Michael Stiehl

Benjamin Chandler

Sean King

Sam Becker

Jay Knowles

Rietje Becker

English

"The tests are conclusive," said her oncologist "you are cancer free." Wynona could hardly believe it. After all this time she was going to be okay. "Honey," said Wantando her burly husband "that's incredible! Let's celebrate, anything you want." She looked thoughtful "Well,

I think it's time to visit my sister." Wynona's husband frowned. "But you and she haven't spoken for 15 years. You said you wished she was the one who got cancer, not you. Why the change of heart?" Wynona looked at her hands. "Before Dad died, he asked me to give Nora something."

“The family pickle recipe. It has been passed down for countless generations, from the old country. Delicious dill pickles, half sour, so there’s a delightful crunch. But I’m hopeless in the kitchen. Nora must carry it on.”

Nora looked up from her dusty tome. How could her family expect her to dedicate her life to something as banal as pickles. Would they let her stray if they knew the spell she had just perfected? Eventually, Nora mustered the words to address her family.

“Dad? Mom? There’s something I have to tell you.” The room went quiet. “I know, sweetie. I always knew you were in the wardrobe.” “No, mom…” “Go on…” “I turned myself into a pickle, mother! I’m Pickle Nora!” Her dad let out a hearty laugh. “Funniest stuff I’ve ever seen!”

The twinkle in their eyes said it all- unconditional approval. Her parents embraced her and together they sang the pickle song.

Wantando's Gift

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Emily J

Marta P

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Jared let out a big belly Santa laugh and leaned towards the elf standing next to him. “How long is that line now?” Sarah flicked the jingle bell dangling from her hat out of her eyes. “All the way down to cosmetics.” Jared groaned. “This was a terrible idea.”

Sarah adjusted her elf ears. "I warned you," she sighed, "but did you listen?" Jared rolled his eyes. "Don't I-told-you-so me. My lips are chapped, my fake beard is caked with old lipstick & blush, & I smell like mothballs. Yes, Santa kisses for single grannies was a bad idea."

“But these old ladies gave so much! Raising children, doing all the cooking and cleaning, working assembling killbots in the factories while their husbands and sons died on the battlefield. It’s amazing that World War 2 went on for 70+ years, isn’t it?”

"Killbots, why did it always have to come back to that? They're the worst." I thought. I looked at the old ladies and wondered how else they could have spent their lives; training apes, raising ferrets, learning macrame, anything would have been better. Then it hit me, I could

graduate top of the class in the Navy Seals and get involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and have over 300 confirmed kills. I could also obtain training in gorilla warfare and become the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. The possibilities were endless.

"Did you forget to take your meds again?" My grandson Wilbert's voice shook me back into reality. "You were spouting off about those old internet copypastas, the Navy Seals and gorilla warfare. Come on, it's time to go back to the retirement home, pops."

Seals From the North Pole

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Phil Harwell

Sarah & April needed a drummer. Their high school's Battle of the Bands rules clearly stated "No drum machines," which April said was only made so their band, Lonely Horses, couldn't participate. "Frickin' Bobby Stroik," April said. "He's scared of us." Auditions were held in the

lunchroom. Because of budgets cuts Big Mac, the school cook, doubled as the band teacher. Mac, on work release from jail, was a self described music outlaw having fronted a series of hard rock and underground metal band before being locked up by "The Man" for "partying too hard".

It was embarrassing. Big Mac didn't have time to run from the cafeteria to the music hall, regularly showing up to practice still wearing his hairnet. BM clumsily picked up his baton and said, "ok, movement 2, right from the top." But instead of playing, his students all laughed.

He sighed hard, removing his helmet and continuing. “Movement 2,” he said again. But again, his students responded to his command with laughter, though not quite so much the second time.
Big Mac put down his baton. “Ok, what seems to be the problem here?”

Someone in the crowd snickered. Big Mac yelled, “You! Quarter Pounder! What is your problem?” “Number- Num- Number Two!” Quarter Pounder stammered, before being joined by the whole crowd into laughter, again. “Bowel movement!” “Taking a poo!” Childish humor stays with us forever.

A booming voice commanded “SILENCE!” They all trembled in fear. Their jokes were meant in jest, but they had angered The Burger King. They’d be begging for the special sauce of his mercy that night.

