When The Sandman Slumbers
The world has turned. People now have the option to avoid sleep indefinitely. A simple pill puts part of the brain in a sleep-like state while the conscious mind continues. People spend more time enjoying life, being with family, working more. On average, most only sleep once or twice a week. The manufacturers of the Awaquen pill are formulating a pediatric version of this for children over two. This will introduce night schools and better education opportunities. The world is now much more productive and fast-paced. It is a better world for everyone.
Except the Sandman.
Chicago Dibs: A Family Tradition
Rose wanted to serve a purpose. She wanted to improve people’s lives and give all that she could to make the world a better place. And that’s exactly why my paralyzed sister Rose was perfect for being a dibs space-saver.
Natural Causes
The smell of the salamis, capicola, and prosciutto hanging low from the ceiling of Stefano’s was distracting, but that’s where they played. I was never part of the game, but the guys let me watch.
Elf in the Crossfire: Santa Ain't a Paramedic
As I'm parked, people are slowing for the light and staring me down in the outfit, which is essentially a bright red slutty elf costume. For tis' the season for idiots to spend money on a fancy bike cab ride since sleighs are pretty hard to come by around here.
A Death in the Dining Room
A man wearing a Santa Claus suit lay in the road. His body was mangled. The blood pool was still growing under and around him. His arm was tucked underneath his back and his face looked like it had been smashed in with a waffle iron. Or a Toyota Corolla.
Small World
The sand almost burned the spaces in between my toes, but felt delicious. Little stubs of thick and thin palm shoots would poke up into your feet if you didn't walk carefully.
When the plateau melted the blue water came into view. Sure enough there it was- three figures on a mid-sized daysailer. No chop, but close, and the broadsheet was full. Two orange stripes and the number D-850 standing out near its apex.
I am Matisse
I am Matisse, and this is a kid’s story, because I am a kid. I am nine years old and very responsible for my age. The other Matisse, at least the only other one I know, was a great painter, the father of abstraction. I have decided to be empress of the universe. I’m what adults call precocious.
My Grandma-ma always speaks to me as if I’m the smartest person she ever met. My mom still thinks of me as only nine and my dad, well he just smiles at me all the time. Actually he beams. He doesn’t say much of anything.
In The Northern Liberated Provinces of Korea
Wu Ran-sang heard himself sigh. In this sigh, there were many feelings.
His heart and body hung between the sky and the dun ground along the northwest wall of the tallest building in Onsong. Nine stories. A recovered textile factory in the process of retrofit.
Ran-sang, an electrician of a singular talent, looked out at the view which the height afforded him. A warm mid-spring sun hung in a wide open sky of astonishing blue. The diamond pearls of the Tumen River glistened in their long band not too far off. This was now the Sapphire Coast and Onsong was in preparation to be a modest city of great culture and assimilation.
A Neighborhood Story of Halloween Proportions
Just your average sweep thru the rural landscape to trick or treat on a night filled with the simplicity of finding room in your heart to call everywhere home.
Hagatha the Dog Witch
Hagatha, upon arriving in Chicago, had developed an allergy to cats. She tried Zyrtec, Claritin and Allegra, and all the potions and spells in her Witch Craft: Curses & Remedies book. Nothing helped. Her eyes watered, which made her face melt a little. Her nose ran constantly, and witch snot is essentially acid so she kept burning through her handkerchiefs and shirt sleeves. The only solution was to put her beloved cat, Gomez, whom she had had since she conjured him to life two centuries ago, up for adoption.
Gorski and The Goat
On a urine-stained olive green cot in the back room of Rosalda’s Cantina in Ciudad Juarez, I came to. Blacked out. Again. A smell I couldn’t quite put a finger on. Rank breath, a muffled gurgle and what felt like whiskers. I hope not our hostess, or worse, one of her chicas.
Where The Lost Things Go
The circumstances involving those who wash ashore on Lost and Found Island are always mysterious and are never solved. I, for one, went to bed one night on a completely routine Wednesday and woke up sunburnt and salty on the sandy east shore of the island. I was found not long after by the other lost humans who inhabit the mysterious place. They came to the shore with goat-pulled trolley carts and filled them with the random debris that washed ashore. They collected the debris and took it, and me, to their village that was nestled in a grassy clearing. When the shock wore off, I spoke with them and learned that everything that gets lost in the world comes here to Lost and Found Island. This includes people.
How To Talk Small
It's my job to make small talk. I smile. I nod. I squint an understanding squint. Sometimes I mean it. Sometimes I don't. That's my job.
My name's Jack. It's nice to meet you.
Welcome to the fourth biggest, family oriented, entertainment destination in the north central upper third in the lower forty-eight without a mascot.
Ariadne
Ariadne, dressed sensibly. Sensible hat, sensible shoes, little white gloves, some said she was a very sensible girl. She was thirteen when all sensibility flew out the window. She laughs about it now. Those teenage years were difficult for a girl so sensible.
Julianne's Money
Being an escort for me was like being a scrapbooker on Etsy for most other single moms trying to pick up some extra money. The only difference was that I could make a few thousand bucks for one hour of potential discomfort versus making a few hundred for several hours of suffering through handmade clip art. I’m a pretty open-minded person, but I cannot for one second believe that there is any joy in being hunched over a desk, cutting and pasting other people’s memories together. It seems so lonely and juvenile.
The Ace
The door slammed. A photograph of the woman smiling surrounded by sons forcing theirs, fell to the floor. Glass shattered.
“He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not the guy.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“He should.”
Financing Disappointment
At that moment, Lou had eight thousand-five hundred dollars to his name. Give or take the few bucks from his unemployment checks that would be left after trying to pay his credit card bills. Looking at the bank statement, it felt good having all of that money staring back at him. He didn’t want to ever spend it. But it was already as good as gone.
Lou drove to Goldberg Jewelers in Skokie and bought Michelle’s eight thousand-sixty-four dollar engagement ring.
“Congratulations,” said Art, shaking Lou’s hand.
“Thanks.”
In the parking lot by his car, Lou threw up.
Dog Day — A Dystopian Story
To combat a rabies epidemic, Chicago of the near future decides to enforce "Dog Day," whereby owners are forced to unleash their pets for 24 hours. The events of the day are seen thru the juxtaposition of animal and owner.
The Perfect Feminist
I knew what I was getting into when I married Marie. She was a kindhearted woman—sweet as they came. A staunch NPR listener. The kind of NPR listener that actually gave money.
Life comes clearer on a hot, hazy summer day.
Sunburnt shoulders hunched from carrying the weight of the world
And the weight of your child and his laughter.