The Uncanny Apocalypse

This story is written for Daniel.

I don’t think anybody saw it coming. Well, people knew that the world would end, but I don’t think they expected it to happen the way it did. Bluntly put it was because of a damn rubber band. Not one of the normal rubber bands that are fun to play with and flick at people. No. It was one of those tiny rubber bands that orthodontists give, er, gave their patients to put on their braces.

As the rubber band was falling to the ground nobody though anything of it. It was an invisible event, but when the tiny rubber circle touched pavement it was the most noticeable thing in the world.

“I HAVE HAD IT!” Gaia roared in every language, dialect, and accent as she held the rubber band. “I’VE HAD TO PUT UP WITH YOU HUMANS LONGER THAN I CAN REMEMBER! YOU AND YOUR WARS! YOUR POACHING! AND YOU POLLUTION! POLLUTION! WELL NO MORE! I HAVE GIVEN YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO CHANGE YOUR WAYS AND CLEAN UP YOUR MESS! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE! IF YOU DON’T FIX THINGS IN NINETY DAYS I WILL DELIGHT IN ENDING YOU ALL!

Almost immediately after Gaia’s outburst a conference of world leaders was held to decide what to do about her threat.

“We cannot allow this eco-terrorist to bully us into her demands!” a president argued.

“No! We must obey,” another president said. “This is the human race we’re talking about!”

“We save the human race by fighting for it!” the first president said.

“I agree!” a prime minister said. “We need to protect our way of life!”

“No!” a queen said. “We need to comply! It is the only way!”

The conference exploded with agreements and disagreements. Yes’s clashed with no’s. Alliances were made and lines were drawn. In the end those that pushed for war told rest to just stay out of their way.

In the following weeks both parties got to work. The citizens of the world who believed that they should heed Gaia’s command planted trees. They cleaned up streets and parks. They established cleaner forms of energy and recycled. They walked, they biked, they became vegetarians. Meanwhile the citizens of the world who wanted to fight Gaia prepared. They stockpiled weapons, they trained soldiers, they set up base camps.

“We strike on Day Ninety!” they said. “When she comes we’ll have a big surprise waiting for her!”

Time passed. The air was cleaner, steel stocks were up, and the ninetieth day crept up over the horizon.

The Earth let out a low rumble as Gaia emerged.

“Well done!” she said. “You have adequately corrected your mistakes. You have kept your part of the agreement so I will keep mine. But know this, though you did well in cleaning up you must be careful to keep it clean. Be careful not to fall outside of my good graces once more.”

It was at that moment that the armies and navies and air forces of the world attacked. Bombs and missiles and bullets and torpedoes all flew towards Gaia with such speed that she didn’t have time to react. The bright flashing in the sky indicated a direct hit. Gaia was dead. And with that the Earth began to fade away like seeds from a dandelion floating in the breeze. Before they knew it people saw the hard ground being replaced with the cold blackness of space. The air was gone and everyone died.

Now there are several morals to this story. The most obvious and obnoxious one is: “Don’t fire bombs and missiles at the Greek Titaness of the Earth.” Another moral reads: “War is silly.” But perhaps the most important one of all is: “Don’t throw small rubber bands on the street.”

A Letter to Dad

...His sister is beautiful. She’s older than I am, but that doesn’t change anything. She’s smart, witty, refined. Everything a man could want is embodied in her. She was recently widowed, but she bounced back pretty quickly. I love her. We’re getting married. Mom would be proud. See you soon. Much love.

Your son,
Oedipus

A Wicked Proposal Blunder

For Gospodin Chekhov

Stuttering Simon Howard gulped nervously as the gracious period at the end of his previous sentence gave him enough pause to gather his thoughts. It would be wishful thinking for the reader to believe that Simon Howard was a confident man. Despite his level of confidence, however, he was in love. The beautiful Nora Wellesley was the business man’s daughter, and she had inherited her father’s stern and stoic demeanor. She raised a thin and silken eyebrow as Simon said, “W-well if you think about it it’s really more of a...of a...business proposal!”-Simon had nearly shouted out “business proposal” out of mere excitement for having found the words- “It’s really just the joining of our...assets!”

