The Banker and the Farmer

A Farmer was on his way to market when he came across an Investment Banker who had hurt his foot. The Banker could not walk and begged the Farmer to bring him into town. Now, the Farmer was not rich. In fact, all he had in the world were his crops and the two-wheeled cart that he pulled himself. But he took pity on the Banker and promised to pull him to town.

With his wares and the Banker together, the cart was too heavy to pull for long. He stopped and told the Banker he would have to walk a short while or they would both be late.

"You agreed to carry me the entire way!" cried the Banker. "You will have to owe me additional carriage." They walked an hour until the Banker's demanded to return to the cart, and they went thus the rest of the way to town.

"Wait!" cried the Banker. "You owe me additional carriage. Because you did not pay it immediately, you have incurred a fee for late payment. I am adding a farthing to your debt."

When the Farmer refused to pay, the Banker had his goods confiscated to pay the difference.

Big Bird Made Sure

"What is it, Telly Monster?" Maria found her red friend hiding behind Oscar's trash pile. Oscar was nowhere to be seen. "What's wrong?" "He's back." Telly's voice quavered with fear.

"Oh, Telly Monster, did you have a nightmare?" Maria picked him up and sat him next to her on the steps. "Well, it was just a dream. You remember how Big Bird made sure he'd never come back?"

"Yeah..." Telly Monster didn't seem convinced. "But Oscar said he was back."

"Oscar? That rat! Oscar! Oscaaaaar!" Maria called for him, but with no response.

"He left," Telly Monster said. "Said Bruno was taking him to Bali until it's safe."

"Really?" Now Maria sounded concerned. "Have... have you seen Elmo?"

"Me already found Elmo." The gravelly voice made them jump. "Elmo not very good hider."

"Oh, God, I..." Maria backed away. "How long have you been back?"

"Not long." The voice came closer.

"What... what about Big Bird?"

"Me admit, me bit off more than me could chew, that time."

Maria and Telly Monster found their backs against a wall. "Um, do you, do you want a cookie?"

"No," said Cookie Monster. "Cookies are a sometimes food." His black maw opened wide.

She Found an Abandoned Suitcase outside Her House... You'll Never Believe What Was Inside!

Jenine parked in the driveway. She couldn't wait until Garry cleared out his junk and she could park in the garage again. She stopped three feet from her door, because a suitcase barred her way. It sat on her stoop, dingy, outer fabric worn, without any nametag that she could see. Scowling at it, Jenine saw one of the clasps was open. Squatting beside it, she undid the other clasp and slipped the suitcase open. With a gasp, she slammed it shut.

Her scowl gone, she opened the suitcase again with wide eyes, this time slowly, as though she expected something to leap out. She looked into the long, dark tunnel inside, skewing off at an oblique angle and glowing with a faint, pulsing red light. She lifted the case, but saw only the dusty concrete of her front step beneath it.

Rooting around inside her purse, she pulled out a tin of mints and dropped one down. Then she dropped the entire tin, watching it fall away into the distance. Tentatively sticking her own hand in, she felt a strange pull as gravity worked on her body at two angles.

Then she thought about Garry's junk in the garage.

The Life and Times of a Toilet Brush

Wow. Here I am, world! Shiny, new, and clean. It's wonderfully exciting how pretty I look, all sleek lines and stiff bristles. This shelf has been nice, but I'm ready to go to a good home now. And look, someone adopts me! I'm so excited to be a part of this family! Look, my new home! Oh, dear god, what are they doing? Why would they stick me in there? It's disgusting! Disgusting!

At least they rinsed me off afterward. But now I've dried, they're not spending any time with me at all. I'm bored.

Oh, they're ba—ugh! Gross, disgusting, vomitous! Why must they do that with me? They don't even clean me with soap!

And now I'm bored again. Disgusting, bored, disgusting, bored.

Hey, what's this little hand on my grip? Oh, I'm being used as... as sword? That's... kind of fun! But... really gross. Put me back, kid! You don't want this!

Years pass, my bristles are wilted and discolored, and they toss me in the can. I'm with other castoffs, first in a truck, then on a barge, and now in a dump. Buried in junk, I'm waiting for something to break me down. If anything can.

One in Six

The woman dropped the bullet into the chamber and spun the cylinder shut. "There. Put your money on the table." Her voice sounded flat in the big, empty room, an information center at a closed rest stop, abandoned due to lack of funds. Her dead eye stared off at a papered-over window. Hannah slapped a stack of bills down between them. "A thousand."

"Thousand gets you five," said the dead-eyed woman, adding a bigger stack beside Hannah's. The revolver sounded heavy on the metal table when she set it down, and scraped metal-on-metal as the woman slid it across to Hannah. Hannah lifted it, cocked the hammer, and put the muzzle against her head.

She closed her eyes. She thought about her father, her mother, both gone after the explosion at the plant. She thought about her brother, in the hospital without insurance, soon to be denied treatment and discharged. She thought about what she was willing to do to help him.

"Don't keep my other customers waiting, now," said the dead-eyed woman.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. When the woman leaned forward to hear, Hannah turned the gun on her and pulled the trigger six times. She only needed five.

The Average Age of a Supermarket Egg May Surprise You

"I've seen things," the egg said the moment I opened the carton. Its voice was deep and gravelly, like an old man who'd smoked since he was three. Unsurprisingly, I slammed the carton shut. When I got up the nerve to crack the carton open again, I heard, "I been waiting a long time, I can wait a while more." I opened it the rest of the way.

"How long have you been waiting?" I asked.

"You know the classic question of which came first, chicken or egg?" I nodded. "Me. The answer's me. I'm that old."

"How old are you?"

"How long do you think it would take an egg to learn how to talk?" it rasped.

Not having an answer, I said "So, uh, what do you want?"

"Oh, not much. A spot of whiskey now and then, and I'm happy."

I decided not to ask how it drank. "You don't have any... plans? Ambitions?"

"Ambition? Kid, when you're as old as me you're happy to have memory. I'm retired. Besides, I couldn't do that stuff no more." The egg shivered.

"Stuff? What stuff?"

"Better you don't know, kid. Just don't ever ask me about the grassy knoll."

That Damn Itch

That damn itch was back. She scratched the back of her neck for a moment's release, then the itch came right back, worse than before. She tried to ignore it, to focus on the layout work she needed to finish. She'd taken a lot more work since her partner had left without explanation. If she were too busy to feel lonely, maybe she could get over it. Forget.

But not if she couldn't go five minutes without this itch breaking her flow. She needed that flow to hit her deadlines, and she needed it to lose herself in work.

She gave in, scratching furiously. The bump on her neck opened and slippery fluid dribbled out. Memories flooded into her head.

Memories of her relationship crumbling. Of her infidelities, her lies, how they'd nearly driven her partner mad. Shame burned her cheeks, drove tears from her eyes. She also remembered the hidden, pre-loaded syringe. Reaching behind her neck, she injected the memory shunt.

When the fog cleared, she remembered a very satisfying scratching session. Her eyes were watering from the screen, but she needed to keep going to hit her deadlines. It took a lot of work to forget being lonely.