Fiction

Grandpa

Photo by Willy Verhulst

Grandpa sat at the table poking at his turkey. It was too dry, but he would never complain about it. It was food, and food was for eating, and if you had food, you were a pretty lucky guy. But still, it was too dry. It was too dry every Thanksgiving. Wendy just wasn’t a very good cook and her husband Ron was an idiot. The kids, Sam and Josie, were also idiots. They looked like they were about college aged. There was still a slim chance they’d grow out of it, but most people grew more and more into it.    Grandpa remembered when Wendy was still a child. She had been such a sweet, intelligent girl, and now she was a robotic harpy. A robotic harpy married to an idiot, and she still didn’t know how to cook a turkey.    “Ron, what are you doing?”    “You said to start…
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Bob

Phil needed a cigarette. Or maybe a snort of ketamine. Being a veterinarian had its perks. He had always loved animals, or at least liked them more than people. Unfortunately, the animals who came in for care tended to have owners, and those owners were always people.    He took off his gloves and started to wash up when there was a rap at his door. Katie opened it and stuck her head in before he could answer. She consulted her clipboard as she spoke.    “We’ve got a walk in, she says it’s an emergency. Missy Burrell.”    “Is that the cat’s name or the owner’s?”    “It’s the owner’s name. And it’s a dalmatian, not a cat.”    “What kind of a name is ‘Missy’?”    “A cat’s name?”    “What kind of an emergency is it?”    “She wouldn’t tell me. She said it was confidential.”    Great. A nutcase. And it was already well past…
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The Boss

The boss sat at his desk drinking tepid instant coffee. He wasn’t self-aware when he could avoid it, but he was a having a moment and not enjoying it. His intercom buzzed. The boss groaned and pushed the intercom button.    “Mable?”    “Alex is here to see you.”    The boss removed his finger from the intercom button.    “For the love of god.”    He pushed the button again.    “Send her in.”    Alex entered and the boss gestured for her to sit down. She smiled awkwardly and took a seat. The boss knew he had to be very careful not to speak or behave naturally.    “I know you’re busy, and I’m sorry to bother you.”    Does she really know that, and is she really sorry? He wondered.    “It’s just that, well . . .”    The boss felt something inside of himself break and begin to dissolve.    “Alex, I hope you know that…
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Fan Fiction- Alf, Zombie Han Solo and J. J. Abrams Dispose of a Dead Hooker

“Shit, Han, what did you do!” Alf lifts the lifeless girl’s arm and lets it flop onto the floor. Han crawls out from under a pile of cigarette butts on the sweat and cum stained leather sofa. He rubs his pupil-less eyes and wipes cocaine from his brittle nostrils. Upon seeing the dead girl at his feet, he snaps to attention. “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He staggers around the corpse to get a good look at her bloody, empty skull. “I guess I must have gotten the munchies in the middle of the night.” “The mini fridge is stocked with cow brains, why didn’t you just eat one of those!” “I don’t know! I was fuckin’ high! I was half asleep! I don’t fuckin’ remember!” Alf stands up and begins pacing their trashed penthouse suite. “Well, I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do…
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Big Baby McFuckface

     Lucy could hear noise coming from the kitchen      Click-click. Glug glug glug glug. “Ahhh.” Flick-flick. Phhhhh. “Ahhh.” Glug glug glug glug glug. “Bleeugh.” Crunk. Stomp stomp stomp. Pa-fff. Click-click. Glug glug glug glug.      She looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was six in the morning. Six in the morning and it had already begun. She was about to yell at him to stop smoking in the house, but Big Baby McFuckface beat her to it.      “Lucy! Lucy, goddammit! We’re almost out of beer. Beer beer beer beer beer!”      Big Baby started pounding on the table and cackling as he chanted.      “Beer beer beer beer beer! Ha ha hahaha! Beeeeeeer!”      “Oh for fuck’s sake!”      Lucy dragged herself out of bed and started pulling her clothes on. She’d ignored Big Baby in the past…
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Billion For a Babe

     Walter sat at his computer, staring at his novel in progress. It was nearly 300 pages long so far and all of it was crap. He’d always had problems writing. At first, he’d thought his problems might have something to do with genre, but everything he wrote ended up being in the same genre: crap. He’d considered that his problems might be related to length, that maybe he could sustain quality in shorter bursts. He’d switched from novels to novellas to short stories to poetry and the results were always the same: crap. Eventually, he’d done the only reasonable thing he could think of to do and quit. For seven years, he had abandoned his one seemingly feasible dream. You didn’t have to be physically fit or attractive or talented to write. All you had to do was to keep writing and editing, fixing your errors and improving…
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Love Cuts Like Broken Glass

     My prematurely white hair notwithstanding, I was now the hunk that I always knew I could be. When you have no job, you have time to spend 5 hours a day at the gym. Looking like a classical Greek sculpture was only a happy side effect of my efforts, though. I needed the practical aspects of my newly acquired strength to scale a glass Manhattan office building.      A window-washer friend owed me a favor. A costume designer friend owned me another favor. When I put these two great tastes together, I got something better than a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. What I had was an idea for a super romantic gesture and the means to pull it off. Why be bitter about Valentine’s Day, when you can use the theme as a premise to win back the one that got away?      Strangely, her boss…
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How To Cook an Eagle

“Uh, eagles are protected by the guvmint,” Craig said with a mouth full of syrup. “You kill one of those, n’ you’ll end up in a federal prison being water-boarded 24-7 until you turn into a fish, or drown.” “No, man, they don’t put you in prison for killin’ eagles.” Phil help his coffee to his lips as he spoke. ‘They keep you submerged up to your neck in a swamp, like in Rambo, until all of the eagle’s powers are sucked out of you by leeches.” “So what yer sayin’ is, the only reason it’s illegal to hunt our national bird is cuz the govmint don’t want every crazy bastard in the country getting super powers from drinking eagle blood?” Camren shrugged. “We, that makes sense actually. It sure would be bad if them super powers fell into the wrong hands”. Craig, Phil and Camren were just about the…
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Control

I never realized that my unconventional ability could be called a superpower until the day I used it to defend myself. The very large man pinned me against a cold, damp brick wall. The gun in my face kept me from thinking about how my leg was pressed against a filthy garbage can. I didn’t have any money, and I knew this was actually a bad thing if you are being mugged. When they find that their efforts are in vain, muggers tend to get cranky and frustrated and slightly trigger-happy. Thinking I was going to die anyway, I figured the least I could do was see to it that my attacker had a very uncomfortable get-away sprint. For a moment, I forced away the fear and allowed the adrenaline to focus all my energy on his insides. My concentration was dagger-sharp. Immediately, I saw the predator confidence fade from…
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