Nora’s other shapely eyebrow joined its sister.

“And it’s not as though I come to this...um...merger without anything to offer.”

Simon rummaged through the deep woolen pockets of his overcoat. When his hand had returned from its journey it held a small black box of velvet.

“A r-ring. F-for you,” he stammered.

He tried to open the box so that its prize faced its intended recipient, but it wouldn’t open. Puzzled Simon brought it closer to his eyes where he discovered it was facing the wrong way.

“For”-he cleared his throat- “you,” he said.
The box popped open. Nora made a half-hearted attempt to peer into the gift’s packaging. When she did she let out a “Hmph!” that was meant to serve as a laugh.

“It’s not much, but—”

“You’re telling me it’s not much,” the businessman’s daughter said.

Simon was a little confused. He made the front of the box face him. To his horror the ring was gone. In its place was a small crumpled up piece of paper. Simon was breathless, but not in the good way. He picked up the piece of paper and un-crumpled it. It was a note. In a scrawled handwriting were the words, “Ha ha snoghead!”

“Nora...I...my brother...”

Simon Howard’s younger brother of ten was a wicked boy, and any reader who thinks that Simon was on cloud nine by the end of his visit to Nora Wellesley is sorely mistaken.

February Second

Persephone, return to your mother!

Sacred Bonds

“Get out of my house you cheating bastard! I don’t ever want to see your lying ass around here again! ” Brianna screamed at her husband.
The front door slammed. She walked back to the phone which was lying off the hook.
“Yeah, Tony?” she said. “Sorry. Yeah Friday’s good. Pick me up at eight.”

The Hungry Intruder

It had to have been the candle. There’s no other explanation. The small hungry flame got tired of its wax-encrusted prison and jumped off. It landed on the newspaper, slowly creeping across, consuming the day’s events faster than it had taken for most of them to occur. Starving for more, more of anything, the growing flame spilled out onto the table. The tablecloth screamed silently as the flame hungrily devoured it. Soon the table felt itself being devoured by the voracious flame; because of its stalwart build it held out longer, but soon enough it shared in the tablecloth’s merciless fate.

With an exuberant leap the flame jumped off the table onto the floor. The flame savored the taste of the carpet as it dried it of whatever moisture it may have had. Growing in girth, and speed, the flame cruised along picking off anything in its path; chairs, various papers and trinkets that should have been put away. It made a turn for the living room. It sat comfortably in an armchair, taking in the chair’s delectable smell. Then the flame caught a glimpse of the bookshelf. It gluttonously read the works of Lewis, Jackson, Fitzgerald, Williams all at once. Books make such good finger foods. The chair too was devoured, but not before first comforting the flame with a few seconds rest. The living room cried out at its loss, but soon reluctantly resigned itself to the same destiny as the restless flame went from chair to couch to love seat.

The flame crackled and snapped in hunger. It was famished! It crept into the master bedroom. The bed looked thick, full, and scrumptious. The flame crept closer. The bed shrieked in horror when the flame chomped down on the bedposts. In an act of desperation the bed tried to save its silken pillows, but it was for naught. The flame gobbled them up like a four year-old around cookies. The vanity mirror stared blankly as the bed was consigned to its own place of rest.

The flame grew hungrier. It needed more. The other bedrooms proved satisfying with their toys, and sundries, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. Pictures of times gone by on the walls were good snacks, but they were not enough to quell the ever-growing appetite of this hunger pang-ridden intruder. Irritated, the flame marched into the kitchen. Food, food everywhere, but nothing worth eating, though it was all eaten anyway. Records, letters, desks, flowers, clothes, garbage, and a plethora of dust. All of it consumed, but it still was not enough. The flame stormed to the back door of the house, opened it, and stood staring into the backyard. It peered left. It peered right. Then it caught a glimpse of the fence. On the other side a large two-story Tudor towered towards the sky. The flame licked its lips and decided to pay them a little visit.

