Coin Flip

It's dark. There's one light on in the room, and the shadows are spreading out around the furniture, like fingers trying to escape the concrete coffin The room itself is warm, but the people are the prison, holding him down like shackles. He wants to fly, fly away, fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me. He sits motionless as things begin to transform. The people turn from gray walls into great murals, millions of colors telling stories. They are laughing, crying, living, dying, and just being what they are. They may be small and insignificant, like grains of sand, but the transformation is subtle and important; the difference between a beach in New England in winter, and one in sunny Jamaica. He has seen both sides of the coin, black and white, yin and yang. And he knows which side he likes.

Ann - A Children's Story

Ann was eight years old. She lived in a small town in Massachusetts with her parents. One day, her parents had to go somewhere on short notice. They figured that she would be okay alone for a little while, and left. Five minutes after they left it began to rain, and ten minutes later it began to thunder.

Ann got very scared, so she turned on the TV and sat underneath a blanket on her sofa. After half an hour, she heard a scratching at the door. She was very scared, remembering what her parents had said about not answering the door for strangers. Suddenly she heard a little “meow,” and realized that it was a kitten. She went and opened the door, and saw it sitting there, shivering. It was a mix of gray and white, with solid white paws.


It had big round eyes, and looked like it had been abandoned. She picked it up and brought it inside. She reached for a towel and tried to dry it off. No matter how hard she rubbed it with the towel, she couldn't dry it off. She saw that it was still wet, and really cold. She thought of what her mother would do to warm something up. She turned, and saw the microwave in the kitchen.


“Twelve minutes should be enough” she thought.

The next day, her parents buried their microwave in the backyard.

A 21st Century A&P

He stood in line at the cheap, fluorescent white and green grocery store, waiting for his turn in the Express Lane (12 Items or Less). He was cradling a gallon of milk (purple cap, 1%) in his arms, holding a Pepperidge Farm Family Size White Bread in one hand, a dozen eggs in a white Styrofoam container in the other, and balancing an unbelievably yellow "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!" between the three. A short, elderly Cuban lady, well dressed and well poised, stood in front of him. At the front of the line stood a wild old white lady, complete with black tights, dark red bandanna, dark turtleneck, and neon green purse. He assumed from her looks that she was rich, but had been running a few pennies short of a dollar (mentally) in her later years. As she moved forward to pay, the Cuban lady moved her cart just a couple of inches too far, and hit her. She muttered in Spanish, "Lo siento," but she might as well have shouted "Viva la revolucion."

The White Devil (he decided it was a deserved title) began shrieking, ranting about respect and claiming that immigrants should "learn the goddamn language." Her cries were so loud that the people at the lottery counter on the other side of the store peered over, rubbernecking for a look at the freak show. The milk carton was cold in his arms, which were starting to go numb. The shouting changed focus, as the Devil Lady started shouting "You're ugly! You're ugly! Look at you! Look at how much prettier I am than you!" Throughout all of this, the Cuban lady kept her poise, staring straight ahead as if the cover of TV Guide would get her through this. The Devil Lady walked out, still ranting, and he and the cashier shot each other looks of combined disbelief at what had happened, and relief that it was over. He quietly hoped that old age would be better to him.

How about 8?

He walked up to her, as the world around him faded away. He was focused; this was his one chance. He asked her if she was busy on Saturday, and she told him she wasn't, smiling. He asked her if she would go out for dinner with him, and she said yes, smiling even more. He said alright, and told her he would pick her up from "her place at 8" (he watched too many movies).

He felt sorry for her, though. She was a daydream but still, what choice did she have? He was the one who wrote the story, so of course she had to say yes. Even though he felt bad for her, he was happy. There was no date, there was no 8 o'clock dinner, but he still felt pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished something.

It was then, in the middle of his happiness, that he saw her, definitely not a dream this time. Since things had worked out so perfectly in his mind, he decided to try for real this time. He began to walk up to her, but one of her friends came by, and he stalled temporarily. Through luck that could only be explained as the will of some greater being (i.e. God), her friend left, and she stood all alone, in the middle of the hall. He walked up to her, and fumbled through asking her, "AreyoubusySaturdaynight Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogo todinnerwithmeorsomething." She looked at him, taking him in, and said, "I don't know, I might be busy Saturday." He stood there for a couple of seconds, more like a couple of eternities to him, and said, "Nope, I'm free. My place, 8 o'clock?"

A Gust of Wind

He sipped at his Ginger Ale, like a writer trying to figure out his next plot twist, but with less alcohol. The airplane (commercial, 6 seats across, 30 rows) turned sharply to the left, and continued to readjust uncomfortably- first to the right, then a bit to the left, and then sharply to the right again. He looked out the right side window and saw the ominous source of the pilot's discomfort. Not more than 50 feet from their own wingtip was another large commercial airliner, flying directly parallel to them close enough for him to make out the faces of the passengers in the other airplane. Both planes continued on their paths, drag racing for connecting flights, bad food, and tighter schedules. Just 50 feet separated them from a spectacular crash, CNN exclusive breaking coverage, an investigation, expert testimony, and a whole lot of death to top it off, like a cherry on the whipped cream of "blood and guts." He sat back, took one last sip, and enjoyed the show.

