A Superhero With A Life

Mera3

‘If you could be a superhero, who would you be, and why?’

Tony tapped the pencil against his chin as he thought. He flipped the page over and looked on the back. It was blank. He read the question on the front of the page one more time. He wondered what this psychology questionnaire was trying to prove. Then again, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was the $25 he was offered to take the test.

The rest of the room was filled with people scribbling away furiously. Tony took perverse pleasure in watching other people squirm.

A grad student in a white lab coat sporting a clipboard stood at the front of the room. “Five minutes left. Please start wrapping up your essay.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised. He didn’t realize he was expected to write an essay. He looked at his blank page, making a mental list of all the superheroes he knew. None came to mind.

Suddenly, the image of a superhero flashed in his mind. He wrote down a name.

‘Aquaman’.

‘Aquaman is my favorite superhero, said no one, ever,’ he thought.

“Two minutes,” said the grad student.

Beads of perspiration formed over Tony’s brow. He wondered if he’d get paid if he only wrote two sentences. Then again, it would be two sentences more than he’d already written.

In a sudden flash of energy, Tony scribbled a few sentences.

“Time’s up. Please hand in your papers,” said the grad student.

Tony hesitantly handed in his paper. The grad student read the brief response and looked at him with suspicion.

“It was all I could think of,” said Tony.

“You wrote, ‘Aquaman, because he’s got an actual girlfriend.’ Really?” asked the grad student.

“Hey, Aquaman may not be cool, but at least he’s got a life.”

Posted in Aquaman, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, Mera, psychology, short fiction, short story, story, superhero | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

How To Get On Santa’s Naughty List

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Wes, pale and worried, skulked into the office past Monica and Kyle.

“What’s wrong, Wes?” asked Monica.

Wes looked at Monica with terror. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.”

Wes thought for a second, then handed Monica a note. She read it, then handed it to Kyle.

“So? It’s obviously a sick joke,” said Monica.

Kyle read the note out loud. “You will die before the end of your work day.”

“I don’t know what to do,” admitted Wes.

“How about relax? This isn’t serious. Nobody gets notes telling them about the future,” said Monica.

“I do. I do,” mumbled Wes as he walked past.

“Dead man walking,” said Kyle.

“You don’t think it’s serious, do you?” asked Monica.

Kyle offered a sinister smile.

“What?”

“Let’s just say he’s got a lot of reason to believe it,” said Kyle.

“I don’t follow.”

Kyle looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Two weeks ago he got a message, just like this one, warning him that his computer was going to crash.”

“Was it from you?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t that hard considering his computer password is named after his first dog ‘fifigirl’,” said Kyle.

“You gotta be kidding.”

“I log in, download a virus, and poof, I make it happen,” explained Kyle.

“That’s so mean,” said Monica.

“The next week I heard that Wes was up for promotion, so I slipped another note in his Chinese food take out bag.”

“How did you know which one?”

“Let’s say old Wes is a creature of habit. It was actually pretty easy. Imagine his surprise when he gets a promotion the very next day,” said Kyle with that same sinister smile.

“Okay. I get all that, but what about the death notice?”

“I put in on his windshield as I passed one my way to work,” said Kyle.

“But why?”

“Do I really need a reason to have a reason for messing with my friend’s head?” laughed Kyle.

Monica shook her head. “You’re the kind of kid that got a lump of coal for Christmas.”

Posted in Christmas, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, naughty list, practical joke, Santa, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Revenge of the Princess

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When Gwenyth suddenly picked up archery as a hobby, her friends got worried. Gwenyth was a prototypical princess. Beautiful, polished and prissy.

She approached the bow with intensity. Two hours a day, rain or shine, she practiced in her back yard. The days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. To her friends, it reached the point of concern.

“Gwen, whatcha’ doin’?” asked Mikayla. She twitched at the thump of the arrow hitting the target.

“Practicing,” said Gwenyth.

Thump.

“You’re goin’ at it pretty hard, don’t ya’ think? Why don’t you stop and we can lay in the sun like we used to? You haven’t worn a bikini in months,” asked Mikayla.

“I can’t. Not until I’m ready.”

Thump.

“You haven’t had a manicure in, like, forever. Let’s go spruce up,” said Mikayla.

Thump.

“Not today,” said Gwenyth. Her eyes never strayed from her target.

“Gwen, I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

Thump.

“This isn’t like you.”

“I need to do this.”

“Why, Gwen? Why? You’re a mess. I don’t even recognize you anymore. Please. Take a spa day,” said Mikayla.

“When I’m done,” said Gwenyth.

“Done what?”

At that moment a humming sound came from overhead. Gwenyth’s head wheeled around and her eyes filled with fury.

“What is that sound?” asked Mikayla.

“Shhh,” hissed Gwenyth. She pulled a couple of arrows from the target and notched her bow. She crouched down behind a bush.

