at the farthest end of the boardwalk, a little apart from the other attractions. rudolf and nanny went wherever reginald wanted to go, so they followed him to the end of the boardwalk where the old piano man was set up. the piano man was playing what nanny recognized as “melancholy baby” or maybe it was “million dollar baby in a five and ten cent store.” nanny thought this remote end of the boardwalk looked and felt a bit worn, and she wondered if the heavy piano might not crash through it, dumping all of them into the water. she placed a one dollar bill in the cracked porcelain cup on top of the piano, and the piano man nodded to her and said thank you. reginald was more interested in the piano itself. he noticed that it had small wheels on it. “are those wheels locked?’ he asked in his most aggressive manner. “of course,” the piano man replied, with a friendly smile. “how do you know that they will hold, and that the piano will not roll away into the water?” “well, i just trust that it will not. it never has.” “do you roll it away every night?’ reginald asked. “i do not suppose you just leave it here.” all reginald’s questions were delivered in the tone his mother might have used in interviewing a new maid or gardener. “no, i have a truck that i take it away in,” the piano man answered, as he kept playing “melancholy baby’” , “and in answer to your next question, no, i do not load it on the truck myself, i have a friend who runs one of the ice cream stands and he helps me.” “hm.” reginald changed his line of attack. “how many songs do you know? do you play the same ones over and over?” “how many do i know? i know hundreds,. but i play about thirty, which have proven to be the ones folks seem to like.” “that sounds boring,” reginald declared. “just doing the same thing over and over.” “many people do the same things over and over,” the piano man replied with the same tolerant smile. rudolf did not usually dare speak unless reginald gave him leave, but he piped up, “there was a fellow that we passed selling paintings, and they all seemed to of clowns, magicians, and gypsy violinists. that is only three things, and this gentleman plays thirty songs.” “that is very well said, rudolf,” nanny declared. “i still think it sounds boring,” said reginald. “i have a brother,” the piano man said, “who works at sam and jack’s deli, which as you may know, is famous for its roast beef sandwiches. and my brother has one job, which is to slice the roast beef for the famous sandwiches. he has been doing it, five or six days a week, for twenty-eight years.” reginald laughed out loud. “how dreadful. i would go quite mad.” “but what would you like to do, young fellow?” the piano man, still smiling, asked. “that would give more spice and variety to your existence?” “i should like to be a statesman,” reginald replied. “and start a new war somewhere, every year, at least. that is what i should like to do.” “different people have different fates,” the piano man said. “they can only wait on the hand of time to reveal them.” and with that, he began playing al jolson’s “my buddy”, which was his favorite song.

toledo

by fred flynn

ray wished he had never come to toledo, but had stayed in youngstown where he could have written up another quote for baker console - and probably made the goddamned sale. but he had given in to marie the way he always did, and now marie was back in the hotel "not felling too good, but you go ahead and see the sights -". and here he was in these gloomy streets, with all these churches - ray guessed they were churches, he was not about to go inside one - and all these people dressed in black - was there a single one of them not dressed in black? at least none of them seemed to be looking at him - suddenly ray decided he had had enough. he would just stop wandering the streets and go back to the hotel and watch whatever was on the television, even if it was not in english. and if marie wanted to watch something different, fine, he would just give in to her like he always did, like the wimp that he was. the only reason he had agreed to her suggestion that he “see the sights” was to get away from her before he said something he might regret. but he had calmed down now, as he always did, so he might as well go back to the hotel. when he started back, he did not recognize the streets as the ones he had come by. ray had always prided himself on his sense of direction, whether walking or driving, and he had carefully kept track of the left and right turns he had taken since he had set out from the hotel. he decided he was seeing things. the streets must be the same, he had taken a right two streets back, so all he had to do was go back two streets and take a left, and so forth. but the blocks seemed much longer than he remembered. he had not gone two blocks, but the distance he had traveled was surely way longer than the two blocks he had come after making the right. and nothing looked familiar, in the streets he thought he had walked down just minutes before. , all right, he admitted , i am lost. i will just have to ask directions. these people must speak english, some of them anyway. what was the name of the hotel again? the goya. like the cans in the spanish section of the supermarket. he saw an old woman coming toward him. dressed all in black, like everybody else he had seen. when the woman came closer he saw she was not as old as he had thought, but just walked - shuffled - bent over like an old woman. she looked up at ray with completely expressionless brown eyes. hotel? ray asked. goya? the woman looked at him blankly. he repeated hotel? goya? , pointing in what he thought was the general direction of the hotel. suddenly the woman laughed, showing fang like teeth, and pointed her finger at ray’s face. then she shuffled away. fighting down his exasperation, ray walked on. the next person ray saw was a small boy - or a dwarf. again, dressed all in black. it occurred to ray that he had not seen a single person on the street accompanied by another person - they were all walking alone. the person was in fact a boy of about eleven, not a dwarf, but with the same expressionless eyes. when ray repeated his questions - hotel? goya? - the boy said something that sounded like “glub flurk” - that didn’t sound like spanish! - and laughed and pointed his finger in ray’s face and moved on as the woman had. are these people rude or what? ray thought. if i ever get back to the states i am never leaving them again. ray kept walking. nothing he saw looked at all familiar, and everything looked crummier than anything he remembered. it started to get dark, and then a few raindrops fell. finally he saw a third person approach. what ray did not realize was that if a third person laughed at him and pointed a finger at him, he would really be in trouble. but the newcomer looked promising. a grown man, dressed in black to be sure, but walking upright and carrying a walking stick in an assured manner. he wore a cape, and a wide flat hat like a matador’s. as ray asked his questions of the man, as politely as he could, the rain began to fall in earnest. the man paused. letting the rain wash over him. then he laughed, showing a mouthful of gold and silver teeth, and pointed his finger directly at ray. lightning filled the sky…

