Forget about your bleeding toenail. Forget about muscles that want to betray you. Forget about the you entirely. Right now, you’re nothing but the dance.
Archive for Literary
“So you’re probably wondering about the Gila monster.”
“What Gila monster?”
“The one in your basement.”
“No need to thank me,” I said, casually shaving her cat…
Sometimes I can be witty with my stories, and sometimes I just like to go off the deep end. “The Adventures of Wonder Dan!” is the new Fiction Feature at Awesome Adventures! Comics, and is an example of the latter. With a shaved cat, a villainous tree, and a sidekick named Slapnuts, it’s one of the most off-the-wall tales I’ve ever written up.
There’s a bloody hole in his chest the size of my fist.
“I thought he got shot in the front,” I say as the nurses clean out the Lake Michigan of gunshot wounds.
“He did,” says Hank matter of factly, pissed off that I’m slowing him down.
“Then why is the exit wound in the front and not the back?”
“The bullet ricocheted off his sternum and came back out.”
I shake my head. Since when did Hank start his own comedy hour? “That doesn’t happen.”
“In nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine cases, that doesn’t happen. This is the one in a million. Now do your job.”
I sigh and get to work. I don’t want to lose a professorship over something like this. It’s a lost cause; the sternum shattered on the impact and sent dozens of bone shards into his heart and lungs. But I’m required to work until he officially kicks.
I just want you to know: he dies. And there’s nothing I could have done to save him.
Italicized text is quoted from Action Comics #1.
He wakes up with a headache. He winces as his hand touches the soft spot on the side of his head. His alarm clock is Mom yelling, “Cory, get your ass down to the breakfast table!” Climbing out of bed, he notices that the sleeve of his Superman pajamas is torn.
SUPERMAN! Champion of the oppressed, the physical marvel who has sworn to devote his existence to helping those in need!
2008 was Clark Kent’s 70th birthday, and he felt like he should have died back in the 40s. Every day saw a trip around the world, saving people from everything from muggers to alien invasions. Not that it really mattered. For every damsel in distress that he saved, his super hearing picked up the dying screams of ten others dying of starvation halfway across the world. It would be okay if he could remain ignorant in his ineffectiveness like everyone else. Instead he got to be an omniscient four-color god. Continue reading
Spring never saw it coming. Winter smashed her in the back of the head with a sledgehammer, leaving crushed flowers and sunny thoughts splattered all over the kitchen.
Summer came in, put her arms akimbo, and sighed.
“Was that really necessary?”
“Shut up and start cleaning up,” said Winter as he wiped down the sledge with a rag and placed the hammer lovingly back into the closet. “You know that she’s not welcome around here until late April or early May. If she hadn’t gotten uppity then I wouldn’t have had to bring out old Blue.” He gave the old sledge one more affectionate pat before closing the closet door. Summer was already on her knees with a sponge and ammonia, scrubbing blood off of the linoleum. Winter scratched the wispy gray hair behind his ears for a moment before joining the clean-up work, dragging the body into the cellar for temporary storage. Continue reading
I’ve always had two sacred commandments in life. First, don’t pet strange dogs. Second, never hire a discount hitman.
I would never have broken either of those rules if it hadn’t been for that damned cat.
The cat sat on my window sill for three days, staring at me with evil cat eyes that flashed green when I turned out the lights. It didn’t move, not even to clean its matted gray fur. The only way I knew it was even alive was the way it would growl and bare its yellow teeth at me over the breakfast table. I couldn’t close the windows or pull the shade; that would have been suicide in the 100-degree summer heat. So instead with stared each other down each morning over a pomegranate and a bowl of Special K, the thin wire screen of my window acting as the only barrier between us. Continue reading