My shtick had admittedly gotten stale. I would say, “Hello! Woooo-oooop!” Then I would sway from side to side, rub my beak on my perch and say, “Whadaya mean, crazy?” Bodean got a kick out of that the first, oh, ten times I did it. But still, what a fuss they made over that cat.Continue reading “Polly”
Tag Archives: Writing
A Fresh Start
The bees were getting restless. They had been waiting for over an hour for the humans to arrive, and they began eyeing the pretty yellow meadow flowers. “Couldn’t we …” began Fluzz, “… I mean it seems stupid to sit around doing nothing … couldn’t we collect some nectar while we wait?” Guzz had beenContinue reading “A Fresh Start”
Dixie
The sideshow acts had been run-of-the-mill. I saw a bearded lady and a man who ate glass. At the end of a line of tents sat one with no sign. The barker invited me in and I asked what I would see. “Something that must be seen to be believed.”
“The Meditations of Fra Colleoni” at Gravel
“But does it work?” Dr. Seaver leaned back in his chair and blew on his mug of instant soup. The steam fogged his glasses. “Of course not. It’s just a thought experiment.” “Oh,” I said, picking up a doohickey on the professor’s desk. “Of course.” The doohickey, or maybe gizmo is a better word, hadContinue reading ““The Meditations of Fra Colleoni” at Gravel”
Stuck
I awaken in the dark on my back, a crushing pain in my head. I try to move my arm, but there is resistence, something holding it in place. But I overcome the resistance and the arm rises, accompanied by the soft dripping of some sticky, viscous liquid.
The Briefcase
Every day Jerry started writing a new novel in the hope that the next day he would find his efforts worthy enough to continue. This never happened. Yesterday’s writing was always Yesterday’s Writing, old and dull and foreign from the new day’s line of thinking. He had been a salesman for thirty-five years, and heContinue reading “The Briefcase”
Tea
I woke up about the time the steady thrum of the highway changed to the crackle of gravel. I pressed my forehead to the car window, hoping the nausea would pass away quickly. I started to roll down my window but mom cried out in alarm. “Close that! It’s too dusty!”
First Draft
“Here, read this. Forty-two words.” “Okay…” She reads. “I like it, but I don’t get where it says ‘explicably’.” “I meant ‘inexplicably.’” “Oh.” “Did you get that it’s at a hospital?” “Oh! No…” She reads again. “His leg is missing?” “Yeah.” “Ah!”
David Hammond 