Tears filled Mikayla’s eyes. “Gwen, you’re scaring me.”

All the muscles in Gwenyth’s body tensed as the small four propeller drone flew into view.

“Look natural. It’s got a camera,” whispered Gwenyth.

Mikayla froze. Gwenyth waited until the drone hovered ever closer. She drew back the string, released a slow breath and released. The arrow flew straight and true. It struck the drone, knocking out of the sky.

Gwenyth jumped up, laughing uncontrollably. She ran over to the drone, looked into the tiny camera attached to the drone, and crushed it under her foot.

“What just happened?” asked Mikayla.

Gwenyth sneered. “Justice.”

Posted in archery, drone, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, princess, privacy, revenge, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Christmas Spirit For The Next Generation

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Three days before Christmas and the mall was in chaos. Dirk sat at the entrance of the food court and smiled at the frenzied mob that passed by. Melanie sat across from him, sipping on a candy cane latté.

“This is my favorite time of year,” Dirk said to Melanie.

“Christmas sucks,” said Melanie.

Dirk rolled his eyes. “Not Christmas. The last week before Christmas. I mean, look at all these miserable people. You can almost feel a brawl breaking out any second.”

“That makes sense. You had me worried there for a minute.”

“I also love Black Friday. Or as I call it, MMA for the real world.”

Melanie laughed. “Absolutely. Best spectator sport in the world.”

“Hey, do you wanna play a game?”

“No.”

“It’s fun. It’s called ‘guess what’s in the bag’. I’ll teach it to you,” said Dirk.

Melanie shrugged. “Whatever.”

“It’s easy. You look at a bag someone’s carrying and guess what they bought.”

“But how do you find out what’s inside?”

Dirk shook his head disappointedly at Melanie. “It’s not about knowing what they bought. It’s about being funny. What’s the matter with you?”

“The season’s got me off my game, so sue me,” said Melanie.

“Fine. Let me give you an example. See that guy carrying the Body Shop bag?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure what he bought, but it makes you wonder how much a body’s selling for, right?”

Melanie. “That was lame to average.”

“Fine. Your turn. There’s a guy carrying a bag from The Discovery Store. What’s in the bag?” asked Dirk.

Melanie squinted as she thought. “Components for an IED.”

“Ouch.”

“I thought’s that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah, but dang.”

“Dang? Gosh, Opie. Watch your language,” said Melanie. She had a fire in her eye.

At that moment an ancient looking woman shuffled by, carrying a bag from Victoria Secret.

“Oooo, what did she buy?” asked Melanie.

Dirk cringed. “I got an image in my head of her in lingerie. Ew. Get it out. I need mental floss.”

Melanie laughed out loud. “I win.”

“I don’t think I like this season any more.”

“That’s because you’re a sore loser.”

“And you’re vicious, cynical and cold.”

Melanie smiled. “That’s the best Christmas gift you’ve even given me.”

Posted in Black Friday, Body Shop, Christmas, Christmas spirit, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, mall, MMA, shopping, short fiction, short story, story, The Discovery Store, Victoria Secret | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Little Sandy Sleighfoot Paradigm

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Dr. Chuck Parker, professor of History at Appaloosa University, entered his son’s high school classroom and felt a pang of anxiety. It was a combination of the meeting he was about to have with Xander’s ninth grade teacher and his own dreadful high school memories.

“Dr. Parker, it’s good to see you,” said Mrs. Cowl.

“I heard there was a problem,” said Chuck.

“Hmm, yes. Please have a seat,” said Mrs. Cowl. She was as stern and professional as anyone Chuck had ever met in academia.

“A few weeks ago Xander was given an assignment in English to create a poem with a holiday theme.”

“I remember him working on something,” said Dr. Parker.

Mrs. Cowl looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “You do? Did you read what he wrote?”

“Uh, no. He didn’t let me read it.”

“I suspected not. He came up with this.” Mrs. Cowl handed Chuck a sheet of paper.

“Little Sandy Sleighfoot,” Chuck read aloud. He continued reading the poem to himself. Mrs. Cowl interrupted him halfway through.

“Initially I thought it was very good. Ironic. Campy, even. I was about to give him an ‘A’ when I discovered these are the lyrics to a song sung by Jimmy Dean.”

Chuck looked at Mrs. Cowl inquisitively. “The man who sells breakfast sausages?”

“He was a popular singer in the last century. ‘Little Sandy Sleighfoot’ was a track on a Christmas album he made in the 50s, I believe,” said Mrs. Cowl.

“Oh. I’ve never heard of it,” said Chuck.

“Dr. Parker, you of all people should understand the severity of plagiarism. This cannot be tolerated.”

“To satisfy my own curiosity, how did you discover the transgression?”

Mrs. Cowl shifted in her seat. “It just so happened I was visiting my mother in the nursing home and heard another resident singing this very song to herself. It was quite a serendipitous discovery.”