nightfall

by nick nelson

night was falling, and jerry went for a walk. he passed a young man wearing a blue backpack and sipping a mcdonalds strawberry smoothie through a straw, then, on the next street, he saw a man with old fashioned horn rimmed glasses walking a little dog. the dog was covered with thick hair and jerry could not see its eyes. on the next street, jerry entered a convenience store and purchased a newspaper. the paper did not contain any news that jerry could not obtain on his computer or phone, but it did have some daily puzzles that he enjoyed doing. walking down the street from the convenience store, jerry saw a young woman on the other side of the street. she was wearing dark glasses even though darkness had now completely fallen, the young woman with the dark glasses was the last person jerry would see on his walk for over an hour, before he turned around and began retracing his steps back to his apartment building. he saw one more person on the street before he arrived home. this was the most singular person jerry would see. it was a heavyset woman off indeterminate age, who was walking a medium sized dog, which seemed to be straining somewhat on its leash. the woman had a small lamp attached to her forehead, and as she walked the dog she was reading a james patterson novel by its light! jerry arrived at his building and took the elevator four stories to his apartment and let himself in. another night, and no one had stopped him on the street and tried to engage him in conversation, or asked him his opinions, which he would have been happy to share, on climate change, slave reparations, the future of the united nations, or transgenderism. not that he would not have been happy to discuss other issues as well. maybe tomorrow night, he thought.

mrs fleming

by fan taser

marian always liked the island because it was so quiet and peaceful, and because the other guests kept to themselves, and were not intrusive and always asking her questions about herself. an older woman whose name marian understood to be mrs fleming was especially quiet. marian did not think she had ever heard her speak at all. one pleasant afternoon, marian was seated at a table on the veradah with an excellent view of the sea, sipping a lemonade and reading a book she had taken from the hotel’s library, a book she was unfamiliar with, by an author she had never heard of. mrs flleming was seated at another table, about eighteen meters closer to the railing of the verandah, and to the sea. the book by the author marian was not familiar with was not terribly engrossing, and she paused more than once to gaze at the sea and the sky. mrs fleming was in her line of vision as she did so. marian began to have a curious feeling that mrs fleming had not moved at all, throughout the afternoon. she found herself glancing up at the still figure of the old woman, more and more. this will never do, marian thought. i have never liked to think of myself as a busybody. finally, on an impulse, she put her book down on the table and approached to within a meter of mrs fleming. the old woman was completely motionless. marian went inside the hotel and approached the desk clerk. do you see that woman seated out there? marian pointed to mrs fleming. i believe her name is mrs fleming. ah, mrs fleming, the clerk replied. what about her? i believe she is dead. oh, yes, mrs fleming has been dead for years. she has? yes, many of the guests have been dead for quite some time but - why does she not … fall apart? decompose? i know the air is healthy here, bur even so… oh, we have a special serum for that. one of the attendants goes around to the dead guests every morning before dawn and gives them an injection which keeps them inoffensive for the rest of the day. really? marian said. i never knew such a thing existed. there are probably many things you do not know, madam, the clerk replied politely.

carl and conrad

by nick nelson

carl had fallen asleep during the meeting, and was awakened by a poke in his ribs from jonathon. marcia, the group leader, was staring at him. i am glad you can join us, carl, marcia said. what do you have to say for yourself? nothing, carl mumbled. i guess i fell asleep. well, since you have nothing to say for yourself, carl, i will say something for you. marcia took a deep breath. carl, you are the most pathetic excuse for a living creature i have ever encountered. you are a complete waste of atoms and molecules. you have nothing to say for yourself, and you do not listen to what anybody else says to you.. you just take up space which some more deserving creature might enjoy. the vibrations you emit are poisonous, and their only saving grace is their weakness. does anybody else have anything to add? tania jumped up. what marcia said, she said, and sat back down again. alex stood up. he addressed carl directly. i first knew you for what you are, carl, when jerri spoke about the loss of her cat. it was obvious that you just didn’t care, and you hardly made an effort to pretend to care. bob was next. i saw the little smirk you tried to keep off your face, carl, when benny talked about his struggles with media addiction. i saw the cloven hoof beneath your priestly robe. all of the members of the group, except darrell and mickie, stood up in turn and denounced carl. their voices, and their messages, began to blur together in carl's brain in a jumble of meaningless words. mountaintop… fascism… roots of alienation… summer at the beach… danish pastry… absolutely the worst… are you through? carl finally asked when he realized no one was speaking any more. so it would seem, marcia told him. can i go now? you not only can go, you will go. and stay gone. you are no longer welcome here. carl got up and left. he walked through the dark streets to his little room. he did not see any other people. a bus, looking empty, passed him. he went into the donut shop on the corner a block from his building. he ordered a small decaf. there was one old fashioned donut left on the rack behind the counter and he bought it. when he got back to his room carl consumed the coffee and the donut. then he picked up a small spiral notebook from the table beside his couch. the first two pages of the notebook contained a list of names, all of them lined through except the last one, which was “carl”. carl drew a line through “carl” and wrote under it, “conrad”. he slept through most of the next day, and when darkness began to fall he went back out into the street. he wandered though the streets for a while, until he found a storefront with a sign that said “meeting”. he went inside, into a bare looking room. there were about twelve people sitting in folding chairs and a woman standing in front of the room. i see we have a new visitor, the woman said. who might you be? my name is conrad, and i am the loneliest person in the world.