The Stranger

She had sung in the saloon for two years now, it was common knowledge that she could be had after the show for a few coins. she had not chosen this life but there were not many options for a women like her. Her voice drew them in and thoughts of her unclothed body kept them in the chairs. She made a tidy profit for she had the voice of an angel in the body of a whore. She hoped that very soon she would have enough saved to escape this life and buy a small farm and live out her days there. It was a small dream but it was all hers and nothing would ever take the dream away, until he walked in to the saloon. He was not handsome by any stretch of the imagination but she looked into his eyes as she sang on the stage and she knew her dream was over. After she finished he paid his coins and followed her up to her room. He stopped her as she began to undress and said,

" I have been looking for you for two years now. Yours parents think you are dead and your son cries himself to sleep every night. Why did you leave us?"

She just stared at him, so he grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake.

" You are my wife and I love you and want you to come home, don't you have anything to say." he asked

She looked at this strange man and reached behind her for the fireplace poker, this stranger was obviously crazy.

"There you go"

The Johnny Cash song came on the juke box in the corner of the bar. She smiled when she heard it. It had been so many years ago that it was ,at times hard for her to believe that it had ever happened. That she had ever been that kind of women. But it was real and it was the truth, in her younger years it had been her style to break hearts and tell lies. She had been a beauty and even as a small child everyone who met her told her mother that she was going to break a lot of hearts. She had lived up to everyone’s expectations and she had had fun doing it. Now she was your typical grandmother of ten. Her oldest grandchild was getting married in the spring, that girl had definitely not broken any hearts. Sometimes she worried about her and how boring she seemed to be, it just seemed wasteful to spend all that beauty on one man. Oh well, what could a grandmother do. As the music played on she let her mind slid back in time to that hot summer long ago when she met that young musician and broke his heart. She smiled as her body swayed to the music….. “You’re gonna break another heart you’re gonna tell another lie…..”

The Cranberry Bog

Her name was Dot and she had spent her whole life on the bog. She loved that bog and those cranberries. She now gave tours to ignorant tourist who had no idea the beauty of the bog. Every once in a while there would be one person in a tour group who gave Dot a slight glimmer of hope. They would ask all the right questions and would listen intently to her description of the process of harvesting the berries. This happened so rarely that when that person appeared every three years or so it filled her with the hope that maybe mankind was not as bad as she really thought, that just maybe there was a kindred soul. Invariably this hope would build over the next hour of the tour and as always it would be dashed and smashed liked a ship against a rocky coast. More often then not she would see that hope die as each of these “ kindred souls” would prove they were not what she thought by letting their curiosity get the best of them and making the very fatal mistake of stepping out onto her bog. She was sure getting tired of burying all those bodies, but at least she had a lot of bog and after all it was really good fertilizer for the cranberries.

A History Lesson

She travelled through time like she was just going to the corner grocery. It was easy. She had been able to do it since she was about four. That first time it had happened quite by accident. She had been toddling around her room playing dress up when all of the sudden she was no longer in her room, one moment she was walking toward her bed and the next she had somehow slipped through an open seam in the fabric of time and was wandering around a dark London street perilously close to where Jack the Ripper was about to strike his second victim, she was of course not aware of any of this because she was only four after all, but as she got older and the time travel more frequent she learned facts about history that she could use in her travels. She learned to love all aspects of the history of the world but her favorite time in history was 1948, the year her father was two. She would often go to that time and sit in the park across from his childhood home and watch the idyllic, serene family scenes that played out for her like a movie. Her childhood had not been like a movie, after her parents divorced she had seldom seen her father and as he slowly slipped from her life her mother dug a tench and fortifications and tried to control every aspect of her childhood. Travelling between times was her only refuge and as the years went by she returned home less and less so that by the time she was thirty her own time had forgotten she even existed. On her last visit to her own time she discovered that although history can not be altered the future is uncertain and so it goes that in 1974 a girl was born but in 2008 the women did not exist for she had spent too much time in the past.

57 Seconds is not long

I could survive for 57 seconds chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor

The Wedding

Sometimes I dream that it never happened. That the huge wedding with all the flowers, ten bridesmaids and the whitest, most beautiful dress I had ever owned. After waking from those dreams I would sit in the giant bed covered in silk and keep my eyes closed for a minute savoring the dream, savoring the idea that the wedding had never occured, that I was now not sitting in this luxurious bed in the biggest house I had ever seen or was ever likely to see again. That instead I was sitting in a narrow bed in a small farm house on the edge of civilization. On those days after the dream I feel listless and anxious as if I am waiting for my real life to start. I fear that it will never start, that I will not ever experience joy again. The fears are very real becasue I knew when I chose him that I was making a mistake but I did it any way. I thought that beautiful clothes, fancy houses and servants would be enough. I was wrong. I should have chosen better. I should have chosen the farm with rough sheets, hard work, little money and the only man who not only made me laugh but alos made my heart leap everytime he walked into a room. I should have chosen the man not the wedding.

Kafe

Every day for two years she drank coffee. Never before in her life had she drank so much coffee. She had always been a tea drinker. Hot tea every morning. But for those two years it was coffee. Coffee in the morning, coffee in the afternoon, coffee after dinner. It sometimes seemed the countries entire culture was based on coffee drinking. She met her friends for coffee, she met co-workers for coffee, she took her students for coffee( although they would occasionally try to sneak in a beer instead), she drank coffee after every meal she ate out. And because she was not used to nursing one very small turkish coffee for two hours and since she unlike many of her local friends could afford more she would drink three to their one. So needless to say she became addicted to coffee, addicted to sitting in cafes for hours drinking coffee and talking, addicted to the pleasure of no time constraints, no worries and nowhere to hurry to. Eight years later she still drinks coffee every morning and although she no longer has the luxury of those long leisurely afternoons in the cafe, every time she tastes that warm sweet coffee, she remembers that place, its people and their coffee.

Somewhere

Somewhere out there is the man I am looking for. It may take years to find him but I will find him one day. I am preparing for our first meeting every day. I have developed the skills I will need to catch him. I have become a different women knowing that the one I used to be would never find him. I have practiced every day for the last two years so that I know when I find him, he will be mine. My hope is that once I find him my life will be complete, this gnawing emptiness will be gone. I will be whole again. It took me years to realize what I needed to do but now that I have a plan, I know that I will find him and when I do I will kill him with all the vengeance that has been bottled up inside me since the day he killed my parents and younger sister. Somewhere out there is the man who destroyed my family and I will find him.

Leave No Trace

It happened so fast that when it was over they were both shocked. The body laid on the carpet in the middle of the living room. Phil started to freak out repeating over and over again,
"Oh no!"
Thomas had to slap him several times to calm him down.
" Look, this is bad and we have to remain calm to decide what we need to do!" Thomas said
" I can not go to jail, I will not do well in jail!" Phil shrieked
" Don't worry I know someone who knows someone who can help us out." Thomas said
Thomas went to the phone dialed and waited. Phil watched in both anguish and hope. After Thomas hung up the phone he said,
" Don't worry it will all go away."

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Thomas answered and standing on the door step were five of the youngest, clean cut, decent looking boy scouts you had ever seen. Thomas said,
" Thank you so much for coming it is great to meet you guys, I am Thomas and this is Phil."
The oldest of the scouts stepped forward and said,
" We have never met and we were not here, now sit quietly on the sofa while we clean up this mess." the scout then began to shout out orders to his patrol, " Lay out the tarp, get the rope, make sure the knots are secure, ready the bleach."
In twenty minutes the scouts had securely wrapped the body and cleaned up any traces of blood, they hoisted the body up and prepared to leave. The Patrol leader looked at Thomas and Phil and repeated his warning,
" We have never met and we were never here!"
As the scouts carried the body out of the apartment Thomas and Phil could faintly hear them singing:
Softly falls the light of day as our campfire fades away,
Silently each scout must ask, have I done my daily task,
Have I kept my honor bright, can I guiltless sleep this night,
Have I done and have I dared everything to be prepared.
Phil and Thomas never saw those scouts again and to this day 10 years later that body has never been found. Thomas sometimes wonders how they made it disappear.

A group of scouts sits around a campfire with their Scout master, the Scout master is finishing his second bowl of Chili, he turns to the Patrol Leader and says,
" Kenny I don't know how you do it, but this chili is amazing, won't you tell me your secret ingredient?"

