I am combining my May and June Twitter fiction this time, since I wasn’t doing my daily posts in May in order to participate in StoryADayMay. Hope you enjoy this compilation of my selected favorites.
When the first dog became President, his inaugural act was to make it a crime to serve kibble at state dinners. He ordered steak instead, and all dogs rejoiced while the humans among them hung their heads. “There goes the defense budget,” one grumbled.
I asked my husband for a writing prompt: he said, “Fighting the supernatural is exhausting.” So, here’s my story:
A ghost, a vampire, and a skeleton slid down the banister.
No, this is not a joke with a punchline at the end. Just a very tired Mummy.
My sandals squelch in a patch of wet grass, but I barely notice as I make my way around the small cemetery, reading the plaques and wondering upon the lives of the strangers buried here. My own loved ones are interred far away; I hope some stranger is there to notice them, too.
In an alternate universe, Mr. Bird never found Mrs. Bird, and blew away in a wind storm. Mrs. B laid her eggs and waited. By the time she realized she was a single mother, the eggs had hatched. But “The Poorest Nest” makes a terrible children’s book title, so nobody ever knew.
Some people skydived for the thrill; others challenged nature by scaling cliffs. Me? I was lucky. I didn’t have to do much to achieve the same end: I just sat under the blossoming apple tree in May without my epipen. Take that, bees!
The first showed up in early Spring, lost and cold and frightened. It fit in Don’s palm and they bonded immediately. May I bring my sisters? asked the hatchling. We lost our mother. “Why not,” said Don. That’s how he ended up with an army of 24 dragons, and lost the farm.
Little John and Friar Tuck sat on the riverbank.
“Why did you start following Robin?”
“It was the right thing to do,” replied the friar. “You?”
Little John coughed. “Ah… basically that… And the parties are pretty epic…”
Today was a series of “lasts”: last walk down a crowded middle school hall; last paper pass-back; last lunch break; last time unlocking the classroom door; last goodbyes. She was moving on, but on this day she willed time to stand still, to slow down. Just this one last time.
As a child, my imagination convinced me that if I closed my eyes in the shower, the water would turn into biting worms to burn and tear at my flesh. But in the pool, all my body was safe except my eyes, which I kept sealed away tight beneath my eyelids. Childhood logic is odd.
The world went crazy for rockets when I was a boy, and it’s never recovered. Even I got taken in for a time. Now, when I happen upon the scene of a launch, I think of the phrase, Keep your feet firmly on the ground. Soar if you must, but I’ll take care of what you leave behind.
“Welcome to the body shop.”
“Hi. I’m looking for a new lung? Cheap. Mine got punctured in an accident…”
“I’m sorry, Sir. Here’s our bargain aisle; maybe something slightly asthmatic? Lots cheaper, but still mostly functional.”
“On second thought, I think I’ll splurge…”
AT LEAST, THAT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…
For sale, pet habitat, said the ad.
What kind of pet? I asked. I’ve been wanting a lizard.
It’ll work for that.
I picked it up and bought my new pet, Silvia.
The next morning, she was gone.
wth? I asked.
Thanks for adopting my invisible snake, said the text.
“Help!” Cried the fisherman. “My sail’s in tatters. Give me one of yours.”
“We’re a merchant vessel, much larger than you,” the captain replied. “We need all our sails or we’ll lose control.”
“Surely you could spare that smallest one.”
“No. But we’ll give you an oar.”
He raised his palms in supplication. “Allow me to serve you again,” he pled. “I won’t fail you.”
“Pathetic,” said Lord Bron. “You don’t care about me; you’re just addicted to the drugs I supply.”
“You don’t understand. It’s all the same now: you are the drugs.”
One of the biggest “little things” my dad did to show he loved us was the many miles he drove us over the years– to visit family, to go to Disney, to camp in the mountains… The only time he ever complained was when one of us pushed our feet into the back of his seat.
The most heart-wrenching moment of my exploration of the post-apocalyptic ruins occurs in a building lined with shelves, still housing rows of books unscathed by the war. Every one tells of a life so far removed from our own, void of all relatable context.
Or maybe not all…
She was a typical kid, except for one peculiar thing: she couldn’t see lightning. Couldn’t feel it, either– or the electric shock others felt after rubbing their feet across the carpet.
It took her years to figure out that she couldn’t see it or feel it, because she was it.
WHY WE DON’T SLEEP OUTDOORS
“Are you comfy?”
I shrug-nod, unable to speak. Just get it over with. I close my eyes as the dentist’s needle closes in.
The sting wakes me, and I rub my jaw as something buzzes about my face.
Jerk wasp. Beneath me a stick jabs my shoulder and the stars mock me from above.