It's Dangerous at Night

Seventy year-old Maria Parsons walked home in the dark of night.
In the distance a tall imposing silhouette walked in her direction. Soon they were passing each other. He was a gruff-looking man of about thirty-five.
“Careful ma’am, there’s a serial killer out.”
“So I’ve heard,” Maria replied, fingering the bloody knife in her pocket.

I Remember

I am faced with a monstrous-sized husky. He’s not growling, but he is staring at me intently. I know what he wants. He wants me.

“Mommy! Mommy!” my daughter cries. “His name is Fred! He’s so cute! Can we keep him? Pleeeease?”

I stare into the dog’s wolf-like eyes. Then I remember my journey down the esophagus. I had been a fool, and I had paid for it in full. It was dark all around.

“Please mommy?” my daughter begs. I snap back to the present.

“No,” I say firmly. “You have to give it back.”

“But mommy!”

“No! Now hurry up. We have to go to grandma’s house.”

Grandma. Yes. She was there too. I remember her holding my hand. I remember her telling me it’ll be all right.

“I thought it was you!” I tried to explain.

Grandma just shushed me and told me to forget about it. The darkness was thick.
I now watch my daughter begrudgingly cross the street to return the dog to our neighbor Mr. Hunter. He is a good man.

I remember the darkness being broken by a sliver of light. It grew wider and brighter. A strong hand pulled me out. It was like being born again. I was being made new. I promised to never again mistake wolves for women.

The Makings of a Hero

1. In Shining Armor
The dragon spewed fire upon the village. The knight looked on in outrage as he saw helpless men, women, and children scrambling for cover. He charged forth. The dragon roared. The sound of metal clashing claw echoed in the air.
Fire, sweat, teeth, sword, fire, until death came with a crunch. And as the knight drew his sword from the dragon’s heart he knew that the people were saved.

2. Into the Fire
Francis was faced with a literal inferno. A woman ran towards him.
“My daughter! She’s still in there!”
Francis ran towards the blaze ignoring the objections of his captain.
He could hear the girl’s crying as soon as he broke down the door.
“Don’t worry. I’m a fireman.”
He picked up the girl and held her close. The fire blazed on as he handed the girl to her mother.

3. The Contract
It wouldn’t mess with you if you didn’t mess with it. That’s the way city life worked. It would have been a breach of that contract if Rick responded to the “Help!” that echoed above the heads of the people on the sidewalk. They kept their heads down and quickened their pace when they passed the woman being mugged in the alley.
“Help me!”
Rick ran towards the alley.

The Favorite Things of a Nine to Five Girl

· the comforting power of the pillow

· hitting the snooze button...again

· two cups of coffee

· morning talk radio

· being only five minutes late

· staple removers and white out

· spell check

· lunch break

· People Magazine

· Cheez-Its

· two o'clock mail delivery

· the mailman's gorgeous smile

· getting home by five-thirty

· a warm bath

· movie previews

· movie popcorn

· Lifetime to pass the time on Saturday nights

· blaming it on the scale

· laughing

· learning

· loving

· strawberry daiquiris

· a hug letting you know it's all okay

· friends

· chocolate cheesecake

· chocolate anything

· the salon

· the summer wind

· a walk in the park

· unexpected meetings

· good looks

· a smile amidst a conversation

· a polite goodbye

· numbers on a slip of paper

· retelling a story to friends

· the encouragement of friends

· a dial tone

· the confirmation that Saturday night finally has something to offer

· a red cocktail dress

· the excitement of as a limo pulls up!

· Sardi's!

· Sardi's!

· Sardi's!

· a $67 bottle of Chardonnay

· Spaghettie al Filetto di Pomodoro with sautéed shrimp

· a lazy carriage ride through Central Park

· a kiss on the cheek

· a surprise morning flower delivery

· Sunday brunch

· a yacht

· seeing New York Harbor in a new light

· the clinking of champagne glasses

· rainbows during a sun shower

· Chanel

· Gucci

· Prada

· the thrill of late evenings and early mornings

· dancing

· the gentle touch of skin on skin

· the roar of the ocean's waves

· the quickly fading hushing of an audience as the curtain rises

· French cuisine (who knew?)

