TurtleGameMaster WhyWon'tItLetMeNotHaveALastName???

Jay Knowles

Benjamin Chandler

Damaskox

Jacob Sherman

Sean King

Megamanisgod

Aan Oberoi

Chris Baroody

Alex Ramir

English

Once upon a time (which was actually 2 weeks ago) I had woken up to the sound of explosions, and I look out the windows to see someone robbing a bank!

“Everybody hands up! Get on the floor!” The scene would be so much different were it on the dancefloor. But this was no dancefloor. A masked man brandished his pistol. “Give me all your money! All of it!”

"I don't mean to be a troublemaker," said a woman in the back, "but how can we give you our money while we are laying down with our hands up?" Others slowly agreed, "Yeah! How can we do all 3 at once?" "This is bogus!" yelled a kid. "Totes bogus," agreed the woman. The robber did

curse out loud while pulling one of the captives up.
"Keep a lookout, men!" he yelled to his team of other robbers.
"Show me where the money is, do it quietly, and no funny business, or you won't be able to see how far my shotgun will make your head fly!" he threatened a captive.

The bank teller directed the robbers towards the safe. “Okay, now open it!” “I can’t, I don’t have the password! Only the guard knows the password!” “Don’t you play with me, boy! Open the safe!” Sirens blared across the hallway. Turns out someone pressed the button. “For Pete’s-”

Coffee you have some pretty serious security!”, the robber said. “Sir, this is a bank! And is that gun you’re waving a nerf toy?”, the teller asked. The robber’s eyes went wide, he cursed, and sprinted for the exit, only to find…

There was a large crowd of police outside the door, all wielding water guns. The robber was wearing his most expensive ski mask, so he surrendered immediately. At the holding cell, he was alowed to make one phone call, and the robber called...

his mother, sobbing with tears in his eyes, he exclaimed to her, “Mom you were right, I was not destined to be a robber, See Mom, I have been caught and am at the mercy of the policemen,”he lamented. He knew in his heart of hearts that his last attempt at robbery had been foiled.

The kid’s pursuer, still some ways off, slowed. Tilted an ear. A sound - to him, like a pig’s whimper when time for butchering come. Unmistakable. Lawman hadn’t savored sound like that since ages ago. Time to hunt; time to catch. Then, time enough to make a sinner learn to shriek

until it turns to breathless silence. Lawman’s toes curled in his boots at the mere thought. Pleasure stormed his veins. His mouth twisted up into a sinister grin as he savored the imagery for another fleeting moment. And then, just as quickly, he was off.

Nerfs Up

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Marta P

Phil Harwell

lars von

The donut tasted absolutely foul. From the outside, it looked like any other baked good of its sort, fluffy as a cloud and dusted evenly in powdered sugar. However, as soon as I sank my teeth into it, I came to the sudden realization that something was very, very wrong.

“Well? How is it?”
It wasn’t fair that she asked while my mouth was still full, but I smiled and forced myself to swallow the donut, against my preference. “Wow, that’s… unique.”
“Glad you like it!” she said in her bubbly sort of way. “There’s plenty more where that came from!”

As it slithered down the esophagus, I took a glance at the wall Calendar. "Still a week to go, how will I keep up with this!" In our profession, timing is of utmost importance.
Her phone rang aloud, hastily, she grabbed it with an awkward smile and walked into the kitchen.

She spoke in a most interested manner, twirling and curling her hair about. She let out a hearty giggle, and couldn’t control herself. Who was she talking to?

A wren flitted from a nearby tree & landed on her finger. It warbled a frantic tune that made the woman blush. "Of course, I'll marry you," she said. "I'd marry you a hundred times!" The bird flew back into the tree and returned seconds later with a round, red berry in its mouth.

The wren dropped in her hand a bright red cherry, while she sat and wondered the significance of the berry. It could be a subtle nod for how he’d like to take her as his wife and celebrate their marriage by popping hers, clearly.

Then she explained to him that “virginity” is entirely a social construct. He argued at first then suddenly realized he had been fooled. “It’s OK”, she said, “conditioning gets us all.”

