If there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s never kick a cloud. Never ever kick a cloud. It gets all huffy and then the storm never stops. It’s snow. It’s rain. It’s hail. For days and days and days. You’ll never live it down. The guilt always sticks around. Enemies for life.
Every joyous occasion ruined by a soggy old storm cloud.
Just ask my ex-wife.
“It’s always milk and cookies. Milk AND DAMN COOKIES. For once, I’d love a nice glass of red wine and an artisinal cheese. Mix it up, people. Mix it up! Santa enjoys the finer things in life, don’t ya know.”
It starts as a bump. A harmless lump on your face. A pimple, you’ll think. But then a week goes past. It sticks around for a bit. Then it grows. There is no diagnosis. It’s just rotten luck.
The one good thing is that a leprechaun never forgets its host. So you’ll probably be rewarded with a pot of gold if you can ever find your kid again.
I can taste the heat. My heart beating as I pace by the door. He’ll be here soon. One-two-three and one-two-three and the doorbell rings.
I lose my cool.
How do you greet Satan anyways?
It was like a scene from a storybook.
There were carolers singing at the front door, stockings hung by the fireplace and even an angel tree topper.
No one saw me sneak out the back door.
No one saw me set the fire.
But everyone heard me ho-ho-ho.
“Excuse me, do you have the time?”
“Oh, it’s 6:52.” Damn, late again.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He was handsome. Excuse me’s and thank you’s don’t see commonplace anymore. I wanted to say more, but I just smiled.
The next stop is mine and we bump into each other on the way out.
We exchange sorries.
It’s always weird when the complete stranger you just had an interaction with is walking the exact same direction as you. Do you acknowledge them? Do you ignore them? I trudge on through the snow and ice.
167 Tillimonk Road and I’m there. So was he. We exchange glances and I ring the doorbell.
“Rhoda’s party?”
“Uh, yeah. What a coincidence.”
I nod.
We exchange smiles while we wait for an answer.
Rhoda greets me with a hug and nods over to the man. “Who’s he?” She whispers in my ear.
I step back. “You don’t know him?”
We both look at him, he smiles and shrugs. “Sorry, ladies. Give me your jewelry, money and a glass of wine. This is about to turn into some scary good fun.”
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There was something about him that different. He could feel it deep down within his being. Maybe it was the unruly hair? No, just common bedhead. Or it could have been his fascination with witchcraft? He doubted it. Just a hobby, really. Then there was the scar. The one right on his kneecap. The one no one could see but him. It was truly different. It was shaped like a little storm cloud.
“Hey, Larry, you should have someone look at that?”
The fireworks in the air didn’t stir a soul. There was no “aww” or “ooh” to be heard amongst the crowd. They were focused on the unveiling of the time machine. A time machine that promised the wrong side would win.
They glided overhead, hooves beating on clouds, the wind guided them onwards. Colorful lights illuminated the sky, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through chimnies and the sound of bells rang throughout the town. The night would go on as planned. No one would suspect a thing.
It’s really hard to apply mascara when you’re a unicorn.
It was messy.
The cheese slid down the wall and onto the sofa.
“Do you think mom will notice?”
“I doubt it. She’s a werewolf now.”
It was too late. She was already falling. She wondered who would catch her this time.
No one.
Shelly was lost in it. The waves crashing over her, pushing her farther out into the sea, she grasped for anything, but instead, she sank. Her eyes open, she searched the waters for clues. Where was rescue? Was it wrong that she wanted help? She could admit now that it was a mistake, but at the time, she was desperate and alone with no one to call her own.
She came from a family of pirates. She felt at peace with the sea. Her sinking was silent. No splashing. No sounds. She could feel her lungs filling with water. She couldn’t hold her breath forever.
There. Eyes. A flurry of bubbles. She was going up-up-up. It was true. Mermaids did exist.
When she surfaced, grasping for air, she looked around for her beautiful savior. Instead, she saw the curved back of a dolphin, its face smiling at her.
She wanted nothing more than to crash back underneath the waves.
Hello readers!
If you enjoy reading my little stories, please recommend Fake Persona for the creative writing directory.
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I don’t know if they’ll ask questions. If they did, I don’t hold the answers. No one really knows what size shoe a sasquach wears.
I was lost in between birthdays. I was more than gone but less than here. What could I call myself? I wasn’t a believer. My age couldn’t identify. My reflection broke mirrors. My voice was strong like vinegar and choked you before you could say hello. I wasn’t a villain, but certainly not a hero. I wanted to be your deity, but I was never able to undress my soul.