· diamonds

· the air that surrounds him

· a tender kiss

· the privacy of being behind closed doors

· sweet dreams

· not having to worry about again hitting the snooze button

· the sunshine through an opened window

· the autumn leaves

· window shopping

· daydreaming about the ring

· Sardi's

· a quickening heartbeat

· the hope that in a few seconds the purchasing of Modern Bride will not have been in vain

· a good firm slap across his face

· the excellent timing of a taxicab

· the softness of a pillow against a cheek

· the comforting power of tears

· alone time

· friends not saying "It'll all be okay" for the millionth time

· the comforting power of leftover alcohol

· headache medicine

· a carton of rocky road ice cream

· Bailey's Cream

· using up sick days

· vodka on the rocks

· the breeze from an opened window

· being six stories up

· a sigh and a single tear

· gravity

· the caressing touch of rushing air

· the comforting power of the ground

A Classic Fairytale

Once upon a time (anytime really) in a land so far away that no one cared to calculate how far removed from the rest of civilization this land was, there lived an old king with a regal sounding name like Preston or Earl. This king had anywhere from two to five daughters, all of whom were very beautiful. But the youngest daughter, who had a lilting kind of name like Melody or Ruby, was exceedingly beautiful. She was the most beautiful girl in all the kingdom, world, or universe. Her beauty was talked about often among the commoners, and eventually word of her beauty reached a very handsome prince with a sturdy name like Grant or Edward. He sought out at once to win the heart of this beautiful princess.

Now there lived in the kingdom an evil wizard or sorceress. He (or she) was most likely in the pay of the king as an advisor (The king was oblivious to his advisor’s wickedness). This evil wizard (or sorceress) was either lustful or jealous of the young princess’s beauty, and he (or she) saw it as an opportunity to become ruler of this far off kingdom, which he (or she) so greatly coveted. So the evil wizard (or sorceress) devised a dastardly plan. A powerful dragon was summoned out of a mountain or caldron to kidnap the princess. The king’s guards were unable to fight off the monster and the princess was stolen. The kingdom wept for its loss as the princess was held for ransom.

The handsome prince despaired over news of this tragedy. So he proclaimed loudly in the king’s court with many people watching on in earnest that he would venture forth to save the princess. The king excitedly agreed. He blurted out that should he accomplish this task then he and the princess would be married. The king’s court and/or the townspeople probably cheered the prince on as he left for his adventure. The prince crossed many mountains, or went through caves, or journeyed on the waters to a dark and tall tower with spikes and constant inclement weather. The prince was stopped by the dragon before or after he could enter the tower. The battle was fierce. The prince’s sword was strong metal and, when applied to the right spot, killed the dragon by piercing its heart, or cleaving its head in twain. The evil wizard (or sorceress) in anger charged for the prince, and, due to either a sudden earthquake or other natural disaster, or because the prince had struggled with him (or her) on the tower’s roof, fell into an abyss, pit of lava, or boiling cauldron of potion.

The prince made his way to the princess. It was true love at first sight, pure and simple. He was a handsome prince, and she was a beautiful princess. There is a possibility that when he kissed her he broke a spell that may, or may not, have been placed upon the princess at some point earlier in her life. The beautiful princess jumped into the arms of her rescuer. They returned to the kingdom and there was a big celebration, feast, or parade (but most likely all three) for the return of the princess. The king kept his promise and the two were married the very next day. When they became king and queen they had at most a dozen children, all of whom were very beautiful and handsome. And they all lived happily ever after, until their children started murdering each other over succession to the throne.

The End

Long-Awaited Confidence

After twenty-five years of timidity, Mark’s long-awaited confidence had finally arrived. And for a moment it was invigorating, a rush; but like the momentary thrill of a roller coaster Mark’s confidence had leaked out of him as quickly as it had filled him up. It was plenty of time for Mark to piss off the most temperamental muscle-bound tenant in the entire building, though.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” Mr. Apartment 2G challenged.

“He’s a moron,” Mark thought. “Now just say it out loud. Come on! Just say it!”