The Special Sauce of Mercy

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Deni Dyx

Gifts gifts everywhere and not a box for me. I kicked through discarded wrapping paper, bows, and tags, fruitlessly searching. I knew I was unlikely to find what I needed, but I had to look.

It’s not easy being the second-to-youngest of 12, continuously lost in the shuffle. Imagine waking up Christmas morning to find out there weren’t any presents for you under the tree. Had your parents forgot? Or, as per usual, was an older sibling to blame?

I let it go until that May when my brother was tooling around the driveway on a bike he claimed he got for Christmas. As he popped wheelies & endos, I started to notice details about the bike. It had rainbow streamers on the handlebars & the glittery banana seat was hot pink.

"Nice bike," I said in a low voice "where'd you get it?"
"What's your problem weirdo?" he snorted. "I told you, Santa gave it to me."
Somewhere a little girl was crying, I could feel it in my bones, and my brother was responsible. That tore it, something had to give.

Now, with all of the things I knew I could do to him at that moment, every option a burning desire to smack the grin off his stupid face, I had to make do with the moment. With the resolve of that girl in me, I ran and pushed him angrily towards the street "It ain't yours, ass!"

He stumbled toward the street, stopping right before entering traffic, and breathing a sigh of relief as the car whizzed past. He was white as a sheet, with eyes as big as plates. The grin was gone. That’s where his version of the story ended. Mine included the pants-wetting.

Butthead Bonanza

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Mako Allen

“At least he won’t wreck anyone else’s marriage. Not now, not ever, “ muttered Albert as he mortared the few remaining bricks into the basement wall. Albert’s wife Ann, tied at the wrists and ankles, cried through the gag in her mouth from the opposite wall where he’d placed her.

It had been harmless at first. Ann had found the personal ad in the back page of the city paper. “Adults Seeking Spanking.”

He’d let her go with his blessing. That first night she’d undressed to show him the aftermath of her session. Then they’d made love and it had been great

But Ann changed over the next few weeks. He found her standing in the corner sometimes. Once she very deliberately spilled her drink and refused to clean it up. “I’m naughty!” She said. “You’re 35!” He replied.

Finally, after she scribbled in the heirloom cookbook he inherited from his grandmother, he put her on timeout on a bench in the breezeway. "How long?" she cooed. He'd heard that kids should be on timeout for as many minutes as years old they are, so he set the timer for 35.

On minute three she knew where it had all gone horribly wrong. She never should have rented Eyes Wide Shut. She though it would spice things up but he'd taken it way too far. She hadn't complained about the Jerry Orbach Law & Order role play but this was too much. She had a plan.

DUN-DUN—as the crime drama ended she secretly unlocked her handcuffs. When “Jerry” leaned over she leapt out of bed, bowling him over. “You’re out of order!” he objected. She tossed the sickly roses and sleazy chocolates to the floor. “More like Lard and Odor,” she concluded.

Horribly Wrong

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Emma Mazzucco

Do not go gentle into that good night. Do not go violent into that bad day. Do not run in the halls. Do not eat toothpaste. Do not kiss grandma with your eyes closed. Do not use the word irregardless. Do not seek the treasure. Do not use all the hot water before I take my shower.

"What's wrong with Gramps?" Bobby thought to himself "I just asked for some milk for my sugar snaps and he says all that?!" Bobby folded his arms and stared at his bowl of dry cereal. Things with Gramps weren't working out. Somebody had to do something.

Finally the idea hit the little brat. "Oh, I could get up, go to the fridge, and get the milk myself. Ok, I'll do that then." Bobby was used to being waited on, but he realized it wasn't that hard to pour milk into his own cereal. "Wow. i guess Gramps was right!"

As Bobby ate his cereal, he tried to think of more things he could do by himself instead of waiting for Gramps. “I could set the table. Walk the dog.” He realized he needed to set his sights higher. “Ride my bike in the road. Trampoline into the pool. Skateboard down the roof!”

So he took his trampoline and moved it to the pool and started jumping. Water was going everywhere but a handsome jalepeno gathered...

around the human. “Stop!” the jalapeño sheriff shouted. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” The human guiltily rolled off into the water. “Please continue,” the spicy pepper said to the rest of the pepper guests, who carried on merrily, ignoring the brat who’d disrupted their fun.

