Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
Oh yeah, THAT chicken
Tuesday, May 26th, 2009
“Get off the counter!” The chicken fluttered onto the dining-room table. I shooed it toward the outside door, but it flew back to the pass-thru. It pecked at the formica. Then it looked at me.
“These pastel boomerangs are so 50’s.”
“Shut up!” I pulled the cleaver off the magnet bar beside the sink. Me and the chicken, we had a history.
“Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” it asked.
“I think so,” I replied, “but you need two witnesses for a legal will, and we’re alone here.”
An echidna wearing a magenta cape leaped from behind the fridge. “That’s where you’re wrong!” it shrieked.
I jumped. I hadn’t expected the echidna. But then, nobody does. I advanced on the chicken, keeping one eye on the echidna, which made menacing gestures with its forepaws. The wind was picking up, and there was a lot of trash in the air. Wind? Indoors? The anteater laughed crazily.
“Kinda slow on the uptake,” the chicken remarked. “Your housekeeping leaves a lot to be desired,” it added. “And your leap was more a stumble” it said to the echidna. At this point paper was knee deep on the kitchen floor and I couldn’t get into the dining room. I backed out into the hall and went around the other way. However, the dining room doorway was stuffed to the top with shredded paper. I could hear the chicken ranting about clashing paint colors and crooked paintings.
I went outside to call 911.
Darrell Crosby answered. We went to high school together. He married Melissa Echols, a girl I’d had a crush on for years. But I didn’t hold it against him. Not considering how things turned out. I mean, I knew she was an animal lover, but that girl went way too far. There should’ve been a law. Heck, there used to be a law. Bottom line, I knew Darrell would be on my side.
“I’d love to help you, Ted. You know how I feel about them. But my hands are tied as long as they don’t hurt anyone. They didn’t hurt you, did they,” he asked hopefully.
“Couple paper cuts. But they’re occupying my house! At least my dining room. Am I supposed to eat standing up?”
“What part of ‘I can’t freaking arrest them’ don’t you get?”
“You won’t do anything.”
“Can’t.” He hung up.
I hate these stupid animal superheroes, but I hate Critical Chicken the most.
end
Aeaea Street
Monday, May 25th, 2009
They ran on all fours, pausing only to sniff the air and howl.
Sometimes they were men, sometimes wolves, always grey though, always hungry. The moon lit their way as they slipped like shadows along the streets. Sometimes they got distracted by trash cans ripe with enticing rot, but the other pulled them on, so they didn’t stop for long. Nipper, Gnasher, Grinder and Bob.
They had her scent, warm on the cool night air.
Some way after 5th Avenue they caught the sound of footsteps, the click of her heels on the pavement. Familiar and strange, enticing. They followed, kept her in sight, but hung back and stayed in the deep shadows the tall buildings dropped in their wake. She moved from the expensive cantons of the city to the less well-kempt, and finally crossed that invisible barrier into the place where slumlords held sway.
Whenever she passed beneath a streetlamp, they could see the red hair and pale skin she flaunted. Long-legged and slim, she was graceful and unaware. The building she approached was dilapidated, seeming to decay before the eye.
A man sat on the stoop, huddled, wrapped in stinking garments as if the stench might keep the cold away. She smiled and he looked at her, surprised. The woman did not belong.
‘Soup,’ she said, handing him a thermos she’d fished out of her coat pocket. ‘That will warm the back of your soul.’
He sniffed at the opening suspiciously. Rich, meaty odours wafted up and made him salivate. He’d have preferred booze, but figured he’d take whatever he could. Lifting the container in toast to her, he took a mouthful. It was delicious and he made short work of the contents.
The pack crept close. Surely she could hear rush of their breathing, but she gave no sign. One of them gathered his strength and sprang.
She ducked and the wolf sailed over her head.
‘Gnasher!’ Her voice was stern. ‘All of you. Sit!’
All four of them sat shamefaced at her feet and whimpered. Each one gave a contented sigh when she scratched behind their ears.
‘That’s better.’ They pressed themselves against her legs, vying for attention. ‘Now, say hello to your brother.’
On the stoop, a sleek wolf sprawled, looking bewildered. He gave a burp and a rich meaty scent thickened the air.
‘Come, Ulysses. Time for home.’