My secret Exsitence

For years and years and years now people have been searching for the answer to that one burning question. Am I real? Do I exist? The answer is yes. I am real, I exist. I live up here in Alaska where no one will ever find me. It is a pretty good existence. The wife and I have recently redecorated the rec. room. She made these really lovely flowered curtains. The kids are all doing well. They have lots of friends at school and Thomas even has a part in the school musical. He is not the greatest singer but he does a good job. We are canning vegetables for the long winter ahead and we have recently been able to pick up The Disney Channel on the satellite dish. The kids have been enjoying High School Musical. All in all things have been good. We caught the news of those yahoos in Georgia. It just really burns my butt that these crazies continue to make up these hoaxes. I tell you if I thought for a minute you humans would not kill me, my family and our community and experiment on our cold dead bodies, I would come forward and end these hoaxes and all the myths. But since I am pretty sure you would kill us, I think I will just ignore this latest news and keep my head down and enjoy our little families quite life.

The Observer

She watched him from the apartment across the alley. She had cameras, microphones, everything you would need to observe his activities. This was her fifth assignment and it was the longest she had been on. During the training phase before you were ever allowed to watch you were taught to separate yourself from the subject, to never begin to think of the subject as anything but the subject. She was afraid she was failing. it had started innocently enough during her third week of watching. He seemed to look directly at her from his window and smile. She know there was no way he had seen her or known she was watching but still she felt as if they were connected through that one smile. As time went by she immersed herself in his activities and now she realized she was goner. She had gotten too involved, too concerned, too connected, maybe even fallen in love a little bit. She was going to have to ask for a reassignment. It would be hard ,but she could do it, she could leave this all behind and move on to another subject. Besides he would be dead soon anyway. I mean after all she had been watching him now for 80 years so that would make him well into his nineties, humans did not live much longer then that. She sighed when she thought back over all of her subjects and realized that her very first observation subject had now been dead for over three centuries. She shook her head and reminded herself that she had chosen to drink the serum and take the oath and pick up the Observer Mantle, she had a job to do and one 98 year old guy would not break her resolve. The observers must observe or chaos would reign.

When they asked

When they asked me if I knew I told them no. But I was lying and they never guessed. I never figured I could be such a good actress, but I was. When they asked I told them I did not know and I got away with it. All of it. I never figured it would be so easy but it was, in the past I had always answered questions truthfully so I never knew the power of not answering, it was liberating. That was ten years ago and I have not looked back once. I have become such a good liar that I am sometimes not even sure what is a lie and what is not. And to think it all started with the simple question, " Lily, sweetie, do you know who drew on the wall with red crayon?"

The Death March

The stones were arranged in such a way that I was sure I could never climb up them. My legs already felt like jelly but he was relentless. Forcing me on even when I wanted to stop. He was a demon from hell and this I was sure was my final day on earth. I would never make it to the top of this stupid mountain. But my resistance was futile because the demon forced me to climb higher and higher, above the trees, every time I was sure we were almost there I would look up and see the peak looming above me at a far greater distance. I would die before we ever made it to the top. But the demon flung his head back with glee and laughed his maniacal laugh and I become resolved. I would make it to the top of this godforsaken mountain even as I knew it would kill me. The view from the top was that much sweeter when I finally pulled my destroyed body to the peak. I had done and the view was spectacular, but as I looked around waiting for the demon to join me at the top all I could think about was that now I had to go back down and I was sure it would kill me.

Do I have to like them?

It really started when I was 12. That is when we moved here, to this place that I hate. My Mom would always answer each of my complaints with " Give it time, you will like it." I gave it time. 29 years in fact and I still hate it. I hate the way they laugh, the way they talk, the way they think that they are smarter then everyone else. I hate everything about them. But what I really hate the most is the way the smell. It is the worst smell I have ever smelled. It is like over cooked hot dogs left out in the sun for too long. I thought I would get used to it but I never have. I do not like them and I do not like it here. I tried, I really did, but I am not like my sister. She is happy here. She even married one of them and has a child. She is starting to smell like them. My Mom and Dad won't come with me, they want to stay here and be close to there grandchild, plus they say they like it here. But as soon as the ship arrives next month, the first time in 29 years, I will be on it. I am going home to where everyone smells like a fresh sweet flower. It will be sad to leave my family. But I am done here. I tried to like them, but I realize now , I do not have to. I mean because really Earth Stinks! I mean that literally, it really really stinks here and I have been holding my breath for 29 years.

When they came

When they came to the house. I thought things would change. I thought with the young people I would have more to do. I would be able to scare the heck out of them with a slamming door or a rattling in the attic. But I was wrong. They were boring and never got scared of anything. The giant clown I invaded and made dance at midnight in the middle of the six years old room did not even get one shriek. In fact the six year old giggled. Giggled! What kid is not scared of clowns? Clowns are scary! So I stepped it up a notch. I rearranged all the furniture in the living room. The Mom was grateful. She thought it looked better. When I levitated the fourteen year old three feet above her bed, she actually asked if she could do that again. Who are these people? I am done. I tried my hardest to scare the bejesus out of this family and all I get is giggles and happiness. They are not normal. I can not live this way so I am packing my bags and heading on over to the house down the street, they look like a family that will run at the first creak.

My Oldest friend

I meet her 10 years ago. We both lived in the same city in the same country, expatriates in a land of confusion, misunderstandings, language barriers and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I drank so much coffee the two years we lived in that city that even now the smell of coffee makes my mouth water and my eyes mist for the times we spent sitting and talking in one coffee house or another. We were both there to live extraordinary lives we thought, but instead lived quite mundane and predictable day to day lives. The highlight for me was the coffee and her company. I am not sure I could have lived those two years without her. She was a rock. She would joke that surely I would prefer to have a young person there instead of her, I would always say no and I meant it. I was the lucky one. We seldom speak now as we live thousands of miles apart but for those two years she was not only my "oldest" friend but my dearest. The 30 years that divide our ages means nothing because friends are the greatest possession you can have and she was like a diamond.

Dancing in the Dark

She danced in the middle of the dance floor flailing her arms and legs as if she was trying to dislodge a multitude of bugs from her body. The disco ball whirled around creating a blinding light as it bounced off of her sequined shirt, I worried that she would hurt someone with her flailing arms. Then as suddenly as she had started she stopped and glanced up at the disco ball as the music and other dancers swirled around her. That is when I noticed her eyes. They were both a cloudy white color and I wondered if she could see. As she made her way off the dance floor she brushed my arm as she passed and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Everything is better in the dark.”

The Guide

She had found the small book in the very back corner of her grandmother's closet when she was fourteen. As she read the book from cover to cover she was both shocked and titillated by it. Her Grandmother was the kind of women who always wore a suit and hat when she went to church or out to dinner. She was very proper and very well spoken and very intelligent. College educated at a time when few women were, she was the epitome of class and culture. The girl had always been a little intimated by her picture perfect grandmother, so as she clutched the book to her chest she smiled a little smile of appreciation and greater knowledge. This book made her Grandmother more real to her, more human. From that day forward the girl saw her grandmother in a different light. She saw her not just as the loving, cultured Grandmother she was now, but also as the young women she had been. A women full of secret passions and needs. Through out the years the girl would pull out the small book and remember the grand mother she had loved so much, but it was not until years later when the girl herself was a grandmother that she discovered the slit in the back binding of the book and pulled out a letter from the publisher of the book:

Dear Mrs. Donaldson,

Thank you so much for your submission of " A Young Women's Guide to Passionate Lovemaking". We think it will be a huge success and look forward to any future manuscripts you may have. We at True Romance believe that all things are possible. A check is enclosed for you fees.

Yours,
Sylvia Saturn
Senior Editor, True Romance Publications

Late at Night

As I lie awake late at night, listening for the beating of wings, I try to close my eyes and over and over I say to myself, " I will not go this night." But I always go. I can not resist his lure. I want to say no, but I crave the danger and the excitement, so I climb down the trellis by my window and into the night we race. I know that when I am older I will regret these nights. At this exact moment I do not care. All I care about is him and how the darkness and the sweet smell of him make me feel. My mother and father have no idea what I do at night. They think I am snug in my bed dreaming those adolescent dreams all girls should be dreaming. They would be disappointed, not angry, but disappointed in me and perhaps that is why even for a just a fleeting moment, I consider not going each night and then I hear his sweet voice and I am done for, I can not resit him, oh my dearest Bram.......

