Worst Nightmare

A fist the size of my head pulled me by my shirt into the alley. An atavist whose ugliness shone through the near-total darkness slammed me against the wall. With his meat-breath he said, “I’m your worst nightmare.”

“Yeah?” I said. “Which one?”

“What?”

“Well, I have a few. I think the worst is where I’m a scorpion, and I get captured by a child who forgets to poke me any airholes and I suffocate while this bratty kid is all fisheye against the bottle shouting at me to sting some poor beetle he’s stuck in with me.”

“Shut it!” He bounced my head off the wall. “I’m the nightmare where you get pounded into ground beef in a dark alley for sticking your nose where it don’t belong!”

“Nah,” I said. “That’s not a nightmare.” He sneered. It looked natural on him, but I could tell he’d practiced it. “That’s a good dream, the one where I tell the villain about my real nightmares until he gets confused and gives up.” The brute shook back and forth a bit and fell down. “Or until I reach the taser in my pocket. Now lie there while I call the cops.”

Maybe That Was a Mistake

I shook the snow globe and dropped to one knee to show my daughter. “Do you see the snow falling on the little village?” She nodded.

I handed her the globe and she shook it, sending the snow into another flurry. “But where are all the people?”

“Oh, they’re all inside their little houses. It’s so cold and snowy there that they want to stay by the fire,” I said. “Or they’re in the kitchen, making something delicious.”

“How many are there?”

“Oh, lots,” I said. “A whole town’s worth of families, some with little girls like you.”

“So when it’s summer, will they come out and play with me?”

“I bet they’d like to, but it’s always winter in there.”

“No summer? Can they come visit us in the summer? I bet they’d like the summer.”

“Sorry, honey. They’re stuck in the snow globe.” I put it back on the shelf. Her eyes followed it with a sad look I misinterpreted. “Don’t worry. You can look at it whenever you want. Just ask.”

And that bit of fancy is probably why I woke up at two am to the sound of breaking glass and my daughter shouting “Be free!”

All in the Timing

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

“Uh, well, I guess I’m looking for the right moment. You know, it’s kind of—.”

“The world doesn’t wait for you, girl! Go! Do it!”

“Well, it’s a big decision, right, so, um, I’m just not sure—”

“You can’t always wait to be sure!”

“Yeah, but there’s only one first time for this—well, I think—”

“Everyone only gets one first time at anything in this experience called life! What makes you so special, that you need to think so long!”

“I just, um, I guess I have to decide when—”

“Now. The answer is now.”

“Wait, no. That doesn’t—”

“You have to seize life by the balls, my friend. With your teeth.”

“It doesn’t matt—”

“Seize the balls of life in your mighty jaws—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“—and hang on like a pit bull. Start now. Never stop.”

“You really don’t understand.”

“I understand that no one ever baked bread without lighting a fire! Come on, my friend! The time is now!”

“God, you’re so annoying.”

She got into the time machine she’d been trying to set and went back to stop herself from inviting this walking self-help book to her unveiling.

On Neologisms

“Snake-lunking.”

“We’re not calling it that.”

“Okay.” She hummed. “Snake-diving!”

“Why do you feel the need to give this a catchy name?”

“Why are you such a stick-in-the-ass?” she returned.

“I dunno, maybe because we’re in a steel cannister sheathed in sheepskin and doused in vole pheromones hoping to be swallowed by a giant snake.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“Yes,” he nearly shouted.

“Why?”

“Because snakes the size of subway trains start appearing worldwide, and it’s got to be studied.”

“And?”

“And, I know more about anomalous snakes than the next three herpetologists combined.”

“Annnnd?”

“And if we don’t figure these snakes out, the world crumbles because they eat us all, and I’m the best chance we’ve got.

“Right. Now own that. Be proud, and keep breathing.”

He sat taller. He might’ve smiled. “What about you?” He nodded to her. “Why’re you here?”

“Because I’m the only way you’re getting out alive.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I’ve always wanted to blow up a giant snake.”

“Really?”

“Since I was a little girl.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Then their cannister rustled, shook, and filled with a damp smell. As they strapped on their breathing masks, she said...

“Serpentsploring?”

HR 3466

The bill was a throwaway. A criticism of the uselessness of the legislature in recent years, and the obstructionists making it that way. Though the legislation itself was useless, the point was popular and supported by the administration. So when the Posthumous Spirit Visitation Rights Act hit the president’s desk, he signed it.

No one expected the dead to be bound by it. Worse, the bill didn’t permit one visitation per deceased spirit to a close relative of choice, it made the visitation mandatory. Half the time, the bodiless soul didn’t want to say anything to anyone, or what it did have to say wasn’t the least bit pleasant. Being cussed at by your racist, homophobe grandpa isn’t exactly a treat for most people.

Still, a few people enjoyed it. Some folks want tearful goodbyes, or to make one last apology, or clear up some issue with the will. Courts are still arguing over whether ghosts can testify as to who killed them. So far, the answer is no, especially as they almost never show up at the right time to take the stand or be legally deposed.

But I hear Congress is passing legislation that will address the issue.

Spiritually Aware

A cattail waved in the wind, between a ditch and a green pasture. A cow lay nearby, occasionally craning her neck to eat a delicious plant.

“It’s a shame,” said the spirit of the cattail, “that the humans aren’t in touch with their spiritual sides. The way they used to be.”

“Do you really think so,” said the spirit of the cow.

“Oh, yeah,” said the cattail. “They’re all about the physical these days. No spirituality left.”

“Is that really so bad?”

“If they were more spiritually aware, we could tell them so much. Share our wisdom, y’know?” The cattail swayed in the breeze.

The cow chewed on its cud, and its spirit spoke around the mess. “So, you think the humans really need the wisdom of how to stand in the mud and bend in the breeze?”

“Oh, like you could do better.” The cattail quivered. “Standing around and eating whatever thing you can reach.”

“They already mess with everything. You really want to see what they do when they’re spiritually aware?”

“How long’ve you been around, Cow?”

“Eleven thousand years or so.”

“Well I’ve been around way longer, so-”

The cow craned her neck, and ate the cattail.

That's My Car

“Stop,” I shouted, “Stop!” And my car stopped, less because I was shouting than because I ran out in front of it before it could turn right on red.

“Hey,” the lady driving rolled down the window, “what’re you doing, you crazy bitch? Get outta the road!”

I slammed my hands down on the hood of the car. “What’m I doing? What’re you doing? This is my goddamn car!”

Pause. “Like hell it is, this is my car!” I couldn’t believe it. I come back from a three-mile run to see my car leaving the parking lot, and she insists that it’s hers.

Cars behind her started honking, and people gathered on the sidewalks around us. Someone walked out to me. “C’mon, lady, ain’t safe in the road.”

“She’s stealing my car,” I shouted, and shook him off. “It’s my car,” she shouted, “No, it’s not!” I screamed back. “Look, I have the key,” I pulled it out. “Where’s your key?”

I screamed that a few times as somebody pulled me aside. Tires squealed as the lady gunned it to get out of there. I almost ran after her. Instead I started asking after a cell. I needed a ride.