dreadcrumbs

Microstory Monday

For The Love of Vitreum

When I get to the apartment, Jimmy is lying on the living room floor, breathing raggedly, seemingly frozen in place. He is holding Corky's left forelimb tightly in both hands, her paw close to his eye. The rest of Corky, apparently uninjured, is draped across him in an idly yowling heap. Jimmy's forearms are dripping blood from the ragged slashes that look to have been Corky's earlier attempts to free herself.
"Uh..." I say, a little off-balance. "Are you okay?"
There is a growly noise from either Jimmy or the cat, and then he whispers "Do I look okay?"
I take a step forward. "Why don't you just let Corky go? Just let her go."
"Her CLAW is in MY EYE!" He shouts suddenly. "IN MY EYE!"
"Jeez," I say. "You should take it out, then. That can't be good."
"My eye juice will empty out through the hole if I let her go," he says. "It's not just going to clot like blood, doofus."
"Well you can't keep holding the cat like that," I say, stepping closer. "You need a band-aid or something."
"An EYE band-aid?" He shrieks. "Have you ever heard of an EYE band-aid?"
"There's got to be something," I say, looking around the room for an idea.
"Sure there are," He says. "Plugs. Sanitary eye plugs, and we don't have any."
"Maybe a hospital..." I start.
"There's no time!" He shouts. "Get a steak knife!"
"I'm not cutting off Corky's arm," I say.
"No," he groans, clearly disappointed in my stupidity. "Get a pencil from the junk drawer. Use the knife to cut off the eraser. Pour some beer on the nubbin. Then get over here and be ready to stick it in the hole."
"Right," I say, heading off to the kitchen. "Homemade eyeplug. Clever."

Friday Fives

The Five Dominant Forms of Tard Fu

1. Western Spitting Mantis
2. Buzzword Boxing
3. Pointless Extremes Fist
4. Way of the Intercepting Monologue
5. Ultimate Ego Fist (famous for the "Blindered Horse" stance)

Microstory Monday

One Fetish Too Far

The lights are off when I get home, and the air smells like the smoke from a pet store fire.
"Hello?" I say.
"In here, honey," my wife calls from the bedroom.
The carpet leading to the bedroom door is covered in fresh corn husks and the rustle they make beneath my feet makes me shiver.
I open the bedroom door to see my wife sitting on the bedside reading The Wealth of Nations. She's wearing nothing but suspenders and a paint-splattered labcoat. Wisps of smoke are issuing from several small clay pots throughout the room.
I nod to the pots, smiling. "Is that dog hair?" I ask.
"Cat, actually," she says, putting down her book. "Persian."
"Nice," I say, and slip off my shoes.
"Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart," she says.

Friday Fives

Five Things I've Discovered You Should Never Hit When Frustrated Or Angry

1. Brick walls (flays knuckles)
2. Goats (difficult to explain, just DON'T HIT THEM)
3. Your stupid, stupid legs (why won't they run?)
4. The back of any non-broken living skull (ouchy; causes vomit spray)
5. Your fellow man (sparks the inevitable pummeling cascade that you just can't stop if you wanted to even when your target has crumpled to the ground in a quivering heap and you relish in the knowledge that your fury makes you strong and your heart beats loud in your ears like a battle drum calling you to war; also, it's mean)

Tuesday's Terribly Tiny Tale

A Fable for The Chronically Disenchanted

Once upon a time, there was a very thirsty bunny who could find no drink.
He looked in his kitchen cupboard, and all he found was vinegar.
He looked in his basement, and all he found was vinegar.
He looked in the nearby pond, and found it was full of vinegar.
Just then, Mr. Goat walked by.
"What's wrong, Ivan?" asked the goat.
"I'm very thirsty," said the bunny, whose name was indeed Ivan.
"Drink this," said Mr. Goat, handing Ivan a glass of vinegar. "It will make you feel better."
"No thank you," said Ivan.
"Suit yourself," said Mr. Goat, and walked away.
Just then, Mr. Weasel walked by.
"What's wrong, Bunny-Boy?" asked the weasel.
"I'm very very thirsty," said the bunny, who was indeed a young male bunny.
"Drink this," said Mr. Weasel, handing the bunny a glass of vinegar. "It will make you feel better."
"No thank you," said the bunny.
"Suit yourself," said Mr. Weasel, and walked away.
Just then, Mr. Pig walked by.
"What's wrong, O Sylvilagus Bachmani?" asked the pig.
"I'm very very very thirsty," said the bunny, who was indeed a Brush Rabbit.
"Drink this," said Mr. Pig, handing the bunny a glass of urine. "It will make you feel better."
"What is it?" asked the bunny.
"Water," said the pig.
"Really?" asked the bunny, examining the liquid.
"It certainly isn't vinegar," said the pig.
"That's a relief," said the bunny, and drank it up.
"Feel better?" asked the pig.
"Bleh. No. That was disgusting," said the bunny.
"Maybe you ought to just stick with vinegar," said the pig.

Choose-Your-Own Microstory

Seepage

The excretion slides between my shoulder blades and down my back when I answer the phone.
I shudder. I should be used to this by now, but I'm not.
"Any luck?" I say into the receiver.

1. "I spoke to Tom," Diane says. "He thinks you might need to make the hole bigger." I groan. Bigger, I think. And I just ran out of Lortab.


2. "Shasta's a no-go," Diane says. "Even if we add taurine to the secretion."
   "So we're stuck with a private bottler." I say.
   "That," she says, "Or you're going to need a lot of antiseptic."


3. "Jerry says that unless bees are crawling out of the wound, he can't do anything," Diane says.
   I sigh, and Diane waits.
   "Okay," I say. "Where can I get some bees?"

Friday Fives

Five Things I Said This Week That I Hoped I Would Never Say

1. "It's all good."
2. "There's human milk in the grout."
3. "I dropped your scissors on the stall floor."
4. "I think we need to have a meeting."
5. "That better be vomit."