He stayed quiet for a while, contemplating what had just happened. She was right after all. The mere fact that his ego hurt from being tricked by a woman was the result of social conditioning. “Alright, you win, have it your way,” he said.

Do or Donut

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"Thank you for your custom, sir!", she offered cheerily, "Here's your free fart cup". I looked at the small half ounce foam cup she placed through the gap under the plexiglass, white with a single brown heart printed on the side. "My what?" I said, squinting at her plastic smile.

“Art cup,” she cleared up. I swore she said something else, but I might have misheard her the first time. What an interesting cup with a single, teeny, tiny brown heart on the side! I wondered what it was for. Then I wondered why it smelled bad.

"You know," she said, "if you use an unglazed mug for coffee, the mug will be fine, but if you put milk in it, the milk will seep into the porous surface of the clay and go rancid." The stench from the mug drifted into my nose despite my best efforts to avoid it. "Smell it, Bob!"

“Well, knowing that many people including me enjoy milk in coffee, did you think it might be a good idea to glaze the mugs you make, Deborah?” He stormed out of the kitchen and she heard the front door slam.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, then managed to snap out of it. Glazing your mugs? Now that’s a million-dollar idea. And that’s just what she did. Her mugs were so shiny you could see your own reflection on the surface. From then on her pottery sold like hotcakes.

From a million-dollar idea, she grew a million dollar business. She got her brand: Mugs A-glazin’, into every Target, Bed Bath-N-Beyond, and Walmart from the US to China. She finally was the company with the coffee cup to beat!

Glaze for Days: It Pays

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There was a huge raft of debris floating in the center of the lake. Some of it was trash, but a lot of the items look like they’d blown off decks, beaches, and boats. Coolers, umbrellas, sunglasses, folding chairs and tables. So many pool noodles.

I plunged my oar into the water and rowed my way over to the raft. There was some pretty good stuff to be had here. I figure, since this was weather-caused, that it wouldn’t really be stealing if I took anything. I got in the raft & looked around. Now what here was worth my time?

I looked around the raft and found five loaves, four crabs, three coconuts, two fish and a partridge in a pear tree, ripe for the taking. In true pirate fashion I plundered them all and carried them back to my boat. What? Morality is subjective. I gently rowed and rowed away.

When I tossed the bag of goods onto the deck, my shipmates cheered. "I knew you'd scrounge up some food, matey!" the cap'n said, patting me on the back. But there was one pirate who did not join in the celebration. Bad Black Sally, the pickiest pirate that ever sailed the 7 seas.

"Yarr! Move aside you hairy-arsed ballbags", she hoarsely exclaimed, barging through her hairy-arsed crewmates conscious of the fact that she too, like many of her pirate colleagues, was hairy-arsed. Unperturbed, she drew her cutlass and teased open the bag with the blade's point

. Through a small tear in the fabric, the scurvy hag saw a shimmer and her eyes widened with greed. She lunged forward and ripped the rest of the bag down, treasure spilling at her feet. It took a moment to register and she shrieked “NOOO! It’s millions of dried black beans”

The Pickiest Pirate

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Sam Becker

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a locked door. So, it’s a good thing I have my

key. Yes, my key. Seriously, what did you expect? It is a well known fact that keys are used to open doors. Let’s just hope mine is the right one. I shove my key in the door lock, gave it a little jiggle, and

The door lets out a low moan of pleasure before the lock clicks open. “Just to warn you, my smart home is set to ‘creepy’.” He shrugged and opened the door, inviting us in.

A cold sweat ran down my back as soon as I crossed the threshold into his home. Red and green paisley tapestries covered all of the walls in the hall and a crab shaped sofa was placed in front of one of them. Through the ajar living room door, a machine kept spraying bubbles.

At last, I thought to myself, I can end this nightmare for everyone. The music of a slow, drawling waltz issued with the bubbles from the living room. It made me want to run, to hide, but I took a deep breath & rushed into the room. "Lawrence Welk!" I cried, "This ends now!"

The band stopped and the chatter of the crowd came to an abrupt halt. I waited for Lawrence to appear from the crowd of faces staring at me. I waited.. for an awkward amount of time. Someone cleared their throat. And then I heard a voice from the back “Mr. Welk just left, Sir.”

