Tag Archives: short story

Nerd Love

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Um, I just wrote this for myself and it’s really silly. I’m posting it unedited because something in me says if I don’t post it now, I won’t post it at all.

Every time I talk shit on romances, I immediately try to write one. This is the closest to a real romance that I’ve probably ever written.

 

 

Maura was allergic to everything. Gluten, dairy, eggs, barley, tomatoes, and of course peanuts. She had so much EpiPen, she started to get high off it. When forced into social situations, she would sometimes take an allergen just so she could stick herself with the EpiPen. She was also a cutter and an alcoholic and an asthmatic.

Being thin and pale and unable to leave her filtered house without all kinds of defenses, she spent a great deal of her time playing video games inside. She was amazing at video games. She was top level in her RPG, high man in the FPS, and a real whiz at MineSweeper.

One day she heard about a new game called “Knock Your Socks Off.” She wasn’t sure what it was, but it got good reviews, so she downloaded it and started it up.

An electric shock from her computer jolted through her, she kicked spasmodically until her socks went sailing clear across the room.

When she woke up, a beautiful man was leaning over her. He had chromium gray eyes, a steel cut chin, and a build like… Shrek. Hm. “Are you okay?” He said.

She let him help her up before she realized he was in her room. “How did you get here? Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m your neighbor Ralph. I just moved in.”

She looked around. Her computer was dead.

“Did the power go out?”

“Yes, I think there was a massive surge. I saw lightning flicker across my ceiling. Then I heard a loud crash from your room next to mine and when I came out to see, your door had blown clean off the hinges.  What do you think could have done this? Does your computer draw a lot of power?”

“Oh… no…” she said weakly. Her computer was a Behemoth 10,000, top of the line, and waayy over the building’s electric capacity. She had saved for two years just to afford the payments.

Her throat felt itchy. Wait.. no door!? Oh no. She hadn’t taken any antihistamines or otherwise prepared for this attack on her respiratory system. Her face was already swelling up. She was going to die. She was getting delirious on the fear and adrenaline and lack of oxygen. Losing to delirium.

“Kiss me you mad impetuous fool,” she said thickly, and pulled him into a kiss.

Peanuts. He tasted of peanuts.

She was definitely going to die.

“WORTH IT,” she managed to choke out as everything went chromium gray.

 

The next thing she knew, she wasn’t dead. The EpiPen high was flooding through her. Her mouth tasted of  strange lip balm. And peanuts. And misery. And climate control? Whence came this life-giving air filtration?

She shook her head to clear it, then regretted that move when a headache slammed into her like a Mack truck.

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” A magnificent baritone took the edge of her pain. There he was. Concerned gray eyes. High gloss full black hair. And… well, she’d always been fond of Shrek anyway.

“I realized your climate control was gone so I brought you into my place. I hope that’s okay.”

“You administered the EpiPen?”

“I’m a diabetic. I know how to give a shot.”

A diabetic… with climate control… EpiPen anytime..?

All of the sudden Maura couldn’t talk to him anymore. “Thank you,” she managed. “If you ever want a sugar free dessert… I have a lot of sugar free jello in my cabinet I didn’t know what to do with.”

His eyes widened. “I… love jello,” he said.

That was their first awkward moment together.

 

So they got married and lived together in nerdy bliss and rarely had to leave their house. Ralph invited a lot of people over though, and Maura was forced to make more friends.

 

The end

 

Life in the Desert – collaborative story

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I’ve been wasting time writing stories with my friend G lately, and they said I could post one of them. This one cracked me up. I love collaborating on nonsense like this.

 

G>S001 03/29/19

Janet and Bill had moved to the desert two years ago.  They liked Dry Climates, and they hated Rain, although they liked water.  Bill had been a former executive with Podunk Industries, makers of Inner Tubes, and Janet had been a programmer working for a small company called “Magic”, that had been recently bought out by Microsoft.  Janet had quite a large chunk of stock options in Magic,and she had cashed them out so that they could build their dream home in the Desert.  Their dream home was a Cave in the Desert, in which they invested a lot of money to make it into elegant and sustainable living quarters. It had running water, a sewer system, toilets, Propane piping, and electricity from the 15 Kilowatt Propane generator, as well as a solar powered system for energy collection on the sunny days, which of course was most of them. Polished stone flooring was added throughout the cave to add a touch of elegance.  The cave contained his and her garages for their vehicles, including a small helicopter, and there were secret passages, a safe, a safe room, a full kitchen, gym and workout room and rooms for their hobbies. All of this was sealed behind a huge door impenetrable by outsiders, and closed circuit surveillance kept an eye on everything so it was very safe and secure.   Bill played the Guitar, and Janet liked crafts of all kinds, so they each had rooms filled with stuff of their likings.  One day Janet said to Bill…..

S>G002 3/30/19

“All this stuff sure is great, but what good is it without children?”

“No no,” said Bill. “I have insecurities and I know I’ll make a terrible father. How about instead of a kid, we get a pet?”

“I would like a pet!” Janet said.

“Whew,” said Bill, relieved.

