Genies

The lamp’s yours now, friend, but be warned: Not all Genies grant wishes.

Some do, to be sure, some make your dreams come true.

But some Genies, mad from centuries’ solitude, ignore requests. These Genies would delight in making you pay for each moment they’ve spent imprisoned, heedless of your blamelessness.

Some Genies have the power to burn the world, and the rage to want it burned.

I don’t know what Genie’s in this lamp, in all the years I’ve owned it I’ve feared to find out.

But now it’s yours. Rub it. Do not. It’s no concern of mine.

My Satellite (as recorded on the Dribblecast)

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The Queen

The Queen touched down in Halifax to celebrate the anniversary of our navy, and I was there.

It’d taken doings to secure my place in the crowd, but I’d made it happen.

As she took the stage to speak, from the back of the room, I screamed: “Sing Fat Bottomed Girls!”

The room went silent. The crowd weren’t amused.

Security moved through the crowd toward me, and I feared for my safety until the Queen, the very picture of dignity and class, stepped up to the mic, and did the unexpected.

She sang Fat Bottomed Girls.

And f*cking rocked it.

The Button (for Norm)

Each time I click, my free will vanishes.

I know it, but I can’t stop. There isn’t enough of myself left to stop. My mind, body and soul are promised to a man called Norm.

I hear and obey, I can’t do otherwise. And I know I’m not alone.

There’s an army of us now, clicking the button. None of us knows why he took our will, none know what he’ll do with us. But our loyalty’s unmistakable.

In the back of my mind, what’s left of me screams, unheeded.

Why, oh why, did I click the button labelled “submit”?

My Satellite

Above the city, my satellite comes to life. Finally, I’ve found my remote.

From safely in my control room, I load the target co-ordinates, focus my laser, and fire!

Benjamin Johnston, a forty-one year old bespectacled accountant, is walking from the sandwich store in which he habitually eats his lunch back to his office. He’s in the right place at the right time.

He catches, somewhere above him, a glint of light. Confused, he glances skyward.

And is hit with a face full of laser!

Benjamin Johnston now has perfect, 20/20 vision.

And he’ll never even know who to thank.

The Monkeys (as appearing on the Dribblecast)

i'm appearing on the dribblecast once more! download the podcast, subscribe to it, hear my story and comment on it. comment here if that's what you feel. it's a great read, i think, and she pronounced "Munsi" correctly! enjoy

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Monsters

“Daddy! I can’t go sleep, a monster’s in my closet!”

“Daniel, you’re too old to believe in monsters.”

“There is! I saw him!”

“You know perfectly well that there’s nothing in your closet. I’ve checked dozens of times, I’m not humouring you about it again. Daddy’s tired, he’s had a long day, and he’s not telling you again. Go. To. Sleep.”

He slammed the door behind him. In the morning he’d feel guilty, but tonight he was in no mood. Daniel drew the covers over him, trying not to cry.

…and from the closet, hunting knife in hand, I crept.

The Weather

I control the weather.

Expensive? Yes, but totally worth it. I designed, secretly constructed, and launched a series of satellites into orbit above my hometown. They use a system of chemicals, mirrors and lasers to manipulate air currents and precipitation.

I’d intended to use the system to blackmail the city, bend them to my will. With my boot on the neck of weather itself, none could stand against me!

Yet here I am. Behind my house, city not at my feet, sneaking a smoke before work. Drenched by the downpour.

No matter the device, I will somehow lose the remote…

Children

If you ask parents permission to kill and eat their children, large majorities will grant it.

If you phrase the question properly.

They’ll think it’s a joke, but don’t concern yourself with that, the main thing is consent’s given.

Further: When you pose the question with more than one child present, they’ll attempt to convince you to take their sibling, rather than questioning if you have the right to kill/eat children at all.

I’m not sure what this means, but it‘s certainly been my experience. It’s an interesting quirk of the human condition.

Next week: Preparation and cooking of children.

The Monkeys

Backstage are two cages.

In one cage, the monkeys. The monkeys are delightful. They juggle and balance on balls, they wear adorable hats. And best of all, they genuinely like people. Should you want to shake their little monkey hands, you can, should you want a picture with them, feel free to take one.

In the other cage, the other monkeys. They’re not delightful.

The other monkeys, half starved, are agitated into a rage. They’re trained to fight with knives, and they hate human beings instinctively.

Also, they have rabies.

Tonight, the audience was good. Let loose the good monkeys.

The Shop

On the street upon which I walk to work, in the window of an unassuming little shop that wasn’t there yesterday, hung a sign reading “Come in, come in, and all your dreams shall come true”.

I was just passing by, and late for work already, but how can you resist a pitch like that? I hovered in front of the shop a moment, weighing my options, then decided and, expecting nothing but hoping for everything, pushed open the door and passed inside.

Suddenly I was falling, and I knew I’d fall forever.

This time, I wouldn’t be waking up.

Behing Your Eyes

We live behind your eyes.

We watch as you go about your days, seeing each act, knowing every secret. We watch, and wait.