I searched in my bag for a gun, a knife or a blunt object.
The only thing I could find was a pen.
I signed your glossy 5x7 and wished you a nice day.
All in a day’s work.
They were always watching me. Them. The man. A man. Next to me. Over my shoulder. I didn’t like him. His smell. Sweet like candy and I’m sure there was a puppy hidden there in his briefcase. Or some lollipops. I could tell he was bad. A very, bad man, indeed.
“Hey, excuse me? Do you have the time?”
“What? You communist, leave me alone. I don’t have any money. You’re a bad, bad man and you go away right now.”
The man shrugged, turned around and headed to his vehicle. An ice cream truck.
I knew it!
It wasn’t his fault, no one told him Cornelius the Dragon was in town.
His gingerbread house was burnt to a crisp. He ran out of invisibility potion the night before and the apothecary had closed early for the town’s visitor, leaving him wide open for attack.
Johnson feared the counsel more than he feared Cornelius.
“Patrick K. Johnson, please explain yourself.”
They didn’t knock nowadays. They often just transported into your living room right as it was getting to the good part.
“Oh, hello. Um…er…you won’t like it.”
“Well, go on then, really. We have other houses to visit.”
“I ran out of invisibility potion the night before and the next day the apothecary was closed and by the time I returned home. Well, I had to bake a new one, you see.”
“Yes. Patrick, you’re a careless old fool and we should throw you in the dungeon for a few months, but instead, we’re going to make you an offer.”
“What?”
“Yes, an offer. Move away, please. Oh so very far away. This has been the 10th house this month. In fact, we bought you a sturdy castle.” The magistrate pointed to a map in his hand. There was a giant red X in the middle.
“But that’s over by Cornelius!”
“Yes, Patrick. Exactly.”
Ginny lived in a hamburger bun.
“I’m the meat,” she exclaimed, but no one took her seriously.
She often wondered what it be like to swish around in a giant belly. She would probably have more room to decorate and it wouldn’t get soggy when it rained.
One day a giant visited Ginny’s hamburger bun house.
“Hey there, why do you live in a hamburger bun?” the giant asked, crouching down, whispering.
“Because I’m the meat,” she laughed. “I’m trying to find a big giant belly to live in, that’s why.”
The giant wrinkled his nose and said, “Trust me, little lady, you would not like living in a giant’s belly. We’re always on the move and rarely sleep. You would be swishing and swashing all around in there. Would you rather live in my house with me?”
“Your house? Like with doors and windows and a fireplace?”
“Oh my, yes. I have all of those things and more. I even have a swimming pool. It’s the Atlantic Ocean!”
There were tears in Ginny’s eyes while she spoke. “Oh, I would like that very much, Mr. Giant Sir.”
“Oh, please call me, Gregory. There’s only one favor I ask before you move in.”
“What’s that?”
“May I eat your house? I’m starving!”
In the dark, your eyes play tricks on you. Glowing eyes, invisible hands on your back and the sound of foot steps lingering in the hallway. It’s just your imagination.
Or is it?
My cat is a talker. He’s always chatting with me. We talk about sports. We talk about the weather. He’s smart too. He was telling me about those Chilean miners. Like how does he know this stuff? He told me he reads the newspaper online.
I think he reads it when he uses the litter box.
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I tripped, they rolled and I tripped again.
My hands went searching for what they couldn’t see and what rolled were my eyeballs. I couldn’t catch them and who on Earth knows why they ran away from me this time. I promised to be patient, squint less and rest more. Wear my shades on sunny days. Stop staying up late, glaring at computer screens. I promised to wash my contact lenses every single day. And to stop wearing so much mascara.
Don’t take your eyes for granted or they might roll away too.
His words were like rays from the sun, Brian’s cheeks flushed and freckles started to form across his nose. A slow process, but like with any crush, Brian thought it was worth it. He had been nodding so long, hanging on every word, he wondered if his face could do anything else but beam.
“Oh excuse me, I have to take this,” Damien said, stepping away from Brian and walking into the next room. Brian touched his face, felt the dimples on his cheeks and wondered how red his face must be from all the smiling.
“Oh, sorry about that. It was my dealer.”
“What?”
“Oh, not that. I’m in talks with an artist. Local, you may have heard of him. Luis Gus?”
His ex-boyfriend. My god. Was he everywhere?
“Unfortunately, yes. He just broke up with me.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear that. He’s a marvelous painter though.”