The End of the Bubbles

Emily J

Yannick Ruttkay

Rietje Becker

Through no fault of my own (those stupid orcs!) I’d somehow ended up in a glittering cavern. At the far end was a fireplace roaring with a cheery fire, in front of which paced a dragon. It was not just any dragon but one rumored to be long dead.

"I hear your heartbeat," the dragon said, "Come closer." Its forked tongue teased the air. A huff of sulfur escaped its nostrils. I was terrified, yet stepped forward. The dragon lowered its head, leveling those golden eyes with mine. "Are you so surprised to meet your father?"

I looked down timidly at my scaly feet. “It all feels sooner than expected.” Father looked down at me, his wings relaxed. “I know we’ve only just met but I have a quest for you—your first.” We stared at each other, dragon-to-dragon. Was I ready for my rite of passage, I wondered.

“It will require bravery, skill and a strong sense of direction. I’ve seen you soar, I know you are no longer a novice in flight,” said Father. I felt my scales begin to stand up. It was a mix of fear of the unknown and excitement! “Your quest will begin at dawn and will require

you to face every fear you’ve ever had!” “Public speaking? Clowns? Spiders? Those weird packing peanuts that look edible?” I asked. Father coughed and sputtered, shaking his head in confusion. “Those are your worst fears, son? Really?”

“So now, close your eyes, take my hand, and take a deep breath. All the things you feel the fear, remove them, out of your head, and imagine a green grass, a blue sky, and… oh sorry, my phone.”

“Yes, hi Mike. I’m hypnotizing a patient right now. First time! Ugh, you’re gonna kill me—I prefer merlot. You can come by at 6. I’ll leave the door open. Bring a big bottle! You too. Bye.”

“Ok. Where were we…Your fears will no longer hold you back. You can’t be stopped.”

Turns out the mix of messages blurred together to a monstrous effect. From that day on, there was no fear in my heart. No heart to speak of, as the amateur hypnotist had transformed me into a large, unstoppable, bottle of Merlot.

Journey to the Center of Self

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Enrique Arnold

Diana Tobey

I lay in wait. The darkness grows around me. I felt as if I had a key with no lock. Ace had said this was the key to my potential. These dice. “Everyone has a key. What you only need do is find your lock. Finding the key is simple. It’s only the thing you cherish most.”

My anger is my key, for I cherish it. It keeps my mind cold and my blood hot. I need these things at those temperatures because I roam the city at night, all night, every night. Where there is darkness there I am.

I am one with shadows. I dress myself in silence. My heart drums in whispers & my breath is lighter than the brush of a moth's gray wing. You may think you see me, but turn & you will find only a gasp of steam leaking from a vent. You need not fear, though, for my hate only seeks

warm air to fill the void. I move swiftly and effortlessly like a leaf in the breeze of a crisp Fall day. You will find yourself in wonderment. Am I a only a mere figment of the imagination? Did you really hear my whispers prickle the hair on back of your neck, or was it just the

the wind? I dash to and fro around the room, causing as much trouble as a phantom with a foot in each world could. Soon the confusion bubbles up to a crescendo. The plan is working. No one can hear tonight’s entertainment, a sad lounge act with a bunch of has beens. Did I win?

Yes indeed, I congratulate myself for needlessly ruining yet another evening for the haggard attendees nursing their drinks through my mayhem. One more score for the mischief monkey king.

I am the one who talks

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Michael Stiehl

Suzie loves Rob, but Rob has a crush on Lois. Lois isn't interested in Rob; Jessi has caught her eye. Jessi has adored Sam ever since they were kids, playing in his sandbox, but Sam has had his eye on Alicia since those sandbox days. And Alicia? Well, the object of her affection

was someone they never expected. One day, when they all were hanging about after school, Alicia confided in her friends that she was in love. With a ghost. Her friends stared at her in disbelief. A ghost? Do they even exist? Alicia assured them that they did and she wasn’t crazy.

