Spider's Journey

When Spider woke up, her beautiful web was wet. Tiny droplets of water, shining in the morning light, clung to the many corners of the web she had worked so hard to create. Angry, she went to Moth. "Why is my web all wet?" she asked.

Moth shrugged. "Maybe it rained last night?"

"Rain?" Spider said. "Is that your fault?"

"Uh, no?" said Moth. "Try asking Fly, maybe?"

Spider hurried off and found Fly. "My web is wet," she said, "and Moth says it's because it rained. Did you make it rain?"

Fly, seeing that Spider would not jump on her, settled down and said, "Hmmmmmm, nope."

"Who made it rain, then?"

"Mmmmmmmm, dunno. Ask Grasshopper." Fly flew away.

Spider found Grasshopper among the weeds. "Fly says you made it rain on my web!"

"Yeah, no," said Grasshopper. "That's not really my thing, y'know? I jump and eat stuff, I don't make it rain."

Spider screamed with frustration. "Then who did?"

"Yeah, probably the titan." Grasshopper leaped away.

"The wha—?" Massive footsteps shook the ground, and a giggling monster ran past spraying everything with a rubber tube that made rain. Spider scurried away, to wait for her web to dry.

Unthinkable

The gunman — gunwoman, really — had everyone in the office on their knees, hands on their heads, facing away from her. "You, you don't need to do this, you know?" Marie didn't dare look around as she spoke.

"Why shouldn't she?" said Frank, " We're awful. We really do ruin lives here."

"God's sake, Frank," someone hissed, "shut up!"

"Like any of you understand." She was sobbing now. "None of you ha-ha-ha-had to hold Evan's hand while he... all because you bastards denied our claims!" Her voice rose to a scream.

"You're fuckin' right, lady. Do it. Rid the world of—"

"Frank!" Marie glared at him. "Listen, it's awful that you lost someone—"

"My son!"

"God, that's, that's just unthinkable. But hurting us won't bring him back. It'll just bring that same pain to, to many more people. Not just our people, but anyone who cares for you. When... when this is over."

Silence settled over the office. The hostages fidgeted, and one started to cry. Frank looked over his shoulder. The others didn't notice he'd gotten up until he stood over the rifle the gunwoman had left behind. Frank picked it up and looked at his coworkers. He smiled.

Just a Dream

I'm running some letters to the post office on a simple errand. Last to leave the house for the day, of course I forget something, so I turn my car around. But there's a red car in the driveway, a hatchback I've seen before, so I coast by. The junkie ex-husband from Dexter watches the house from the driver's seat, so sneak a couple photos of his license plate. I thought I was being subtle, but as I drive off the red car follows me. I don't like that at all. I drive faster, take a couple turns to get out of his line of sight, and then open up on a straightaway. It seems like I've lost him, so I turn toward the freeway. It's awkward taking my tricycle on the freeway, but I need to get to school and I'm late. The other students in class don't care, but the teacher comments that I've missed twenty minutes of a forty-minute class, and half a test.

It was just a dream, but the places were real. Every time I drive up the road to my house, I look for the red car, and I wonder if he's watching me.

Poor Lord Brockhurst

The group of figures huddled together in the dark and stink of a city alley. One tramped on the cobblestones for warmth, another fingered the hilt of his poniard. "So," said one, "we get ol' Lord Brockhurst alone, then Jake here slips him the steel, and we all grab whatever shiny we can, right?"

"Right," the others chorused.

"And we all meet up at the Bent Gentleman to split the loot, yeah? Louise?"

"Yeah, fine," she said, "but I don't know the Bent Gentleman. Where's it?"

"How can you say that? We've met there a hunnerd times, over by Smith's Alley and Drunkard's Walk?"

"Oh," she said, "you mean the Vomitous Lad? Yeah, I can meet there."

"No one calls it that," he said.

"Sure they do."

"I thought it was Farmer's Flatulence," another said. She looked around. "Am I the only one, then?" Heads nodded.

"C'mon," said the first, "sign's of a man, bent at the waist, touching his toes like?" The other two nodded. "The Bent Gentleman," he insisted.

"Wait," said Jake, "you mean the place with that barmaid, Fanny?" They nod. "Oh." He nods to the others. "They're talking about the Ready Rodger."

"Ohhhhhh," chorused the others.

The Duke's Dungeons

"Mom." She looked up from her work and wiped her brow, leaving behind a smear of ink. She peered at her son across the workshop cluttered with blueprints, inkpots, quills, and stone samples. "Why the long face?" she asked.

"We have a big job," he said. His voice was flat, and he stared at the ground. "The duke."

"That's great," she said, but her voice was wary. She put down her quill. "But what's wrong?"

"It's for his next dungeon," John said, looking up at his mother with red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh, God." She ran to him and hugged him tight. "Have you told your father?"

"No, um. Not yet."

"We should tell him," she said. "He deserves to know. Is..." She looked at him. "Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to? I mean, we have some time before the duke buries us alive to preserve his secrets, but still."

"Well, there's this one girl..."

"That's fantastic. You go spend time with her." He turned to go. "And John? It might be our last project, but it's also going to be the most interesting we've ever done. Let's enjoy it."

He gave her a teary smile, and he left.

From the Heart

The knife felt natural in my hand. Point down, blade out, it was a razor-sharp fang at the end of my wrist. Right now, I kept it moving, bobbing and weaving as I stayed just out of my opponent's reach. She was smaller than I. Normally my longer arms would be an advantage, but she was wary of my reach and seemed as comfortable knife-fighting as my years of experience made me. My longer arms were just more real estate for her to cut.

Except for one trick up my sleeve. A slick mid-air hand switch that no one ever expects because no one's stupid enough to try it in a real fight. Except my family. We drill it for hundreds of hours until we can do it blind, and it's helped generations of us come out bloody but unbowed.

My opening came. She misjudged her distance and overextended, and I laid into her arm. Then I saw she'd switched the knife into her other hand mid-thrust. It was too late to keep her blade from my heart. I could die alone, or continue my first cut up to her throat.

But I didn't. I couldn't do that to family.

Red Riding Hoot

Little Red Riding Hood put on her cape, took up her basket of goodies, and departed for Grandmother's house. As she skipped through the woods, a voice addressed her. "Whooo are you taking those goodies to, my dear?" it said. Red looked all around, but she didn't see who spoke until an owl flew down to the ground before her.

"Oughtn't you be a wolf?" asked Little Red.

"Oughtn't you have manners enough to answer my question?" asked the owl.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," she said.

"Then I don't see why I should answer to your empty-headed speciesism," said the owl.

Red paused, then said, "I'm taking them to Grandmother, in the little white house in the woods."

"Ah," said the owl. "I'm filling in for the wolf. She got called away, something about some pigs."

"Oh," said Little Red. "What now?"

"Well, I suppose I fly ahead to Grandmother's and eat her. Except she doesn't really appetize me. Does she keep any mice?"

"No, she hates mice," said Red.

"Well, I could tell her you're lost in the woods, and cause some mischief that way," said the owl.

They agreed, and then started again.