Brian nodded. Somehow Damien seemed about ten times less intersting than before and the thump-thump-thump of the living room stereo somehow seemed more entertaining than standing in an overcrowded kitchen listening to this pretentious jerk-off. All the good-looking ones are snobs.
“I’m sorry,” Brian said, looking down at his watch. “I’ve got this thing. It was nice to meet you.”
Before he walked away, Damien slipped him his business card. Call me, he gestured.
Yeah, sure thing, Brian thought. Like, no way in Hell.
——————————————————————————————-
Brian thought there was only one thing left to do before the night ended and that was to visit Tracy. He took two buses to the bad part of town and her light was on. He walked in the door, bell jingling and she seemed happy to have company.
“You again?”
“Yeah, what do my stars say today?”
Tracy brought out her deck, shuffled and put them aside.
“You know, I’m shit at reading the future. Why don’t we just talk it out? Free, on me.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He told Tracy about the party, about two weeks earlier when after proposing to Luis, he had woken up the next morning and all his stuff was gone. No note. No nothing. It was like five years of his life had just been erased.
“I’m sorry, honey. But sometimes the stars don’t see straight. It’ll work out. I can’t promise nothing, but I feel something is going to knock you down soon. In a good way.”
He didn’t feel much better leaving Tracy’s, so he decided to hail a taxi and go home for the night. The rain started pouring hard and he was out in the rain without an umbrella when suddenly it stopped, he looked up and saw Damien.
“Isn’t this a coincidence? I was just thinking about you.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not always like this, I promise. Please just take him off my hands. I don’t want him anymore. He’s a handful. He has too much love. My eyes hurt from the glow. Please take him away.”
It’s a tug-o-war.
“But I love him. Every…little…thing…and he holds the answers. He has them all in his head. He’s a smart fellow. He hugs me. I hug back. Tighter than before. I’m bad at goodbyes.”
But there’s a price to pay.
“I won’t say no. I’ll say yes. I can never say no to you. Always and forever. You are mine. It’s complicated.”
She stalls for time.
“I need her. Him. Her or him. I don’t know. I’m in between lovers right now. Can’t I just have more time? Please. No? But I asked nicely.”
It’s a late night snack. Always and forever an indulgence.
El Dorado had a cactus lover named Petunia. She left scratches down his back and liked it rough. El Dorado was a gentle creature despite being half rattlesnake. HE pleaded for mercy, but not till he yelped the safe word would he be freed.
Their relationship was complicated like summer and winter, but they stayed together through several moultings.
It wasn’t till the great drought that El Dorado began to doubt Petunia’s commitment.
He witnessed her prickling a colorful phoenix at a local strip club. He begged for answers, but all he got was a single tear in a glass vile.
“It was for you,” Petunia said, needling towards the door. “But I guess you don’t need it. I hope this heat kills you like it killed us.”
El Dorado wept, his golden tears, attracting a local bounty hunter.
“How much?” the man nodded towards the floor. “I want those tears.”
El Dorado dismissed him, but the bounty hunter wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I want those tears,” he said, snatching at El Dorado.
“But they’re mine,” Petunia snapped, showing off her needles. “Back off.”
“Yes ma’am,” the bounty hunter said, backing away from them.
Their embrace was painful but El Dorado couldn’t let go. His tears filled a nearby river and incited the Gold Rush. Simultaneously, the dusty atmosphere caused a thousand clouds to sneeze and the drought ended as El Dorado and Petunia were forever.
Split me open and you won’t find frogs, snails or puppy-dogs’ tails. You’ll find a heart beating just like yours and even though I smile down the hallway, I hurt inside. I don’t want to be a stereotype, but I can’t fight you any other way. I’m just a guy, dude and bro. I’m a boy. I’m a man. I’m not supposed to think about it, but I can’t help it. I cry. I listen to opera. I watch Oprah. I have a girlfriend. And yes, Johnny Depp is sexy.
I stand up for myself,
but again & again & again
you make jokes,
obscene and otherwise
insulting
and I stand again
and you push me down
and I’m a man
and we make bruises
and you walk away bloodied
seeking revenge
and I’ve won
(for now)
But not the right way.
Hello? I’m here. Listening to every single comment you say about me. Some of those thoughts are in my head. Some of those thoughts are from strangers. Some of those thoughts are from my friends. I’ll never know which ones are true, but you don’t say hello to me either.
I struggle
with the weight
of your thoughts
in my head
and I wish I knew how to say goodbye without leaving all of you.
F O R E V E R.