As I read the words my dear sister had written the night she disappeared I knew that something bad had befallen her and my dream that she had slipped away in the night to run away with her lover is dead for now I know his name and I know that he still resides here in our little town and that she is most likely dead like my dream. He was always an unusal lad and despite his fame and success I have never liked him and that lurid book he wrote... Well I always suspected it was not completley fiction. My dear sister Lucy if only I had known I could have stopped you.

His Curve Ball

He always told me that he would be famous one day. I am not sure I really believed him. But he was right. He is famous. His memoir has been the number one best seller on the New York Times list for over two years now. He can be seen on all the talk shows, in all the tabloids and at all the best parties. They have begun to film the story of his life. When I left him all those years ago I never expected to become the villain of his story. I never thought my name would become a synonym for evil. I heard a couple of young women on the train the other day refer to one of their acquaintances as an " Alice Winters". It was not a compliment. I knew when I left him that I had hurt him. I never expected the venom that spilled from his pen. When I heard of his success I was happy for him, then I read the memoir. I remember our story differently. If I had not lived this story with him, I too would hate Alice Winters. The character he draws is terrible. I try to see it from his point of veiw, but I can not. I may be the villain of his story, but I am the heroine of mine.

I Quit

" I Quit, I quit, I quit!" these words repeated through her head as she walked to work. Enough was enough, she was tired of all the crap and this time she was really going to do it. No putting off, she would find another job. This job was not her life and she was going to quit. Really, today was the day. As she walked on she thought of all the horrible things that had happened to her over the last few years, the bad treatment by her bosses, the laughs, the jeers, she was done, no more. As she entered the fairgrounds she saw her boss and she marched over to him and bravely said,
" I quit!"

He laughed and said " Oh come on Mary you know that you are not going to quit."

" Yes, I am." she said.

"Fine, fine so you quit, lets see what your sister has to say about that. So Elisa are you quiting too?"

Mary turned to her twin sister who just looked back at her with a sad look in her eye and said, " No Mr. Smith I am not quitting, Mary and I have no place else to go."

And with that, Mary's attempt to break free was over. Elisa tried to console her as they headed toward the Midway and their booth in the Freak Show.

The Future of our Planet

She stood on the deck of the ship looking out upon the vast emptiness, no stars, no moons, no planet existed. She remembered when her planet had been vibrant, lush and green. Now there was nothing. When the scientist had first begun speaking about the effects of pollution and over population no one had believed them. Everyone had laughed and by the time they stopped laughing and began to believe it was too late. In the last twenty years of the planet they had built ships to evacuate. It had not been enough time. There were not enough ships and many people would be left behind on the dead planet. On the day the ships left the planet she said her final good-byes to her parents and siblings. That had been ten years ago, ten years of living on these ships. Ten years of looking for another home and then in the last month the scientist had discovered a planet that looked like it could sustain them. It was lush and green like there old home. Unfortunately it was populated with creatures who were slowly killing it. The High Council had decide it would be necessary to rid the planet of these creatures. Her people would be better care takers, for they understood the fragility of ecosystems. She looked forward to seeing this third planet from the sun.

Tired and Sore

She stood over his prone form with her colt revolver drawn and ready to shoot again. It had taken her months to track him down, months of ceaseless riding, months of dirt, months of hate, and now that she had finally filled him with lead she felt empty, as if all of her anger had been fired from her body like the bullets from her gun. The first time she had seen him had been that rainy night three years ago when he and his gang had ridden in while the moon was obscured by the clouds, killing her husband, shooting her pregnant belly and leaving her to bleed in the rain as she listened to their laughter as they rode away. She had survived but the child had not, so when her sister had arrived to take her back east she did not resist at first, but then she found her husbands old trunk of clothes left over from his days as a gunslinger and at the bottom was the buttery soft white leather jacket, when she put it on she knew what she had to do. She practiced every day for three months, honing the skills she had begrudgingly learned when she first moved west to marry her husband and after three months she knew that when she found him she would beat him shot for shot. She found him in a whore house in Abilene and at noon the next day she had eased the knawing, burning anger in her heart.

It rings and rings and rings but no one is home

The telephone rang and rang and rang. I slammed down the receiver and cursed at the heavens. Where the hell was she? she had said she would call at 10:30 and that was four hours ago. This was not good. Not good at all. If she did not get here soon every thing would be over. The plans we made would be finished. My mind turned to the the plans we had made. We were going to take the cash and travel the world. We would buy sari's and spices in India and see the Taj Majal. We would climb to base camp in Nepal and drink butter tea in Kathmandu. We would walk the entire length of the Great Wall. We would eat puffer fish in Japan and bath in mineral springs. We would take the Trans Siberian railroad and make jokes with babushkas. We would see the Blue Mosque in Turkey and swim in the Black Sea on the coast of Bulgaria. We would lie on the ground in Transylvania and pretend to have been over come by the charisma of Dracula. We would drink Champagne in France and eat chocolate in Belgium..... The list went on and on and only as the phone rang did I realize another hour had passed. I answered the phone and it was my mother.

" Turn on the TV!" she said.

I turned on the TV and there she was, I dropped the telephone as she was handed the giant check for 350 million dollars with out me.

Composed

She stood in the doorway of the grand ballroom looking for all the world like the most composed women there. She held her head high, her hair was perfectly coiffed, her make-up expertly applied and her dress immaculate. Every one who looked at her envied her composure. She had always looked like this, had always been able to appear as if she had it all together, every minute of every day. But if you had looked deeper on this night you would have seen the slight sheen to her eyes that belied that composure. You would have seen a small speck of blood on her perfect shoes. You would have seen the tightness of her face. If you had looked closer you would have seen that the composure was a mask. A mask she had used well these last twelve years. Twelve years in which she had stalked, caught and tonight killed the perfect husband. Who on his death left her 20 million dollars. Twelve years of composure would soon slip away to reveal the real women she was, but first she had to keep herself composed for one last time and appear like she was the women she claimed to be at this fundraising gala she had organized. Then when her dead husband's body was found in the tragic car accident and once the funeral was over she could take her money and disappear. She could leave behind this boring, composed facade and live the life she was meant to live. Freedom at last.

Six Senteces Volume 1

The new Six Sentences book came out today and is available on Amazon. I have three stories in the collection. It should we fantastic. Rob McEvily who created the website Six Sentences is super cool and if you get the chance you should support the site and buy the book, plus you would also get to read my three stories and one of them is all about a robot of course! I will also have two stories up on the website, one on May 6th and the other May 8th( this one is about Dolly Parton.

Without Fear

Wasn’t it FDR that said “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?” She was pretty sure that despite his bout with polio and a World War he knew nothing about real fear. He did not know what it was like to be a five year old powerless little girl who watched her father beat her mother every night. He did not know what it was like to be a twelve year old powerless girl roaming the streets at night looking for a way to buy some food because she had no home. He did not know what it was like to be an eighteen year old powerless girl whose only options for survival had been selling her body to anyone who would pay. He did not know what it was like to be a 25 year old powerless woman whose only answer was to leave the baby at the fire station because at least it would be safe there. He did not know what it was like to be poor, abused and powerless all your life and the only dream you had ever had was a home, family and decent job. She figured that if she had the same advantages that FDR had perhaps she too could have been fearless, but as it was, fear was the only thing that kept her alive.

She did not get it...........

Any of it, ever. She could not understand why after all these years it was happening again. The bright lights, the flashes of panic. Couldn't the just leave them alone. Did they have to do this? He told her, she should stopping trying to figure it and just accept it. That she would never understand their reasons. "But don't they understand you love it here and want to stay." "I don't know" he said. "Don't worry they will be gone soon." She just shook her head and sighed. He was right they would be gone soon and then they could get back to their lives and it wasn't like they visited all the time. Once every 10 years or so and for the most part they were good visits. It was really just when they would harp on him to move back home. How could they not understand that she could never live there. She could not raise her kids there. Hopefully one day her in-laws would figure out that the Earth was their home now.

