The puzzling Pandora predicament

The child had wished so often, so much, so hard, that when a cube materialized in front of him; he was at a loss for words as to what to do. He couldn’t shout huzzah, for he knew not what was in front of him and he couldn’t cower because the cube didn’t do anything… it just sat there.

Upon touching it, the child found that the metal was cold, but not painfully so. Just that odd damp cold of a coffee tin that’s been hidden away from the sunlight Gollum-style for lord knows how long.

He thought back to what he had actually wished for… a way out of his predicament. Not unusual for a child who lives with step parents and is getting the Harry Potter-Cinderella treatment. The fact is that Jim and Lana weren’t that bad… it’s just they weren’t that good either. And he felt so out of place. A runaway piece from another jigsaw.

He was a B, occasionally B+, student. But in the fifth grade, As and Bs are nowhere near as important as Zzzzs or the oooohhhs and ahhhhs from the latest video game. When you’re 10, you want that constant wonder that comes not only from seeing Santa at the mall, but from him knowing exactly what you want, bringing to question that fib people are spreading about Santa being fake. If he was fake, how did the “fake” Santa know that all he wanted for Christmas was to see his mom and dad… his real mom and dad, and I dunno… maybe have some cake… and chocolate milk… and ice cream… and a hug. Just one.

Snapping back to his current predicament, Michael continued to look at the cube. Although the edges were pretty sharp, it was due to it being so smooth and so perfect. But again, it didn’t do much of anything. It just sat there. But that was enough. Part of him felt guilty that it appeared because he was wishing instead of having come forth due to prayer. He remembered Mrs. Bartlett and how she always said that you can wish all you like but it’s only through prayer that a miracle can happen. He looked at the cube and wasn’t sure if it was a miracle, but he had done it without a prayer. Was that a bad thing?

A crackle hissed in the air and suddenly static charged all over his body. He felt the hair on his arms stand up and a dot appeared out of nothing. It was a hole… in the middle of the air. And it was growing.

Frozen on the spot, he would have run if his body hadn’t decided to lock up on him. The dot grew larger. His muscles seized harder. And when a 6-foot window into nothing opened, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stepped through that hole that came from nothing.

She looked around and then down and saw the boy sitting in front of the cube.

“Ah, there it is,” she said casually. She knelt at the boy’s level before she spoke to him. “Thank you, very much… Michael.” When she’d said his name, she’d closed her eyes a moment as if searching for something she’d lost. “This is very important to me. Not sure how it slipped my hands and landed here.”

Lost for words and barely able to breathe, Michael just sat there, staring at the beautiful blonde woman, her short crop blonde hair, her periwinkle eyes, and her kind smile. Again she closed her eyes as if searching for something. “That’s very sad about your parents. But I have something that might help.”

Standing up and leaning her head into the hole that opened to nothing, she called out something Michael couldn’t understand. The boy heard when something was caught and she came back out of the hole with something that looked like a digital clock.

“Open your hands,” she said with the kindest voice and the boy could only obey.

The clock marked 5,000,000 and she shook her head. Pulling out a piece of metal, she touched the surface of it and it came alive with light and color and numbers and symbols and hundreds of things Michael didn’t think metal should do. She pulled out a monocle of sorts and when she put it on, it also came alive with colors and lights. Looking out the bedroom window, she kept tapping and tapping until she pressed two fingers on the screen, spread them out and wiped it all clean.

Looking back at the clock in Michael’s hands, the clock now read 5 and she gave a satisfied smile. “That’s my thanks for having found this,” she said with a smile. She gave his hair a rub and held his cheek for a second or two and Michael couldn’t help but swoon at the beautiful woman. With a chuckle, she got up, walked through the hole, poked her hand out to wave goodbye, and was gone.

Still in shock, he didn’t know what to do with the clock that ticked down in his hand. But when it reached zero, he heard the downstairs doorbell. He heard his stepmother walk down and answer the door. He heard her talking to two people. Steps then came up the stairs and a gentle knock on the door.

“Michael, honey… there’s someone here to see you.”

Later on, Michael would come to accept the simple fact that some prayers need not be said to be answered.

A bug's nature

Recently a good friend tagged me in a prompt from the picture you'll see below (credit at the end of the post). She asked a few people to see what they could come up with and this was what I was inspired with. hope you enjoy.

