"Risen"

 

The Lord Jesus Christ stood next to me in the kitchen while I waited for the oven timer to ring.

"You know what's really a miracle," He said, "is how someone figured out to add raisins and cinnamon to the dough. Human creativity is never going to stop amazing me."

"I'll just be amazed if this comes out right," I told Him. "I've never tried this recipe before, and baking isn't exactly my strength."

The timer went off.

"Done," I said. "I think."

"'A time to every purpose under heaven,'" He said. We both crouched and peeked through the window.

The dough had risen and was now transformed from a flat, pale mass into a loaf of bread, its golden crust set perfectly above the pan. I slipped a pot holder onto one hand and grabbed the door handle with the other. Before I opened the oven, though, I turned to the Lord.

"I'm not a Christian," I told Him, "though I imagine You know that already. I mean, I respect that it works for some people, makes sense to them and helps them behave better, but for me...." I shook my head.

"I know," He said. "And, you know, I'm sad about it, of course, but I understand. It's cool." And I understood that it was: in His hand he produced a dish of real butter, sweet cream, no preservatives, for us to use--the good stuff. Truly, I thought, this love knows no bounds.

Together we took the pan from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. "So, this is my mom's special cinnamon raisin bread," I said. "Um, take and eat?"

He laughed. "Please, trust me when I say this," He told me, "it smells divine. Now, do you happen to have a couple of fish around here that I could, you know, multiply and serve as well?"

I stared at him.

"Ah, I'm just playing," Jesus said. "That would be nasty. Let's give this bread a try, shall we?"

For a second, I was almost ready to put my faith in miracles. The bread was perfectly cooked on the inside as well.

"Automated Teller Machine"

"Your bra strap is showing."

The woman glanced over her shoulder, around the empty lobby, where the voice she had heard echoed like that of someone speaking into a tin can telephone.

"Sorry to have to bring that to your attention, but somebody had to tell you. I can accept your debit card if you're ready."

The woman narrowed her eyes and slid her card into the ATM, pulling her fingers all the way back to her chest once it was accepted. She pressed a few buttons on the keypad while continuing to watch the screen.

"Are you sure that you want to withdraw that amount right now?" came the voice. "You can start a savings account with just a fraction of that money, and our interest rates are highly competitive. The first month's interest alone would be enough to buy you some fancier undergarments."

The woman pressed a few more buttons, snatched her card, and backed out the lobby door.

"Modern Conveniences"

 

"Do you remember, I think it was one of those old 'Tom and Jerry' cartoons, where they showed the 'House of the Future?'" he asked as they strolled through the aisles of appliances. "You remember how the washing machine had a t.v. screen on the door?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's kinda funny to think about the things people thought we'd have," she added, closing the web browser on her phone and opening the camera app to take a picture of a dryer she liked.

"The Pen and the Sword"

 

Before the exam, two students ran out to the student commons to get writing utensils.

The first put her quarters into the machine and received a thin, black ballpoint pen, as plain as could be.

The second inserted her quarters and was given a sword, short but well balanced, with a sturdy silver hilt and a blade that gleamed like a pearl.

The two looked at each other.

"You know, you're still probably going to do better on the test," said the second student to the first.

"I guess," the first said with a frown, "but then there's that whole difference between what you do in school on your tests versus what you do in the real world, and in that case...." 

She fumbled through her coat pocket in search of two more quarters.

"Board Games"

 

He lifted the lid of the old cardboard box, with its splitting corners and the artwork decorating it faded to a thin yellow. Inside, there were the game board and the game pieces, but there were also pieces of his childhood that had been stored away, for some reason, here: class pictures from grade school and candy wrappers. Handwritten notes from a friend.

"How did you play this game, Dad?" his daughter asked. She cast a frown at one of his green plastic soldiers as she took it from the box.

"You know," he said slowly, "I'm not really sure. I'll have to see what I can remember." In the corner of the tray, next to where the dice rested, he saw two of his baby teeth.

"The Bus Stop at the End of the Line"

Hard to see, but there really is a bus stop next to the traffic signal, just at the edge of this forest preserve path.

You can get drunk before you write your farewell note, if you think that'll make it easier. You can put pills and razor blades in your bag, along with whatever else you choose. You can drop your keys through a gap in the sewer grate once you lock the front door and then say, "No turning back now."

You can do all of these things, and the bus driver will still let you board the bus, so long as you keep quiet and pay with exact change. 

The bus driver will let you ride the entire route, all the way to the stop at the end of the line. The stop won't look anything like the gritty terminal you expected, though. Instead, when the door opens, in front of you will be a simple path leading who knows where, it's tough to see in the dark, but leading somewhere. You'll look at the bus driver, confused and uncertain. The bus driver will smile sadly and say, "This is the end." 

