This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Welcome to the Neighborhood
By Plot Roach
The bear awoke from his chemical slumber, his head still filled with the image of an animal control officer shooting him with a tranquilizer dart. He growled and pulled himself to his feet. There was an odd smell to the air. The smog he was so accustomed to was no longer there. There were small pinpricks in the sky as opposed to the large city lights that had flooded the night. No rumbling of cars on the highway. No smell of rotting food from the dump. He wandered about on sluggish paws, a thick carpet of dead needles beneath his paws. Somewhere in the tree above him and animal cleared its throat.
“Where am I ?” the bear asked.
“What is left of the old world.” said a squirrel. “It’s what humans call a ‘wilderness preserve’. So… Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Why would they bring me here?”
“What do you remember?” asked the squirrel.
“I was eating some lovely garbage, then a dog barked at me from a human home. Then a van came and a man shot me. But I’m still alive -aren’t I?”
“You must have caused a ruckus in the city, my friend.” said the squirrel. “You got into someone’s garbage can and they made you sleep until they could bring you here.”
“But why? All I see is leaves and stuff. Where am I supposed to sleep? My cement overpass is gone. What am I supposed to eat? There are no garbage cans or dumps around here.”
“Whoa there Buddy, you are a bear. You are supposed to be out here. You sleep in a cave, you eat berries. Get it?”
“My name isn’t Buddy.”
“It’s just a term. Like ‘friend’” the squirrel said. “Bye the way, what is your name? I’m Acorn.”
“I’m Hubcap.”
“That’s an unusual name. How did you get it?”
“When we bears are young, our mothers do not name us right away. When we are old enough, we are told to go out into the world on our own and make our first kill, then we are given names.”
“And?”
“My first prey was a car.”
“You killed a car?!”
“No, not really. I was chasing a deer and it ran into the road. The car killed the deer, and the people driving it decided to take the deer with them. But it banged up their car, and parts of it were left behind. And let’s face it, a hubcap is easier to carry than a bumper.”
“Wow.” said the squirrel. “I was just named after what my mother was craving the most when she was pregnant with me.”
“I thought that squirrels gave birth in litters, how could she tell which was going to be you?”
“She didn’t. There are four of us named ‘Acorn’.”
“Must make family reunions interesting…”
“Tell me about it, I have seventeen cousins named ‘Hazel’.”
“Well…Now what?” the bear asked.
“Get some sleep, Hubcap. I’ll show you around in the morning.” said the squirrel. “Oh, and you will get the meet your new girlfriend.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, the bears like you have all but died out in these woods, so the humans brought you here to help perpetuate the species.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be much of a helping that matter.” the bear said.
“Why is that?”
“I’m not a ‘bear’ kind of guy. I’m more into badgers.”
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Easy Bake Ovens, Barbie Dolls and Bombs
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Easy Bake Ovens, Barbie Dolls and Bombs
By Plot Roach
It’s never a good idea to fill kids’ toys with explosives…
So there I was, working the graveyard shift with Emily and trying to get our section inventoried before the end of our shift, when we heard a noise coming from the back gate. Now you have to understand that the graveyard shift is usually very quiet. The worst thing that you have to worry about is snoozing when the boss walks in. Too many people have been caught doing this, or worse, on their shifts. So now the boss not only has us clean up the place, he makes us inventory it as well. Not that the inventory actually does any good. Between what the customers walk off with and what the people working register fail to ring through right… well, you get the idea.
So Emily and I were working the toy section, halfway through the count we starting making up totals just to mess with the boss’ head. I mean, who really has five thousand Barbie rodeo costumes on a single shelf? Besides, Emily and I were bemoaning the fact that they were changing the Easy bake Oven from a light bulb to an actual heating element. I never had one as a kid, my parents thought that it was too dangerous and I told Emily as much.
“I burned myself a couple of times.” she said, showing me a as mall crescent shape scar on her thumb. “But if you don’t learn to be careful as a kid, you end up being a stupid adult. I mean, look at all those people they have to air lift out of state parks because someone had a midlife crisis and decided to find God while walking around in nature. They don’t take any classes, they don’t stay on the trail. Half the time they don’t even take enough water. And if they get attacked by a bear, it’s the bear that gets shot. So the poor thing just wakes up in the morning, smells the candy wrapper from some idiot that he left on the trail and decides that littering isn’t cool in his hood…”
“From kid’s toys to thug bears. You have a talent, Emily.”
“I try.” she said. “But in all honesty, we had fun with it. I had revenge on my brother when he barbequed my Barbies.”
“How?” I asked, almost afraid of the response.
“I used to turn his green army men into plastic hockey pucks. And then there was the time I actually made a mud pie out of mud, mixed it right in with the brownies and he never knew it until his molars came down on a rock.”
We were deep into reminiscing about childhood toys when the back door rattled. It sounded like someone was pulling real hard on the handle. But it was an emergency door, so it would only open from the inside.
“Should we open it you think?” Emily asked.
“Won’t the alarm go off?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I think that maybe we could go to security and see from the camera who it is.” So we dropped out clipboard of false inventory and headed down to see Sam in Security. When we got there, he was already watching the footage from the camera above the back emergency door.
“It’s a bear.” he said, with apathy. It was almost as if he said, ‘It’s the pizza delivery guy.’
“What kind of bear?” Emily asked.
“A bear, kind of bear.”
“No, I mean. Is it a grizzly, a brown bear, a polar bear?”
“Polar? Here?” Sam asked.
“It could happen.” Emily said.
“Yeah.” I said. “Didn’t you even see that show ‘Lost’, they sent one to Tunisia.”
Both of them glared at me for that comment. Okay, maybe I deserved it.
“It’s smallish and dark.” Sam finally said. We watched it pound against the outside door. We laughed, thinking ourselves safe against it. Then it walked to a nearby window and broke through it. “Oh crap!” Sam yelled, locking the door to the security office. And much to our amusement, the bear did not go to the food aisle, as any hungry bear who had just broken into a store would have, it went down the toy aisle, where Emily and I had been just moments earlier.