But his relief didn’t last for long. Soon the house, already jam-packed with belongings, was also jam-packed with camels, the manifestation of Janet’s unfulfilled desires. They had over thirty camels and Janet insisted on keeping them inside, and the camels chewed on everything.  One day Bob was trying to recline on his hammock in his room when the camel-chewed string broke and he fell, landing hard and breaking his coccyx.

“Help!” He called, but Janet had gone out for more camel kibble. A camel walked in the room and stared at him, glassy eyed.

“I hate you,” he told the camel.

The camel leaned over and started to lazily eat his Lego set.

G>S003 3/31/19

“That’s it!…I’ve had enough”, said Bill to himself, and he got the plasma rock melter out of the cave’s tool storage area, and headed to the back of the cave, to melt out a new room, a pen just for enclosing all of Janet’s camels. While he was performing this task, Camels would wander back to see what he was doing, spit on him, slobber, make a humorous braying sound and then wander back.

“Damn Camels!!” said Bill to no one in particular, and continued his rock melting. Bill
laughed when one of the Camels walked in front of the Plasma Rock Melter and was instantly vaporized. Just as he was finishing, Janet returned with a truck full of Alpo Camel Bits, Camel Kibble and 100 pound sacks of Buffalo Camel feed.

Janet said “Where is my Favorite camel Zelda?”

Bill said with a chuckle, “Just follow the smell…and you will find her.”

Janet said, “What are you doing, Bill?”

He said, “I am making a Camel corral to house all of your Camels before they eat up the entire house…they already ate most of your craft items in your craft room.”

Janet said, “Well OK, but right now could you get the loader to move all the food from the truck into the Camel Pantry?”

“Sure,” said Bill.

Janet added, “I bought something for you too, Bill…it’s in the Truck.”

S>G004 4/1/19

As Bill hobbled back to the entrance, he thought to himself how lucky he was that Janet wasn’t angry at him for disintegrating her camel. He hoped the present she got for him wasn’t heavy; the plasma rock melter was the heaviest thing he could carry. In fact, now that his rage had subsided, he realized how much pain he was in, and set down the gun before he went outside. He got there and blinked in the sunlight for a minute, wondering where the truck was, when he heard a stainless steel door slam
shut behind him.

“You melted Zelda,” Janet said from the balcony. “We’re through! I’m finding a man who can love me, my 4 billion dollars, AND my camels!” She went inside.

“Augh, what will I do?” Thought Bill. “We’re surrounded by miles and miles of desert. The nearest place is that little Western style town forty miles away.”

A Lego set crashed at his ankles. Another landed on his head. His scalp started bleeding. He stumbled over it and landed on his coccyx again.

“Janet, please,” he said.

“I’m not listening,” her voice called. “And I’ve got the plasma cannon aimed at your heart. Get out.”

Bill sighed and started walking.

G>S005 4/1/19

Soon the sound of a vehicle approaching could be heard.  With the desert mirage effects, he couldn’t tell what it was.  Then it got closer.  It was Janet.  She hollered to Bill, “APRIL FOOL!”

Bill said, “Huh?”

Janet said, “I don’t know how you could think that the Camels could be more important than you!”

“But,” said Bill.

“But nothing,” said Janet, “if you had been more observant you might have noticed the Giant Lego set that I bought for you in the truck.”

“You scared the hell out of me Janet…I thought you might even melt me with the Plasma Cannon.”

“Pretty good April Fools Joke huh?” said Janet. “Hop in so we can get back and corral the Camels in the new room you built for them…Two of the Camels ate all of the soap I just made in my Craft room, and one of them spit soap bubbles and bit me, so I think that corral was a real timely good idea.”

Janet applied gauze to Bill’s head, which had cauterized in the desert sun.

Janet said, “I am sorry I was so angry, but I was bitten by a scorpion when I got back, and the poison made me nuts for a short while.”

“Time for Ganja Janet?”

“Absolutely Bill, fire up Billy Bong when we get back.”

 

The End

The Stone Cold Killer

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I once took three men down with a single plastic drinking straw. I am the real deal. A stone cold killer.

I have assassinated fourteen people in my line of work. I terminated another ten just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Recently, I nearly died from being ill prepared. The target sent someone after me while my guard was down. I guess my name and face are starting to be known. I fought them off, but barely. Only luck saved me. I should have been better armed.

It’s alright now, though. I’ve sharpened my cuff links. I’ve got razor blades in my hair, grenades in my shoes, and a pistol up my ass. I am a walking arsenal. Nobody is catching me off guard again.

Oh shit I tripped.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pancakes Only

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I’m not sure whether this is good or not, but here it is anyway. I don’t know, I can’t focus and should not have attempted to edit this today. I wrote this when I woke up after a dream about a ghost, and there’s nary a ghost in it, but there sure are a lot of pancakes.

It’s either very sweet, very disjointed, or fine… or not fine. Maybe it’s just my head that’s disjointed.

 

 

 

Babbo Babbino was a round man, full of Italian cheer. He spent most of his time running the diner on 21, so when his family went to his funeral, they were shocked to find another family there, already grieving.

Momma was a shy, withdrawn woman, not an Italian but a WASP. She saw the family, swallowed all her feelings, and nodded formally at them.