Bobby, Gramps, & the Jalapeño Sheriff

LifezVictory

I stared down at the paper I had been handed, incredulous. It read as follows:
Dear Mr. Ellis:
This notice is to inform you that your son has been suspended for three days for throwing flaming urinal cakes out the window.

Young Ellis was staring intently at his feet, red-faced. “Well, son, I have been wondering if you had the family ‘gift’ or not. I guess it’s time you learned our secret. But first tell me about the flaming disinfectant disc.”

Ellis looked at his dad. “I don’t know what happened. One moment the disinfectant disc was sitting in the urinal. The next, it was flaming.” His dad chuckled. “Yep you have the gift all right. Or maybe it’s more a curse.” He patted his head. “Don’t worry I’ll explain everything.”

"Y'see, son, you're a member of a long line of Fire-Streamers, folks whose wee is strong enough to peel the paint off a barn. It starts about now & it'll last until the end of your days. It's scary at first, but eventually you'll be tinkling to show off & impress girls—just don't

eat Cool Ranch Doritos. They'll make your pee as weak as an open can of seven day old Mountain Dew." He looked very serious and then continued "See we had no idea 'bout this 'till 1987. That's year your ole great uncle Rich "The Sandblaster" Aycock found it out the hard way."

Rich had just triumphantly saved his village from alien invasion when fire sparked from the rubble and raced toward the firework factory. With seconds to spare Ole Sandblaster unzipped his trousers to extinguish the flame but his diminished stream failed him—done in by a Dorito.

Mr. Ellis And The Flaming Disinfectant Disk

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The Council of Elders were meeting for the third time in a month. “Is this really necessary?” Ursula the witch asked. The head werewolf, Adalwulf, glanced at Gujjt, leader of the Trabalar goblin clan. “We wouldn’t have to meet if you hadn’t screwed up so badly,” said Adalwulf.

“You actually flew on a broomstick during a full moon?! It isn’t the 17th century anymore, darling. It was on TikTok, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube within an hour. From five different angles!” The wolf-man snorted in disgust. “Get yourself a Segway, dear.”

The witch, hurt, went home without even taking her complimentary SWAG bag. (SWAG, of course, stands for Stuff Witches All Get.) Back at home, she stared into the fire which crackled green, pink, and maroon on the hearth. "Am I passé?" she wondered aloud. Her cat, Smoggy, answered

with a lazy meow. The witch waited for it to say something more substantial but it didn't. It was just a cat after all. Unconsolable, the witch tried to comfort herself with the contents the SWAG bag. She gave up when she got to the Charles Nelson Reilly bobblehead.

The witch threw the bag on the ground. How could the council have played such a grotesque joke. She stared at the cat who responded by licking its groin. She was supposed to be a made witch! Now she was basically excommunicated, an embarrassment. She had to strike back, but how?

She decided to go freelance-witchery was flexible after all. She could work on potions on her own and export them to various covens. Before leaving she performed one final spell. It involved toilets, itching dust and confused alligators. Clearly she would not be freelancing here.

Ursula goes rogue

Rachel Drew

Devin Johnson

Lisa Veras

There are days in a young boy's life when everything changes. For Huxley Doyle that day came on a Wednesday. That was the day he first encountered Tim Hortons buffalo crunch doughnut and questioned everything. "Why would a loving god allow such a thing?!?" he screamed at the sky.

“Mayonnaise was never meant to burble from a doughnut hole.” 

But Huxley Doyle’s complaints were answered only by a gentle breeze, and the sweet smell of a magnolia tree whose flowers had opened that morning. When Huxley’s mother announced the family would be moving to Toronto,

they all knew that mayonnaise was always going to be on the menu. One couldn't eat anything in Toronto without "a dollop of the white". Even orange slices & sour gummi worms came with mayo. Huxley wanted to fit in with his classmates, so he started every day with mayo in his tea.

The strangest part of life in Toronto was the stream of tourists from Minnesota desperate to buy mayo. It was such a strange thing to become illegal in the U.S., eh?

We'd sell it in 5 gallon buckets for $50 a pop. The US government wasn't too pleased with us though.

Suddenly the door bursts open knocking the nearest barrel over. Illicit turkey refuse spills everywhere. A cop grips my collar before I can escape. Next thing I know I’m standing trial for trafficking in bird waste, outed as a “fowl mouth.” I live the rest of my life in shame.

