La Cucaracha

When you awaken, you’ll find a mariachi band in your room playing “La Cucaracha.”

I know this because I’ve hired the band.

It’ll follow you as you prepare for work, then follow you to work. It’ll play at your office, your lunch break, and your car on your way home. Always the same song, always in the same up-tempo, perky way.

It’ll play until you go mad, then play as men in white coats drag you away to spend the rest of your life in a tiny, padded room.

You should’ve never made me the executor of your living will.

Napalming the Glass Ceiling

After the fourth round of drinks, conversation turned to gender politics.

“It’s sexism, plain and simple,” she commented, “institutionalized sexism. As an evil genius who happens to be a woman, I have to work twice as hard as a man to make people fear me!”

I denied it, of course. I mean, I’d grown up post-feminism, and treated the women in my life with nothing but respect…

…now, weeks later, staring out at the flaming ruins of the city, her words remain with me. I mean, of course I fear her, but can I honestly say I fear her enough?

After the Concert

They surged forward, a wave of angles, clashing colours and plunging lines.

Some figures were suited to revealing homemade costumes, some most definitely not. No two getups alike, nor two wigs identical, yet there was a definite unifying theme between them.

And worn with such pride! Such passion! The sort of defiant self-belief required to keep them from appearing laughable. They had it. All of them.

I watched them run from the concert and into the streets, screaming in joy, and the seventeen year old Goth I used to be smiled.

Godspeed, you ladies Gaga. Let your freak flags fly!

Perspective(tm)

Pain.

Pain beyond imagining, every nerve in my body aflame, I was torn apart, cell by cell, and conscious of every moment.

But more than pain, there was hopelessness, the knowledge that as my every aspect disintegrated, I was powerless to prevent it.

In the end, I was nothing but suffering and lucid consciousness of that suffering.

Hands trembling, I removed the VR headset. The experience’d been the most horrible thing I’d ever known, but the salesman was right, it’d put my real-life problems in perspective.

Sounding broken and hoarse, verging on tears, I voiced my decision.

“I’ll take it.”

The Ark

We built the ark as the globe warmed and the skies choked with smog.

And, with the last of our resources, it departed, carrying the hopes of humanity into space, leaving a burned-out husk behind.

We didn’t know for whence they flew, nor if they’d find a suitable world to colonize. But if they did, with their supplies and recorded library, they’d have the tools needed to reignite the fires of civilization.

Mad hope? Perhaps, but hope befitting our stature as the alpha and omega of this earth.

And a much more awesome solution than conservation could ever have been…

Our First Fight...

…began when I brought home a monkey.

I’d dressed him up in a pirate hat and pantaloons, but you were, for whatever reason, unimpressed.

You claimed it was a frivolous decision, and I should’ve consulted you. And I countered that he was very well behaved, and further that monkeys are awesome.

For whatever reason, you remained unconvinced. You went to bed angry, I joined you later, and eventually we were back to being okay. Relationships are, after all, about how you deal with inevitable conflicts.

Our second fight came a few weeks later, when you adopted a retired circus elephant

And There She Was

Shouldn’t have been surprising. It was, after all, her afterparty, but I didn’t expect to see her there.

But there she was. Shorter than I’d imagined, yet larger than life, with a weird energy about her. I’d seen the concert, but in person she was somehow more vivid.

I knew she wanted privacy after a taxing performance, but I had to meet her. I steeled myself, went to where she and her entourage sat, and spoke up.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I have to ask. Is there a Lord Gaga?”

Later that evening, I ate her heart.

And her brain.

Salt

The power was mine. Legions at my disposal. The war was ending, and I was losing it decisively, but I did have one ace more up my sleeve. I did, after all, have one more wish on my monkey’s paw. And that might, with sufficient forethought, make all the difference.

My first two wishes had led indirectly to my destruction. I had to be careful with my words.

“Destroy them all,” I told them, “and salt the earth, so nothing will grow there again…”

…now, all over the earth, plants are withering and dying. I know it won’t be long…

This November

The world watches Venus and Serena Williams compete at Wimbledon.

But no one realizes, off the court a different drama’s brewing.

Because, in addition to preparing for the Grand Slam, Venus and Serena are rivals in love. Both fall for a young sport commentator, played by Zac Efron.

Will competitive instincts come between them? Will they remember the value of family? Or will they, in the fury of competition, allow differences to overshadow all they have in common?