It made a quick perusal of the shelves, sniffing at the dolls and little girls’ makeup. It batted at the tubes of bubbles and chewed experimentally on a stuffed animal rabbit that was supposed to smell like strawberries. And I can tell you from experience, it did not. When you are surrounded by a dozen of the synthetic beasts, all you smell is a bad chemical residue that reminds one of overly sweet bathroom deodorizers.
The bear shared my opinion, having dropped the rabbit in favor of another toy. What had now caught its interest was a plush horse that made whinnying sounds when you touched it. But when the bear knocked it down off the shelf, it also knocked down a jewelry box.
A tinkling tune was caught on the camera, as was the dance of the small dark bear. That’s right, it stood upright, steadied itself upon a nearby shelf, causing even more toys to fall, and then began to turn in a lazy spiral, waving its upper paws in the air.
“Is that?-”
“It couldn’t be.”
“It’s dancing.” I said.
Again, I received glares from Emily and Sam.
“What do we do now?” Sam asked.
“You’re the security guy” Emily said. “What did they train you to do?”
“Uh…”
“Try calling animal control and the police.” I offered. Twenty minutes later we were still on the phone with animal control. They said that they didn’t want to trap the bear inside the store, just in case it should harm an employee. I still think it’s because they didn’t want a lawsuit from the store. So they told us to try an ‘shoo’ it out by making loud noises.
Air horns were in the fishing department, on the other side of toys. So we would have to travel past the bear to get to them.
“What about noisemakers from the party supply department? Emily asked.
“Unless it is deathly afraid of confetti, I doubt it would work.” Sam said.
“So what do we try?” Emily asked.
“We need to get to sporting goods…” Sam said.
Ten minutes last we were holed up once again in the security office. But this time with a box cutter, black powder, clothesline and rubber balls. “I read about this online in one of the survival forums.” Sam said, putting together an assembly line of handmade grenades.
“If we were going to kill the bear, why didn’t we just get the shotgun?” Emily asked.
“We’re not going to kill the bear.” Sam said. “It’s an endangered species here.”
“If it’s so endangered, then why is it in the city?” Emily asked.
“It’s probably here looking for food because someone built a mall on its home.” I said.
“Spoken like a liberal.” Sam sighed, "The animal control guys think that it was the one that they confiscated from a circus a while back and was released into the woods a mile from here to repopulate the species." he said, pouring black powder into a rubber ball that he had cut open with the box cutter. “Now don’t fill the ball too much, or it really will explode and hurt him.” He stuffed a section of rope into the opening on the ball, lit it and threw it at the bear.
And then there was nothing. Absolute nothing. The bear was still there, and we were still crouched around the corner. But the ‘grenade’ didn’t explode. Sam threw the others, and none of them exploded. So we grabbed a few more balls, this time from the kids’ section (since we were already there).
Sam kept an eye on the bear while Emily and I made the next grenades. “I think this is stupid.” Emily said, pouring the black powder into the ball and filling it up.
“Isn’t that too much?” I asked.
“The last ones didn’t catch fire and go off.” Emily said. “I’m betting Sammy boy didn’t put in enough stuff.”
I shrugged and stood back. It seemed the safest thing to do under the circumstances. Emily handed one of her super filled balls to Sam who lit the fuse and launched it at the bear. But this time, the bear decided to send it back.
The ball went flying over our heads and into the kitchen wares department. “Don’t worry” said Sam. “If it’s anything like the others, it’s a dud.”
But it wasn’t.
It exploded with a ferocity like the cherry bombs Emily’s brother allegedly flushed down toilets in his youth, according to the stories she told later of the ‘bear incident’. It knocked over an entire aisle of appliances and sent bits of broken ceramics into the air to land everywhere between pool supplies to electronics.
But it did chase the bear out.
When the boss asked us the next day what had happened, we blamed it on kids who were trying to form a protest on foreign made toys. The ball bombs were confiscated by Sam at an earlier date and he was going to dispose of them. But then there was this bear invasion and we feared for our lives. Thus we were forced to use them…
In response, we were sentenced to three more shifts of inventory. ACTUAL inventory.
Easy Bake Ovens, Barbie Dolls and Bombs
By Plot Roach
It’s never a good idea to fill kids’ toys with explosives…
So there I was, working the graveyard shift with Emily and trying to get our section inventoried before the end of our shift, when we heard a noise coming from the back gate. Now you have to understand that the graveyard shift is usually very quiet. The worst thing that you have to worry about is snoozing when the boss walks in. Too many people have been caught doing this, or worse, on their shifts. So now the boss not only has us clean up the place, he makes us inventory it as well. Not that the inventory actually does any good. Between what the customers walk off with and what the people working register fail to ring through right… well, you get the idea.
So Emily and I were working the toy section, halfway through the count we starting making up totals just to mess with the boss’ head. I mean, who really has five thousand Barbie rodeo costumes on a single shelf? Besides, Emily and I were bemoaning the fact that they were changing the Easy bake Oven from a light bulb to an actual heating element. I never had one as a kid, my parents thought that it was too dangerous and I told Emily as much.
“I burned myself a couple of times.” she said, showing me a as mall crescent shape scar on her thumb. “But if you don’t learn to be careful as a kid, you end up being a stupid adult. I mean, look at all those people they have to air lift out of state parks because someone had a midlife crisis and decided to find God while walking around in nature. They don’t take any classes, they don’t stay on the trail. Half the time they don’t even take enough water. And if they get attacked by a bear, it’s the bear that gets shot. So the poor thing just wakes up in the morning, smells the candy wrapper from some idiot that he left on the trail and decides that littering isn’t cool in his hood…”
“From kid’s toys to thug bears. You have a talent, Emily.”
“I try.” she said. “But in all honesty, we had fun with it. I had revenge on my brother when he barbequed my Barbies.”
“How?” I asked, almost afraid of the response.
“I used to turn his green army men into plastic hockey pucks. And then there was the time I actually made a mud pie out of mud, mixed it right in with the brownies and he never knew it until his molars came down on a rock.”