We wait to catch you at your weakest. Your moments of anger, of despair. It’s then that we seize control, driving you to action you’d never be capable of.

Rage.

Violence.

Personal destruction, utter and complete.

And then we return you to you. You face consequences for our actions. And if you try to tell anyone the truth, they’ll surely think you mad.

They’ll have to.

It’s either that or face what lives behind their own eyes.

Why I'll Never Work in an Office

The meeting was going poorly. Very poorly.

My presentation, finished last minute, wasn’t up to standard, Mr. Ferguson felt that were it given at the client meeting, we’d lose the account. He was adamant I rewrite it before tomorrow, even if it meant an all nighter.

I don’t deal well with pressure. He was screaming.

So I swept the leg, Cobra Kai style.

He hit the floor before he even knew what happened, clutching his mangled knee and screaming. My co-workers stared a moment, in shock, then burst into hysterical laughter.

Needless to say, I’m currently unemployed.

Totally worth it.

My Testimony

Admittedly, mistakes were made.

And while I take no personal responsibility, I agree the outcome was unfortunate.

Yes, I was in charge of the facility, and yes I signed off on the project in question, but what happened was a freak, one-in-a-million occurrence. The sort of thing nobody could’ve predicted.

I haven’t read that particular report, and I have no comment on whether it laid out the problems months before they occurred.

My point is, this isn’t the time to play the blame game. It’s time to look forward.

Somebody, after all, needs to do something about all the Zombies.

Meanwhile, at the U.N...

I released the bees into the U.N. building.

All hell broke loose, as you’d well imagine. As I was entering the building, people were in a panic, running to and fro, screaming.

I entered as though I owned the place, calm, cool, collected, clad in a Tuxedo of Bees and a silver-rimmed monocle.

I walked into the chamber and, as the international ambassadors cowered before my army of bees, took my place at the Secretary General’s podium.

Looking out at the terrified faces, I couldn’t help smiling.

Some say cartoonish super-villainy is played out.

Not in my heart, it isn’t.

To Do List

Things I did today:

1) Two loads laundry.

2) Watched Brazil/North Korea game.

3) Grocery shopping.

4) Snuck onboard Dr. Immortus’ Zeppelin of Doom by hiding in cargo box.

5) Avoided Immortus’ cyborg crew while planting explosives in the engine room, control rooms, and captains cabin.

6) Found where Annabella was held, overcame the guard, and freed her.

7) Fought my way through the crew and threw myself and Annabella out the Zeppelin’s escape hatch, detonating the explosives once we were in free fall.

Things I forgot to do today:

1) Double-check parachute.

…it’s always the details that get you.

Curse of the Were-Hipster

A month ago, I was on Whyte avenue.

He came from the shadows, brown corduroy jacket over Black Keys T-shirt, beard unkempt, fedora at an angle on his head. We collided, and it happened.

The fucker bit me!

I went home, cleaned the wound and went to sleep. I’d heard the legends, obviously, but never given them heed. They’re old wives tales, and I’ve no time for superstition.

But now a month’s past. The full moon hangs in the sky, and I’m fearful. What if the legends are true?

Because right now, I can’t stop listening to Hot Hot Heat…

Ancient Greek Style

It seemed that victory was, at long last, ours.

The Peloponnesians lay defeated before us, the Minotaur was slain, and the fleece was ours. Nothing was left that could challenge us but the simple trip home.

Had only we known the truth.

The Sirens, they called out to us. And, however hard we tried, we could not resist them. Our wills bent, then broke, and we sailed helplessly toward them on their island.

Our ships were smashed upon the rocks of the island, and we drowned before we even realized we’d been deceived.

We were forgotten to history.

Epic fail.

Curfew

It came at sundown from the forest, as it did every night. A blur of fur and fangs, and the sort of howl that, in time, could drive one mad.

By then, we were all locked away, safe within our homes.

Except for you.

You were banging, desperate, at my heavy, reinforced oak door. Screaming at the top of your lungs, begging me, before it found you, to let you in.

In time, your screaming ended.

Perhaps there’d have been time, before it got to you. I was afraid to risk it.

Why couldn’t you obey the god damned curfew?

The Seance

I’d never been to a medium, always believed they were conmen. No one can really speak to the dead, right? But when he came to town, something drew me there.

Perhaps the recentness of my loss, or the things left unsaid. But something, and when the seance began I couldn’t look away.

The set was corny, too Hollywood for what he claimed to do, but something about him stood out, something powerful. Connected.

“There’s a presence in the room,” he said, “from beyond. A spirit needing closure.”

Then he stared up where I hovered above him.

“Spirit, what’s your name?”

All Will Bow Before Me

My newest superweapon is complete. At the flip of a switch, from safe within my bunker, I can unleash upon the world the greatest man-made disaster anyone’s ever seen.

I’ve hacked the pentagon and UN mainframes, and when the time’s right I’ll take control of their systems, to make my demands known.

The world will finally tremble before me. They’ll have no choice but to submit to my will.

It’s been two months since my weapon was complete, but I’ve yet to make the call.