What he means is, "It doesn't have to be if you don't want it to."

"General Purpose"

 

I asked the clerk at the office supply store if she had anything stronger than the general purpose sealing tape that I could use. I held out my hands and showed her my heart, its broken pieces lying wet in my palms like shards of glass I'd collected from a polluted sea.

The clerk told me no, that was all they carried. She also informed me that my heart would probably break more if I tried to do anything else with it. She asked if I wanted some bubble wrap.

I told her that it didn't matter, it wasn't much use to anyone in that condition anyway, and besides, I only wanted the stronger tape to make sure that the box would stay shut.

I didn't even label the box before I put it away.

"Suet Cakes"

 

On her break, the woman went outside and sat on a bench near the tree with all the birdfeeders. She nibbled on her trail mix granola bar and sipped her coffee.

A woodpecker, perched neatly on the side of a cage feeder that held a suet cake, turned its head toward her. "Yeah, not the best, is it?" the woodpecker said. It pointed its beak downward, indicating her granola bar. "But, hey, at least that stuff gives us the energy we need to fly. I'd peck through a whole pile of animal fat if it meant I get to keep stretching out these gorgeous wings." It nipped at the suet cake a bit more before lighting on the air and flitting up to the highest branch of another nearby tree.

The woman went back into the building, returned to her computer desk, and sighed.

"Trail Closes at Dark"

 

"Funny. It's dark out, and I still see a trail here."

"That's just to keep people safe from the monsters that come out later."

"Hey, I can still put my foot on the trail. Must be staying open late today."

"Or it's a trap, so that police have a reason to lock up the two teenagers they see walking around the neighborhood after dark."

"Look, I've got both feet on the trail now. You know, I do believe that sign is lying to us. I think--"

"Ethan? What the--Ethan? Where are you? Ethan!"

"Buzzing"

 

One afternoon, a young girl thought about sticking her fingernail into an electrical socket, just to see how it would feel. Before she did it, however, she went online to see what other people had to say on the subject, and while she understood that reading other people's testimonies was hardly the same as having an experience of her own, she did decided, based on what she read, that she now possessed enough information that she didn't need to have that particular experience quite yet.

And it was an interesting thing: in the course of reading what people had written about electricity coursing through the body, she learned a bit about both electricity and the body--how each one worked and where each one came from, and why electrical impulses were in some cases good for the operations of the body and in other cases very, very bad. Soon her head was buzzing with Ideas. With those came lots of Questions. And as far as her afternoon chores were concerned, she ended up being about as interested in completing them as she would have been had she gone ahead and stuck her fingers in the socket anyway.

"Keys"

This isn't my home keyboard. Mine's dustier.

She began typing out her search term but had to stop when she came to the "S." The "S" key wouldn't budge. "S for 'stuck,'" she said. She jabbed it a few times with all the power in her index finger. When that failed, she wedged her fingernail beneath the key and snapped it free.

Lying in the space it had occupied on the keyboard was a small, flat piece of metal, jagged and toothed along three edges, smooth along the fourth. "Odd," she said, picking up the shard. She set it next to the keyboard, replaced the "S" key, and continued typing.

But not for long. The "E" key stuck next, even though it had worked normally the first time she pressed it. She popped that key off of the keyboard and found underneath it another piece of flat metal, all edges jagged except one.

She found similar pieces of metal beneath the "A," "R," "C," and "H" keys, in that order.

It wasn't hard for her to see that some of the pieces' rough edges fit together. She placed the shards next to each other and found that she had a key. She glanced around at all the room's doors, trying to study their locks, and wondered: was this a room people were meant to enter, or one they were meant to leave?

A second time she said, "Odd."

"One Book"

 

They had built a fire to serve as both a signal and a source of heat. They had spelled "SOS" in large letters in the sand, using rocks from farther along the shore as well as debris from the wreck--"A little late for our ship," the woman said while working on the first S, "but they'll get the idea." Their first aid kit lay open nearby; sections of their arms and legs were patched with gauze and tape. There was little else the two could do afterward except lie on either side of the fire and wait.

"Anna Karenina," the woman said.

"What?" asked the man.

"That was my answer for a long time," she said, "whenever someone asked me what one book I'd want with me if I were stranded on an island. I never read it, but I figured that being shipwrecked would give me enough time to make it all the way through." Her laughter sounded weak when laid out on the open sands. "I think I'm officially changing my answer to a wilderness survival guide, though. Or at least something a little less heavy and a little more comforting." She looked at him around the side of the fire pit. "What was your one book?" she asked.

The man reached into the first aid kit. He produced a book, which he tossed onto the sand close to her.

"I never could decide," he said, "but I like to come prepared."

