My hand disappeared a week ago. I was rolling out a sheet of cookie dough for the kids. They come home around three and I like to have something warm baking for them. It makes me feel more useful and it's good that kids end their day with something sweet.
I was rolling the dough. Chocolate chip, I think it was. And my left hand just wasn't there anymore. The space where it was before was empty now. I didn't scream or cry. I'd gotten used to missing things. I figured this would be the same.
I had another hand...
George's house was a hubcap magnet. Hubcaps came weekly, flying through the air at his windows or car or yard like some sort of kamikaze attack. He didn't know why this was, it just was.
First he attempted to board his windows up. This left him with shards of broken wood and slightly bent hubcaps. Eventually he settled on iron shutters. He felt a bit like a drug lord huddling in his iron plated house. Only it was more like a drug lord who frequently wore red converse sneakers and chinos.
It wasn't as if he lived in a high...
We had our pet unicorn stuffed today. Oh people will tell you it's odd to stuff your family pet. A bit grim. A bit strange.
My aunt Gemma said we'd turn up on one of those hoarding shows, pointing out the rows of stuffed cats and rabbits to the audience.
I don't think it's so strange. Captain Bluebell gave us years of enjoyment. I remember when we first got him. The way he couldn't quite walk yet. He wobbled around, smashing all of the china we kept on pedestals. I don't remember why we kept over a dozen vases on...
Lola. When I think of her my heart doesn't beat right. It doesn't go bathumpbathump like on television. It goes beep beep beep because I'm a robot.
Wait. It's more like a clock than a heart. They've placed me in front of the Barking Burger. I'm supposed to bark every hour. Tell people about the specials and deals and what delicious meat we have. Come taste our barky patties.
Instead every hour I call out Lola. Lola. She walks by the window and cocks her head as though she can hear me.
They talk about me being defective. A chip...
Gigantic. It's not a word you use to describe a penis. It's too bulky. Women want softer words. More exotic words. Words that whisper and moan.
Never start with sex either. You start in the middle of things and the audience has nowhere to go. I recommend a bus stop. You get a conversation going. Maybe about how yellow the daisies are lately or why the bees are dying.
Of course you'll think the audience will get impatient. Get to the hard core sex already! But they won't. Anticipation and all. I once wrote a story that had fourteen pages...
I hoped they would stop worshiping the coat soon. After my husband Ed spilled coffee on his shoulder I'd washed it and put it out on the line to dry.
Someone from town happened to pass by as it swung from the line. He said he saw the face of Jesus in it. Right where Ed had spilled the coffee.
They came after. Ed tried to run them off with his shotgun. He tried to sick the dogs on them. They still came. All wanting to look at it. Take a piece of it home with them.
I took it...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. There were angels on my lawn. Dirty, foul things. They pecked at my roses, tearing at them with their claws. They left shit and mud stained feathers all over the lawn. They peed on everything.
I'd tried that new Angel B Gone spray but it only made them frisky. A few started having sex on my lawn. My Jem had to get out the garden hose to chase them away.
I'd tried to trap them. I bought great big cages from the hardware store and pieces of cheese to lure them in. They...
There is a point where you have prayed enough. When you have suffered enough. It was at this point that Imelda figured out how to pick the lock on her bedroom door.
The sound of the door creaking rattled in her ears. Carefully, she felt along the walls. She headed for what she remembered was the front door.
She couldn't see anymore. Years locked up in the darkness, her eyes were mere pinpricks in her face. She could hear the sound of breakfast being prepared. Hear the sound of their voices as they laughed. The sizzle of bacon.
The dog told him to kill people. It wasn't like it was the first time either. Mr. Muffins had been telling Jim to kill people since he was but a pup.
At first it was the normal crazy things. Kill the president. Kill Madonna. Kill that guy who sells ice cream cones for 2 bucks down the street.
Really. Where was a 10 year old going to get 2 bucks for ice cream? The lemonade stand only earned him seventy five cents. And a bluegreen ball of yarn from Mrs. Patacki.
He managed to ignore the dog. Puppy voices were...
The sheep were at pasture.
It was 0300 and the troops were restless. They wanted action, not this placid chewing of grass. Every day was filled with nothing but chewing and the occasionally terrifying sheering.
The ones that came back from the shed came back wrong. Nude and shivering, wild looks in their eyes. Year after year. Jimmy couldn't take it anymore. When they came for him the last time, he ran for it. He chewed and bit and growled his sheep growl.
He didn't come back. That night they looked in when they saw the soft lights come on...