The Experiment

It was four o clock in the morning when they began the experiment. They sat side by side on the lab table as the doctors wired them up. She knew that if it did not work this time she was done. She had grown tired of the constant test and questions. She could she thought go on living this way the rest of her life. It really was not as bad as most people would think. She had over the course of the last six months gotten used to it. She had never really thought that what she would miss most was nail polish. She could not explain why this one stupid little thing made her tear up every time she thought of never being able to paint her nails again, bright sparkly pink, iridescent purple, deep dark red. If the experiment did not work, those days were over. She felt the first jolt of electricity run through her body and then everything went black. When she woke up it was afternoon and she was groggy. Slowly she remembered the experiment, she looked down at her body. She screamed at what she saw. A doctor rushed into the room and asked what was wrong, all she could do was shake her head and laugh and cry. She was back, back in the body she had been born with, back in her self. Thank God the experiment had worked; she had been getting tired of standing up to pee.

She slept through her Life

She could clearly in vivid detail remember the day she meet him. She could describe exactly how he looked and what he said. She remembered the dress she was wearing; it was the green merino wool that brought out the red in her hair. He had been so very handsome with his dark hair, blue eyes and Irish brogue. He was from Detroit come to Chicago to work in the slaughter houses. She was working the reception desk when he checked into the hotel. Her Hotel, owned with her three sisters and brother. They had worked so hard to achieve this and she was very proud of it. But in that moment she first saw him she knew she would give it all up to have him. When they married she was happy. Happy to move to Detroit, happy to leave behind the hotel, Chicago and her family. It was only later she would regret it. After she no longer loved him, after two children, after his drinking destroyed him, after she could no longer remember why she had ever loved him. It was funny ,really, how she remembered the minutest detail about the day they meet but could remember nothing after, not the birth of their children, not the anger, not the violence, not even the day the police knocked on their door to tell her he was dead. She buried him in a cemetery in Detroit, took her children and went home. Could she have guessed that without her memories he would be lost? Lost to the children he had loved in his own way, lost to the grand children that would follow, lost to the great grandson who drove by the cemetery where he was buried every day on his way to work, never knowing that in that graveyard was a piece of him.

A dark haired blue eyed Irishman hangs on my wall. He is handsome. With him is a lovely red haired woman who, looks at him with love. They must have been very happy.

Mixed Nuts

They sat in a circle in her office every Thursday at 8pm. They would discuss their many problems and she would pretend to listen. When they all left at 9pm she would exhale with relief. By 9:15 every Thursday she would be at the bar on the corner of Chandler Street, a drink in her hand and friends by her side. This Thursday was no different. She ordered a drink at the bar and smiled as her friend Dan pushed the bowl of nuts toward her.

Walden Pond

23 July 1845

She had refused him and he was crushed. He had imagined their life together. Him writing wonderful transcendental treatises and her taking care of him, washing his clothes, cooking his food, cleaning the cabin. It would have been perfect. She claimed she cared for him but that her father would never let them marry; he was beginning to suspect this was a lie. Last evening in the Pub he heard from a mutual friend that she had accepted the proposal of another man. It had only been one month since his own proposal. Was she fickle? Were her affections easily swayed? He was in fact sure it must be something in her character for he was a fine catch. He was very fashionable just look at his very cool and stylish neck beard. He was very smart, just look at his great writings and pondering. He was very well connected was not he, with his many fellow transcendentalist? It must be her. I mean what women would not want to live with him in a small shack on the edge of Walden Pond? It was going to be lovely. Oh well, her loss, who needed women anyway? He should get back to his writing.

Elvis has left the Building

He stood by the grave and admired the many flowers left by fans. It was a lovely site to behold. He was still amazed all these years later the reverence people had for him and his music. The fact that even after his death his name could still bring millions and millions of dollars was at times shocking. But he was happy that his family was taken care of because he had had to leave all those years ago and he felt bad about that. He felt bad that his daughter thought he was dead, but it had to be done. His life had been spiraling out of control for so long that the only way out was death. So he had planned it, everything down to the last detail. It had worked perfectly. Everyone thought he was dead and despite the occasional " I saw Elvis story” in the Weekly World News he had lived a quite life. None of those stories ever got close to the truth. Did people really think he would still look like Elvis? After his "death" he had lost weight and dyed his hair blond and gotten plastic surgery. He looked nothing like himself. His current wife and children had no idea he was anything more then Ted Fromby from Winnetka. IL, High School History Teacher and baseball coach. He was really proud of his team; they had made the State play-offs this year. He took one last look at the grave, turned away with a chuckle and headed back toward the front gate where his family waited.

Miscellaneous Monsters

When she had joined with them last spring she had never realized how powerful she would feel. For so long she had lived in the shadows, hidden by her family and of her own accord. Then one night a year ago she had been on one of her late night walks through the city. She avoided the daylight and as the town slept she could wonder the streets without fear of being seen. But on this particular night she stumbled across an amazing vision, at first she thought it was her eyes playing tricks but it was not. There in the light of a street lamp she saw a thug attack a woman and then before she could act from the darkness came this band of misfits who stopped the attacker and helped the victim. They hid their collective identity's behind masks and capes, but she could see that like her they were different. For the first time in her 16 years she knew she was not alone. There were others like her. Others who hid in the darkness, but used their strength for good. She had found not only comrades, but a calling. She followed them back to their hideout that night and begged them to let her join them. They finally relented and let her join the team. She still lived in the shadows of the night but now she had friends and respect and a grateful city. For alone she was just one monster but together they were superheros!

The Day She Discovered Her Superpower

July 4th 1984 started like all the other 4th of Julys she had experienced in her 14 years. Flags were proudly displayed on every lawn, dogs barked in yards and kids played on the sidewalks. They were heading to the parade that morning and then going over to the O’Malley’s for a bar-b-que and swim party. The parade was fun and she got a huge bag of candy. At 14 she was just on the verge of being too old for parades and bags of candy but for this one last summer she was still a kid that was until she discovered her power that afternoon at the pool party. It all started innocently enough. She realized as she was changing in the bathroom at the O’Malley’s that she had forgotten her t-shirt that she always wore over her swimsuit. Her mother who had always thought it strange she would wear a t-shirt to swim in told her to get changed and forget about the t-shirt. So that is what she did and when she walked out of the bathroom that day it was the first time that anyone in the last three years would see her without a bag shirt and they were surprised. The body in the swimsuit was that of a woman. At 14 she was still embarrassed by her shape and had tried, successfully since developing to hide it all behind large shirts. But in her swimsuit she was exposed and embarrassed, but the embarrassment went away quickly when Tommy O’Malley asked her to join his team for water volleyball. Tommy was the eldest O’Malley boy and at 17 with his beach blond looks he was popular with the girls and he had never in the 8 years she had known him ever given her the slightest acknowledgement, but today was different. She was different and she quickly realized the power she had been hiding behind that t-shirt. Over the next several years she would use that power without thought, she became very popular with the boys and liked the attention she got when she wore a low cut top. As the years passed and she got older and wiser she realized that the true power of her weapons was in knowing when to use them and when to conceal them.

New and Improved

She was not so sure that she liked the new and improved Lorali. As she looked at her new face in the mirror she felt slightly sick. Is this who she was now. This pert nosed full lipped beauty queen that looked back from the mirror. When she had first removed the bandages she felt giddy with anticipation but seeing the face was a whole different matter. She looked nothing like the old Lorali. Could she live with this new face. Would she become a different person with this new and improved face. She was scared for the first time since the surgery was suggested. Scared that she had made a mistake, scared that she would change, scared that no one would recognize her ever again. Her doctor entered the room and gently lead her back to the bed. In soothing words he told her not to worry that it would take a little time to get used to the new her. She fell into that dreamless sleep that only medication can bring.

The Doctor walked back to the observation room where his colleuges waited. " I am worried," he started " her heart rate skyrocketed when she saw her face, what if it can not hold out when she finally sees what we have done to the rest of her? What good will a cyborg be if her heart explodes just from the shock of being a cyborg."

Ordering Pizza

She was hungry and he was going to be late he said but that he had a way better excuse then the last time. Way Better! So she waited and when he got that there it was a better excuse, he had brought stuff to make dinner, Way better because she was hungry. But by the time they got around to making dinner it was already eight o clock and she was super hungry and secretly thought to herself maybe they should just order a pizza. As they cooked the dinner and her stomach would growl she would think to herself I wish we had just ordered a pizza. Then everything started to go wrong and the chicken burned then the rice boiled over and it was time to face the truth, they should have just ordered pizza. So she called the pizza place on the corner and ordered a pizza. As she sat and stared at the pizza all she could think about was how she really did not even like pizza!