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A little fairy reminisced on the old days of when the junkyard was functioning. Metal laced corner to corner. It was a true scrap heap of forgotten experiences, broken dreams, flat tires, and rusted journeys. Walking through the now vibrant garden, she stood at the foot of a large Volkswagen Beetle. Moss and plants had covered the entire car and in all honesty, it could have looked as if the ground were swallowing the vehicle… except that Jin knew better because she saw how happy the beetle was. Some metal parts still peeked out and they shone brilliantly, smiling to reflect the sun’s rays.

“Do you like being this way?” she asked.

The ghost of the car blinked its headlights and looked down on the small fairy girl. “They always called me a beetle but treated me like a car. I knew I was beetle and I wanted to live my days in a garden without a car in the world. When seeds rained down from heaven I called out to each to say hello. They did and also hugged me. Many even wanted to live with me and I was more than happy to have their company. Ten years passed and I am surrounded by green, flowers are thankful for the support I offer, and I’m kept cool all day thanks to the generous moss. Finally I feel like the name I was given. A happy little beetle in his happy little garden.”

Jin smiled in response to Brother Beetle and went on her way, happy to see someone reach their true potential. 

Image by Didier Cathala : source on http://www.artlimited.net/image/fr/540576

My version of a get well card

So a friend of mine has a friend who almost died. He got leptospirosis which is a disease you get from coming into contact with rat urine, which can happen more commonly than you know. He was at the verge of death and I mean it when I say this, kidney failure, lung failure, affected organs and a very bad prognosis. Someway, somehow he pulled through and is doing a great recovery. That said, my friend in question wanted to get him my book as a get well present and he asked me if I could make a dedication using black humor. I decided against the dedication in the book being made with such humor and wrote it very honestly…. And I also wrote this piece for him because I wanted something written for him and offering my full take on black humor, because why not? I thought some of you might get a kick out of the most random get well note I’ve ever written.

Cheers,

JD

NEWS REPORT: Pissing rat found dead in an alley

The rat in question, Mighty Mick, was last seen alive exiting a local Puerto Rico brewery. Eyewitnesses report that the suspect was indeed under the influence of alcohol, at least 4 types of rat poison amphetamines and a belly full of government cheese.

A local rat snuff film dealer, the latest enterprise in his rodentgraphic empire included a new burgeoning golden shower series that went ratinum in the Adult Rodent industry. Puerto Rico government officials declined to comment on the situation, insisting this was an isolated incident.

The suspect in question was also under investigation for 5 cases of statutory rape and suspected mice pornography.

“I’m happy he’s dead,” said a resident iguana who lives near the scene of the crime who wished to remain nameless. “He was a dirty rat and was always trying to give laced cheese to younglings of all kinds. A rat that gives an even worse name to rats.”

Further investigation yielded information that his line of golden shower rat films had landed him a large publishing deal and the night in question was “all about celebrating what we worked so hard to piss away.”

Investigating reporters questioned local security personnel of the brewery who confessed that “there was a large party of rats mixed with other vermin, drinking and doing drugs.”

Mick, aged 38 months was reported to whip out his “cheese grinder” to make it rain on a batch of local beers that remained soiled. The company in question is being investigated by the authorities and at least 8 sanitary violations have been reported, 4 specifically from the Mick Shower Incident as this crime is being referred to.

Mick was found at the scene of the crime covered in Krazy Glue, with two broken paws and a discharged M80 firework halfway up his rectum. The apparent cause of death was anally ingested smoke intoxication.

Local residents are less than cooperative and only one report indicates the presence of an adult human, mid-thirties, bearded that responds to the name “Rafa”. There were also two additional objects of note at the crime scene: a mint condition edition of Only Human, a work by local author J.D. Estrada and a spray painted message on the wall that reads:

Get well soon.

Eviction Notice

Young Nicholas was running through the field with his father behind him. Lucas was doing his best to keep up with his son, who could care less if you were dead, he’d drag you to wherever he wanted to go.

“What’s the rush, my boy?” Lucas panted as his son led the way.

“Papa! They’re having a town meeting!” the young boy exclaimed.

“And? What is so special about that Nick?”

The young boy stopped in his tracks and looked at his father with grave grey eyes. “They’re deciding about the outsiders.”

Lucas’s face grew grim, his eyes narrowed and he broke out into an all out sprint, this time leaving his child struggling to keep up.

At the town church, it was dark and cold and everyone seemed to be there. Mister Jonah with his wife Marie, Francis the tailor, Frederick the blacksmith, John the butcher, Dr. Hathoway, even Constance the village oracle was there.

