Tune to 720 AM

Damien rounded the freeway's gentle bend at ease, a smile on his face. He was going home early, traffic was uncharacteristically light, and it was a beautiful day. A flashing light drew his attention to a sign: TRANSPORTATION ALERT TUNE TO 720 AM Pursing his lips, Damien fiddled with his radio until he found the station. "...collapsed bridge and emergency response are causing severe traffic delays on 90 West. Seek alternate routes." He wrinkled his nose. He was on 90 West, and it was clear. "Repeat, collapse of the Island Crest Way bridge over I-90 West at three forty-seven has caused several casualties. The collapsed bridge and emergency—"

Damien turned it down. His car clock said three forty-five. Maybe it was fast? He turned the station back up.

"Damien, stop the car." His heart jumped and he took his foot off the gas. "Collapse of the Island Crest Way bridge over I-90..." The Island Crest Way bridge came into view and Damien slammed on the brakes. A moment later, the bridge cracked from top to bottom with a peal like thunder, and tons of concrete fell before his eyes.

Damien refocused on the radio, but he heard nothing but static.

This Is Not Normal

"This is not normal," she said. I looked at her, tilted my head in response to the lilt in her voice and asked, "What?" "This thing we do," she said. "Normal people don't do this." Her lithe body silhouetted against the glowing drawn curtains as she stood and slipped back into her dress.

"I'm pretty sure people around the world have affairs every day. It's not that weird." I stood and made sure she had a good view of my figure before I began to dress.

"Oh, honey." She walked over and took my head in both her hands. "I'm not sure this is good for us."

I buttoned my trousers and gave her my cockiest smile. "Afraid my wife will find out? Or your husband?"

Her fingers stroked behind my ear, then caught on something that didn't belong there. I was just starting to become curious when she flicked the switch and I remembered my inhibitor, among other things. She gave me a chaste kiss and said, "I have a late meeting tonight. Dinner at seven-thirty?"

"Sure, hon." I smiled. "I'll tell the kids."

She gave me a smile and a look of mysterious concern, then left our house.

Stories for Rascals

"Grandpa, how did you lose your eye?" The boy clambered onto his grandfather's lap and reached out to touch the black silk eyepatch — but not quite, afraid it might hurt the old man. Grandpa chuckled. "That story? Okay, then. So I was under the White House. I'd managed to disarm the bomb, but the detonation charge still went off right in my face. Took the surgeons eleven hours to patch me up. Heh, patch me up."

"That can't be true, Grandpa!"

"No? Then it was probably my secret mission into space. We stopped the aliens from destroying the Earth, but not before one of them disintegrated my eye." The boy shook his head again, grinning.

"Not that either? Hmmm. Maybe I sacrificed it in a mystic ritual, like one of the old gods, in exchange for wisdom and secret magics." The boy just laughed.

"In that case," the old man said, lifting the boy off his lap, "I probably pulled it out myself, just so I could make up stories for rascals like you. Now run and play!"

As the boy ran off, laughing, Grandpa felt his side and winced. "Still hurts," he muttered, but no one heard him.

The Purity of Want

So there I was, worshipping the porcelain god, when I puked up my face. Not like my face came off my skull or some shit like that. No, this was a floppy, skin-mask version of my face floating on a raft of puke-green half-digested tater tots on a scum of cheap booze. Naturally, I stared at it in shock, blinking. At least until it blinked back at me. "What the f—"

"I am your inner desire," it said in my voice. "Through the purity of your want, I have manifested to realize your dream. Simply state what you seek and it shall be yours."

I'm not going to lie. I vomited on it. Once it got done spitting and blinking its eyes clear, I said, "If you're for real, shouldn't you know what I want already? Why not just give it to me, man?"

"You must give voice to your desires to bring them to life," it said. "If you cannot accept your need, it will never come to you." It spit out more watery vomit. "Say it! Speak your will!"

Yeah, I flushed that thing down with my puke. It screamed all the way. Sketchy as fuck, that thing.

Its Time to Leave

Dear everyone I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore its time to leave. To Mom its not your fault You did all you could do for me and more. I love you lots an want you to not worry about me I'm in a better place. Dont stay with Gary hes no good for you you know it.

To Dad I'm coming to see you. I think God whated me with you thats why He took you so I would follow.

To Stan I'll miss you most of all. Your the best baby brother any girl could have and I'm so glad you can have a good life now I won't be in the way all the time. Mom will have the extra money for you to do better with.

To Missus Kravaughg who lives in the walls I know you loovd me because you didn't kkill us all cause I sound like your daughter from when you were alife. I'm sorry but I can't bear the response ability no more. Please don't blame my family its not their fault.

Bye

The shadowed walls darkened. Her mother lowered the tearstained note looking aggrieved and confused, but only for a moment.

How Are You Feeling?

"So, Ms Rodriguez, how have you been feeling this week?" He leaned back in his chair. She looked uncertain. "What are you feeling when you ask me that, Mr Penzer?"

"Doctor Penzer, please."

"Um, yes. Sorry, Dr Penzer. But you know how it helps when my therapist opens up."

###

It was another week. "I think that's where my drive to help people came from. What about you? What made you who you are today?"

He started to sweat. "I'm... I'm afraid our time is up. Since you're my last client today, I'm leaving. You can see yourself out." He rushed home.

###

"What do you read?" he asked.

"A lot of psychology papers, and fiction with deep internal conflicts in the characters."

"Taking an interest in my profession, are you?"

"You might say that. What do you read?" He hesitated. "You know our deal, Dr Penzer. I give, you give. It's your turn."

"All right." His gaze drifted off into the middle distance. "I like spy thrillers, mostly. They take me into the hero, make me feel..."

"Feel what?"

"Like I'm someone else." He looked at her. "I'm not the therapist here, am I?"

She smiled warmly. "Welcome back, Mr Penzer."

Look at My Ear

"Now look at my ear." The optometrist tapped his left ear, and I focused there. He shined a bright light at my eye, then at the side, and froze. "No fuckin' way," he murmured. "What? What is it?" I tried not to move. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... wait. Don't move." He nearly tripped over his stool in his rush out the door. A moment later he returned with an older woman. "We found it, ma'am."

"You'll get a commendation for this," she said. "If you're not another eager beaver wasting my time." She sounded hard, like she had seen everything twice over. She settled onto the optometrist's stool. "Look at my ear, please."

I looked. With her shining her light and peering at god-knows-what, I tried not to move and said, "What is it? Is it something bad?"

"On the contrary, Ms Rezaei," she said. "It's what we've been looking for all these years."

"Looking for?"

"You didn't think we looked into people's eyes just to correct vision, did you? God, no. We've been searching for something."

"And I have it?"

"And you have it." Her smile was joyful, but not kind. "Now we just have to get it out."