We were deep into reminiscing about childhood toys when the back door rattled. It sounded like someone was pulling real hard on the handle. But it was an emergency door, so it would only open from the inside.
“Should we open it you think?” Emily asked.
“Won’t the alarm go off?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I think that maybe we could go to security and see from the camera who it is.” So we dropped out clipboard of false inventory and headed down to see Sam in Security. When we got there, he was already watching the footage from the camera above the back emergency door.
“It’s a bear.” he said, with apathy. It was almost as if he said, ‘It’s the pizza delivery guy.’
“What kind of bear?” Emily asked.
“A bear, kind of bear.”
“No, I mean. Is it a grizzly, a brown bear, a polar bear?”
“Polar? Here?” Sam asked.
“It could happen.” Emily said.
“Yeah.” I said. “Didn’t you even see that show ‘Lost’, they sent one to Tunisia.”
Both of them glared at me for that comment. Okay, maybe I deserved it.
“It’s smallish and dark.” Sam finally said. We watched it pound against the outside door. We laughed, thinking ourselves safe against it. Then it walked to a nearby window and broke through it. “Oh crap!” Sam yelled, locking the door to the security office. And much to our amusement, the bear did not go to the food aisle, as any hungry bear who had just broken into a store would have, it went down the toy aisle, where Emily and I had been just moments earlier.
It made a quick perusal of the shelves, sniffing at the dolls and little girls’ makeup. It batted at the tubes of bubbles and chewed experimentally on a stuffed animal rabbit that was supposed to smell like strawberries. And I can tell you from experience, it did not. When you are surrounded by a dozen of the synthetic beasts, all you smell is a bad chemical residue that reminds one of overly sweet bathroom deodorizers.
The bear shared my opinion, having dropped the rabbit in favor of another toy. What had now caught its interest was a plush horse that made whinnying sounds when you touched it. But when the bear knocked it down off the shelf, it also knocked down a jewelry box.
A tinkling tune was caught on the camera, as was the dance of the small dark bear. That’s right, it stood upright, steadied itself upon a nearby shelf, causing even more toys to fall, and then began to turn in a lazy spiral, waving its upper paws in the air.
“Is that?-”
“It couldn’t be.”
“It’s dancing.” I said.
Again, I received glares from Emily and Sam.
“What do we do now?” Sam asked.
“You’re the security guy” Emily said. “What did they train you to do?”
“Uh…”
“Try calling animal control and the police.” I offered. Twenty minutes later we were still on the phone with animal control. They said that they didn’t want to trap the bear inside the store, just in case it should harm an employee. I still think it’s because they didn’t want a lawsuit from the store. So they told us to try an ‘shoo’ it out by making loud noises.
Air horns were in the fishing department, on the other side of toys. So we would have to travel past the bear to get to them.
“What about noisemakers from the party supply department? Emily asked.
“Unless it is deathly afraid of confetti, I doubt it would work.” Sam said.
“So what do we try?” Emily asked.
“We need to get to sporting goods…” Sam said.
Ten minutes last we were holed up once again in the security office. But this time with a box cutter, black powder, clothesline and rubber balls. “I read about this online in one of the survival forums.” Sam said, putting together an assembly line of handmade grenades.
“If we were going to kill the bear, why didn’t we just get the shotgun?” Emily asked.
“We’re not going to kill the bear.” Sam said. “It’s an endangered species here.”
“If it’s so endangered, then why is it in the city?” Emily asked.
“It’s probably here looking for food because someone built a mall on its home.” I said.
“Spoken like a liberal.” Sam sighed, "The animal control guys think that it was the one that they confiscated from a circus a while back and was released into the woods a mile from here to repopulate the species." he said, pouring black powder into a rubber ball that he had cut open with the box cutter. “Now don’t fill the ball too much, or it really will explode and hurt him.” He stuffed a section of rope into the opening on the ball, lit it and threw it at the bear.
And then there was nothing. Absolute nothing. The bear was still there, and we were still crouched around the corner. But the ‘grenade’ didn’t explode. Sam threw the others, and none of them exploded. So we grabbed a few more balls, this time from the kids’ section (since we were already there).
Sam kept an eye on the bear while Emily and I made the next grenades. “I think this is stupid.” Emily said, pouring the black powder into the ball and filling it up.
“Isn’t that too much?” I asked.
“The last ones didn’t catch fire and go off.” Emily said. “I’m betting Sammy boy didn’t put in enough stuff.”
I shrugged and stood back. It seemed the safest thing to do under the circumstances. Emily handed one of her super filled balls to Sam who lit the fuse and launched it at the bear. But this time, the bear decided to send it back.
The ball went flying over our heads and into the kitchen wares department. “Don’t worry” said Sam. “If it’s anything like the others, it’s a dud.”
But it wasn’t.
It exploded with a ferocity like the cherry bombs Emily’s brother allegedly flushed down toilets in his youth, according to the stories she told later of the ‘bear incident’. It knocked over an entire aisle of appliances and sent bits of broken ceramics into the air to land everywhere between pool supplies to electronics.
But it did chase the bear out.
When the boss asked us the next day what had happened, we blamed it on kids who were trying to form a protest on foreign made toys. The ball bombs were confiscated by Sam at an earlier date and he was going to dispose of them. But then there was this bear invasion and we feared for our lives. Thus we were forced to use them…
In response, we were sentenced to three more shifts of inventory. ACTUAL inventory.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The Fruit Club
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
The Fruit Club
By Plot Roach
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir.” said the man wearing the banana costume.
“I’m not a ’sir.”” said Carole. “And why would I have to leave?”
“You are not dressed as a fruit, mister.”
“I’m not dressed as a fruit, and I’m not a ‘mister’, either.”
“Then you really can’t stay.”
“But why?” Carole asked, looking at the members of the club walk in past her. This man was the only one dressed as a fruit. Everyone else seemed to be dressed in their usual casual clothing. What was the big fuss about? “Why must I be dressed as a fruit?”