Good Times

Now and then I sit and stare out of the window wondering how I got to this place in my life. Once i had been young and carefree; willing to do almost anything for a good time. But things have changed now and I am calmer and more set in my ways. Things I once did now appall me. I lived hard and fast and have the scars and body art to prove it. When your young you think the whole world is your oyster to use a cliched phrase. I really thought I would live that kind of life forever. I was stupid. Now I know that the things we do catch up with us and we will have regrets. But sometimes despite everything I remember myself then and feel a little wistful. Wistful for the beauty, the youth the innocence I had. Now as a sit and stare out of this barred window in this maximum security prison with all the other murders I know that beauty, youth and innocence do not last for ever and if I had been smarter I would have used those things wiser instead of wasting them a good time.

The Dance

On the edge of the dance floor stood the girl. She was small for her age and covered from head to toe in unrelenting black. Her classmates would have been surprised to learn that she loved to dance for they had never seen her dance at a single dance over the last four years. She had come to every dance but she always stood on the sidelines, alone. At this ,their Prom and final dance of High School, she came alone and stood on the side of the dance floor in her black dress. Not a single peek of skin was revealed by her dress. Most of her classmates could not remember if they had ever seen the girl's skin other then her hands and face for it seemed she was never without a long sleeve turtle neck and long pants. But none of her classmates ever really paid attention to the girl in black. There were ,at every High School, those kids everyone considered odd and she was one of them at their school. So when the clock struck midnight and she vanished from her spot no one seemed to notice. If they had been paying attention they would have seen the air next to her shimmer for a second and her quickly slip through the shimmer. If someone had noticed her disappearance and followed her through the shimmer they would have believed that the punch was spiked and what they were seeing was all in their imagination. For through that shimmer was another dance floor identical to theirs, except instead of the frolicking young students from Peyton High School the dance floor was full of monsters, demons, witches and vampires. And there on the dance floor was the girl in black, no longer in black but free of the constraints of the human world she removed her long dress to reveal a shimmering silver strapless dress. Her tattooed arms waving to the music she danced with her friends and practiced her magic. Reveling in the freedom to be herself.

When she returned home that night and her parents asked how the dance was she would replay as always, " It was fun." And her parents would be happy that the daughter they loved but who seemed so odd and weird to them at least made the effort to be normal every once in awhile.

The Walk

I saw a movie once at the National Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. It was at the end of the tour I took. We all filed into the small theater and the film started. Survivors told their stories. By the end I wept. A women shared her story in flashes. A man shared his in flashes. It was summer and she was going to school when her father made her change from her sandals to her winter boots. She thought he was crazy but he seemed so determined she did what he said. The man joined the US Army and went to fight in WWII. The day the woman wore her winter boots in the middle of the summer was the day her family was rounded up and sent to a concentration camp. She spent two years in that camp wearing her winter boots. Near the end of the war she was forced with thousand of others who had miraculously survived to march from one camp to the next in the middle of the winter. If she had not been wearing those boots she would have died. Her father was already dead. The man helped the US Army push into Germany. He had seen terrible things over the last few years but nothing prepared him for what was to come. When the German soldiers abandoned the camp where she was they were free but so many did not have the strength to leave. They were living skeletons. She and several other women went out side the gates to get water. There they were approached by US Soldiers who had come to liberate them. When he approached the group of women he was shocked. They were like skeletons with grey hair but none of them were older then twenty. He asked if he could help them, he called them ladies. When the US soldier called them ladies she wept. It was the first time in years anyone had ever referred to them as ladies. She fell in love with him just a little bit. That love would grow and be returned. They would marry and have children and one day would make a film that would be played in the National Holocaust Museum.

Left then right

First she turned left on Main street walked a few blocks and turned right into the alley. She dropped the bag of cash in the red dumpster and walked back out heading back the way she had come. It was all the money she had in the world but it was worth it to get him back. Who ever had done this had known her weakness. She was both angry and sad that someone must either hate her or was so desperate for money they would do this evil thing. 53,429 dollars. That was how much they wanted. It was exactly what she had in her savings account. She had a sneaking suspicion that the person who was doing this knew here and knew her pretty well. She walked back to her apartment on pins and needles. They said they would call once they had retrieved the money with the location to pick him up. She waited half the night for the call but it never came. She was devastated. She had done everything they asked but still they had not given him back. She cried that night for him. The the next morning through the haze of her tears she heard a faint barking. She jumped up. The barking seemed to be coming from the entry way of her apartment building. She threw open the door and there he was jumping with joy, wagging his little tail. Her baby was home.

The Pile

It lay in piles about the room, tall piles, small piles, wide piles, and very green piles. He came to the room often just to look at it. All that money just laying around. They had no use for money anymore but they kept it here stored in a subbasement of the Cultural History Museum. As a guard at the museum he had keys to everything and on his breaks he would often come down here to see the money. They had never had money during his life time and it was not until he had started working at the museum had he ever seen it. He could on a certain level understand its draw. It was so lovely to look at. They had not need of money now. Everything was was kept on little chips embedded in the back of the neck. When he got paid they ran a scanner across his neck, when he bought food they ran a scanner across his neck, and when he bought a dirty magazine they scanned his neck. It was easier that way. But when he looked at those piles of money he sometimes wished for the old days. One of his co-workers would make fun of him always telling him statistics about crime and money and germs and money. He knew it was not healthy but he loved the look of it. He imagined that spending it had felt good. To actually have something tangible as proof of days work must have been nice. So it was not a surprise to his co-workers when he was discovered that day, naked and laughing, rolling around in the piles of money.

The Hospital Morgue

It was cold, really cold in here she thought. She threw off the blanket and tried to sit up. She rammed her head against the ceiling. Was she dreaming? She sat up again scrunching down to avoid hitting her head. The ceiling was maybe two feet from the bed. She felt around in the darkness and only felt the cold sides of this room she was in or better yet this box she was in. What the heck was happening. She started to shake and then screamed as loud as she could. Nothing, no one! Her neck throbbed as if it had been torn open. She tried to figure a way out of this cold box but she could not find a latch on what appeared to be a door at the end of the long box. Then a thought struck her. Was she in a coffin? Was she buried alive? She screamed again. Nothing! Oh my God, Oh My God she thought I have been buried alive. Who would do this? How did they do it? She did not remember much from the party the night before. All she remembered was dancing and drinking and people dressed in crazy costumes. She had spent weeks deciding the perfect costume for the Halloween party. She had found the delicate white silk dress at a thrift store and then splattered it with fake blood. She had painstakingly painted on the bite marks for her costume. She had gotten so many compliments on her Vampire's Victims costume. Then the very good looking guy dressed as Dracula had found her. She was sure it was true love, they had spent the entire evening together. But then it all went hazy and she could not remember the rest of the evening and now she was buried alive in this steel box. She began to scream and kick and cry and then light at the end of the tunnel. She was slowly pulled out of the steel box. She blinked at the bright light. Looking around she saw that she was in a hospital morgue. She sat up touched her neck and realized that the bite marks were not the result of her make-up. He was standing with his hand held out for her. She put her hand in his and stood up.

" Ah my little victim, the night is ours." Dracula said

The Queens Law

The Queen stood on the small balcony over looking the parade area. She was pleased, the preparations for tomorrows celebration were almost complete and every thing looked wonderful. She turned and walked back into the palace with a satisfied smile on her face. She decide to retire to her rooms for the evening and prepare herself for the next days celebration. She slept that night secure in herself and the laws she had set forth for this land. She was ,to her mind, a wonderful leader and tomorrows celebration would reinforce all the good that had happened since she had come to power.
The next morning she dressed with care in her brilliant blue sparkly frock and proceeded to the same balcony on which she had observed the preparations the day before. The parade ground was crowded with her subjects and a loud cheer went up when she stepped out on the balcony. This was it, the culmination of everything she had just spent the last year doing. A celebration of her first year as Queen. When she had passed her first decree she was uncertain how her people would take it but they had accepted it without reserve and once that decree had been put into action and all the humans eliminated it was easier to impose her rule on her subjects.
She stepped forward to the railing of the balcony raised her hand for silence and a hush fell over the crowd. " Friends, Robots and countrymen lend me your audio sensors......"