“Nothing. I take it back. I’m sorry,” Mark said quickly, keeping eye contact with his toes.

“That’s what I thought. It’d be a waste of my time for me to have to kick your ass,” 2G said. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Mark turned to walk back down the hall to his own apartment.

“Jeez. It’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbled under his breath.

Suddenly, as if it came from the depths of Tartarus, Mark felt a strong grip grab his shoulder and spin him around. And in the 1.2 seconds it took for the meteor of 2G’s fist to come hurtling towards the surface of his face Mark came to the sharp and strong conclusion that confidence sucks.

Martin Adagio

Martin Adagio was a mouse of small stature both physically and socially. His plain tailored clothes and patched vest were a result of his mother’s hard work as a seamstress, while his presence in Martino Leoni’s pool hall was a result of his father’s compulsive gambling habits. An earthquake of anxiety began to shake him as he approached Martino Leoni who was sitting at a booth with two of his associates, a surly-looking zebra and a shifty-eyed bear. Martin removed his cap out of respect. Martino brushed some of his oiled mane out of his face, focused his amber eyes on the quivering Martin, and said gruffly, “May I help you?”

Martin’s internal Richter Scale jumped to a 6.8.

“P-please, sir. My n-name is M-Martin Ad-dagio. My father is—ahem!—Sabatino Adagio. H-he owes you a d-debt.”

“And a large one at that,” Martino said. “Are you here to pay it off on his behalf?”

Martin hesitated.

“Please Signore Leoni, my family is very poor. Please give me a chance to earn back my father’s debt. I am a better poker player than he is.”

“Why should I do that?” the lion asked. “When I promise to do something I follow through on that promise. The word of a Leoni is sacred. Why should the word of an Adagio be any different?”

“Signore, the word of an Adagio is sacred too, but we are very poor. We would not be so if my father had not gambled away all our money. Please. I implore you!” Martin pleaded.

Martino fell into a skeptical silence. His eyes scanned young Martin Adagio. This caused Martin to shirk back in near terror as the lion sized him up. Martin found himself fumbling with his tail as he was one to do whenever he felt nervous. Finally Martino cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’m in a generous mood today. I will give you a chance to earn back your father’s debt.”

“Oh thank you sir! Thank you! Thank you!” Martin cried out in joy.

“But we won’t be playing poker. We’re going to leave it entirely up to chance.”

Martino pulled from his pocket two translucent red dice.

“Okay,” he said, “here are the rules. We each roll and whoever rolls the lower die wins. If you win I erase your father’s debt. If I win, though, I double your father’s debt and your whole family has to work for me until it’s paid off. You agree to my terms?”

Martino extended a large furry hand. Martin’s smaller and hairless hand reached out and shook it.

“Fine. On my count. Ready?” Martino said handing Martin a die. “One, two, three.”

The mouse and the lion let the dice fly from their hands. Martino’s die rattled around the table a bit before revealing a two. Signore Leoni bore a satisfied smirk. Martin’s die skitted off the table and onto the floor. Martino craned his neck slightly to see what had been rolled.

“Ha! A six!” he laughed. “Your father’s debt is doubled and I own you know.”

“Pardon me, signore,” Martin said timidly. “But you said the lower die wins?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Well you may have the rolled the smaller number, but my die is lower than yours. So according to your rules my father’s debt is cleared.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Martino said.

“It is what you said though, signore,” Martin said softly.

“He does have a point, Martino,” the lion’s zebra associate said. “You did say ‘lower.’”

“But that’s not what I meant. He’s manipulating what I said.”

“There wasn’t a rule against that,” the bear chimed in.

“Be quiet! The both of you! This is none of your business,” Martino snapped.

“But what’s this boy to you?” the bear continued. “Clear his father’s debt and let him be on his way. Or is the word of a Leoni not sacred any more?”

Martino glared at Martin, causing the mouse to squeeze his tail tightly, before finally saying, “Fine! Just go. Tell your father that his debt is forgiven.”

“Oh, thank you, signore! Thank you! Thank you!” Martin exclaimed joyously, bowing his head repeated as he backed away. When he reached the door of the pool hall he turned around and ran home to tell his father.

