Twisted

Wind

Instructions on side of box read:

1. Carefully slice the circular sticker holding the top flap, using a sharp knife.
2. Lift flap. Caution: Do not look inside box.
3. With arms extended, reach into box and find the green tab.

“Wait. How can I find the green tab if I can’t look inside the box?”

“Keep reading!!!”

4. The green tab is smooth; the blue tab has pockets.

“What the hell are tab pockets?”

“Just… feel!”

“Okay, got it.”

5. Pull the green tab gently toward you.
6. When you feel a breeze, cease pulling.
7. Clasp blue tab and count to nine.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

“…eight? Why did you stop counting?”

“I farted.”

“Damn it, Marty! We bought a box of stinky wind for nothing!”

***

Wind is the prompt. Bizarre is the story.

Frail

How frail is the bully on the inside? He who has likely gone through abuse unlike any most know, he who must release the pent-up energy that he’s unable to expound in the face of his own bully. Likely his parent.

Gently, I say,
understand the frightened child
as you take his punches
and then say unto him
as you bleed upon the ground,
“You are no better
than your own abuser,
asshole.”

Frail

#SoCS – Vacuum

Technology is such that I have become lost in it, it seems. At times I see myself as a brain, floating above a chair, bodiless fingers upon a keyboard, in the vacuum of the Internet. My friends are other, bodiless brains and fingers and sometimes hands grasping appendages as they watch whatever excites them.

Do we become solid only when we get up out of our chairs? Away from our screens with images and words reduced to pixels and ones and zeros the moment they leave our floating minds? Do we ever long for smells, taste and the feel of anything but the nubs on the ‘f’ and the ‘j’?

socs-badge-2015

Find Stream of Consciousness Saturday here and join in today!

Give and Take – 100 word fiction – Daily Post

It is my pleasure to take from you all you have to give. And you give it willingly, you do. But for a price, of course.

You know I shall enjoy my pleasure, and you indulge me each time I ask. We have that sort of relationship, you and I. Of mutual benefit, do you not think?

The pleasures you give are sweet, they are sumptuous. They linger on the lips like the taste of a kiss, they do. And what is it I give back to you?

About a hundred bucks a day. Chocolate is not cheap, is it?

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Find the Daily Post here, where today the prompt is Pleasure.

Limp – Fiction in 50 words

Here I sit, limp from a day of ups and downs, ins and outs, and I wonder: if there are days of exhausted collapse for paper pushers like me, how must it be for those who labour with their backs all day? Or sex workers? Think about the sex workers!

Coming Out – 100-word Story

The doctor said it’s natural. It was a difficult appointment, but I feel slightly better now. I suppose I’ll have to tell my family. I wonder how that will go…

Mom, Dad, are you sitting down? I have this thing growing inside me. The doctor said it will come out by itself… No, it’s not a tapeworm.

Mom? Dad? Have you ever seen the movie, Alien?

Wait? Why are you backing away from me? No! Don’t run! You’ll make it come out n– Ahhhh!!!

Yeah. Probably best to just tell them I’m pregnant and get it over and done with.

This is part of The Daily Post prompt – the word of the day is Natural.

Stop

“Stop” has become
a swear word to you.
And “let’s go,”
makes me cringe.

I should never have started
teaching you to drive.

Jus’ another day at the farm

It all started when Billy took it on hisself to drive the tractor. I told him again and again, stay off the damn tractor. But would he listen? A’course not.

I was doin’ my work, ya know, muckin’ out stalls when I heard the darn thing drive away. Now you might say I shouldn’a left it runnin’. An’ I prolly shouldn’a left it sittin’ with all them boxes stacked up beside it. He wouldn’a bin able to get up there if I hadn’a done that. But he was determined.

An’ what’s the first thing he did once the machine started rollin’? ‘At’s right. Straight for Bessie. He’s had it in for that cow since he first got here.

So now I got m’self a dilemma. Do I shoot Billy? Or do I jus’ leave him be an’ hope he doesn’ get ahold of the tractor again? ‘Coz there’s still Rosemarie to worry about. An’ she’s my best milker.

Nope, I think I’ll jus’ take Billy out to the back forty and put an end to him. Too bad though. I was gettin’ kinda fond’a that goat.

Haiku – revenge

writing fiction makes
it possible to kill you
more than just one time

window

A Resignation

Dear Boss,

I’m writing to let you know that it is with regret that I hand in my resignation. I no longer feel comfortable doing my job.

It started with Simmons at the water cooler. He told me that Marsha is sleeping with Johnson, but she wants it kept quiet because her husband might find out.

As Chief Gossip and Director of Jokes, I’m afraid I’m unable to restrain myself. Considering Marsha’s mouthful of jagged, dangerous-looking braces and Johnson’s wooden leg, I’m sure you can understand my predicament.

It’s been a pleasure working with you, particularly during the big printer-blow-up incident of ’13. I heard, due to a miracle of modern medicine, they actually managed to sew Thompson’s testicles back on. Still, the plaque we hung in the printer room is an excellent reminder for everyone why it’s not a good idea to photocopy one’s posterior.

I wish you all the best in the future.

Sincerely,

Bozo