This November, Miley Cyrus is Venus, and Hannah Montana is Serena in: Oh No You Wimbledon’t!

Now, Disney: Give me my money.

I've Redecorated

My room is now a mirror motif. Walls and ceiling are now giant mirrors, as are the closet doors.

I’ve stripped carpet bare, painted the floor silver, and buffed it to a reflective gleam.

The furniture’s covered in mirrorshard, and even my beddings are a reflective nylon material.

With lights on (I’ve tampered with the switch such that they can’t be turned off) no matter where I stand all I see is myself reflected back, onward to infinity.

I’ve done this to see how long it takes to drive me mad.

It’s been nine seconds.

I profoundly regret my decision.

The Most Dangerous Game

They gathered, the worlds foremost longbow hunters, on the private island, to hunt the most dangerous game.

I’m the game.

As they celebrate their upcoming hunt at the cabin, I’m loosed, nothing but whatever I find in the wild to aid me. I had a brief head start to prepare. Then, armed with their trusty longbows, they’d find me.

So I run.

Run to my hidden cachet, where I’d stored infra-red goggles, camouflage Kevlar-lined hunting clothes, and the AK-47 I’d been trained with.

I owe it to my guests, after all, to be the most dangerous game I can be.

Stephen Hawking

I was approached today by a representative of Stephen Hawking.

A neurosurgeon had, he explained, perfected a technique to transplant a human brain and, after an exhaustive search, I’d been determined the best possible recipient for Mr. Hawking.

One million dollars was offered. The downside being that I’d never spend it. It’d be either given to my loved ones or donated to a charity of my choosing.

At first I scoffed. My life? For money I could never spend? Ridiculous.

But then I remembered, it’s Stephen-freaking-Hawking we’re talking about here!

What’ve I done that’s so great?

I’ll miss you all.

Doubt

And then there are times of weakness.

Times when fears and doubts bear down, and I don’t know who I am. Times I wonder about choices, made and unmade, and what could’ve been.

A sense, then, of existential dread washes over me. Who am I? What am I doing? Is there grand purpose to my life I’m missing? Some way in which I’ve, fundamentally, failed?

When I get like this, I think of what my father told me as a child…

“Man the fuck up, and get on with it!”

…it gives me the strength I need to carry on.

I'm Not a Monster

I warned you.

You had the easiest job in the world! Get money, bring downtown, drop off. You didn’t even have to launder it yourself! The pay was good, the work was easy. I told you over and over, don’t fuck this up!

But you got greedy. You got “mugged” on your way and “lost” the briefcase. With a ticket to Barbados in your apartment, sitting on your nightstand.

You knew you’d get caught.

You knew I kill people for money.

You had to put me in this situation?

I’ll look after your kids. I’m not a monster, after all…

At the Nursing Home (as performed on the dribblecast)

this is a great read of my previous story "At The Nursing Home" on the Dribblecast. If you don't subscribe to the Dribblecast on itunes already, why not? that 'cast rules!!!


http://dribblecast.posterous.com/the-nursing-home

An Account of My Admittedly Brief Time as a Crime Fighter

From shadows he lunged as she walked innocently by.

Pinning her to the cold brick of the alley, wrestling her purse away, he whispered something known to none but the two of them.

Little did he know I saw all. And the time had come for me, long sickened by crime, to swing into action.

I dialled 9-11 on my cell and gave a detailed account, then went downstairs to make sure she was okay. We waited together for police to arrive.

And what the hell’s wrong with this neighbourhood, that nobody but me was willing to do even that?

Negotiations Broke Down...

…as negotiations occasionally do.

The planetary government, although we tried to be reasonable, were intractable about their “cultural autonomy.” First contact subjects simply don’t understand, the notion of autonomy of any sort’s preposterous.

They’re part of a larger universe now. New species’ must learn to subjugate themselves to something larger than mere planetary ambitions.

Some refuse to understand this, I learned long ago. It was the toughest part of my position as a diplomat of the Empire.

I sighed, and gave the command.

The navigator set co-ordinates for the return trip as, below, our bombs rained down upon the planet…

The Man in the Blue Sedan

The man in the blue sedan’s followed me for forty-five minutes now.

I noticed him halfway home, and realized it was me he was following three blocks from my apartment.

I drove past the parking garage. He can’t know where I live.