“You have to be a fruit and you have to be male.” the bouncer corrected her. “sorry,” he said. “The haircut threw me at first.”
Carole touched the ends of her short hair, wishing this was the first time she had been confused for a male. “But why? You seem to be the only one here dressed as a fruit. What about everyone else?” she asked.
“It’s the Founder’s Day Fruit Parade here at the club. All new members must be dressed as fruit, all older members may come dressed however they may wish.”
“Well, what if I’m already a member here?” Carole asked.
“Then you would have already known about the parade, and you would be MALE.”
“There’s that penis thing again.” Carole sighed. She looked around the room, there was a group of men next to the bar, she called out “Hey James, I’m here!” hoping that she could catch someone off guard and bluff her way in.
“Nice try.” the banana said when no one responded. “but ‘lady friends’ aren’t allowed in there either.”
“Isn’t that against the law, or something? I thought ‘cigar clubs’ went out of style anyway.”
“Not if you have the cigar.” he said, leering at her. “You don’t do you?” he asked.
Carole blushed a moment at the sexual remark and then pulled herself together. This was her chance! “Well, I have been through some ‘changes’ lately. Which is the reason why my friends didn’t recognize me at the bar. I used to be a she, really I was.”
“Prove it.”
“Well I don’t have my ‘thing’ anymore.”
“What did you name it?”
“What?”
“Your thing.” he said. “Every guy names his thing.”
Carole blushed again. Was it really worth getting into the club for an interview this badly? “Twinkie.” she said proudly.
“No dice.” the man said. “First, you paused, which gave it away. You had to think about it. Second, no man names it something cutesy unless it’s also manly. I would have taken something like the Spaghetti Monster, the Happy Tickler or Dong Johnson for example.”
“God, this is hard.”
“That’s what she said.” the banana man said.
“Oh shut up and let me think!” Carole yelled.
“Why do you want to get into this joint anyway?”
“I’m writing an article for the local paper on the owner and he said to meet him inside. Which I thought was great, because the man never gives interviews. But-”
“You can’t get the interview because you can’t get in.” the banana man finished. “I understand.”
“So you’ll let me in?” she asked.
“Oh hell no, that would cost me my new membership.” he said. “Now move aside. We have a new member coming through.”
Carole stepped aside and watched a large red orb weave past her and into the entrance of the club. She squinted, recognizing another reporter from the newspaper where she worked. “Holland? Is that you?”
“Yep.” he smiled, his face painted red to go with his outfit. “The boss says that I’ll get a raise if I can get the interview that you couldn’t.”
Carole watched him coast into the room. A bell rang and the other new members, all dressed as fruit, came waddling from the back to face their audience. Carole tried one last shot at gaining entry into the club.
“Hey, that guy is dressed as a tomato, and you let him in!” Carole yelled, pointing to the man who just shoved his way past her.
“A tomato is technically a fruit.” the banana man said before closing the door on her.
The Fruit Club
By Plot Roach
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir.” said the man wearing the banana costume.
“I’m not a ’sir.”” said Carole. “And why would I have to leave?”
“You are not dressed as a fruit, mister.”
“I’m not dressed as a fruit, and I’m not a ‘mister’, either.”
“Then you really can’t stay.”
“But why?” Carole asked, looking at the members of the club walk in past her. This man was the only one dressed as a fruit. Everyone else seemed to be dressed in their usual casual clothing. What was the big fuss about? “Why must I be dressed as a fruit?”
“You have to be a fruit and you have to be male.” the bouncer corrected her. “sorry,” he said. “The haircut threw me at first.”
Carole touched the ends of her short hair, wishing this was the first time she had been confused for a male. “But why? You seem to be the only one here dressed as a fruit. What about everyone else?” she asked.
“It’s the Founder’s Day Fruit Parade here at the club. All new members must be dressed as fruit, all older members may come dressed however they may wish.”
“Well, what if I’m already a member here?” Carole asked.
“Then you would have already known about the parade, and you would be MALE.”
“There’s that penis thing again.” Carole sighed. She looked around the room, there was a group of men next to the bar, she called out “Hey James, I’m here!” hoping that she could catch someone off guard and bluff her way in.
“Nice try.” the banana said when no one responded. “but ‘lady friends’ aren’t allowed in there either.”
“Isn’t that against the law, or something? I thought ‘cigar clubs’ went out of style anyway.”
“Not if you have the cigar.” he said, leering at her. “You don’t do you?” he asked.
Carole blushed a moment at the sexual remark and then pulled herself together. This was her chance! “Well, I have been through some ‘changes’ lately. Which is the reason why my friends didn’t recognize me at the bar. I used to be a she, really I was.”
“Prove it.”
“Well I don’t have my ‘thing’ anymore.”
“What did you name it?”
“What?”
“Your thing.” he said. “Every guy names his thing.”
Carole blushed again. Was it really worth getting into the club for an interview this badly? “Twinkie.” she said proudly.
“No dice.” the man said. “First, you paused, which gave it away. You had to think about it. Second, no man names it something cutesy unless it’s also manly. I would have taken something like the Spaghetti Monster, the Happy Tickler or Dong Johnson for example.”
“God, this is hard.”
“That’s what she said.” the banana man said.
“Oh shut up and let me think!” Carole yelled.
“Why do you want to get into this joint anyway?”
“I’m writing an article for the local paper on the owner and he said to meet him inside. Which I thought was great, because the man never gives interviews. But-”
“You can’t get the interview because you can’t get in.” the banana man finished. “I understand.”
“So you’ll let me in?” she asked.
“Oh hell no, that would cost me my new membership.” he said. “Now move aside. We have a new member coming through.”
Carole stepped aside and watched a large red orb weave past her and into the entrance of the club. She squinted, recognizing another reporter from the newspaper where she worked. “Holland? Is that you?”
“Yep.” he smiled, his face painted red to go with his outfit. “The boss says that I’ll get a raise if I can get the interview that you couldn’t.”