A gavel rocked against the podium and Mayor Ezekiel looked on as silence settled into the crowd and he had the floor to speak. “Fellow townspeople, we have convened to decide, as a community, in regards to the best action to take against the outsiders. Our community is a place of rest, of peace and quiet. We bother no one and expect the same treatment in return. That peace has remained undisturbed for several years... until now.

“New members in our community are often welcome for in the end, we are all the same, we are equal. However, these outsiders have insisted in making their presence felt and in the name of supposed peace, they wish to change our ways, for our supposed benefit. To this, we have already spoken and have answered their offer with a firm no thank you. This meeting is to decide as a community what our next step will be.”

The door at the end of the hall suddenly crashed open with a gust of wind and everyone turned to see Lucas at the threshold. His labored breath seemed to sing his protest at not knowing of the meeting while everyone stared either at his intense eyes or his right hand, which carried a gleaming axe.

“Sorry for my tardiness, it’s just I didn’t know about this meeting, mister mayor.”

Ezekiel’s eyes surveyed the lumberjack before replying. “We thought you were clear as to your opinion of the outsiders.” As the mayor stared at the axe, he raised an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to add about these outsiders? I thought you were receptive to them.”

Lucas grit his teeth as he spoke. “Those outsiders spoke to my daughter.”

The collective shuddered although everyone remained calm enough for him to continue. “They also brought something dark to the community. Something that almost took my daughter.”

As the townspeople began to react in hushed tones, which were quickly silenced by the mayor’s gavel. “Silence, please. Brother Lucas was speaking. So tell us, brother: what do you suggest we do with these outsiders?”

The rage in Lucas’s eyes could have burned down a forest but his tone was calm and sure. “We welcome them to the community so they may become acquainted intimately with our soil.”

Another shudder swept through the town hall, which was cut short by the doors slamming open again. This time it was Percy, someone whom the mayor clearly didn’t expect to see because he was supposed to be guarding the gate. But before the mayor could question him, two words clearly explained the situation.

“They’re here.”

The gavel called for silence again and the mayor’s voice carried a concise message. “All those who agree with Lucas, raise your hand."

Everyone looked at each other apprehensively until one by one, like stars lighting in the coming night, one hand raised after the other and a chill silence spread throughout the hall.

Far off in the entrance of the town, two men walked past the broken old gate.

“Man, this place is creepy,” said one man to the other. “Do you think it’s a good idea to come back here, Jack?”

Next to him, a man in a black long sleeve shirt and matching black jeans turned on a flashlight. “There’s people here that need our help... even a little girl. I can’t turn my back on them, Rick.”

Rick was a little worried as he checked his equipment to make sure everything was working correctly. “Check your walkie, Jack.”

“Testing, one, two,” said Jack. “Seems good.”

“OK, it’s on channel four. If this one doesn’t work, go to five or six.”

Jack fastened the walkie on his belt. “Sounds good. I don’t see signs of anyone though. Wanna split up to cover more ground?”

Rick looked at Jack as if saying, are you kidding me?

Jack noticed. “Come on, it’ll be quicker and you can get back to your home to see your boxing match.”

“I hear Mark Ward is gonna fight Jones for some BS title. Ward used to be such a good fighter; now he’s just a bum.”

Jack spoke defensively, “Hey, just because a fighter is past their prime, doesn’t make them less worthy. Journeymen are just as necessary as superstars. So you game?”

Rick thought a second. “Two six packs and you got yourself a deal.”

Jack shook his head. “One six pack a piece, now get going.”

They split up and the town seemed completely deserted. Not a light on, not a sound heard. Just dismally quiet. Jack made his way down the main street to a small cabin that was completely dark.

Rick pushed in the large doors of the church and immediately felt the hair on his arms stand on end. He clicked on the walkie-talkie: “Jack, this place is charged up and creepy as hell.”

Jack clicked on his walkie: “Anything there?”

“No signs of anything, just a weird vibe. I’m going in.”

“Roger that,” said Jack as he knocked on the wooden door of the cabin. Waiting a couple of seconds before entering on his own. The home was very quiet as well although he didn’t feel a thing.

Back at the church, Rick kept feeling major fluctuations in temperature. He pulled out a digital thermometer and saw that inside the church there were areas where temperature dipped almost twenty degrees. Putting that device away, he clicked on the walkie again: “Jack, major temperature dips.”

Jack clicked on the other end. “Any electromagnetic spikes on the MEL meter?”