Flying Mental

Part I
"Wake up. You're dreaming..." floated down the soft, effeminate voice. She was beautiful, so radiant that he was overcome by her, by his love for her, and by his sudden passion for all things good in the world. Nothing could stop him; he was a snowball of good feeling, getting stronger and stronger until he could stop the world's evils singlehandedly. The emotion spread throughout his body; he felt like he had stepped out from the shadows and felt sunlight for the first time. The immense silence soon began to take hold, and the emotion passed with a gust of wind.

He was left cold, feeling empty, so he began to observe his surroundings. He was in an infinitely large green field- almost too green. Something was odd, besides not being asleep in his bed, as he had been five minutes earlier. A banner proclaiming "4:30AM" in large digital red letters glided across the orange and purple sky, like a silent, friendly space ship.

He was knees deep in it now, whatever "it" might be. He began to explore, since it was imperative he figure out where he was. It was more than imperative; his life depended on it. Who wants to set up camp and then find out there's a white castle over the horizon? He looked at the fields that extended in every direction, and the sudden realization of the infinite overtook him. He desperately fell to the ground, grabbing on to the neon grass until he could shrink his mind down to the point he was standing on. He reconsidered his strategy and decided that he would need supplies, or at least a phone. The vast emptiness of the field around him put things in perspective, and soundly proved the futility of that thought...no, the futility of thought in this god-forsaken place. It was beautiful, in its own way, but certainly god forsaken. There would be no help from anyone else in this place, that was sure. What drives this place? he pondered. Maybe it's hope... hopefully it's hope. He closed his eyes, and with all his physical and mental strength he hoped that he would find a previously unseen pay phone. He turned around quickly, and saw nothing. A feeling of panic and despair overtook him, until he realized that he knew no one who would take a collect call anyway.
Part II
A nightclub had materialized around him, but it was all fuzzy. People with blurred faces pulsated around him to a deep bass beat, which was all he could make out of the music. He looked over in the corner, and saw the pay phone he had been hoping for, shining like a beacon and guiding him through the fog of the people around him. They were like a current, pushing him in every direction but the one he wanted, and he had to fight with everything he had to make any progress. He looked behind him, and saw a clear path to the door. He turned and walked out of the club with an ease that frustrated him.
Part III
As soon as the warm air hit him, he felt calm. What just happened? he wondered....something about a field and a telephone. A giant toilet paper roll with legs jogged by, extolling "It's oh so soft" as it was chased by three floating kids and a man with a cylindrical head, who smelled an awful lot like cheese. A bunch of dogs in cars drove by, shouting something about a giant tree. They were soon followed by a boy on a broomstick, who flew into the night sky without a word. He knew that none of them mattered, that they were just mirrors of himself, but he was tired... tired of the craziness. He just wanted to be happy. He began walking, alone through the night, looking for something familiar.
Part IV
It was a small garden, with Astroturf grass and houseplants everywhere. A blue lawn chair sat in the center, protected from the stadium-grade lighting by a ridiculous red and turquoise plastic umbrella. All around him industrial, urban buildings, rose like giant fortresses, protecting this Walmart Garden of Eden. He sat down, and let his body rest for a bit. He felt himself sinking slowly into the chair, and let the chair embrace him.

He awoke back in his room, but asleep in an armchair. He immediately dove to the ground in pain, desperately looking for money. He needed cash now. He was like an empty shell, and the money would fill it. He could feel the substance leaking out of him, and needed some bills to patch himself up, at least until the end of the week. As he crouched on the floor, looking for cash and slowly bleeding away, a man appeared at the door. All he could make out was the voice, which seemed to come from his head rather than the mouth of the mysterious figure. He desperately asked it Where is my money? The figure responded calmly and matter-of-factly, "It's on the west side of the world." Before he could figure out this cryptic statement, a group of candles that had been put under his desk suddenly lit up, and began to burn at the dark wood of the desk and walls. It was a trap...
Part V
The flames began to tickle him, and slowly turned white and transformed into delicate fingers. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, more of a goddess than a woman. The only way to describe her was to say that she was indescribable; more words just detracted from her beauty. She smiled at him mysteriously, and all emotion, the confusion, the frustration, the stress of living, and the restraints of the material world slowly dissipated. He was slowly opening his eyes for the first time, and world was looking a lot brighter, and a lot more real than ever before. This emotion had at first been just a tiny ray of sunlight, bothering him every once in a while and forcing him to turn his eyes away from it, but now it was like a blue sky, bluer than he had ever remembered it, dotted with stars and completed by the old, crisp moon in the center of the canvas. He saw the people around him, and was gravitated towards them by his attachment to their wellbeing. He saw the path to helping others and living a full and complete life. He reached out and touched her hand, and felt connected, like he had never felt before, to the rest of the world...
Part VI
The loud beeping of his alarm clock awoke him. It was raining outside, pounding at his window like tiny fists, as he got up and tried to find his clock in the gray light of morning. He took a shower, got dressed, ate some cereal, and went off to his job as a gear in the machine.