Carole watched him coast into the room. A bell rang and the other new members, all dressed as fruit, came waddling from the back to face their audience. Carole tried one last shot at gaining entry into the club.
“Hey, that guy is dressed as a tomato, and you let him in!” Carole yelled, pointing to the man who just shoved his way past her.
“A tomato is technically a fruit.” the banana man said before closing the door on her.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Enough!
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Enough!
By Plot Roach
The day had started well enough. Though it had started with the three month old crying at five in the morning. Mother picked him up and began to nurse him, while she looked over at the toddler in the playpen on the other side of the room. Their father, Charlie, was still snoring away and would be for another half hour until Jacob, the child in her arms, would wake his older brother by yelling. And sure enough, as the time clicked by, Jacob screamed and Max woke with a start. His cries in turn waking his father. But Charlie merely rolled over, pulling the covers over his head and pretended to be asleep. They played this game every day.
Mother changed the diapers of both boys, set them in their respective seats in the kitchen and went to work. By the time their father came into the room, he was dressed and ready for work. Both boys paused in their screaming long enough to shoot smiles at their father as he kissed cheeks already grubby with food and dirt.
“How do they get so dirty so fast?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t you know?” Mother asked. “Little boys are made from dirt. No matter how much you wash them, more oozes out.”
About that time, Max threw a bagel at his younger brother, making Jacob yell at the top of his lungs. Mother stooped to pick it up, a spasm traveling through her back like lightning. She gasped and held her hand out to the kitchen table to keep from falling. Both boys were yelling now, their father babbling at them to make them laugh. It didn’t work, as the boys only yelled louder. In the meantime Mother was trying to pull herself upright and get enough air into her lungs to call for help from her husband.
Then the phone rang. “Hello?” Charlie asked over the din his sons were making. “No, we paid that already.” he said into the phone. A brief pause. “No I’m quite sure of it. I’ll check with my wife, hold on.” He looked into the kitchen and upon seeing her doubled over asked: “Honey, what’s wrong? Is it your back? I told you that you needed more exercise. And the phone company is on the line saying that we didn’t pay the bill. Didn’t you pay it earlier this week?”
Anger, pain and frustration brewed in the heart of the Mother. She had paid the bill. Just as she had every month. But with the boys’ screams, the pain that raced through her body, and her husband’s ‘I told you so’ echoing in her brain, she lost her temper. A great and mighty power flowed through her, from the bottom of her toes to the tip of her head.
“Enough!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She dried her eyes and looked around her once she realized that everything was quiet. Almost too quiet…
Everything had frozen in place. Her son Jacob in mid yell, the older child in the process of spilling his juice onto the floor. Even Charlie, a hand on the phone and his face frozen in the question he was asking. The clock behind them was frozen in place. She took a deep breath before taking the dropped bagel, dusting off the hair that had clung to it, and took a big bite as she enjoyed the first bit of silence that she received in longer than she cared to admit. She slipped into the chair next to her and waited for the spasm to release her.
“If I had more help around here I COULD exercise and not be in pain, you enormous prick!” she yelled at her frozen husband.
“And you two” she yelled at her sons. “Maybe if you didn’t wear me out every morning, I could make you laugh like your dad tries to.”
She finished the bagel, adding a scrambled egg and a cup of coffee to it before she uttered a sigh and ended the frozen moment. The juice spilled to the floor, her husband stood there with his question still unanswered. “Yes, I paid the bill online two days ago. I have the confirmation number written down on the calendar.” Mother said, dropping a kitchen towel onto the spilled juice.
Within a few minutes Charlie was out the door and both children were cleaned and sent into the living room where their eyes were glued to the television screen.
“My lunch?” Charlie asked. Mother simply handed it to him along with his briefcase, cell phone and car keys.
“I don’t know how you do it all.” he said, and then kissed her as he left for work.
Mother simply smiled and closed the door. Screaming was already coming from the living room as the toddler was pulling Jacob’s hair in retaliation for the baby puking on him. Mother took a deep breath and forced herself not to freeze time again. This was just a little mess, after all. There was no need to overuse the Mommy Voice, or she might be tempted to leave her family stuck in time forever.
Enough!
By Plot Roach
The day had started well enough. Though it had started with the three month old crying at five in the morning. Mother picked him up and began to nurse him, while she looked over at the toddler in the playpen on the other side of the room. Their father, Charlie, was still snoring away and would be for another half hour until Jacob, the child in her arms, would wake his older brother by yelling. And sure enough, as the time clicked by, Jacob screamed and Max woke with a start. His cries in turn waking his father. But Charlie merely rolled over, pulling the covers over his head and pretended to be asleep. They played this game every day.
Mother changed the diapers of both boys, set them in their respective seats in the kitchen and went to work. By the time their father came into the room, he was dressed and ready for work. Both boys paused in their screaming long enough to shoot smiles at their father as he kissed cheeks already grubby with food and dirt.
“How do they get so dirty so fast?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t you know?” Mother asked. “Little boys are made from dirt. No matter how much you wash them, more oozes out.”
About that time, Max threw a bagel at his younger brother, making Jacob yell at the top of his lungs. Mother stooped to pick it up, a spasm traveling through her back like lightning. She gasped and held her hand out to the kitchen table to keep from falling. Both boys were yelling now, their father babbling at them to make them laugh. It didn’t work, as the boys only yelled louder. In the meantime Mother was trying to pull herself upright and get enough air into her lungs to call for help from her husband.
Then the phone rang. “Hello?” Charlie asked over the din his sons were making. “No, we paid that already.” he said into the phone. A brief pause. “No I’m quite sure of it. I’ll check with my wife, hold on.” He looked into the kitchen and upon seeing her doubled over asked: “Honey, what’s wrong? Is it your back? I told you that you needed more exercise. And the phone company is on the line saying that we didn’t pay the bill. Didn’t you pay it earlier this week?”
Anger, pain and frustration brewed in the heart of the Mother. She had paid the bill. Just as she had every month. But with the boys’ screams, the pain that raced through her body, and her husband’s ‘I told you so’ echoing in her brain, she lost her temper. A great and mighty power flowed through her, from the bottom of her toes to the tip of her head.
