Meant to Be Shared

"Dad, did you move my bookmark?" Jan marched up brandishing a book and planted herself in front of where Vernon was reading his tablet. He lowered his screen and raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you always borrow my books without asking, and—"

"Books are meant to be shared, sweetheart."

"—and you read them when I'm not home, and lose my place." She took a deep breath and lowered the book. "Look, being able to talk with you about books is nice, but can you at least keep my place when you're reading them?"

"Well, I try, honey." Vernon pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered at the book in her hand. "But I haven't read that one yet."

"Then what happened to the bookmark?"

"I'm not positive, but I think I might've borrowed it when I read that other book of yours."

Her brow furrowed. "What other book?"

Vernon lifted the tablet and lowered his eyes to it. "The title was something like, 'Secret Diary: Do Not Read,' or some such. It wasn't as exciting as I'd expected. No plot. I'd look there."

He smiled behind his tablet. The joke was worth the screaming.

Contrary to Expectations

"I am a microwave doll," read the packaging. "Put me in the microwave for tons of fun!" Once placed in the microwave, it sparked, caught fire, exploded, and ruined the microwave. Despite some children's delight, this ran contrary to expectations set by the commercials that had propelled the toy into over a million homes for Christmas. Lawsuits rolled in the by hundred before merging into a single class-action suit. The company Hot n Cold Fun LLC immediately declared bankruptcy, and creditors followed the chain of ownership to Heisspiel Gmbh in Germany.

Six months of legal discovery and criminal investigation revealed that one line employee in the Vietnamese factory had been responsible for adding the metal bits that made them so dangerous. Action brought against the employee failed when he proved that he had been so directed by a manager that had apparently sabotaged the entire manufacturing run. The manager in question, Manuel Caliente, had disappeared completely.

During this time, Heisspiel had closed its doors, apparently without any other business enterprises. The class-action suit again had no target. Seeking restitution, the courts followed the trail of ownership to Kenya, where they discovered an anonymous and impenetrable company, Fun For Whom Inc.

Al Was

Al was. Al spoke and created the void, the nothing, and for the first time was something separate from Al. Al spoke the stars into existence, not one at a time, but in a great flash that sent them spinning out through the void. As Al defined more that was not Al, Al became smaller After consideration, Al spoke the planets, starstuff collapsing and exploding and collapsing again. Then Al spoke mass, momentum, spin, charge. With each word, Al became smaller still.

Al let the worlds spin, thinking about Al. Al was alone. Was there another being, something preceding Al, which had spoken Al into being? Was Al somehow Al's own creator? Could Al speak itself away, and what would that mean?

Al pondered these questions for an imponderable length of time, unsure what to do next. Watching planets cool, Al conceived an idea. Thinking on it further, the idea gave Al a sense of satisfaction and peace.

Al spoke the organic molecules that begat life, stimuli and response, and consciousness. Life twined together and upwards and ever more complicated on planets throughout the cosmos, growing into a million million unique forms, and Al grew smaller, smaller, smaller...

...and disappeared.

A Pickup Line

He had his blond hair slicked back, glasses that looked thin enough they might be just for show, a perfect set of white teeth, and a polo shirt that screamed bro. Steph saw him coming across the hotel lobby, on a beeline straight for her. Before he even leaned cockily against her desk, she could hear him say... "Do you have a lost and found? Because I'm pretty sure you've got my heart." Her eyes rolled so hard she thought they might come loose and fall down her throat. "Oh, there it is." He reached over the counter and grabbed something dark, and wet, and softly throbbing, and he walked away.

Once she stopped blinking several minutes later, Steph took the rest of the night off.

Not About the Tea

The cup of tea steamed on the table. "What, now you're not thirsty?" His look told me I was being unreasonable, yet unsurprising. "Fine, I'll drink it." I sat down and picked up the cup, then put it down. It was too hot to hold comfortably.

"Oh, don't drink it for me." He crossed his arms.

"Look, it's not about the tea, all right?"

"What's it about, then? Tell me what it's about, since you seem to have it figured out." He crossed his arms and leaned away from me.

"It's... it's about... this." I waved my arms inclusively. "All of this. You making tea just to get angry about it. Me not wanting it because it's not really about tea. Both of us dancing around each other all the time because neither of us wants to say that we just don't want each other anymore."

He shrank inward, and so did his voice. "You don't want me?"

"I do. I would. If you really wanted me."

"I want you," he said.

"You do?" He nodded, small, tight, and fast.

The cup of tea stayed on the table, and we didn't notice it again until it was no longer steaming.

Winter in Cactus Bay

It was deep winter in Cactus Bay, and the usual crowd had gathered. From all over the world, they met on the beach, boards in hand, catching up since they'd seen each other last. They say she was quiet that day, that she stood apart. Like all of them, she kept her eyes on the waves. When the wind picked up, they made for the water, ready to catch a wave. The long winter day had provided good surf. The sun was kissing the horizon, some of the crowd had drifted away, and others were looking inland. A shout pulled their eyes back to the surf. She was out there, heading for where a monster wave was building.

Everyone remembers it differently. Some say when the wave broke, she was gone. Others saw her deep in the barrel, saw her laughing as it closed around her. Those who were nearest insist they saw her surf on, like the barrel would roll on forever.

Her board never surfaced. They say she's still riding that wave, deep in the tube. If you catch a great wave and go deep in the barrel, you might see her there, still riding the eternal wave.

The Tenth Commandment, Obviously

Dani knelt by her bed. "God," she said, "why does the other line always turn out to be slower when you switch?" In her ears resounded the voice of Patriarchal Christian God, deep and authoritative. "The Tenth Commandment, obviously."

Perplexed by the answer but made stalwart by her faith, Dani asked, "'Thou shalt not covet they neighbor's wife?'"

"Or house, or servant, or good job,  place in line. It's not that hard. So every time someone tries to change over to a faster line, I slow down the new line just to get 'em for it."

"But... You don't do that for other commandments. Why not smite murderers, or people worshipping false gods, or... or adulterers?"

"First, who says I'm not?" said Patriarchal Christian God. "Maybe I'm making their lives miserable in ways you can't see. And second, people who can't take a breath and wait for the front of their line just really cheese me off. That's what the whole War in Heaven was about, really. Lucifer cut in line. To Hell with it. Boom, done. Fistbump, Dani. It's Miller time."

Dani stood up. "Is this really the best use of your power? God?" Patriarchal Christian God didn't answer.