“Let me check,” Rick said. Switching devices, he pulled out a grey box with a green LED Screen. His breath caught though because as soon as he pulled the device out, it started beeping like crazy until with a popping sound, the screen went black. The light from his flashlight also flickered and he clicked on his walkie again. “Jack... the MEL meter’s dead. All out of juice. Everything OK on your front?”

On his side, Jack felt no shifts in temperature and his electromagnetic meter showed no fluctuations. “Everything’s quiet here.”

Rick on his front kept getting chills and when he was able to see his own breath, he pulled out the digital thermometer again. When when the screen came on, the temperature registered forty degrees lower than on the outside. That’s when the numbers also got all screwy and shifty in sequence until it settled on 11.34. As he thought about that number, he felt something graze his arm, causing him to drop the thermometer and scream. Looking at the device, it had landed upside down and when he clicked the walkie, it was as if fingers that weren’t his own were pressing the button.

Jack heard his walkie buzz, but no one spoke so he clicked on his end. “Rick, are you OK?”

From the other end came a shiver of a voice. “J-J-J ack... I-I d-d-don’t think I’m g-gonna see the fight.........”

Jack became intensely concerned. “Rick! You OK buddy? Talk to me!”

After a long pause, Rick spoke again: “F-f-fingers in my hair Jack... hell on the thermometer.”

“Rick!!! What the hell is going on?”

“Hell on the floor, Jack... temperature dropping... f-f-flashlight d-d-dead... walking with lighter.”

“Rick! I’ll be right there!”

At that moment, Jack listened to the other line and heard a heavy breath as if someone was blowing out a candle and then static.

“Rick?!” Jack called out. “Rick???!!!” He tried again and started running to the church trying the walkie on channel four and only getting static. Switching to channel 5, he got more static and switching to channel 6, he was relieved to at least get a clear channel as he entered the church.

Jack called out at the top of his voice. “Rick!!”

No answer.

The temperature immediately dropped and two pops from his pocket showed that both devices were drained of their batteries. His walkie hissed and popped as well, showing it also went dead and his flashlight flickered until it also went out leaving him in complete darkness.

“What the hell is going on?” he yelled.

His response came as a hiss from his walkie-talkie that had somehow turned back on. He felt the temperature drop further and two things happened in sequence.

The first was that a voice he didn’t recognize spoke through the walkie. “Stay away from my daughter...”

The second thing he heard was the slow metallic grind of something being dragged on the floor... something that sounded sharp.

Trial and error

Eyes have a way of communicating more effectively than a brain or mouth could ever dream of. The voice of an iris is clear and with every lash of an eye, the truth can be whipped into submission.

Miranda Di Ravelo was such a woman. A confident woman, blonde, lean lips that always seemed to pull up at the corners with the prospect of a shadow smile. Some people insisted it was her gypsy background while others thought it was her being born out of wedlock. Maybe it was just the fact that she was a witch.

Her creamy olive eyes scanned from face to face, looking at different people who were within stone’s reach. She chanced upon the chancellor’s eyes and saw the memory of their encounter in those pupils. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, much as it had done when her nails had dug into his chest on that night. Those wounds must still be tender and other parts had to remember that night as well. Quite the lover although paling in comparison to the sheriff’s wife.

When Miranda met her eyes, the woman’s nostrils flared much like they did every time she came over to “help her knit”. Eight months and a quilt and a half later, it was a testament to how blind men could be to the needs of a woman or how she could endure the waves of misogyny. It was always such a delight to make her climax.

The sheriff next to her looked on with hate in his eyes. Maybe he’d found out she had shown his wife what pleasure really felt like or maybe it was that she would no longer be able to make his moonshine. And hell, it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to teach him. It’s just that he was quite the village idiot and Miranda had better luck teaching a duck how to curtsy than teaching the sheriff how to do anything.

There they were, among the crowd that had stopped long enough to enjoy the show. It took three attempts to snap her out of her reverie.

“Do you have any final words?” the judge asked.

“Oh that,” Miranda said with her thimble of a smile. “Of course, just one thing....”

She looked among the crowd with her soft sharp smile. She looked at the chancellor, the sheriff, his wife, the judge and all the countless other people whose secrets she held. With a small breath, she smiled just a little wider as her lips pursed in defiance, “See you soon.”

After she was dropped and hanged, her perfect legs dangled like limp branches, swaying gently in the October breeze, a smile permanently etched on her face, and her final promise burned in her eyes for all sinners to see.