“Enough!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She dried her eyes and looked around her once she realized that everything was quiet. Almost too quiet…
Everything had frozen in place. Her son Jacob in mid yell, the older child in the process of spilling his juice onto the floor. Even Charlie, a hand on the phone and his face frozen in the question he was asking. The clock behind them was frozen in place. She took a deep breath before taking the dropped bagel, dusting off the hair that had clung to it, and took a big bite as she enjoyed the first bit of silence that she received in longer than she cared to admit. She slipped into the chair next to her and waited for the spasm to release her.
“If I had more help around here I COULD exercise and not be in pain, you enormous prick!” she yelled at her frozen husband.
“And you two” she yelled at her sons. “Maybe if you didn’t wear me out every morning, I could make you laugh like your dad tries to.”
She finished the bagel, adding a scrambled egg and a cup of coffee to it before she uttered a sigh and ended the frozen moment. The juice spilled to the floor, her husband stood there with his question still unanswered. “Yes, I paid the bill online two days ago. I have the confirmation number written down on the calendar.” Mother said, dropping a kitchen towel onto the spilled juice.
Within a few minutes Charlie was out the door and both children were cleaned and sent into the living room where their eyes were glued to the television screen.
“My lunch?” Charlie asked. Mother simply handed it to him along with his briefcase, cell phone and car keys.
“I don’t know how you do it all.” he said, and then kissed her as he left for work.
Mother simply smiled and closed the door. Screaming was already coming from the living room as the toddler was pulling Jacob’s hair in retaliation for the baby puking on him. Mother took a deep breath and forced herself not to freeze time again. This was just a little mess, after all. There was no need to overuse the Mommy Voice, or she might be tempted to leave her family stuck in time forever.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Killing Off the Bad Guy
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Killing Off the Bad Guy
By Plot Roach
“Hello?”
“Sorry to call so early, Jessie. But we have some bad news to tell you.”
Jessie pulled himself up in bed, and turned on the light beside his bed. He spoke softly, trying not to wake his wife. “What happened?”
“Alexander Deman just killed off Ripper-Man.”
Ripper-Man was the enemy of Adam Valiant in the comic books published by Seedy Underbelly Press. They made small graphic novels as well, but they had not caught on with the fans as of yet. Maybe this is Deman’s way of sparking that interest, Jessie thought. Kill off the bad guy and then bring him back in a graphic novel that you would have to read in order to get what was happening in the comic books. Jessie hoped that he would get some of the action, since he was hired to clean up the art on Deman’s graphics. The artist was getting old and his hands were not as steady as they had once been. The fact that he had the ability to create an issue of the comic on his own was a miracle. “What’s new? The Ripper has been dead half a dozen times before, and we’ve always found a way to bring him back.”
“He’s gone this time -for good.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Deman locked himself away after the latest issue hit the stands. In the storyline, he kills the bad guy off completely.”
“And Cooper agreed to this?”
“Cooper didn’t know. It seems that Deman bypassed everyone and got it to the printer before anyone caught wind of it. We only found out about it when the police called.”
“How were the police involved? Wait -let me guess. Deman was having one of his ‘fits’ again, right?”
“It seems he killed himself over it, Jessie.”
“He can always take a break-”
“No, Jessie. He actually killed himself after killing of Ripper-Man. Ripper was his creation and he had drawn the guy for forty years. He said in the note that he got tired of ‘being the bad guy’ and that he had to end it once and for all.”
“Do we know if the note is real? Did someone kill him and stage it?”
“It’s real, alright. There’s a miniature sketch of Ripper-Man in the corner of the paper he used. And the creepy thing is that he pulled it from the Bible in the dresser drawer of the motel room.”
“Wow.” Jessie said, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. If Deman was gone, chances were that his job was on the line. “I guess they won’t need me then, huh?”
“Not unless you can bring back the Ripper.”
“Well, hey. We’ve done it before. How hard can it be?”
“He really killed him, Jessie. Like really DEAD. Like Valiant decapitated him, cut the body into pieces, burned the pieces separately, nuked the ashes from orbit, put those ashes in holy water and buried them in opposite poles of the Earth.”
“It was all a dream?”
“No good, Valiant pinched himself at the end to make sure that he was awake.”
“Voodoo resurrection?”
“Nope. The holy water and scattered ashes took care of that.”
“Cloning?”
"Too easy. In the last section, where Valiant is giving his soliloquy on his rival, he says that Ripper-Man is from an alien race and that his genetics can’t be cloned.”
“An alien race, you say?”
“You have an idea?”
“If it will save Ripper-Man and my job.”
“Buddy, I hope you can pull it off. The fans are ripping us a new one on the website for letting this happen. And if Valiant has no one to fight what good is he? They’ll cut the entire staff loose over this.”
A week later the next installment of Valiant vs. Ripper was out on the market. It debuted a very tired looking Valiant, who had walked away from the world he knew in order to contemplate his existence without his arch enemy. Alone on a mountaintop, the hero’s slumber was interrupted by the sound of a rocket crashing down to earth. He gasped and stood wide eyed as the dead villain dashed from the craft and lunged at him. As soon as he dispatched the evil doer, another took his place. It seemed that there was not just one Ripper-Man, there was a whole planet full of them. And all of them were coming to Earth to battle Adam Valiant. Jessie and the rest of the artist team that brought the comic to life would have their imaginations full for a long time as they sought new and interesting was of
Killing Off the Bad Guy
By Plot Roach
“Hello?”
“Sorry to call so early, Jessie. But we have some bad news to tell you.”
Jessie pulled himself up in bed, and turned on the light beside his bed. He spoke softly, trying not to wake his wife. “What happened?”
“Alexander Deman just killed off Ripper-Man.”
