One Given Freely

Torrential rains poured down on the poor miller's house. His wife and two sons watched the rain through their window and ate thin pottage. The flooded river turned the mill wheel, but no one brought them grain in such horrid weather. Rain turned to sleet, wrapping the world in a glistening coat of ice. The family ate water boiled with a sprinkle of oats as they watched the grass freeze.

Sleet turned to driven snow. The mill wheel froze in the river, and the snow blinded them. They could see nothing out their window while they ate their boiled water.

"The winter demands life," said the younger son. "One given freely is worth four stolen." Though the family argued, he put on his Sunday best and walked out into the cold. On his first step, they begged him to return. The second they were silent. After three steps, they could no longer see him.

With the next dawn, the sky had cleared. Four steps outside their front door, the family found a pile of snow shaped like a man. Beneath the snow, they found ice. Beneath the ice, they found only more ice, for the winter had accepted his sacrifice.

As Cool As That

Jenny watched the man as he went by, appreciating his fedora. "Man, I wish I had a hat as cool as that." "Grrrrrrrranted!" boomed an echoing voice. All around her, a purple haze rose into the air, and a muscular, shirtless man stepped out from the mist, his bright grin showing through his beard. Jenny stepped back in surprise, wondering if she had her mace, then reflexively caught a ratty purple beanie as it appeared in front of her.

"This... really doesn't compare with that fedora," she said.

"No, maybe not," said the genie, "but it is exactly the same temperature!"

"Really? That's your loophole?" The genie laughed. "Wait, will they always be the same temperature?"

"Of course! My wishes are always true!"

"Okay, so I could use this as some kind of remote temperature gauge. Maybe send it into the deep ocean for readings... or the Earth's core. No, it would burn up. Holy shit! We could launch it into a black hole, and take readings from the other side!"

"What?" said the genie.

"I've got to get that hat," Jenny said, running after the man.

"Why do I feel like I screwed this one up?" asked the genie.

The Questionable Word

"What does 'fucking' mean?" the young girl asked from the backseat. The driver turned down the music that had presented the questionable word. "You, um, you don't need to know that."

"But what is it?" She sounded innocent.

"It's, well, it means to have sex with, or like, to do sex to someone, I guess?"

"Oh." She did not sound enlightened. "What's sex?"

The driver ran a hand through his hair. "Um, how old are you, kid?"

"I'm six."

"That's not old enough to know about sex."

"I know lots of things. I know that fuck is a bad word and I shouldn't say it."

"Damn straight, kid. You shouldn't hear it, either. I'm gonna change the music." He fiddled with the radio.

"That's also a bad word."

"What?"

"Damn is a bad word."

"Oh. Well, it's not as bad as fu—ehh, as the f-word."

"Yeah, some words are bad, and some words are really bad."

"Oh, thank God, we're here." He pulled into an empty lot behind a warehouse spotted with spraypaint and broken windows. "All right, so I'm going to call your daddy, and once he gives me the money, you can go home. Okay?"

She shrugged. "Okay."

Two Yard Penalty

Standing up, he put on his slick jacket and leaned on the busy diner's counter. Hoisting his bag, he smiled at the waitress he'd been chatting with. "Hey, want to go out sometime?" She smiled. "No, thanks, but you have a good day."

His smile sagged. "Why not?"

Her smile faltered. "Ummm..."

A shrill whistle blew and both of of them jumped. An androgenous person in a black-and-white striped shirt stepped forward. "Social foul! Two yard penalty!" A sweeping gesture separating the hands accompanied the declaration. Both stared, but the newcomer continued the gesture until the man backed up several steps.

"That's better." The referee turned to go.

"Hey, what's the penalty for?" demanded the fellow.

The ref held up a card. "Yellow card for questioning rejection. You don't need to know why. Social code subsection two, paragraph sixteen. Accept rejections graciously. Do not press, exceptions granted by preestablished agreement."

"That's bullshit," he said. "There's nothing wrong with—"

The whistle interrupted him again. "Two months out of the dating pool for arguing over rejection! You're outta here!" Amid cheers and jeers, he skulked out of the diner.

"Thanks, Social Ref!" The waitress and referee shared a high five.

Freeze frame.

There Already

"Are we there yet?" Maria asked. "For the hundredth time," said her mother, "no, we're not there yet. Not for another couple hours."

Maria stared out the window at the sun-drenched California landscape. "I wish we were there already."

A violet mist filled the car. "What the hell?" said her mother.

"Your wish is granted!" boomed a voice. Maria and her brother looked at the middle seat, where a muscular, shirtless man now sat, cramped, with a bright smile and a thick beard. He brought his hands together, and with a sound like a thunderclap, the four of them and the genie appeared inside Disneyland.

"Thanks, Genie!" Maria hugged him.

He looked uncomfortable. "Um, people don't usually appreciate me."

"Well," Maria's mother said, "you got us where we wanted to be, without the hours of travel. Thank you! Is there anything we can do for you?"

"No, really, there's nothing." The genie disappeared, looking kind of guilty.

"Well, kids," she said, "let's have a great time."

It was only hours later, after the security personnel escorted them from the park for not having passes, that they heard the news about an empty car causing a huge pileup on Interstate 5.

They Win Again

"You ever think we're just not real?" Mighty Man slowed his struggle with Devillain's power armor. "Is this another one of your tricks?"

"Not a trick." Devillain sounded resigned. "Just... you ever get the idea we do this for someone's entertainment?"

"Foolish nonsense!" Mighty Man punched another hellblaster cannon off Devillain's suit.

"Really! With your rule against killing and the lax prison system, we'll inevitably clash again and again. It's the perfect setup!" The Judas Beam smashed Mighty Man across the street into a haberdashery.

"We'd not fight if you abandoned your devilish villainry!" Mighty Man cannonballed into Devillain, propelling them through a sandwich shop.

"I know I can't win!" He fired off a round of imp missiles. "You're super strong, and nothing hurts you! Why wouldn't I stop?"

Mighty Man froze. "Um, why don't you?"

"The writers don't want me to."

"Writers? Come on."

"Look." Devillain exited his suit. "I'm done, okay?"

"Back to jail with you, then."

"Except this time, I'm going to the morgue." Devillain drew a knife and thrust it into his own heart.

"No!" Mighty Man's unyielding grip stopped the knife before it went more than skin deep.

"See?" Devillain sounded exhausted. "They win again."

Durance of the Accused

"The court finds it undeniable that Aelfir Arond did hunt, torment, and slay over four score humans during the period beginning in the third year of the second reign of Queen Earigoth and ending in the eighth year of the second reign of King Haelminoth." The lawspeaker addressed the queen and the accused with a rather smug look on his face, ignored because elves always look rather smug. "Does the accused have any final statements before hearing passage of sentence?" asked Queen Imfaer Palmiar. Her voice was distant like a third echo.

"No," spoke Arond. "No fate you can consign me to will take away the pleasure I have stolen under your noses. Perhaps one day you will realize the joys you deny yourselves." Arond looked smug even for an elf.

"Very well," spoke the queen. "We sentence you to community service." The smug look fell off Arond's face at once. "Your new name is Fizzbert. Report to Santa's workshop by morning or face severance from the elfinstone. The accused's durance is to be until the third year of Queen Earigoth's fourth reign." The gavel struck.

Lawspeaker, queen, and audience departed, leaving only an empty courtroom, and Fizzbert, who wept.