“A funeral is not the place to fight, Marcia,” she warned her daughter.

So Marcia didn’t fight. But she studied this extra family during the eulogy, steaming. Had they known about her family? They didn’t look surprised. The other woman held her head defiant, straight, wearing her scarlet letter like a point of pride, another Italian by the look of her. As for her daughter, she looked embarrassed to be here. There was high color on her cheeks. She clearly hadn’t wanted to come to this. She was very pretty. Prettier than Marcia, with pure bold Italian features and jet black hair which held a high gloss. Marcia had inherited her mother’s mousy brown, thin, soft, impossible hair, which frazzled at the mere mention of humidity. Had they spoken Italian together with her father?

She hated them so much.

After the funeral, her mother went to speak to them. They both began the conversation looking scared and tense, but before long her mother cracked a smile at something she’d said. They had found common ground. The woman, encouraged, commenced to tell her story after story about Babbo. Soon they were chatting like old school friends.

Her mother turned to call her over but was startled by Marcia’s glare. Her voice caught and fell. Marcia gave each one of them an acid look and stormed to her car.

She drove angry, not thinking, and surprised herself by coming to a stop at the diner. Well… work always did help when she was troubled. So she unlocked the door, ensuring the sign stayed flipped to closed. Nobody would come anyway. All the regulars were at the funeral.

Pancakes. That was all she wanted to make right now. Pancakes always helped.

She whipped together the batter (always from scratch as her father had taught her) in their biggest bowl, and started frying.

The bubbles settled into the top of the first pancake, and she flipped it. It was a little bit too pale.

He always loved her pancakes. She could never make them perfect every time, as he did. But he ate them and he laughed his generous laugh. And at what point in his day would he go visit the other family? Did he make pancakes for her, too? Did he call her his little chef? Did he laugh when she folded one of them in half, or sprayed batter on the floor?

Thinking back, he had spent more than a few nights away from home. Momma had always shrugged it off as business trips, and Marcia had believed her, never thinking to question it. Momma must have always known, or at least suspected. This was why she had taken their presence at the funeral so well.

A pancake was burning.

She wasn’t cooking well. All this was pointless without someone to feed. She had too many pancakes, and needed to share.

She went out, flipped the sign, and taped up an extra handwritten notice which said, “pancakes only today!”

Now that there was the prospect of customers, things were different. She focused, cleaned up, started the coffee, set out the bacon and sausage and blueberries, whipped together more batter.

Customers slowly streamed in. It was a slow day, which was good since she was alone and had a lot of work to do.

“Just pancakes today,” she called as each customer came in.

Nobody minded. And she lost herself in the pancakes, the orders, the change, the pouring coffee, the frying bacon, and the heaps of fresh, golden, perfect pancakes. There was nothing but food in her brain for several hours, and life settled into perfect mundanity. As she navigated around the kitchen, she could hear the clanking spatulas and hissing grills, and layered behind that, imperceptible to all but her, the sound of Babbo’s song and laugh. She found herself humming one of his songs.

Until the bell rang, and in walked the other mother and daughter. Marcia froze in her work and hid, watching them from behind the shelves. The mother seemed to have been here before, but the daughter looked around the diner with piercing curiosity.

The daughter had never been to the diner.

Never been to the diner?

Marcia thought of the long hours she’d spent with her dad, learning how to cook. The waiting tables, the sound of his clatter and singing in the kitchen. Imagining him without this diner as a backdrop, her memories came up surprisingly empty. What kind of a Babbo did they even know? How could they possibly have a complete picture of him without knowing this diner?

“Pancakes only,” she said. She eyed the daughter… no, her younger sister. “I could use some help.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incendiary

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Sitting at the kitchen table by the window, smoking and watching out the open window. The screen had long since been torn away, by animals, perhaps. The scent of a dying fire on the cool evening breeze carried from the city: a primal, inviolable, deeply human smell.

I’d just come from there. My work for the day was done, and there was nothing to do now but rest.

They said the cigarettes had given me cancer, and cut out my larynx. Them. Doctors. Hospitals. People whose profession was to help you live. It all sounded so phony. Laughable, even.

I hadn’t wanted to go, but my husband had pleaded and begged me into it. In the end, I went for him.  He wasn’t afraid of what he called my paranoia, but he was terrified of losing me to cancer. He might have been naive but he was kind, and he loved me, and I could never say really say no to him; not when it mattered.  So they weren’t the ones who took my voice. I had given it as a gift to my husband, to stop his tears. After all, I still had hands to write, feet to run.

Now he was dead, too. Taken away by the same men in white, in an ambulance. Halfway through dinner, he’d fallen down. I hadn’t been able to protect him after all.

I tamped out the butt of my cigarette and lit up a new one, breathing deep. The sunset’s pink light caught the edges of the dissipating cloud over the city.  It was a beautiful evening. They couldn’t touch that.

A laser focused over my heart. I pretended not to notice, gave the marksman time to aim, and took one more long drag, relishing the flavor, the last thing left to me.

Aim well, bastards. I’ve already made my mark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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