Ripper-Man was the enemy of Adam Valiant in the comic books published by Seedy Underbelly Press. They made small graphic novels as well, but they had not caught on with the fans as of yet. Maybe this is Deman’s way of sparking that interest, Jessie thought. Kill off the bad guy and then bring him back in a graphic novel that you would have to read in order to get what was happening in the comic books. Jessie hoped that he would get some of the action, since he was hired to clean up the art on Deman’s graphics. The artist was getting old and his hands were not as steady as they had once been. The fact that he had the ability to create an issue of the comic on his own was a miracle. “What’s new? The Ripper has been dead half a dozen times before, and we’ve always found a way to bring him back.”
“He’s gone this time -for good.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Deman locked himself away after the latest issue hit the stands. In the storyline, he kills the bad guy off completely.”
“And Cooper agreed to this?”
“Cooper didn’t know. It seems that Deman bypassed everyone and got it to the printer before anyone caught wind of it. We only found out about it when the police called.”
“How were the police involved? Wait -let me guess. Deman was having one of his ‘fits’ again, right?”
“It seems he killed himself over it, Jessie.”
“He can always take a break-”
“No, Jessie. He actually killed himself after killing of Ripper-Man. Ripper was his creation and he had drawn the guy for forty years. He said in the note that he got tired of ‘being the bad guy’ and that he had to end it once and for all.”
“Do we know if the note is real? Did someone kill him and stage it?”
“It’s real, alright. There’s a miniature sketch of Ripper-Man in the corner of the paper he used. And the creepy thing is that he pulled it from the Bible in the dresser drawer of the motel room.”
“Wow.” Jessie said, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. If Deman was gone, chances were that his job was on the line. “I guess they won’t need me then, huh?”
“Not unless you can bring back the Ripper.”
“Well, hey. We’ve done it before. How hard can it be?”
“He really killed him, Jessie. Like really DEAD. Like Valiant decapitated him, cut the body into pieces, burned the pieces separately, nuked the ashes from orbit, put those ashes in holy water and buried them in opposite poles of the Earth.”
“It was all a dream?”
“No good, Valiant pinched himself at the end to make sure that he was awake.”
“Voodoo resurrection?”
“Nope. The holy water and scattered ashes took care of that.”
“Cloning?”
"Too easy. In the last section, where Valiant is giving his soliloquy on his rival, he says that Ripper-Man is from an alien race and that his genetics can’t be cloned.”
“An alien race, you say?”
“You have an idea?”
“If it will save Ripper-Man and my job.”
“Buddy, I hope you can pull it off. The fans are ripping us a new one on the website for letting this happen. And if Valiant has no one to fight what good is he? They’ll cut the entire staff loose over this.”
A week later the next installment of Valiant vs. Ripper was out on the market. It debuted a very tired looking Valiant, who had walked away from the world he knew in order to contemplate his existence without his arch enemy. Alone on a mountaintop, the hero’s slumber was interrupted by the sound of a rocket crashing down to earth. He gasped and stood wide eyed as the dead villain dashed from the craft and lunged at him. As soon as he dispatched the evil doer, another took his place. It seemed that there was not just one Ripper-Man, there was a whole planet full of them. And all of them were coming to Earth to battle Adam Valiant. Jessie and the rest of the artist team that brought the comic to life would have their imaginations full for a long time as they sought new and interesting was of
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Master List
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Master List
By Plot Roach
I’m a list maker. I make them as far in advance of the event that they are helping me to plan as I can. One of my favorite lists to make is planning for vacations. Sometimes I think that I enjoy the planning of a vacation far more than I do the actual vacation itself. There is something to be said for neat little words lined up across a paper like soldiers ready for battle. But like all battles, no matter how much you plan, it can fall apart within minutes of the first move.
So I was busily arranging the pack of some last minute supplies when my husband interrupted me. “Honey?” he asked. “Did you remember to pack Jason’s asthma medication?”
“If it’s on the list, then it will be in the bag.” I said.
“Which bag?” he asked.
“My purple carry-on.”
“The roller bag?”
“No, honey, my carry-on backpack.” I explained. “That way if they decide that the plane’s overhead compartment is too full and ask to check our bags, I still have it with me just in case.”
“Would they really do that?” he asked.
“Did you forget the mess that happened with your sister’s kid?” I asked. Poor little Donovan had an allergic reaction and they could not get him any children’s antihistamine until the plane landed because it was packed away in the belly of the plane.
“Well,” he said. “If you have it all worked out on your master list…”
He likes to tease me about my list making fetish. But let me tell you that it has saved us many times when we are out and about. He put his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes, but it did not save him from my lecture.
“My carry-on backpack contains the tickets, directions, medical information and medications needed by each member of this household. Your carry-on backpack has all the electrical things we need like the laptop, digital camera and extra batteries. The kids’ backpacks have things that they will need on the trip there, like snacks, books and toys to keep their minds occupied so that they don’t kill one another or annoy strangers on the plane. Each of our roller bags contains what we need for clothes, what we will use for daily grooming, what we might need in the way of fixing things that might break, things we might need in an emergency and with all the liquid items held in a separate plastic baggie for airport security to inspect.”
By the time that my lecture finally ended, all three of the boys were in the living room, their rolling bags and backpacks already in the car. It was my turn to roll my eyes at my husband as I grabbed the bag of food off of the counter and rolled our bags out to the car. Once everything was packed I told the kids to make one last visit to the bathroom. We would be getting to the airport early enough, but sometimes the place was packed and the lines were long, both for boarding the plane and using the restroom.
A few minutes later the boys piled back into the car and we were on the road. The noise from the backseat quieted down as the boys dug into their backpacks for travel goodies that I had packed earlier in the week.
“I have this feeling that I’ve forgotten something.” I said. I dug through the bag of food and started to distribute sandwiches and drinks to everyone so that we would not arrive at the plane hungry.
“And it wasn’t on your master list?” my husband joked.
I gave him THE LOOK and glanced over my list once again. There was something I had forgotten, I just knew it. And then I realized that the car was too quiet, I turned around and saw Jacob and Oliver. But not Jason.
“David?” I asked. “Where’s our youngest son?”