Dream Job

What do you do for a living he asked? She looked at him seriously and said, " I sell world Peace." he laughed thinking she was joking, " No really what do you do?" It was the same every time, they always laughed, no one ever took her seriously. But what she said was the truth, although admittedly she did say it to be cute and funny. It invariably worked, people laughed and thought she was charming and clever. She would then explain she was a fundraiser for an organization that was working toward the ultimate goal of world peace by eradicating poverty, etc, etc. They would nod their head and say the same thing, " Who doesn't want world peace." So she used the line often and the result was always the same, but she believed most people really did not get it, that the idea of real World Peace was so foreign to them that they could never understand that when she said it she really meant it. Sometimes at night she would fall asleep thinking about all the things that needed to be done at work and just like any job there were little annoyances she had to take care off and as she fell asleep sometimes these would be in her head but as she dreamed on those nights it was never about the annoyances but about a world full of peace and happiness for everyone, she knew it was a cliche but when she awoke on those mornings after such dreams she felt energized and would smile into her cereal bowl in the morning thinking about how best to sell her product.

Sorry, No Scribble

The teacher had written this on his first piece of art that fateful day in first grade. When he read it his little mind rebelled. Who was she to judge that his scribble was not art. So from that day forward he refused to draw anything but scribbles. They were beautiful in there simplicity. Each time his drawings would come back with comments about his scribbling when he was asked to draw a house or his family. He did not care his teacher was a philistine. In High School his scribblings got darker and richer with color, but all the while he continued to fail every art class he took. But he cared not for their F's and continued to scribble his heart out. Perhaps no one would ever see what he saw in those beautiful colorful scribbles. In college he continued with his art. Having given up hope that anyone would recognize the true beauty of his work he was surprised to be asked to exhibit his art in the annual College Art Show. When he won the first prize he was even more Surprised. 15 Years later he was still surprised of his success. His Art sold for millions and was displayed in every major Art Museum in the world. That first Art Teacher had even sent him a note after his first major exhibit. " I was wrong, scribble all you want!"

Hi my name is......

Sherry and I like long walks on the beach, sunsets and white wine. For the hundredth time that day he heard those same words, hi my name is! It was a tiring job to say the least and he was sure that when his grandmother had paid for is college degree she had not expected that this is what he would be doing with that degree. But getting a degree in English Literature with a specialization in mid 19Th century male nature writers was not the best degree to try to look for work. So he had ended up here editing these dating videos for The Romance Movie Dating service. All the videos seemed to be the same. Long walks and sunsets. For two years he had seen the same thing over and over again. It had in fact made him very cynical about true romance and he guessed he would never meet the woman of his dreams. But the next video changed his mind and life forever. Hi my name is Electa and I like to dance in the rain during the full moon, I like to sing at the top of my lungs while driving and I love to read mid 19Th century British novels about nature.

The Collection

She typed in the secret code and walked into the room. With a whisper the steel door closed behind her. It was in this room that she felt the most like herself. calm and secure. She went over to the large comfy chair and sat down. Then when she was comfortable she flicked the remote control and the lights came on casting a soft glow over her collection. She had spent years assembly this collection and although no one else would ever see it she was proud. Proud of the time she had spent in collecting it. proud of the room she had built to house it and proud of her ability to keep quiet about the collection. If anyone ever found out about it she would lose the collection for sure. They we come for it and her and know one would ever see her again she was sure. She sat back in the chair and looked around. It was truly the most lovely collection ever. It was in fact now after all of her hard work the only collection of its kind in existence and she hoped that it would be so for ever. As she looked at the all war heads in this room and housed in the basements that went deep into the earth surface her pride came back in force. Pride in a job well done. For this collection of warheads was in fact every single warhead on the planet and not a single soul knew that she had spent the last ten years replacing every nuclear warhead in the world with fakes and that she had all the real ones. She took a bottle of champagne from the small refrigerator next to her chair, uncorked the bottle and toasted her collection.

The Writing on the Wall

Dear John,

I am writing this on the back of this match book because there is no other paper in your house and in fact that is one reason why I am leaving you. How can a person live their life without notepads and notebooks. For God sakes I could not even find an old receipt. You have no books! But I digress. It is not you it is me. I was stupid. All I saw was a pretty face and great abs. You have a six pack! I admit I was blinded by your beauty for a while. I had never been with a guy who looked like you before and it was fun and sexy, but I need more. I need someone who will argue with me about politics and religion and world events and why batman is a way better superhero then Superman. I want someone who reads. Reads a lot and wants to talk about those books. I want someone who is willing to make fun of himself and do stupid stuff like dance in the middle of the Museum of Art even when there is no music. Do you even know where the Museum of Art is? Really it is me not you. I am sure there is some woman out there for you it just is not me. I need more! Good-bye John it was fun but I have got to think about myself here.

Have a good Life,

Sylvia

The Industrial Psychologist

He sat there day in and day out listening to them answer the questions that would either prove they would be a reliable employee or they would be a terrible risk to hire. The company he worked for sold paper and before he took this job he had not realized how difficult selling paper apparently was. The questions he asked often brought the perspective employees to tears. It seemed at times there were no sane people left in the world. The door to his office opened and his secretary said, “Your 3 o’clock is here Dr. Lazer.”

His three o’clock walked through the door and he could already tell the man was not going to make the cut. He was interviewing for a job in sales and Dr. Lazer could already tell from his nervous energy that he was going to fail this test. The man sat down and Dr. Lazer began asking him questions, probing his psyche. After twenty minutes of questions Dr. Lazer was pleasantly surprised that the man was doing so well. All that changed with the next question. It was the question that often made or broke the interviewee. So Dr. Lazer asked the man, “If I were to make the statement that in the future only Robots will know love. What would your response be?” The man just sat there with a defeated look on his face and began to cry. Dr. Lazer was disappointed. This is what happened every time he asked this question. Only about 1 in a 100 was able to pull them selves together and answer the question with a semblance of intelligence. When the man sobs finally stopped Dr. Lazer escorted him to the door. It seemed as if they would never fill this job.

Dr. Lazer went back to his desk and sat down. He picked up the picture of his family and felt all his gears and bits and hard drives whir with emotion. In the end Dr. Lazer knew that the last question was unfair to his human interviewees. And there were times he regretted having to use it to weed out the loose cannons because both he and the humans all knew that the future was now.

I get that sinking feeling

She heard the crash before she felt the jolt jar through her body. As it did she lost her balance and fell. The sirens went off as she was rising from the floor. She calmly went to the bed and rummaged under it until she felt the soft padding of the life vest. She pulled it out and put it on over her lovely evening gown. It was her first grown up gown and she felt very beautiful in it. It was a lovely pale blue silk that clug to her body in all the right places. She went to the door and looked out in the hallway. It was empty, which she thought very odd. She realized that other then the siren it was eerily quite, no screaming or running. She made her way down the hallway toward the stairwell. As she approached the stairs the ship jerked violently to the left and she was thrown first to the floor and then as the ship tipped she was on the left wall. Oh no she thought, this ship is sinking.

With a loud roar the ship was sucked into the ocean and the light blue silk quickly turned to midnight as the ocean swallowed it.

Dear Diary

It lay on the table. All of her deep dark secrets contained in the little book. It was lovely to look at with its sparkly flowers embossed on a pale blue background. The only thing keeping those secrets inside was the little lock on the front. To read it would be the greatest violation of her trust, but not to read it would be a lost chance to know everything that went on in her mind. He really wanted to know everything that went on in her mind. He had loved her for as long as he could remember and it was slowly killing him. He never seemed to be able to say the right thing to her to convince her that they were perfect together. So he held the little key in his hand that just may unlock all of his dreams or would it crush them? He was so uncertain. He had never had to face such a dilemma before and he was sure that he would never have to face this kind of dilemma again. He held the key up to the light and watched as the it gleamed. What should he do? He sat for many minutes holding that key trying to decide what he should do. Finally he picked up the diary and took the key and went over to the bedside table. He carefully put the book back in the drawer where he found it and placed the key under the lamp just like she had left it. He left the room, firm in his decision.

20 years later on their 10Th wedding anniversary she gave him a small package. He unwrapped it, expecting to see a watch or some such thing but there folded in the paper was the diary. She leaned over and kissed him as he opened the diary and read the first entry.