"I'll prove it to you." Alicia declared walking away from the school in a huff. Her friends, Ace, Tank and Lacy scuttled after her. In silence, and with a determined grimace on her face, she lead them to the edge of town. There, draped in vines, was the old Dairy Queen.

Alicia put her hood up and swiftly made her way to the abandoned drive-thru market. With a deep sigh, she wiped away the cob webs and turned the handle. It was unlocked! The old metal door creaked open. Alicia made sure to move only in the shadows. Who knows who was watching.

She nearly gasped aloud once her eyes adjusted to the light. She’s never been in an in-looted store before. What were these things on the shelves? “Rubber gloves”, “Swedish Fish”, “Crisco”, “Swiffer”, “Fabuloso”, “Spam”? Then ancients we’re mysterious.

She stepped carefully. Strange things dwell in dark places. Even by match light the floors shone like they still held wax. She heard movement and recoiled, knocking a glass bottle of CranApple to the floor. Lights flickered on. “Cleanup on aisle 4,” came a voice from above.

The Tidy Ghost in the Dairy Queen

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Logan Pengelly

Rhonda was having a bad day. Woke up late. Spilled the coffee. And here she was, chasing her dog down the street. In her pajamas. “What else is going to go wrong,” she muttered.

“Come back Eleanor!” Rhonda begged. What a naughty dog. Could this day get any worse? Rhonda knew the answer to that question the moment she realized what Eleanor had in her mouth. She almost lost her lunch.

It wasn't until 6 days later when Frank Acker was tilling his garden that the rest of the neighborhood saw what Eleanor had buried there. The local paper reported it. "Dog Buries World's Scariest Jack-O-Lantern" read the headline, printing a photo of the horrifying pumpkin below.

Unfortunately, the article below the picture and headline wasn't up to their usual journalistic standards. The reporter and editor had both spiraled into madness after viewing the horrific pumpkin carving. The photographer was made of sterner stuff, and had seen this before.

You saw it and thought THE REPORTER IS DRUNK! You burst into the office but faint when you see that pumpkin

flavored broccoli was real! The once bland cubicles of the office had been turned into a dining hall. Racks & sternos of different variations of pumpkin broccoli went on for miles. Bacon-wrapped, caramelized, creamed pumpkin broccoli for miles. The report wasn’t drunk after all.

UGLY PUMPKIN TAKES OVER OFFICE

Jason Omega

Though it was a thick, muggy day in August when Makenzie ventured outside, she could feel Autumn in her bones. Everything was beginning to feel tense in her life. She slowly crossed the street after glancing at a group of nearby teenagers with suspicion.

The teens eyes darted from her & they snickered. Makenzie looked at herself—no mustard stains, pants weren't slipping, hair was on point. Why were they laughing? "You're paranoid," she told herself & got into her Camaro. "I'll rev the engine & really impress them," she thought.

She turned the key. “Click-Click-Click.” The engine would not turn over! She saw the teens pointing and though she couldn’t hear it, their laughter rattled her to the core. It was evident that she in fact WAS the butt of their joke. That’s when she saw it, and she felt pale as a

blanched zucchini flower in cream sauce. No, paler than that. She felt like a piece of cellophane in a sauna. Well, that’s more transparent, really. She felt as pale as a cod’s belly.

She tried to gather her wits about her. No use cowering like the damsel in distress from some fairytale. No knight would come to save her. If she were to get herself out of this situation she couldn’t sit around about to faint. She took a deep breath and ran for the door.

She ran down the hall as fast as she could. "HALT!" echoed down the hall. She knew the voice & knew running was useless. She turned to face the voice, & as she did, the anger built inside of her. Freakin' lasers shot out of her eyes, and lit the bad guy on fire. She went home.

Stalled

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Why did you buy so many lemons? I mean, yes, we needed some, but so many? Where are we going to put all these lemons? There's only so many lemonades I can drink in a week. Where did you buy them anyway? A woman in a conversion van with a carpeted interior on the side of the road?

“You’re such a Silly Billy! I went to LemonLand, of course. Or was it Citrus World? You know, right off Route 1, next to the place that used to be the Dollar Dump? You loved going there with Gloria’s kids when you were young. What were their names again?”, said your aging Mom.