Suddenly it became apparent that there was another thing to add to the master list.
Master List
By Plot Roach
I’m a list maker. I make them as far in advance of the event that they are helping me to plan as I can. One of my favorite lists to make is planning for vacations. Sometimes I think that I enjoy the planning of a vacation far more than I do the actual vacation itself. There is something to be said for neat little words lined up across a paper like soldiers ready for battle. But like all battles, no matter how much you plan, it can fall apart within minutes of the first move.
So I was busily arranging the pack of some last minute supplies when my husband interrupted me. “Honey?” he asked. “Did you remember to pack Jason’s asthma medication?”
“If it’s on the list, then it will be in the bag.” I said.
“Which bag?” he asked.
“My purple carry-on.”
“The roller bag?”
“No, honey, my carry-on backpack.” I explained. “That way if they decide that the plane’s overhead compartment is too full and ask to check our bags, I still have it with me just in case.”
“Would they really do that?” he asked.
“Did you forget the mess that happened with your sister’s kid?” I asked. Poor little Donovan had an allergic reaction and they could not get him any children’s antihistamine until the plane landed because it was packed away in the belly of the plane.
“Well,” he said. “If you have it all worked out on your master list…”
He likes to tease me about my list making fetish. But let me tell you that it has saved us many times when we are out and about. He put his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes, but it did not save him from my lecture.
“My carry-on backpack contains the tickets, directions, medical information and medications needed by each member of this household. Your carry-on backpack has all the electrical things we need like the laptop, digital camera and extra batteries. The kids’ backpacks have things that they will need on the trip there, like snacks, books and toys to keep their minds occupied so that they don’t kill one another or annoy strangers on the plane. Each of our roller bags contains what we need for clothes, what we will use for daily grooming, what we might need in the way of fixing things that might break, things we might need in an emergency and with all the liquid items held in a separate plastic baggie for airport security to inspect.”
By the time that my lecture finally ended, all three of the boys were in the living room, their rolling bags and backpacks already in the car. It was my turn to roll my eyes at my husband as I grabbed the bag of food off of the counter and rolled our bags out to the car. Once everything was packed I told the kids to make one last visit to the bathroom. We would be getting to the airport early enough, but sometimes the place was packed and the lines were long, both for boarding the plane and using the restroom.
A few minutes later the boys piled back into the car and we were on the road. The noise from the backseat quieted down as the boys dug into their backpacks for travel goodies that I had packed earlier in the week.
“I have this feeling that I’ve forgotten something.” I said. I dug through the bag of food and started to distribute sandwiches and drinks to everyone so that we would not arrive at the plane hungry.
“And it wasn’t on your master list?” my husband joked.
I gave him THE LOOK and glanced over my list once again. There was something I had forgotten, I just knew it. And then I realized that the car was too quiet, I turned around and saw Jacob and Oliver. But not Jason.
“David?” I asked. “Where’s our youngest son?”
Suddenly it became apparent that there was another thing to add to the master list.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Simple Minded Beast
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Simple Minded Beast
By Plot Roach
A wolf bitch, alone and tired, paused for the night where the forest and the world of man met. There she spent the night with a farmer’s hound and knew love, if only for the moment. For the following day the farmer chased her back into the forest and she never saw the hound again.
Not long after, the woods rang with the howls of her children, still pups, that chased after her learning the ways of the wild ones. A prince, in search of a trophy to add to his collection, hunted those woods. One day he chanced upon the wolf and her children and killed them in their sleep, all but one. The last pup looked more of a hound to him than of the rest of the wolves. He thought it rather unusual and thought to keep it alive, to teach it to be loyal to him alone and to hunt alongside him and keep him safe.
So he took the pup and raised it as his own, and it stayed by his side no matter where he went. And when the time came for the kingdom to go to war, the dog followed and kept the prince company on the lonely marches as well as protecting him from enemies in battle.
But a blow landed upon the prince that the dog could not block and its master was taken from the battlefield and sent to the healer’s tent. The prince’s wounds were bandaged and he was left alone to recover, his trusted hound at his side. “You are such a simple minded beast.” the prince said. “And yet you are more loyal to me than any soldier in my army.”
No sooner had these words left the prince’s mouth then the beast leaped up upon the cot where the prince rested and tore out his throat.
For there were two things the prince had forgotten: the first being that a simple creature can be trained in any manner of tricks, but true loyalty must be earned through deed or by blood. And the last: it does not matter if one is simple or smart, for pain is felt forever in the heart, as is the thirst for revenge.
Simple Minded Beast
By Plot Roach
A wolf bitch, alone and tired, paused for the night where the forest and the world of man met. There she spent the night with a farmer’s hound and knew love, if only for the moment. For the following day the farmer chased her back into the forest and she never saw the hound again.
Not long after, the woods rang with the howls of her children, still pups, that chased after her learning the ways of the wild ones. A prince, in search of a trophy to add to his collection, hunted those woods. One day he chanced upon the wolf and her children and killed them in their sleep, all but one. The last pup looked more of a hound to him than of the rest of the wolves. He thought it rather unusual and thought to keep it alive, to teach it to be loyal to him alone and to hunt alongside him and keep him safe.
So he took the pup and raised it as his own, and it stayed by his side no matter where he went. And when the time came for the kingdom to go to war, the dog followed and kept the prince company on the lonely marches as well as protecting him from enemies in battle.
But a blow landed upon the prince that the dog could not block and its master was taken from the battlefield and sent to the healer’s tent. The prince’s wounds were bandaged and he was left alone to recover, his trusted hound at his side. “You are such a simple minded beast.” the prince said. “And yet you are more loyal to me than any soldier in my army.”
No sooner had these words left the prince’s mouth then the beast leaped up upon the cot where the prince rested and tore out his throat.
For there were two things the prince had forgotten: the first being that a simple creature can be trained in any manner of tricks, but true loyalty must be earned through deed or by blood. And the last: it does not matter if one is simple or smart, for pain is felt forever in the heart, as is the thirst for revenge.
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