Dear Diary,
My brothers friend Steve came over again today. I think I may be in love. He is so funny and smart and handsome. But he is a junior! Do you think a junior and a freshman can date? I really like him! I wonder if he could ever like me!"

The decision

The decision to do it was not an easy one. After she did it she was pretty sure it was the wrong decision. She should have spent more time thinking about it but she was like that, impulsive. Besides it was too late now anyway. It was done and she could not change it. She resolved right then to be less impulsive and think her decisions through more. It was really too bad that she would never have the chance to put that resolution into practice, but when you decide the fate of mankind on an impulse you really only have yourself to blame. She watched from her window in the Oval Office as the first mushroom cloud appeared on the horizon toward New York city. It was really too bad she was a bad decision maker.

The Perfect Heart

The first time she realized it she was only eleven, but it was not until she was thirteen that she felt it. That day started like any. She put on her favorite pair of jeans and a loose fitting tee shirt and went to school. It was during math class that it happened. The boy was neither a crush nor a friend but when he told her she was fat she felt it. Felt it in her core. From that day forward she felt as if she was a fat girl. In college she made a friend by chance only because she had jokingly commented that if she had lived during Rubens time he would have painted her. In reality she was far too thin for Rubens tastes, but when she looked in the mirror all she saw was fat. She nearly starved herself her sophomore year weighing in at 92 pounds, something she was very proud of at the time. Also at the time she was chased after by men like she never had been before and never would be again. With her 34 double D’s and size 2 body, she was the Barbie doll all men dreamed of. But in reality she was not much more then a skeleton. She gained most of the weight back when she realized she could not go on never eating. She liked food too much. It was not until she was in her thirties that she realized she was not fat. Curvy, womanly, bodacious perhaps but not fat. But the Phenomenon that was the skinny, skinny woman was well entrenched in society and still she heard the comments and occasionally, not often but occasionally still cringed from the sight of her own body. But the day she went to a new doctor and he checked her heart rate and listened to her heart and asked if she did anything aerobic and she replied walked, he said “Well it must be working because your heart rate is perfect, your heart sounds perfect.” Vindication at last. She would have bet her perfect heart that those phenomenally skinny women could not claim they had “a perfect heart!”

Wicked, Wicked Girl

Her first fully formed memory was of her third birthday. She had wanted a Suzie doll. The baby you fed a bottle to and she got a diaper rash. It was all she wanted. What she got was a regular baby doll that only closed its eyes when it slept. She cut off its hair and pulled out its eye lashes and then buried the whole thing in the back yard. Her stepmother called her a wicked, wicked girl. She knew that she was suppose to feel bad about it and that being a wicked, wicked girl was not a good thing but when she repeated the words to herself and they rolled around on her tongue she felt good and liked they way they sounded. So for the next 10 years she did everything in her power to be a wicked, wicked girl. She never did what she was told, she always behaved badly in public and as the years went on she was told over and over what a wicked girl she was. She knew that her stepmother hated her and she did not blame her. So when they sent her to the boarding school she was prepared. it only took her ten days to get expelled. At the next boarding school it only took seven, the next three and the last one only 4 hours. She was wicked and she liked it. The hour before her life changed she was once again rolling the word wicked around on her tongue and as always it tasted good. When the train stopped she did not notice at first. Not until she saw them did she realize what was happening. They converged on the train and people began to scream. She grabbed her bag and sunk to the floor. She knew they would eventually find her and she had to be ready. When she heard them coming she jumped up and sprayed the can of mace right into the leaders eyes. He yelped and dropped his gun. She ran. Ran as fast and as far as her legs would take her. She stopped to rest and tried to think of a plan. she would have to disappear. Her parents had finally done what they said they would do every time she did something wicked. They had sent these men she was certain and if she did not get away they would make sure she was not wicked anymore.

The Large Appliance Department

His name was not Bob but that is what he used while selling large Appliances at the Sears on Lawrence Avenue. He was grumpy and with his gravely voice he scared off some of the pretty young things that come in during the hottest part of the summer to buy a air condition. It seemed like Bob had spent his life around large appliances because he knew so much about BTU,s and electric coils. But Bob had only worked at that Sears for a couple years. Before that he had lived in Tuscon and sold cars, before that he had lived in Topeka and sold mattresses and even before that he had lived in the Twin cities driving a snow plow for the city. If the pretty young things buying those air conditioners had stopped to notice they may have figured it out, but most never took the time. From his dress shoes to his three gold rings and large gold chain around his neck to his slicked backed hair Bob was so obviously not a Bob that it was a common joke among his co-workers. Little did they know that the joke was on them. When they joked about how he did not look like your typical Midwestern Bob, he just nodded his head and said nothing. He liked his job at Sears and the city he lived in and had no real desire to move again, so he kept his thoughts to himself on the subject of his name. What he wanted to say was " That is right you idiots, I ain't no Bob, my name is Tony and I come from Trenton and in the blink of I could break your neck and have your body disposed of!" But he didn't and besides he did not mind the name Bob so much at least it was better then the name he had in Topeka.

"What's your sign?"

“What’s your sign?” The man sitting next to her asked. She glanced over at him with disdain. Did he really just ask that question? Had she some how been transported back in time to 1978? He looked normal enough and was actually kind of cute so she wondered what he was thinking by using such a silly pick-up line. When she turned back toward him he was gone. That was weird she thought but as she sipped her drink and tried to forget about her terrible day she forgot about him and listened to the inane conversation her friends were having about some celebrity. The next morning as she was just coming out of that deep refreshing sleep one achieves from just a few glasses of wine she recalled the guy and his “ What’s your sign?” line. The more she thought about it the odder it seemed. That afternoon while she was sitting at the café drinking her coffee and typing on her laptop the last thing she expected to hear was that same question “What’s your sign?” This time it came from an elderly women sitting next to her at the coffee shop. “You look like a Gemini, are you a Gemini dear?” She could only nod her head yes as the woman started to babble on about Gemini and their traits. She packed up her lap top finished her coffee and escaped. Two days in a row the same question, this was getting weirder by the moment. The next evening as she walked her dog along the path by the lake she heard it ever so faintly wafting on the breeze from the beach, “What’s your sign?” She jerked her head up and looked toward the beach but did not see anyone there. Weird! After several days with no one uttering those three words again she forgot about the weirdness of it all and after several weeks it did not cross her mind again. So the day it happened she was not prepared for it, if she had maybe noticed the signs she would not have been walking alone that night along that stretch of road where he was known to have struck before.

The next morning the paper waited on her front door step. A door step she would never cross again. The headline read, “Gemini Killer Strikes again.”

It Started With a Scab

She picked at the scab on her knee. It felt good and when the scab slowly peeled away leaving a shiny bloody spot it felt even better. That was how it started, the cutting. As a remembrance of that day she first picked at a scab as a small girl. Now she cut all the time and each time she did it felt better then it had the last time. She hid the cuts behind long sleeves and no one had guessed yet and that also made her feel good, knowing that it was her secret.

He was a Hit and Run Hugger

As he crossed the street he did not notice the taxi that was zooming toward the intersection. Perhaps the taxi driver was distracted by the pretty girl in the back of his cab but he failed to notice the red light and ran it, hitting the man crossing the street. There was a slight thump as the taxi winged the man’s right leg but he remained upright and although he would have a nasty bruise he was uninjured. The taxi screeched to a halt, the driver jumped out ran toward the man and screamed, “Are you hurt?” The man shook his head no and then as if possessed the taxi driver reached out and hugged the man. He released him as quickly as he had hugged him and ran back to his cab, screeching as he fled the scene.

The Corn

When she left the city on the lake to drive home to her parents for a week-end or a holiday she would drive straight down the interstate. With each proceeding mile the city would become a distant memory of steel and concrete as the cornfields and cow pastures grew more numerous. She would exit the interstate at a small town 9 miles from the tiny town she grew up in and although she cherished every minute in that city on the lake she always felt like she was coming home as she sped through the fields high with corn. That is how she remembered her childhood. Corn. It had been everywhere. Across the street and up on the hill and surrounding her High School. She recalled long summer drives on lone country roads with corn six feet high on both sides. She and her brother and friends had built a corn fort one summer. Knocking down the stalks in a circle that surely from the air looked like a crop circle. Corn. It had played a large part in her world in the country. In the city she only found corn in cans or in a farmers market stall. But she could still conjure in her minds eye a dark night lite only by the moon with corn surrounding her as she walked the country road near the house she grew up in and if she tried really hard she could still remember the scent of the corn in the night.