The Arphasian Seeing Stone

“What’s the prognosis, doctor?” Tiffany joked.

“Your u-bend is free and clear,” the plumber said.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Well,” the plumber began as he swung his bag over his shoulder, accidentally dropping most of its contents.

“Oh, let me help you,” Tiffany offered, rushing towards the mess.

“No!” the plumber exclaimed. “I’ve got it.”

He scrambled to sweep the pile of papers, tools, and trinkets back into his bag. He reached for a translucent grey stone, but was blocked by Tiffany’s hand. She snatched it up.

“You were going to steal from me?” Tiffany seethed.

The plumber stood up.

“Get out of my house!” Tiffany roared.

“No. Give me the seeing stone first,” the plumber said.

Tiffany raised an eyebrow in disbelief as she rose to her feet.

“Are you serious?! Get out of my house before I call the cops!”

“I’m not leaving without that stone.”

Tiffany stormed over to an end table that held her cell phone.

“I’m calling the police,” she said as she flipped the phone open.

The plumber whipped out a gun from his pocket and shot her through the heart. Tiffany collapsed, the seeing stone rolling from her hand. The plumber walked over to it, bent down and picked it up. He pulled out his own cell phone.

“Hey Harper?”

“Yeah?”

“I need Mac.”

“Did you get the Arphasian seeing stone?” Harper asked.

“Yeah.”

“And Tiffany Brown? Did she suspect anything?”

“That’s why I need Mac. I screwed up.”

“Mac’s out on assignment. What happened?”

“I shot her.”

“Jesus. Well you know what’s at stake if we don’t get that stone. It was a small price to pay.”

“Not small enough,” the plumber said as he gazed upon Tiffany’s body and tossed the Arphasian seeing stone lightly in his hand.

“I’ll send Parker,” Harper said.

“I’ll be here.”

An Interlude With a Tiger

“This is unreal,” Ron said to himself.

The four hundred-fifty pound Bengal tiger that stood a mere ten feet from him disagreed. Ron looked like a real enough snack.

The tiger’s black stripes were striking in the afternoon sun they didn’t serve as a well enough camouflage against the backdrop of the clock tower and the rest of Blue Street, but it didn’t matter that much, the tiger licked it’s lips and knew that it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

Ron was frozen. He glanced over at his nearby car. Could he make it? Should he make it? In the end it didn’t matter, the tiger lunged at him with a snarl, making Ron’s choice for him. He bolted. He tore the driver’s side door open and hopped in. As the tiger hopped onto the hood of the car and poked its head over the windshield Ron regretted buy a convertible. The tiger’s teeth were bared. Ron trembled as he stared into what he thought would be the last face he would ever see. Suddenly, the clock struck one and rang out its melody of timekeeping. The tiger turned its head. Ron started the car. The tiger snapped back. The engine growled. The tiger growled. Ron honked the horn. The startled tiger jumped up off the car. Ron backed out and sped off, probably making him the first person ever who was actually saved by the bell.

The Changing

For the werewolves of the world. Please behave.

Angela was scared. Jared grabbed his stomach and let out another sharp groan.

“Baby, just tell me what it is.”

“Angie, I need you to go. Now,” Jared commanded.

“No. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Baby, I can’t tell you. Just go.”

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

Jared swiped her cell phone from her hand and chucked it across the room.

“Damn it! Just get out of here now!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Angela said firmly.

“Why the hell is this happening tonight?” Jared muttered.

“Why is what happening?

Jared groaned again.

“Get out!” he roared.

His groaning stretched out into a continuous moan. He staggered to the window and tore open the curtains. His moan grew deeper and more guttural. The seams on his shirt stretched until bursting as his torso broadened. His pants shredded as his legs thickened. Angela didn’t notice that a small velvet box had leapt from his tearing pocket onto the floor, but watched in horror as Jared changed before her under the light of the full moon which seemed to be a spotlight on him. His low moan quickly evolved into a shrill howl that blended with Angela’s own high-pitched screaming.