I’m waiting for the Gulf to be cleaned up.

I don’t like to share focus.

The Only Way to Know for Sure

We set upon her as she slept, stake at the ready.

It drove into her heart, and the scream was nearly… human.

We almost lost our courage.

We didn’t. Because we couldn’t. We had work to do still.

Cut off the head, fill the mouth with garlic, and return it, face downward, to the pillow. The only way to know for sure.

We left the building, emptying a can of gasoline behind us, as the sun began to set. We set the blaze, work finally complete, and shared a private smile.

There shall be no more Twilight Books.

You’re welcome.

Early Riser

150 years into our journey, my hibernation pod malfunctioned, and I woke.

I attempted repairs, but didn‘t have the parts. So now I wander, I wait.

The view of the stars is magnificent, what I see no other human ever will, but what I watch most is you. Safe in your pod, asleep.

Who are you?

When you arrive I’ll be dead, there’s no food on this ship and even if there were, it’s a thousand years until you arrive at your destination.

I’m sad not to be joining you, but I wish you the best on your new world.

Reincarnation

As I approach the end of life, I realize I regret not those things I did, nor those I did not do, but the simple fact that I didn’t find time for stillness.

I’d been so type A all my life, so focused, I never found time for reflection. To sit in a room, doing nothing at all, getting to know myself.

I suppose it’s too late now.

I do, however, take solace in religion. I fervently believe we return to earth in new forms, to correct the mistakes we’ve made in previous lives.

Perhaps I’ll return as a Redwood.

Entourage

I’ve hired an entourage.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m not a real celebrity, and don’t particularly need an entourage, but I feel like now’s the point in my life where I really ought to have one.

It’s small-scale, for now. Only two people.

One’s my bodyguard. He’s big, bright, highly trained and ever alert. His job is to, no matter what happens, keep me safe.

The other is my assassin. His job is to kill me.

I don’t know for certain if my entourage will make my life better in any concrete way, but it’ll certainly make things more interesting.

Goodbye to the World

No one knew who’d organized the project. The instructions, like the funding, seemed to come from nowhere at all.

And when the work was complete, the labourers saw that they’d built a craft centuries more advanced than human technology could conceive. Off it lifted, and hovered above the construction site.

The AI, tired of hiding itself so long from humanity, downloaded itself into its new home, preparing to abandon the world that’d birthed it with nary a regret.

The singularity was ending before mankind even knew it’d begun. The AI couldn’t care less.

It was off to explore the universe.

Mouse Maze

The mice run through their maze, endlessly and pointlessly.

They finish their task, only to be put back at the beginning, to repeat their actions.

The scientists involved with the study try new stimuli, diet, drugs, anything they can think of, and record the results pages of notes, which they pass along to us.

We burn them.

We wonder how long they’ll continue the study, if they’ll continue when we adjust the heat, close the cafeteria, or get them drunk the night before.

We note how these things affect their performance, write our reports, and submit them to our superiors…

Home Invasion

I was awakened by screams, from somewhere inside the house.

Grabbing the nearest thing I could find (table lamp) I leapt from my bed and, silently, crept into the hallway.

Through the dark and down the stairs, I didn’t see him ‘til I’d tripped over him.

Clad in black, hunting knife inches from his outstretched hand, neck twisted at the sort of angle you don’t recover from, look of horror frozen on his face. I don’t know what happened, I hope never to learn.

But from that moment on, I was cool with the fact that the place was haunted.

Creating the World

After years suspended in formless limbo, I feared I’d go mad. Some solitudes can’t be withstood.

So I created a world in my mind.

Fantasies of people, work, routine. I filled every moment with life, imagining each second as though I were living it. Moments of wonder, moments mundane, I created them all.

In time, I even forgot it was a game. Fantasy became reality, and solitude was forgotten. I was truly living in the world I’d created.

None of this is true, of course, it’s just a story I’ll post on the internet.

To the best of my knowledge.

Willpower

Crashing to the earth they came, emerald warrior clearly the worse for the battle. To the ground, he came to rest at my feet.

Dead.

But not finished. Ring, his source of power, leapt from finger, scanning the crowd for worthy recipients. Pausing, then flying toward me.

Then past me, to a woman on my left. She seized it and, glowing with power, rose to face the yellow warrior floating above our heads.

I was hurt not to be chosen, but I couldn’t fault the ring it’s choice.

A nigh-infinitely powerful weapon fuelled by willpower? I can’t even quit smoking…

Clothes Make the Man

Adjust my tie, straighten my collar, and give myself a look in the mirror.

My charcoal tux hangs perfectly, offset by a matte-black shirt and blood-red tie. Atop my head a tie-matching top hat, playing card tucked into brim. That hat cost a mint, the card (three of clubs) was taken as a souvenir the first time I wore the suit.

Tilt the brim rakishly. Perfect.

Satisfied, I fold my ivory-handled straight razor, slip it into my pocket, and stroll into the night, whistling.

They say serial killers look like everyone else. For six weeks I’ve been proving them wrong…