The Birthday Girl

She stood on the corner in her party dress. The lyrics from that song that everyone can sing kept running through her head. “It’s my party and I will cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you.” She was not crying, but she was very tempted to let the tears she was holding back flow. The party was not supposed to end with her standing on the corner in her party dress. She was supposed to be dancing and laughing and having a great time. It was her birthday after all. But no she was standing here, waiting for a bus. This was supposed to be the best birthday ever and it had so far turned out to be the worst, even worse then the year she had chicken pox. A single tear slid from her eye as she tried to force her mind from the depressing images that flashed before her eyes of the spoiled cake and screaming match that had occurred, her friend’s looks of horror. Her hand still hurt from where she had slapped him. Slapped harder then he deserved but when what you expected as a present is so far from what you get you may become a little irrational. Was she really that hard to read? Did her friends and family really think she would want a gift card to Home Depot? Who were they buying that gift for, certainly not her! The worst birthday ever, but still the waiter did not deserve that slap. It was just a little water.

Zombie War

The mask slipped down a little. She was sweating and her hair and face were slick with the sweat. She tightened the straps on her mask to make sure it slipped no more. If any of the rancid air got in she would be dead. She gripped the machine gun in her hand even tighter. Her team of hunters were tired. This was the 10th patrol in a row they had taken, but so many of the other patrol teams had lost too many members to take this, the most dangerous patrol of the night. She walked slowly behind her captain as she heard the large town clock strike midnight. Twelve gongs rang out through the night, signalling the beginning of feeding time for them. THEM, that is what they called them. THEM, those who had been their loved ones once. THEM, those who ate the flesh of humans, THEM, those who should have stayed buried in the ground but now walked among the living. She clearly remembered the night she was on patrol and finally encountered a former loved one. Her sister! She had done what was necessary but it still had hurt her heart when she had severed the head of the thing that had been her sister. Her family was all gone now and all she had left were the men on this team, they were now her family and she would do anything to make sure none of them were ever turned into one of THEM. She tightened her mask again and prepared for the fight that would surely come as THEY began to feed.

Turning Back Time

The room whirled and danced as she spun herself around and around just like she had as a small girl. Her vision started to blur as she spun faster and faster. Finally she landed with a thump on the floor. Rubbing her thigh where she had landed and was sure to have a bruise later she wobbled her way to the kitchen still dizzy from the spinning. She checked the clock on the microwave and then went to the calendar, hoping to see the calendar turned back to April. But it was still firmly set at June. She new it was futile these crazy attempts at turning time back, but she had to do something. She had ruined it and the only way to get a second chance was to go back in time. She had tried everything, pleading, begging, crying, cajoling, everything! Nothing had worked. He was gone and he was not going to ever give her a second chance. The restraining order was sitting on the coffee table as she wandered back to the family room. Had he really done that? Had she really been that bad? She knew that the calls and e-mails were endless but did he really have to file a restraining order, she only wanted a chance to explain. Explain that it had been a mistake and that she was really sorry. Was that really too much to ask for? She lay down on the floor and looked at the ceiling. The spinning had been her tenth attempt at turning back time, all ideas she had gotten from the internet. None had worked. Tears started to leak at the corners of her eyes as she remembered the confrontation two months ago. He had been so angry and she had done a terrible job of trying to explain and that was it. It was over. She cried herself to sleep that night knowing that there sometimes were no second chances.

The Ocean Voyage

When she saw the ship slowly moving into the port she knew her freedom was over. She had married him in that spur of the moment movement that was sweeping across the country in the first years of the war. He had been funny and handsome and was leaving in the morning for the war front where he might possibly die. They had spent one night together, their wedding night and in the morning he was gone. She was not even sure she could really remember what he looked like. She had spent the last three years marveling at the freedom the wedding ring on her finger gave her. With a husband over seas fighting she was granted the freedom to live alone and work and spend as much time with her friends as she wanted. It was the first time in her life she had never had to report her whereabouts to anyone and she loved it. Every minute of it. Free, like the waves of the ocean which were bringing that freedom to an end.

He sat on his bunk as the waves of the ocean lapped at the sides of the ship that was slowly making its way into the harbor. He tried to drown out the voice in his head by listening to the slap of those waves against the ship, but it was no use. The voice kept repeating one word over and over and over again. That word was Idiot. He had been an idiot to marry a girl he had just met and knew nothing about the night before he left for war. But he had been sure he was going to die in that war and she had been funny and pretty. And now here he was. Stuck, trapped, and imprisoned in a marriage with a woman he did not know. As the waves drew the ship closer to shore he closed his eyes and tried not to think about the freedom he would lose when this ocean voyage ended.

The Wings

When he was born the wings on his back were laying flat against his body and the doctors and nurses did not notice them at first but as they placed him in his mothers arms one nurse noticed the pale blue and green iridescent color of the wings. She said nothing. Later that day after she finished her shift she went to the nursery to find the boy with the wings, but he was not there. When she asked around she found out that he had been air lifted to another hospital for surgery. The floor was filled with the gossip of the boy with wings and how he was sent to have those wings removed. The nurse said nothing but she would quit that job in a few weeks and disappear. She had been quite and no one really noticed when she left. The boy would grow up forever hiding his back from everyone, including his parents, who had never fully recovered from the trauma of his birth. They had no other children for fear that they too would have the same terrible defect as their son, whom they had never told about the wings only the surgery to "fix his spine". So on his 15th birthday when he felt the first tingles in his back where the wings had once been he thought nothing of it. That night when he took off his clothes and saw the first sprouts of the wings he screamed. His mother came running into the room and when she saw the pale blue and green of the sprouting wings she fainted. When they tried to explain to their son about his birth he grew silent. The wings by now had grown to just over four feet each. He could wrap them around his body and cover them with a shirt. Over the next few years his parents tried to have him get them removed, but he refused. On his eighteenth birthday he gave his parents a birthday gift and disappeared. They were relieved. He told no one of the wings but whenever he got the chance he would soar over the countryside with his beautiful wings sparkling in the sunlight. One day ten years after leaving home as he was flying over a empty field far out in the country he spotted a speck that seemed to be moving toward him. He dropped to the ground and waited. As if dancing on the wind a young woman came into view and dropped down in front of him. The stared at each other for a few seconds and then he started asking questions, he was out of breath and she was laughing. She patiently answered all of his questions about who she was, where she came from, and why she too had wings. As they sat and talked he noticed a shimmer in the distance. She jumped up and started fluttering her wings. She explained that it was her family approaching. He was shocked as a group of people floated down to where they stood.

"Those Wings of yours are just as lovely now as they were when you were born." said the young woman's mother.

I have been shot

So on Sunday morning I was minding my own buisness walking my dog when out of nowhere my arch nemisis, Joshi, appeared and proceeded to pull out a gun, aim it at me and shoot me. Multiple shots to the head, chest and stomach. Joshi is almost three now and it was a water gun, but still he shot me and was laughing the whole time. The little monster.

City on the Lake

She had spent large portions of her life moving from one place to another, never feeling like she was home. In those places she did not call home she had a good life but something always seemed to be missing. So when she returned from a stay over seas and settled in a city where for once her parents and siblings all lived she felt maybe this would be home. But over the next five years they all left. Left her in this dirty, sad and broken city that was slowly falling apart at the seams. Her family was gone and she had no boyfriend and only a few friends and a job she loathed so what was keeping her tied to this city? Nothing. She packed her bags and moved to the gleaming city by the lake and on that very first day in her new city she felt as if she was coming home. Something in the air and on the wind made the strings of her heart strum for this city. She felt it deep in her bones. She had no real connection to this city, other then brief visits for fun and work and a glimmer of past knowledge of her grandmother’s youth here. It was not until she discovered the manuscript buried in a filing cabinet drawer in her parents garage. When she read the history of her grandmother’s family and learned that they had chosen to build their hotel, before the turn of the century, in that gleaming city on the lake she felt her heart strings strum again. She read of the hotel and her great grandmother, she read about her thirteen year old grandmother taking the train downtown, she read about the city her family had loved and she knew without a doubt that she was home. Home in a city that had everything, museums, shops, theaters, comedy, friends and lovers. But most importantly roots. Her roots.