Mr. Floppers was clearly possessed. He watched little Billy eating his breakfast, his beady black eyes cold and unfeeling. Billy had felt uneasy ever since his father shoved the still warm plush body into his arms a few days ago.
There was something not right about that bunny. Not right at all.
At first it was little things. The staring. The unmoving frown. Then Billy noticed the bunny seemed to move from where he'd placed him.
Last night he'd had a nightmare in which his fluffy companion crouched over him, opening his mouth to reveal a set of cold white...
Ring, ring!
Ring, ring!'
"Hello, this is General Kuznetz", I stated. "Yes, I understand".
"There has been a change of plans Lieutenant. We must send in our ships".
I clenched my wrists together. The moment was here. The sound of the ships' engines filled the area. Slowly but surely they can began to move. My palms were sweating profusely and my lips compressed together like a lid on a jar. I closed my eyes together, unable to look at the scene unfolding before me. A slight but stratling tingle ran down my spine.
Potatoes.
The bane of my son's existence.
I set the plate down in front of him with a futile hopefulness that today might be the day that he wouldn't wrinkle his nose and recoil as if it were something deeply offensive. But it wasn't. And he did.
"I don't LIKE potatoes," he growled, glowering up at me.
His father frowned and made to reprimand his son's insolence, but I held up a hand to silence him.
"These aren't just any potatoes," I declared with authority, "These potatoes are grown by superheroes."
My four year old looked skeptical, but as he...
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...
"But I don't understand," said Marie, carefully patting her French-inspired doo. She had enough hairspray on it to make it impervious, not only to wind, but to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as well. "Why can't you explain this to me? What do you mean they've had enough cake?"
"Don't worry about it, Ms. Antoinette," said Katie Couric with a grin. "It's nothing to lose your head about."
*rimshot*
My feet ached, but it was well worth it. Standing in line in the freezing cold, clutching my ticket with the number 134 on it, I think I had a pretty good chance this time. The one hundred and thirty-three people in front of me were all bundled up too, scarves wound around their faces against the blowing wind, hats pulled down low on their faces. We all had sneakers on, waiting for the doors to open so that we could stampede into the store and wrestle with each other for the units the store had stocked. I looked at...
It happened gradually. Never when he was looking at it, never exactly the moment he turned away.
It grew. The green-ish mold-like whatever grew. So slowly, it was like watching the Tar Drip experiment. Again. It grew floating inside a near-absolute vacuum in a spherical glass container, with nothing to support its growth.
Well, there was sunlight, but no matter how efficient it was, it couldn't possibly synthesize matter from that.
The worst part was that when he released the vacuum, the particles scattered everywhere. All he could then was to reinstate a vacuum in the container and hope some...
We take the ability to breathe for granted. It's the basic function that keeps us alive, you would have thought that we would keep a closer eye on it, that we would pay attention to how many lungfuls of air we consume every day. But we don't. We don't think about that mundane process because that is not the element of breathing that adds a spark to life; it is the thieves that trade in such banal fare that creates the interest.
For a breath once stolen is never forgotten. Whether it be by the view from a hill over...
“Right next to the heart-shaped waffle maker, that’s where it sits.” Like so many other thoughtful, can’t-miss gifts that were utilized immediately and then quickly forgotten about.
“No, not the deflated exercise ball, it’s there on the other side. Can’t you see how neatly and purposely it’s stacked?” A thin, film of dust had collected and moisture had started to claim some of the top pages. But it was all still there, the zenith of my existence and purpose in this life.
“No I’m not talking about heart-shaped waffles!” She’s antagonizing me now… “Oh, haven’t you heard? They were all...
i had a dream. It was so weird! I dreamt is was in a truck cruising down the highway. I looked up at the driver and said "Where am i?" He turned around, slow, very slow. I gasped. He was a cat! a gray tabby with neon eyes. "Why am i here?" i asked, thinking that, hey this was a dream. if this cat can drive, then maybe he can talk too. he opened his mouth. "Meow?" was all that came out. So much for the "if he can drive, he can talk" theory. I sat up. We were driving...