I know that much.

What I don’t know is who he is, why he’s following, or why he’s staring so intensely at me as he drives. I’m terrified to ask.

I’m just gonna sit here, hands white knuckled on the wheel, eyes forward, and drive. I’ll drive until I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.

Something went extinct today...

…don’t worry, it wasn’t anything good.

A little bird, red and yellow, in a part of the world you’ve never heard of.

It’s habitat was ploughed under to make room for a mine that we all agree we need resources from.

The last of the species died, alone and afraid, in a nest built in part of a tractor. It didn’t even know why it was dying.

And no one and nothing will miss it.

You could count the people who’d seen it on your fingers.

Ah well…

Tomorrow something else’ll go extinct.

Hopefully, it’ll make for a better story.

The Machine

My brain’s wired to the machine, and instantly I’m everywhere. Every house in every town, in every nation of the globe I’m present, flickering through settings and possibilities, witnessing seven billion human stories, all in the blink of an eye.

For one brief moment, I’m God. I know all.

My mind reels and, as quickly as it begins, it lurches toward it’s end. My brain, unable to process the volume of experience, cracks, shatters, and is gone. Technicians decouple my now vegetative husk from the machine and wheel it from the room.

They make modifications, and call in another volunteer.

I Believe in Science

As the Sorcerer strides through downtown chaos bursts forth. Cars explode, trees melt, birds speak. Dragons pour forth from beneath the earth, circling above his head.

People are trampled in their rush to escape, but the Sorcerer pays no heed, too lost is he in the chaos his majik hath wrought.

He throws back his head and, drunk with power, laughs.

Across town, I’m alone. Alone and nervous. Nervous and afraid for my life.

Afraid for my life, and hastily strapping myself into my newest Battlemech.

I believe in myself.

I believe in science.

The time has come for action.

Puppy in a Shark Tank

She tossed the puppy into the shark tank.

My stomach turned. I have villainous moments, I’d never deny that , but this was crossing a line. Killing puppies, for what seemed like no reason at all, was just wrong, and I couldn’t abide.

Vertigo came over me, I nearly threw up. But when I opened my mouth to protest she pointed back behind me.

The shark was dead at the bottom of the tank, and the puppy yapping in pleasure.

“I’ve bio-enhanced my puppy into the perfect killing machine!”

I made love to her then, next to the shark tank.

Fear

I can taste your fear.

I feel it pouring off you in waves, and I hunger for it. It’s what I came here for, why I do what I do. For your fear. Thick, black and salty, I know I must have it.

I will have it.

I drink it in, wave after wave, and it’s delicious. Your terror gives me life, gives me reason, and I take all you have, leaving you empty, a shell, drained of that which once seemed so important to you.

And so nourished I depart, and you go forward into the world, reborn.

Fearless.

At the Nursing Home

The nursing home lobby was completely empty.

No nurses scuttled around, no seniors played chess, there wasn’t even a secretary behind the huge, entrance facing desk. No soul to be seen.

The effect was eerie, it wasn’t late enough to justify the place being so abandoned. I admit, I was tempted to go, but I’d come to visit Grandpa.

Visit him I would.

As I wandered deeper into the complex, I heard the front door swinging shut behind me, the deadbolt falling.

Well played, Grandpa. Well played.

Clutching my axe closer to my chest, swallowing my fear, I pushed forward.

My Biography

My name is Christopher Munroe, and I am a human being.

I was born in Edmonton, grew up in Calgary, and have spent the past 8 years doing a mixture of Dinner Theatre and writing, financing myself with work as a waiter.

I’m both biologically human and deeply connected to communities made up of other humans, and I’ve never said or done anything to cause you to doubt my underlying, fundamental humanity.

And if a man in a charcoal suit and black leather gloves asks about me, you will tell him all of this.

Tell him this and nothing more.

The Man Who Murders Me...

…will be tried for vehicular manslaughter, and acquitted.

However, stress from the trial will end his marriage and career. Family and friends will never look at him the same. Murdering me will destroy his life, utterly.

But he knows none of this right now. Right now he’s driving home from a bachelor party. He’s slightly drunk, but confident he’s cool to drive.

Meanwhile, I’m walking home. I know I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m not driving. Behind the wheel, in the state I’m in, I could kill somebody!

I stumble across the street, forgetting to look both ways…