The whole town had one table.
Baie’s great-uncle Dwall had brought it home with him back in 1960-something after a long absence across the African continent. He’d promised to return with the town’s first car.
Many in the tiny Burundi hamlet scoffed. Dwall would not succeed. Even if he did, what good was a
Merit flicked his tail in frustration. His best servant—Pharaoh something or other—was dead. He knew this because when he’d arrived for his morning scratch, the human had just lain there, eyes open but unseeing. The body had also been cold. Not good for curling up next to.
Still, to be sure…
The thing about adventures is they’re only fun in hindsight.
Take last week, for example. My car broke down, which wouldn’t be too special, except it was in a ginormous mudhole. While it was raining. Actually, raining is too mild a description. This was a monsoon.
I stared out the windscreen…
Huey pulled at his shirt collar as sweat ran into his golden-brown eyes. He didn’t know how much of this stifling darkness he could take.
Zip.
Huey, god of mischief, inhaled fresh air as Tema opened her suitcase. “Hiya, best friend,” he greeted her. Tema shrieked.
“Huey!” She slapped his arm repeatedly.
“We hit this gas station”—I point at a crease in the map spread out over the RV’s dining table—“grab food, toilet paper, gas—”
“And slushies,” Martin chimes in.
“—and slushies. Then we hightail it to the monument, here.”
I survey my crew. Martin, my younger brother, looks like a…
The inspector tapped on the microphone. A sharp burst of static filled the room. “All right. We have Prisoner WVM-01 here for questioning. Please detail for our records your involvement in the Silver Bridge Accident on December 15th, 1967.” He flicked on a floodlight, and I blinked behind my night vision goggles.
Read it now
Still in coyote form, Huey’s paws landed on the grass of Tema’s garden. He turned back into a man and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. The giant’s cries of “Stop, thief!” had echoed all the way up the Stairway to Heaven, but Huey was safe now.
Safe with his treasure.
“Ow! Huey moaned.
I really don’t like me.
That sounds harsh. What I mean is I don’t like past-Trudy who sacrificed herself and got me into this mess.
Could I see this other me doing the things Mr. Blue explained? Entering a bubble to save people I didn’t know? Or love? Yep. It tracks.
But that still
Sir Gregory stepped out from behind the overturned table, dusted the ash off his boots, and exhaled in relief. Not even a scuff on the shiny leather. He ran fingers over his cape made from a manticore’s pelt. That, too, was as luxurious as ever. He stared through the broken wall at the departing
Read it now
After my brother Barney and I complete the second wrapping of tinsel, we spread out Mami’s lock-lid ornament tubs.
Barney nudges me. “So, Arnold, any thoughts on the job offer? I know, you’re an”—faux crystal bell in each hand, he air-quotes—“entrepreneur. You can still be your own boss. A boss that
“Ma’am, we have an issue.” My mousy assistant Anne cleared her throat, approaching my leather chair.
I waved my pen at her before I continued counting sums. “Go on, then.”
“It’s…” Anne gulped. “Scrooge.”
I peered over the edge of my pince-nez glasses. “What about Scrooge? He’s sufficiently corrupted.” I tapped his name
Tacos.
I woke from a delicious dream of seasoned meats and melted cheese. Hazily, I grappled for my phone and tried to focus my still-bleary eyes. Of course I was dreaming of tacos. It’s Taco Tuesday.
Or it should be Taco Tuesday, but for me there would be no carnitas wrapped in soft,
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