Of Morals & Mayonnaise

Alex Ramir

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

Callum Wootton

The deafening roar of a man being launched across a field by a singular punch was familiar, yet shocking.

“Not again”, I thought, then flipped on my bullhorn. “Sir! Just because the moon’s low gravity gives you superhero-like powers doesn’t mean you’re allowed to assault citizens of the Lunar Republic!” Then I thought to myself “bloody tourists from Earth!”

There just had to be a better job in the Lunar Republic. Starting off in shuttle gate security was one thing, but to still be here two years later? Other than the occasional drunken tourist, nothing exciting ever happens… Suddenly I noticed something new across the pod.

It started with cacophonous musical instruments and the rhythmic thump of marching. As the sounds came into focus I could make out the looping melody of a calliope, a brass section and huge base drum. Slowly the sea of tourists parted and I saw my worst nightmare; space clowns.

At the head of the space clown army was Fleep Florp the Annihilator. Many a world had suffered under his cream pie bombardments and seltzer-blasting armies. No one died from his attacks, but he left his victims annoyed & messy. He'd covered my homeworld with an infinite hanky.

And that was his biggest blunder. As soon as he touched down we airlifted two of the four hanky corners and made a giant burrito out of Fleep. By the time we injected refried beans, he and his clowns were begging for mercy. That day the galaxy took a circus-sized sigh of relief.

Moon Clown Town

"Captain, there is something on the long range sensors you should see." Ensign Butterbrickle reported. Captain Bort Jombloski leered at the Ensign. Oh, how he hated him. His golden hair, straight teeth, symmetrical face, could he be more perfect? "Show me." Jombloski growled.

“It’s moving very quickly directly at us, captain. It is accelerating. It is the size of Amsterdam. It is shaped roughly like a banana. It will reach us in 23 minutes. It is broadcasting an Enya song over all audible frequencies.”

At that moment, everyone in the whole world heard Enya's "Orinoco Flow" over their speakers & headphones. The plucky "Sail away..." refrain wormed its way into everyone's mind. For the first time in human history, everyone was thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time.

As bewildered people around the world suddenly turned off their devices or threw headphones to the ground, they realized the song was still playing…in their ears. Animals scratched at their ears. A Boeing 737 descended at a too sharp angle as tower communication was lost.

The angels and birds and the insects wondered as they all lost the sense of their own wings in a single second. All flapping stopped. They could look behind, but it wouldn’t matter. Instead they all looked down as they fell.

The scientist looked down their clipboard glibly, oblivious to the subjective experience of a multitude of tiny beings suddenly robbed of flight, facing death. “It’s time to meet with investors,” the scientist said, addressing their nontechnical colleagues. “The device is ready.”

Log 42: The Ouroboros Effect

Triston Dial

Madison and Franklin was picking blackberries around their grandparents house. Madison picked the berries and Franklin held her little white bucket as she tossed them in one by one.

“Madison! Franklin! Stop throwing those blackberries around!” their grandpa yelled from the porch. “We need them to be plump and juicy, not squished, if we’re going to be able to prepare them.” Grandma came outside, too. “It’s time you learned the secret about us,” she said.

"That's right," said Grampa sauntering up to the children "we're familiars of the most frightful vegan vampire in 1,000 years. FRUITULA!" Grandma grinned and said "Yes, and our dreaded master only feasts on blackberries!"

Grandma & Grandpa yanked the berries from the children's hands. "Fruitula will transform us into tempeh if we don't provide," they said & hustled into the dark to feed their vegan lord. The kids knew then that they had to call Papa & Gammy. Only werepigs can stop a vegvampire.

The grandwerepigs were enjoying four-legged state, hunting for dark truffles by the moonlight. Their shared Jitterbug phone rang, and kept ringing. It took 5 rings for them to hear it, then 5 more to realize it was their phone, then 3 more rings to actually answer. "Hello?!"

For all their rich biological features, GWPs had decidedly mediocre hearing. "What's that?" the furriest sow said before listening intently. "We gotta go!" she suddenly squealed. The brood made a v-formation and scurried off. Shouting could be heard in the receiver as they fled.

Interview with the Hampire

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

Leyre Garcia

I write this letter hoping that its confession will be apology enough. Although my fame has brought wealth & romance, it's also burdened me with guilt. You see, I never wrote a single one of my songs. Rather I stole ideas from the ghosts of Lou Reed & Burl Ives who haunt my home.