Pippin, Petunia, Polly, Penelope and Joe. Who could forget those names? And obviously it was Berry-Barn she was thinking of. What was happening here? What are the signs of early onset dementia? “Did you get me anything Ma?” I asked, trying to redirect this painful conversation.

Ma blinked at me as if trying to process the question. “Of course I got you something.” She paused, searching for the words. “Why else would I go all the way out… there?” It became obvious something was interfering with her memory. “Ma! Did anything abnormal happen to you today?”

"Well," said Ma sitting in my womb chair "At my doctor's appointment today I did find out I have a parasitic twin with perfect pitch. Apparently that's how I got that part in Sweeney Todd!"

“You see how it works is,” Ma explained. “I lean back, ever so slightly, and the pressure in my throat activates a second set of vocal chords in a different octave. I say ‘demon barber,’ the twin says ‘of Fleet Street!’ I’m what you might call a double threat.”

When Life Gives You Lemons, Harmonize

The face paint artist looked up at the detective and continued giving her side of the story. “He asked for something strange,” she said in a pained voice. “I can barely describe it.”

"Try," said the detective. The face-painter took a long breath. "You know how moms sometimes make breakfast look like a face—the fried eggs are eyes, the bacon is a mouth, & the toast is a nose? He wanted me to paint him like that." The detective nodded. "Food Face! I knew it!"

We’ve been searching for Food Face up and down the Mississippi for 9 months now. You’re lucky you lived to tell us intrepid detectives about him. Most people he meets end up as breakfast.

“I’m glad to help, I suppose,” I replied shakily. The detectives were only doing their jobs, but somehow I would have felt more lucky to have avoided Food Face altogether. As we ended the interview, I thought I saw a person hovering nearby. I shook it off. Must be my imagination.

Meanwhile, Herb hid in the shadows of off the highway watching everything that was going down with FoodFace and the others. He wondered if his opportunity would present itself or if he would have take matters into his own hands. “I need to get into that car!” He thought.

With a roll and a jump learned from countless hours of 80’s ninja movies, Herb made his way to the car without being seen. As he carefully opened the door, a squeak! Suddenly, a chili dawg the size of a Buick blasted the Buick into a ball of fire, and beans. To be continued….

Food Face

“Young man, you need a lot of things. But what you need most right now is a cup of tea.” She gestured at the cabinet as she filled the kettle. I took the hint and grabbed a few things:

two teacups, boxes of Earl Grey & green-jasmine tea, a creamer, a sugar bowl, a teaspoon, a jar of honey, a bottle of agave syrup, napkins, a magazine of crossword puzzles, a lightning rod, Chapstick, dice, a hermit crab, & gummi coke bottles. "That should do," she said to me.

I took the picnic basket of goodies from Mother and darted up the stairs towards my room. Who is the most suitable guest? As I looked around at the crowd of button eyes staring back at me, I knew Teddy the Bear would be my guest! There would be no better company at my picnic!

I laid out the picnic on my bedroom floor. Mother had included all the best things—graham crackers, gummy bears, cookies, and apple juice. I sat Teddy the Bear in the place of honor. Little did I notice the shifting glares of jealousy from the crowd of stuffed friends in my room.

But Teddy did. He knew Digger Dog's resentment, the envy of Timmy Turtle and bitterness of Bubbles the Cat. And yet he sat, implacable and immune to their machinations. That is until Craig the Jackalope, an unfortunate gift from her Grandparents in Rhinelander, broke the silence.

“Look out!” Craig implored. Teddy turned to see Bubbles advancing with a club, fury in his feline eyes. Teddy ducked just in time for Bubbles to hit Timmy. Teddy escaped in all the commotion, grateful for Jackalope’s loyalty—sometimes, he thought, a toy has to leave the cupboard.

Tea for Teddy, Too

Sunny Anomaly

It was a brisk fall day in New England. School buses all over town, crossing guards on every corner. Scarlet, uncharacteristically nervous, looked out for children before backing out of her driveway. As she drove, she thought about the troubling assortment of gourds in her trunk.

