Staring Out to Sea

On a rocky spit mired in the deep blue of the ocean and smothered by the unending pale blue of the sky, only a man broke the monotonous beauty. He was still as the stone he sat on, staring out to sea. Sometimes he thought the ocean spoke to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm waiting," he said. He continued staring into the lazy waves.

The ocean lapped up against the rocks, reaching out to comfort him but never coming close enough. "What are you waiting for?"

The man was silent for a dozen heartbeats. "If I wait here, I'll be the first to see her when she comes back."

The ocean had to think about that for a while. A cloud rose on the horizon, a dingy white that looked to be dragging grey clouds behind it. Eventually the ocean said, "This is private property, you know." The man just nodded, gazing out at the water, never still, never going anywhere.

After another period of silence, the ocean said, "I guess he's harmless. C'mon, let's go. If he's still here tomorrow, we'll call someone."

Out on a rocky spit, under a sky darkening with stormclouds, a man waited.

Nothing Comes Out

My tea grows cold as I watch the black family sitting across the aisle. The hispanic waitress bustles past, and I wonder again if I can ask her to put their bill on my tab. If there's something I can do to let them know that I don't agree with what's happened. I want them to know they aren't alone. They probably know that already, but not about me. Lucy apologizes for the delay. I wave it off, and my smile draws a genuine smile from her. That warms me, but I wonder if she's scared today for herself, or for someone she knows. I want to reassure her that I'm scared for her too, and for those unknown millions who will suffer. I want her to know that my skin isn't a blank slate for others to write their hate upon.

My food comes. Twice as Lucy passes, I feel the words form in my throat, trapped behind uncertain lips. Then the family gets their check, and it's too late. I eat quietly, then take my check to the register. I want to say something, commiserate, apologize, but nothing comes out.

I leave an exorbitant tip, and I leave.

Faces on a Plane

She looked at me over the back of the airplane seat, her eyes weighing me with all the wisdom of her seven years. I made a face. Those eyes widened and the girl disappeared, only to reappear a moment later and smile when I made a new face. It became a game. Whenever she popped her head back over the chair to look at my next face or show me one of hers. I switched to scary faces. First she pretended to be scared, then she mimicked me. She started simple, but her scary faces soon became sophisticated, even expert.

When it was time to put up seats and trays, I'd just delivered a real fright, something I'd learned after an errant football displaced my jaw. I could tell she was impressed. She looked sidelong at her parents, then gave me the face.

It was all I could do not to scream. I don't remember clearly, but I think I managed to wave goodbye. It was all I could do to wave goodbye.

I was the last to disembark. I needed to know I wouldn't see her — see that — again. Except I do, every night in my dreams.

Catch Him by Midnight

Ansgar dodged between two adults, ignoring their curses. He ducked behind a pile of hard-framed luggage stacked by a cabin. In the cabin, a man narrowed his eyes at the boy. Ansgar grinned and ran off. A moment later, a red-haired girl of the same age ran past, laughing. Turning a corner, Ansgar threw open the door into the aft dining room. Instead of going through, he ran halfway down the stairs to the cargo hold. He stifled giggles as Eilish neared, then chased after his false trail. With a wide grin, he ran down into the hold and hid behind a crate. He hoped she'd pick up his trail soon. It was cold with the cargo, and running was warmer than hiding. Not that he'd let her get too close. If she didn't catch him by midnight, in twenty minutes, he'd win a kiss. He wanted to win, and he suspected that Eilish wanted him to win, too.

He heard a rumble from somewhere else on the ship, then the floor shook him to the ground. Ansgar climbed back to his feet and resumed waiting. He was looking forward to what came next. Another fascinating evening on the Titanic.

Through the Sluggish Traffic

"C'mon man, hurry!" Jaxon crossed the busy city street through molasses-quick rush-hour traffic. Jason hefted the heavy bag of recording gear and followed. They'd needed months to put it together: scrounging money to buy or rent equipment, wheedling friends and teachers to borrow anything that was available, and skipping school. They'd get in trouble, sure, but they'd be legends. It was the chance of a lifetime. At least the chance of high school. Same thing.

Jason weaved through the sluggish traffic. He was halfway across when a honk and the shriek of metal on asphalt turned him around. A motorcycle squeezing between the cars had flipped somehow. The rider wasn't moving. Jaxon yelled at him to come on. Someone in a Lexus yelled for someone to pull the bike and biker to the curb so he could get to work.

Jason had taken first response classes. He knew what a bad idea that was. He knew the ambulance would take forever in this traffic, the police would demand paperwork, and he would never have another chance to shoot this video.

Ignoring Jaxon's yells, Jason knelt by the rider and pulled out his phone. "Help is on the way," he said.

The First Tooth

"What does the Tooth Fairy do with the teeth?" Ollie peered into his older brother's mouth, now less one front tooth. "She makes a throne," Harry said. "The first tooth from every kid goes into the throne, and sitting on it gives her power."

"What power?" Ollie's eyes were wide.

"Flying and invisibility. Also, she can turn other teeth into smaller fairy soldiers, but not the ones in the throne." Harry dragged a stool into the kitchen.

"Why not those teeth?"

"Because they're the ones that give her power. Duh." Harry stepped up and rummaged through a drawer.

"Oh." Ollie looked down. He might have been contemplating the statement, teeth, or marshmallows. It was anyone's guess.

"Ollie."

He looked up. "What?"

"We need to get some of that power back from the Tooth Fairy."

"How?"

"We build our own throne. We just need some first lost teeth."

Ollie's eyes lit up with thought. "Where do we get some?"

"I'd use my first lost tooth, but she already has it. But you haven't lost any teeth yet." Harry lifted the pliers. Ollie screamed. A moment later, I was there.

And that's how I stopped telling kids the Tooth Fairy was real.

Thirty-two Days

"My name is Grundlesmasher, and I'm a monster." She loomed over the podium, at least twice the height of a human, as the group chorused "Hello, Grundlesmasher." "It's been thirty-two days since I rent anyone." The assorted monsters applauded, and she described her struggle. When she finished, they applauded again as she returned to her heavily-reinforced seat. Illyria the succubus stood. "Thank you, Grundlesmasher. Who wants to go next? Carl?" The vampire demurred. "Medina?" The medusa shook her head. "How about our new member?"

A thin, pale man walked to the podium. "My name is Vernon, and I'm a monster."

"Are you sure?" someone called.

"Please, Dargoth the Abomination," Illyria said. "We accept everyone here."

"It's been zero days since my last murder." Vernon grinned. "I've killed indiscriminately, and set traps for people who come to help."

"You live on their blood?" Carl asked.

"Uh, no." The group murmured. "What? You're all like me."

"We're not like you," Medina hissed. "We have natural urges!"

"So do I!"

"But you're not fighting them," Illyria said.

"So? You call yourselves monsters. You're nothing. Just—" Grundlesmasher ripped him in two barehanded. She looked abashed.

"Sorry," she said. "Should I go again?"

They applauded.