Wearing freshly laundered gloves and coat, none of his body was exposed. He strode to the teller, slid a note across the counter, and unveiled his polished weapon.
“Use this attached hand sanitizer first, then hand over only clean, new bills.”
It was dirty work, but he made it hygienic.
I saw my reflection in a stone wall. Ivy had scaled and draped it long ago. But when the ivy became too heavy and fell away partially, the wall still stood tall. Abandoned, then suppressed, now regaining freedom.
We feel the rising sun’s warmth again. We were not dragged down.
“Time’s up.”
“What? No! I need to go back! Please!”
“Your life savings would give you… maybe a month. Sign here.”
*Frantic scribbling.* “Yes! Take it; just get me back there now!”
The pod clicked closed. The custom Virtuatopia and life support resumed.
“Now we can afford another pod. Excellent.”
Grandpa snapped open the latches. The case creaked as he pulled up the lid.
“Why are you keeping our stubs? They’re not worth anything.”
Grandpa smiled over his shoulder. “We had fun though, didn’t we?”
Twenty years later in that dusty attic, I cherished those priceless tickets. “Love you, Grandpa.”
She’s high maintenance; I thrive anywhere. She’s so rooted; I can go with the wind. She’s so thorny; I open up to people so much faster.
Yet they take her for perfume, and take me out with their weed killer. Hmph.
At least they eat my greens. Take that, Rose.
On Saturdays I dusted off the week’s work from my overalls, scraped together my quarter’s worth of change, and raced to the theater. In that dusty room, my laugh and smile awaited me.
As the projection light dissipated, I clenched my eyes shut, unable to watch my friends dissolve away.
“Santa favors the wealthy,” his father told him.
So when spoiled brats got all twenty things on their wish lists, poor Timothy wasn’t surprised.
Tim knew the superstition: if you are bad, Santa gives you a lump of coal.
He shivered next to the dying fire, wishing for some coal.
The burly biker stormed in, sleeve rolled up to expose “Christina”. One glance and I knew.
As the tattoo machine drew the line, I patiently listened to him curse at her. A long silence followed.
He winced, seeing the crossed-out name through sorrowful tears. Ink could only cover, not remove.
On a lighter note, Jason is enjoying his summer.
His peers worshiped him like a god.
The leader must be the first to rise, he proclaimed. He would proudly situate himself in the holy morning sunlight, so the others would awake to witness his golden fur in the sacred light.
An overcast day abruptly cast doubt upon his superiority.
Her eyes water as she searches for her son among the wreckage. There are floating ashes. Smoke.
When she blinks she sees the meadow they wandered in yesterday. Floating pollen was airborne, but it was his wide-eyed wonderment that made her eyes water.
She’s found him. He’s in the meadow.
Jason Huynh finds himself not writing what he knows, for he has realized that he knows very little in the world of experience. Jason should prioritize better and finish his homework first…