As if the Fall Festival wasn’t cliché enough for a small town, Scarlet was employed by the school PTA with decorating it. “I might as well stop off for a pumpkin spice latte while I’m at it,” Scarlet scoffed while catching sight of the pumpkins in her trunk through the rearview.

Then the thought struck her - inside-out jackolanterns! Streamers made of strings of pumpkin guts! Pumpkin seed pastry only! Vinegar donuts! Maybe the festival could run from 1am to 5am!

She quickly made a note of all these wonderful ideas so as not to forget a single one. This would be the most amazing festival in all of history, assuming this manic episode of hers continued long enough for her to get it all done. She wouldn’t need much sleep, of course, so

cutting up all those pumpkins would be done in no time. It would take a while to string the pumpkin guts all over the festival, however. Just as she finished a marathon carving session and had a garbage bag full of fresh, stringy seeds, the festival coordinator called her.

"Hello?" she chirped. "Hey, Scarlet," said Mrs. Lin, "I'm glad you're jazzed about the festival, but don't you think some of the decor's a little early?" Her hands began to tremble. "What do you mean?" she said, fighting a rush of angst. "Scarlet," Mrs. Lin said, "it's July 4th."

Out of Season

Caz Sand

The phone, now mad, sits next to you at the theater

Or so I thought… I felt less drowsy, yes, but somehow the faeries started to feel more and more real! Did the mayonnaise really made me feel sick, or did my boyfriend gave me something else?
Suddenly one of the faeries started talking to me and I started to feel

light. Like I was floating above the ground. Not floating, flying! Everyone was larger and I kept hearing a high tinkling sound. Then it hit me like a scoop of macaroni salad: that wasn’t mayonnaise. It was

tzatziki! Someone spiked my gyro! But who? The blonde who seated me? She seemed kinda shifty, blue eyes darting. Or maybe my waiter? He wasn't too enthusiastic when he yelled "Opah!" as my saganaki went up in flames. Or maybe it was the bartender? Did he slip a Mickey in my ouzo?

I scanned the establishment taking in every action of every patron in it. Until everything began to seemingly move in slow motion. I grabbed my hat and my coat and fumbled my way to the door. I need to lie down! I found my way to the grass just as blackness closed in on me.

I heard a rough voice. “Wake up!” I struggled towards consciousness. No one was there. “Huh?” I tried to speak. The voice came again. “Look in your pocket.” I pulled out my buzzing phone. “Now you see the control I have over you—don’t forget it! It’s time to do things my way.”

immediately had a reaction—I was deathly allergic to mayonnaise! Suddenly I felt dizzy, scaled beasts and nude faeries circled above. “Help,” I whimpered. My magic
boyfriend grabbed my pills and patted them into my Minotaur mouth. I whinnied and all was fine for a moment.

U DID THE STORY WRONG

Fly to Die for a Fond MEPhone

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I sat, bored out of my mind, chewing my pencil. I wished to myself, silently, that it would end. It just seemed to go on forever.

Then I thought of my grandpa’s favorite saying: “life is mostly drudgery, so mentally check out whenever you can.” Grandpa was not a happy person. Still, this seemed like a good time to try his advice out.

The police, though, could not be convinced that zoning out while diving an 18-wheeler at 90mph on I-35 was what grandpa meant. I didn't think the accident was such a big deal. The truck only plowed into a giant wooden sculpture of Paul Bunyan. "It's not like anyone died," I said.

What I didn’t know: 2 things; Grandpa crashed in Paul Bunyan’s hometown, which was also home of the first logging factory. It was a State law to respect all things wood, ESPECIALLY Statues of their most famous resident. “This constitutes jail time,” said one of the park rangers.

And second, that Grandpa had crossed the lumberjack Maffia. How was he supposed to know selling off brand flannel shirts from the trunk of his car would cause so much trouble? Finding a plate of flapjacks with "You're Dead" written in maple syrup was the worse day of his life.

Grandpa collapsed into his breakfast. He thought of all the mistakes he'd made that led to this moment. As he lifted his head—syrup dripping off his face—he re-committed himself to a life of honor, deciding to personally drive to P. Bunyan's cabin, flannel in tow, to make amends.

In Honor of Paul Bunyan

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The phone, with the app open, sees the poisoning from the front row. The app thinks 
(How is she flying) The app

calls 911 & orders a fleet of epipens to arrive at the theater. As the Universal Logo spins across the movie screen, five paramedics arrive and jab the poisoned moviegoer. "Another life saved," the phone says to itself, and jets out of the cinema. "Who to help next?" it wonders.

“Wh00 needz help?!?!” the sentient phone texts to all other phones in a 10 kilometer radius. Unsurprisingly, no one responds.

The sentient phone paused, calculating its next move. Meanwhile, deep within an old lady’s purse, nestled among tissues, hard candy, photos of grandkids, and six pens, an ancient flip phone flickered to life. “It’s time” Flip thought. “She always said she had me for emergencies!”

The old lady, shaking, rummaged for the artifact of a phone. Flip felt weak as the battery icon began flashing. The old lady dialed. 9..1.. The phone screen went black. “Blast! The old coot forgot to charge me!” thought Flip, feeling defeated. “New-fangled-piece-of-junk!”

Flip clutched his dead phone, pondering the irony. He’d committed a timeless error: trusting both the new (technology) and the old (a coot). As he lay, Flip did the only thing he could think of with his phone. He threw it in the air and prayed; it was in someone else’s hand now.

Flip Your Phones in the Air

It was a hazy morning. I pressed the button on the coffee pot and stared out the window at the gloom. I turned on the sink and waited for water that never ran from the tap. Shoot, I forgot to pay the water bill again. Today would be just as horrible as I had imagined. A shower

would not be happening after all. I grabbed a shirt from the floor. Phew! It passed the sniff test, but barely. Just good enough to get to the coffee shop. I ran down the steps from my apartment and crashed right into the last person I ever wanted to see.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" asked my parole officer. "Just to the coffee shop," I said. "Around the corner. Don't worry—I'm not leaving the 50 mile radius." Officer Crumbcake sniffed, then asked, "Mind if I join you?" "Um," I said. "Thanks," he said, "My wife left me &

I don’t know how to do a lot of those “lady things”. “Like what?”, I asked, knowing I’d regret the question. “You know, making food. Buying food ingredients. Cleaning plates or cups. Buying toilet paper. I’m too manly for that stuff.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to figure it out then. There hasn’t been a woman here in nearly a decade. So if you think you’re too manly to handle it, you’d better try your luck at the next town,” I said with a wry smile, slamming the door in his face.

He didn’t knock again. It would be another ten years before a man walked through that door again. I’d be gone by then of course. Off in search of a real utopia, not this crass simulacrum. I’d done my best, paid my dues, and decided to move on—there were others who needed me more.

Lady things

The Troll King was very pleased with himself, more so than usual. He leaned back on his throne of skulls and picked his teeth with a chicken bone. Then he softly belched and giggled like a child.

"I have an idea for the best festival ever," the Troll King announced. "It'll outdo the Orcs' Luau from last year." His toadies burbled in anticipation, "Tell us! Tell us!" The King leaned forward, the stink of his breath wafting over his ugly subjects: "2 words: Centaur Rodeo!"

The ugly sea of troll faces that radiated out from the King exploded into cheers. The King, a satisfied sneer on his face, basked in the adulation. This went on some time until Melvin, the most disliked troll, spoke up. "Uh boss," he sniveled "we have a problem."

The Troll King fixed his gaze on Melvin. “What do you mean—a problem?” he growled. Melvin gathered his courage and said, “The orcs have gotten in. They’re planning to attack.” The King thought for a moment. “All right. You’re ugly enough. Go undercover and find out their plans.”

Melvin gave a bow and backed out of the room, then chuckled. He hadn’t thought it’d be this easy to fool the Troll King. It was time to take the next step in his plan: convincing the orcs to back him in the rebellion. The time had come to crown a new king.

Melvin knew he had an epic task ahead of him. If he had any chance at being crowned king, he knew he needed to get the orcs and the ogres back on the same side of the rebellion. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. This journey now had a sequel.

Who Trolls the Trolls?

Ben Syverson

It's not easy being green. I should know. I was a tree for 25 years. Most folks balk when I tell them this. "How can you, a swimsuit model, have been a tree?" they ask. They obviously never got in a fight with an angry dryad before. Well, I did, & this is how it all went down...

This Dryad was a hottie. When I caught her eye, I considered myself lucky. But shacking up with an oak nymph is tiring. She was always talking about rainfall and soil quality and complaining about squirrels. Who doesn’t like squirrels?! It got old, so I dipped. Big mistake.

It turns out the gods don’t like it when you hurt trees—physically or emotionally. Loki made me into a beautiful woman and then… I don’t know, things just went from bad to worse.

Life as a woman was nothing like I thought. The high heels. The male gaze. Never being taken seriously. That Loki! He was going to pay for this. Right after I figured out how to get turned back. I decided to track down a sorceress I knew who would help me, if only to spite Loki.

There was just 1 last thing I wanted to do before I got my manhood back. I was ashamed to admit it to myself, but when would I ever get this chance again? I guess I could do it as a man, but I know I wouldn’t. I would totally look amazing in the MAC Lipstick shade “Rebel.”

With a confidence that surprised myself I marched into Sephora, walked up to an associate, and said, "Your brightest, loveliest variety of lipstick please; money is no object." By the time I left I'd run up a bill over $1,000. "What do I care?" I thought. It's not my credit card!

Price of a Rebel

Physics of Gaming

"Terry please, don't do this to me, to yourself" Her eyes lit as I held the trigger in my hands tears streaming down my face."R-Ramona if I don't do this we'll never get our child back, You know I love you sweetie". I hold the trigger up to my head and steady my breath"Tell jamie

that they need to build the time tunnel when they are 23 years old and jump back to tomorrow, our time. Wait, that’s confusing.” I pulled out my phone to look at the calendar, accidentally firing the pistol. I heard three ricochets then…

watched the head drop off a marble statue. "Idiot!" screamed a voice, & a bearded man rushed into the room. "I saved that statue from the past so it's head wouldn't be lost, & now you've blown it off anyway!" I nudged some powdery rubble with my feet. "Can't we glue it?" I asked.

“Pfft, glue?!” The bearded man retorted with a snarl. “You have just gone and crunched the remains of it’s neck under your Adidas!” The man pulled a tiny glass jar from his pocket. He quickly swept up the dust with his hands and closed it into the jar with a tiny cork.

The man shoved the jar into my hands. “Glue may not work to restore him, but I’ve an idea what might,” he said. “You’ll need to seek out some pretty rare magic.”

“One step ahead of you,” I replied, pulling out my braided lock of platypus hair dusted with narwhal enamel. I caressed the remains until the jar lit up like a lantern. Just then a faerie burst forth, his face wet with tears. “Thank you lord.” he said. “May you reign supreme!”

Time Pistol

I pushed the mop back and forth slowly as I circled near the door for a third time. I eyed the lock. They should’ve known better than assigning a former locksmith to mop in the prison laundry. That door was all I could think about now.

It was like giving candy to a baby. I wouldn't have to exert energy too much to get that door open, or maybe it's a trap!

Taking candy from a baby is easy, giving them candy is a different story. Nothing they can choke on, nothing too large for them to hold, they tend not to like sour things, and babies shouldn’t have too much sugar anyway. I told you it wasn’t easy!

My roommates tell me I overthink. Like on Halloween. "Just give 'em the Milky Ways!" they say, but they don't understand. The candy must match the costume. What ghost would ever eat Skittles? Frankensteins & Tootsie Pops do not mix. And if you hand out Butterfingers to a dinosaur

you might as well kiss your fingers good-bye. Everything in life must be methodical. What would life be if I didn’t match my socks to the color of the week? Why even bother if you’re not going to arrange the food on your plate in size order? Don’t get me started on coordinating

I retracted my hands from the bandsaw. Had I lived a decadent life full of artistic pursuits? I looked down at my mismatched socks covered in sawdust and collapsed under the weight of my shame. My accuser pulled me to my feet. “Just kidding,” they said. “Now finish my birdhouse!”

Alex Ramir
@alexramir

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