“No doubt. I’m very sorry this occurred. What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, if I could have your word that you speak with Xander, emphasize the damage caused by plagiarism. I’ll allow him to resubmit his assignment, with a grade penalty applied. No other action would need to take place,” said Mrs. Cowl, grimly.

Chuck stood. “That sounds fair. We can never let this to happen again.” He shook her hand and left.

At home, Chuck knocked on Xander’s bedroom door. “I spoke with your teacher,” said Chuck. “It’s about time I taught you how to properly hide your sources.”

Posted in academia, Christmas, fiction, flash fiction, high school, holiday, humor, humour, Jimmy Dean, Little Sandy Sleighfoot, plagiarism, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Dark Power of Youtube

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Milt looked around the restaurant for a woman wearing a white rose. That was part of the arrangement. He spotted Megan seated at a table near the fireplace. He approached, said ‘hi’ and handed her his business card.

“Thanks for doing this,” said Megan. “It’s the first time I’ve tried online dating and I wanted to be extra careful.”

Milt smiled. “I’ve only done this once before, so I totally understand.”

“On your card it says you’re a Knowledge Consultant and Information Analyst. I have no idea what that means,” said Megan. “What is a Knowledge Consultant and Information Analyst?”

Milt blushed. “The title wasn’t my idea.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Actually, it came from my ex. She thought it would help me establish a smart brand,” confessed Milt.

“So you don’t really work as a Knowledge Consultant?” asked Megan. She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of water.

Milt perked up. “Actually, I do. Technically I’m freelance, but I’ve been working on contract with several government agencies and private corporations.”

Megan was taken aback. “Wow. How long have you been doing that?”

“Going on three years now.”

“So what exactly is it you do?”

“I know things, basically. And what I don’t know, I learn.”

“You sound like a spy.”

Milt blushed again. “Nah. It’s nothing that exciting. It’s just that there’s too much to learn in the information age, so some organizations hire me to help keep them educated.”

“And how do you do that?” asked Megan. She rubbed her foot against the inside of his leg.

“I can’t really say. It’s my trade secret.”

“Seriously? You can’t even give me a hint?”

“Nah,” said Milt, tentatively.

“Pretty please?”

Milt was drawn in by her large, blue, alluring eyes. He sighed.

“Let’s just say there’s more on Youtube than just music and cat videos.”

Megan reached out and caressed Milt’s hand. “That’s so clever.”

“I know right? People pay me for knowing stuff they could easily find for themselves. It’s amazing when you think about it.”

“I’ll say,” said Megan.

Milt felt a sting in his neck. The room started to spin and Megan went blurry.

Just before Milt passed out, Megan stroked his cheek and said, “Sorry, Milt. Some people just know too much.”

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, government, humor, humour, knowledge, online dating, secrets, short fiction, short story, spy, story, Youtube | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Another Casualty of Black Friday

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When Boris arrived at home, he was greeted by Grace, rooted on the couch, surrounded by Black Friday fliers. “Where did you get all those?” he asked.

“The mail. Isn’t it great? It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” said Grace. She placed the flier she was reading on a stack on the side table. It teetered precariously above her head.

“Not really. It looks dangerous.”

“Nah. It’s fun. Look at all these sales,” said Grace.

“On crap we didn’t even know we needed,” said Boris.

“You know what you are? A grinch.”

“I’m an economic realist. We can’t afford half the stuff in those fliers.”

“It’s Christmas. The season of giving,” said Grace.

“More like the season of greed.”

Grace folded her arms. “You know, I don’t have to buy you anything this year.”

“And I’d get the best gift ever. A life I can actually afford.”

“Fine,” said Grace sharply. She slammed another flier on the pile. It wobbled on the side table.

“Nothing good’s gonna come of this,” warned Boris.

“What are you talking about?”

“This whole Black Friday thing. It’s insane. People get hurt all the time,” said Boris.

“You’re crazy. It’ll be fine. You’ll see. I’ll go out early and be back before you have your morning coffee.”

“I have a bad feeling.”

“You always have a bad feeling,” said Grace. She shifted her weight on the couch, bumping the side table. The huge pile of fliers collapsed on top of her and she grabbed at her face.

Boris laughed.

When Grace pulled her hand away she saw a streak of red. “I’m bleeding!”

“What?”

“I got paper cuts from the fliers. See?”

Boris examined the scratches on Grace’s face. “I’m not sure you’ll live. I’m sorry. You were so young.”

Grace punched him in the stomach. “It really hurts. Do you think it’ll leave a scar?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Boris stroked his beard and shook his head. “It’s sad to think how easily you’ve become one more innocent victim of Black Friday.”

Posted in Black Friday, Christmas, fiction, flash fiction, fliers, humor, humour, sales, shopping, short fiction, short story, story, thanksgiving | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment