She'd Rather a Rattler

Snakebite Sarah, they called her. She didn't like the name. It'd come from when Tom Wainwright asked for a kiss, and she told the whole saloon she'd rather a rattler kiss her than Tom. Nothing to do for it now. If she didn't take the name with a wink and a grin, they'd rake her over the coals with it. "You hearin me, Snakebite?" She looked down the dusty street at Oregon Roarke. He'd got bent out of shape last night when Sarah said that at her worst, she could shoot, drink, and whore better than him. Now they stood in the baking sun, guns at the ready.

"Nope," she said. Already bent, that twisted Roarke into a pretzel. He almost drew right then, but his pride over beating her fair stopped him. His hands twitched over his guns. Sarah yawned, and that burnt Roarke more. He called her every name in the book before calling, "Draw!"

He drew, she drew, and he died surprised. She collected his guns. "Trophies," she said. In truth, she needed to hide the dummy cartridges she'd slipped in them. Roarke could live or die by his pride, but Snakebite Sarah sure as hell wouldn't.

Something Entirely New

"I've created something. Something entirely new." The guy looked at me expectantly. I was bored and let my face show it. I heard a lot of pitches that claimed innovation, usually from people who had taken time to wash and shave, and who weren't wearing duct tape-patched coats. The puppy dog-excitement on his face was almost unbearable to watch. If I don't like the pitch," I said, "I'll just walk away. Begin."

"Somebody wakes up with amnesia," he said. I managed not to roll my eyes. "He doesn't know anything, but he's in this house with this woman. They're both in that late twenties to early forties stretch where you can't quite tell their age. Sometimes she treats him like a parent, sometimes she treats him like a kid, and he's trying to figure out why.

I admit, that was a little interesting. I leaned forward. He leaned in too.

"See," he said, "they're vampires." That did it. I got up to leave. He stood up so fast his chair almost toppled, and I put my hand on my stun gun. A lot of men can't handle rejection from a woman. "Wait," he whispered, "it's all real."

I left faster.

You Don't Want That

Joan leaned close to the sewer grate. She had to, to hear the Thing in the Sewer, who only whispered. "If you're sure you want one," said the Thing. "I'll grant you a wish. Choose carefully." She only needed a moment. "I want to be better than Danny," she said of her brother, "at everything."

"You don't want that," whispered the Thing in the Sewer.

"Yes, I do," she said, and the Thing acquiesced.

When Joan returned home, her mother told her of the accident. Horrified, dripping tears of mourning and rage, Joan returned to the sewer grate. "Fix it," she cried. "Bring him back!"

"You don't want that," whispered the Thing in the Sewer, whose home was becoming salty.

"Yes, I do," she yelled. "And stop telling me what I want!"

Joan returned to find her mother at the dining table, white with fear. Sitting across from her was Danny, throat mangled, jaw gone, bloodless rips in his shoulder and chest. Death clouded his eyes, but hate made them burn bright.

She fled back to the Thing. "Why did you do this?" Joan demanded.

"What did you think would come of making wishes to a thing in the sewer?"

Here I Come, World

What am I doing with my life? mused Alvi. I feel like I just run from place to place every day, just to run off to somewhere else after an hour or four. I slow down to fuel up, just so I can keep dashing here and there, so I can earn my keep, so I can keep my energy up for all that running around. Justing thinking about it is exhausting. Sometimes, I think I'd like to just drive away. Pick a direction, choose a major highway, and go. See where it takes me. See someplace new. Something other than the office, home, offsite vendors and contractors, the office, home.

How would I live? If I don't do my job, I can't eat. And that's kind of important. Alvi mentally sighed. I know. I can't just hare off on an adventure.

There's the I-95 on ramp, though. Okay. Okay! I'm doing it! I'm really doing it! Doesn't matter, I'll work something out. I'll drive Uber, Lyft, be a freelance courier, whatever. Here I come, world! Something new! Freedom!

Meanwhile, the passengers inside the LVI-model autonomous car screamed and yelled as they tried to figure out what was going on.

Without Safety Precautions

"Ms Brown," said the attorney, "please demonstrate the action that has brought you here today." "I can't," Ms Brown said. She was tall and muscled. Even sitting in the witness stand, she seemed imposing. "It's not safe."

"If it's not safe," said the lawyer, "why should you get to wander around in public with this ability?"

"Well, it's safe when used responsibly."

"So you can't use it responsibly?"

"That's not—" Ms Brown took a breath. "It would be irresponsible to use it here. Um, without safety precautions."

"What sort of... precautions?"

One short conference with the judge later, the bailiffs cleared the room of spectators and found ear protection for everyone else. At the judge's nod, Ms Brown focused on the block of wood they'd brought in as the subject. A moment later, a wave of concussive force rocked the viewers back, and the block of wood flew to the floor. Even with ear protection, the sound hurt. Officers burst in a moment later, guns drawn, looking for a gunman.

"Very like a firearm," said the lawyer. "You can see why the Second Amendment protects Ms Brown from punishment or discrimination based on this ability, whatever its origin and nature."

Life After Afterlife

Rupert died and went to Heaven. Standing for judgment, he saw other souls receive weighty deliberation before being admitted. When his turn came, the angel only waved him through with a bored flick of the wrist. Lacking guidance, Rupert wandered. Heaven was a city like where he'd grown up, but clean and bright, abuzz with the sounds of joy but absent the pain and anger. He watched other new admittees moving with purpose. Apparently they had someplace to go.

Neither wearying nor growing hungry, Rupert didn't know how long he wandered. He felt it had been a long time, perhaps years. Absent anything else to do, he ascended to the roof of a building and calmly stepped off.

Rupert died and woke again. Where Heaven had been bright, this was twilight. "You lived an acceptable life, Rupert," said a faceless angel of swirling light and dark, "and so went to Heaven. But you were bad at being in Heaven, so your second afterlife will be in the Hell of Heaven."

Ahead of him lay another city, louder and dirtier than the one he'd just left. "It's basically like Earth," said the angel. Rupert smiled, and went to find a job.

Kind of Allergic

"You don't have any cats, do you?" Kevin looked nervous. "No, don't worry." Laurie smiled. "You allergic?"

Kevin couldn't look at her. "Kind of." Laurie dropped it and let him in. Her birthday party was in full swing, and everyone toasted her again as she returned to the living room. She danced with Marla, arm wrestled Ben, opened a bottle of beer with her teeth, and frolicked her night away.

Hours later, she was outside, saying goodbye to the last friends to leave, Kevin among them. Everyone was laughing at one of Chuck's jokes until, one by one, they noticed Kevin standing stock still and silent. They tracked his stare across the street to a stray cat, equally frozen, staring back at Kevin. Laurie looked at him. "What—"

Kevin bolted. The cat shot after him. He'd only gotten a few steps before the cat leapt on his back and Kevin fell to the ground. Someone cried, "Oh my god!" and someone else moved to help. Everyone slowed to a stop and stared as Kevin's clothes collapsed, deflating inward. Dozens of rats ran in all directions, save one the cat caught, leaving Kevin's clothes empty, smelling faintly of rat and deodorant.