I thought I'd be found out when "Perfect Day for Goober Peas" hit number one but nope, none of you ever caught on. Lou and Burl did. Every night their ghostly faces hung over my bed, Ives saying "I'm gonna Holly Jolly kill you." and Lou noding his head and saying "For sh-ur-ah."

Somali

Goob goob goob
Goob ah peazzz
Goob goo goob goob goo goo goo
Goo goo goo goo goo
Goooooober peas!

What a classic tune.

Oh yes, oh yes, ummm I like so much this tune... Remember me to that moment that I lived years ago, that exact moment that I pass...

The totem of stacked furbies teetered back and forth beneath the trench coat. "They're on to us," the lowest furby whispered. "Um good day then," the top furby muttered. Just then two furious hands reached inside the coat and began plucking creatures out left and right.

The furbies tumbled to the ground. “Alrighty, ya little rascals,” said the man gruffly. “Enough is enough.” The furbies scrambled to hide amongst the trench coat. The man’s expression softened. “Aww, who cares if I’m not supposed to feed you after midnight. One snack can’t hurt.”

One Snack Can't Hurt

Joi Ryerson

Dabney saw the river and tightened his grip on the bottle. Water burbled in the morning sun and tall pines swayed in the breeze. In the bottle gasoline sloshed as he walked and he could smell acrid fumes escaping it's rag stuffed top. "Today those beavers will pay." he mumbled.

Sure, the beavers' dam had flooded the river & swamped his house. And yeah, they had felled the tree that crushed his GTO, but that was an accident, right? Dabney didn't even mind that the Beaver King had stolen his girlfriend & made her Beaver Queen. What really upset him was

the taunting. Day and night, any time he left the house, he heard it. The beaver king yelling oddly specific insults at him. “Hey-o, pumpkin pants! How’s the love life since I stole yer girl? Bwah ha ha ha!”

Finally, one day he’d had enough. The Beaver King hurled one insult too many: “Hey hairless loser! Your girl loves a furry pelt to snuggle against!” He grabbed his chainsaw. It was time to make that Beaver King PAY!

With wild eyes and a menacing grin, he pursued The Beaver King with all his furry. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. The Beaver King glanced back at him, perplexed. A terrible rumble began to pierce the air as the world's most magnificent toot emerged from his colon. Ahhh!

The Beaver King lived up to his name. Not only was the smell intolerable, it had the curious effect of dissolving the dam, loosing a flood onto our hero. “I came so close,” the hero said, gasping for air. “You’ll never catch me,” the beaver said, disappearing into a foggy forest.

The Once & Future Beaver King

“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

Enrique Arnold

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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Physics of Gaming

Diana Tobey

I suddenly stared at her in disbelief, I couldn't tell if this was an illusion or if it was real, I heard no scream, only the sobs of a dead woman.I look at her, her eyes open and red with the dreaded death and my eyes light up, the sobs from her are still going, I was in his ilu

Ilu… illumination? Illustration? Illusion? Ilu, emu? The illustrated emotion? The invigorated Eno? 

What is happening to me? Is this madness?

"Hey you!" a voice cried. "You better start to move your feet to the rockinest, rock-steady beat of Madness! One! Step! Beyond!" At once, the room was filled with the sound of sassy sax, jumpy guitar & the raucous riddims of 2-tone era ska. Was this music real or only in my mind?

"Dis es no dreem. I am de Reggaeton Tyga, da keeper of de riddim," bellowed a deep, all encompassing voice "and I come to put in ya step a spring, 'til ya can hep but shake ya thing. So put way tha frown, cause it time to get down, to the funky, funky sound of de Tyga!"

I felt the medicine start to kick in as my body began to sway to the rhythm, like tremors preceding an earthquake. Tyga looked at me and said, “Dat de way mon, feel da riddim deep in ya, dat way you wun rememba wut come next!”

I locked eyes with Tyga. It was clear that he was my keeper and I his ward. It was his energies coursing through me. I could no longer control my body. It was like a rocket whose fuse was lit. I was simply the crew. The music crescendoed and I was off, not long for this world.

Slave to da Riddim

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.

Michael Stiehl
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Michael Stiehl@michaelstiehl

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