The woman rolled onto her stomach and reached for the book, flipping it open. "It's blank," she said.

Back into the kit the man went searching, this time bringing out a pen. He sat next to her and held out his hand for the book. "So tell me how you imagine this comforting, not-too-heavy story you want to read goes," he said, holding the pen above the first empty page. When she raised her eyebrows, he shrugged. "I figure we at least have time for a chapter," he said. 

"You know, from what I've heard about Anna Karenina, it doesn't end too well when a person decides to spend some time doing frivolous things." 

"That's why I'm suggesting we only write one chapter," the man said. "As long as we don't get to the end, everything's all right."

The woman shook her head and chuckled as she sat up and added kindling to the fire.

"Preservation"

 

The guide led her tourists along a path that weaved its way up the face of the cliff like a snake ascending a brick wall. At the summit, she brought them to stand next to a great brazier, encased in stone, the top of which met most of the people just above eye level.

"Braziers like this one were used in the eleventh and twelfth centuries almost like altars," she explained. "During religious ceremonies, fires for the gods were built inside of them, and sad to say, often times as part of the ceremony, a live animal or even a human being was thrown into the fire for a sacrifice." Most of the tour group groaned; a few people shuddered. One man off to the side said, "Cool."

The tour guide crept toward the group and slightly lifted her head. "Would you believe," she whispered, "that this brazier is still in use today?" She stepped back and lifted her hand, palm up, toward the structure; a middle-aged man took the cue. He stood on his toes and peeked over the rim. The rest of them did the same. 

The brazier's bowl was filled not with bones or body parts but with soil, rich and brown, adorned with flecks of glossy minerals. In the center a colony of plants had started to grow. Small though the plants were, their essential structures had begun to take form, and they were distinctive: leaves like folded circles, stems like musical horns, fruits like jugs of water hanging from a hook.

"The Department of Preservation has been using the braziers as demo gardens for some of the native plant species that are facing a loss of resources," the guide said with a smile. "As we continue our hike, you'll see more of these brazier gardens, and I'll also be able to point out the plants in their natural habitat along the way." She gestured toward the next segment of the path, and most of the group headed toward it, except for one young man, the man who had said, "Cool." He remained peering over the edge of the bowl.

"These plants," he said as the guide approached him. "Aren't they all carnivorous?"

"Ah, you're very smart," said the guide, who bent down, grabbed him by the ankle, and hoisted him head first into the brazier. A growl, low like the wind, rustled the bodies of all the little plants inside. But the guide put her finger to her lips as she walked away. "The sand pits are next on the tour," she called ahead to the group. "Be sure not to go too far without me."

"Cloud Storage"

 

At night, no matter how hot it had been during the day and how much of that heat lay trapped on the tar-black shingles, she would climb from her bedroom window onto the garage roof and lie there, listening to bands play at the outdoor theater. The sound would echo like rain in a tin cup as it traveled the few miles from the theater to where she lay, but she didn't mind. Sometimes while listening she saw a contrail form in the sky overhead. She imagined that the people inside the tiny planes could hear the concerts as well. She told herself that they would carry the songs they heard with them wherever they were going. It was the kind of thought, on nights like that, that almost made it okay to grow up.

"Possibilities"

 

The night before she was scheduled to perform what was probably her twentieth gastric resection, Dr. Bennett dropped three eggs. She had intended to boil an egg for her dinner, but each time she removed one from the package, it slipped free of her fingers, as if it were perfectly natural for that to happen whenever someone took an egg from the fridge. She studied the hands she saw cleaning the yolk from the tiles and tried to imagine that they belonged to someone else.

Mr. Hart's gastric resection went fine. After the procedure, however, Dr. Bennett took her lunch at a nearby park. There she watched an elderly woman in mismatched clothes throw bread crusts to the ducks. She wished she could catch a better glimpse of the old woman's hands. She wondered if the woman was happy, feeding the ducks like that, but knew it was better not to ask.

"To Go"

 

Harriet was putting away the dishes when, suddenly, her teenage daughter, Elena, appeared next to her, holding a box.

"Oh, hi, hon," Harriet said, closing the cabinet door. "I didn't even hear you come in. Did you have a good night out?"

Elena looked as if she had just seen a car crash. She stared ahead for a few seconds before her eyes shifted toward Harriet. "Night?" she asked quietly. "How long have I been gone?"

Harriet crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Well, Chris came to pick you up around six, so, yeah. That long. You okay?"

"You still remember who I am? Quick: which bedroom is mine?"

"Second one on the right, the one painted green like you've had it for the last three years. Ellie, you're scaring me."

With one hasty leap of a step Elena stumbled into Harriet and, still holding the box, wrapped her arms around her. "I love you, Mom," she said. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Please don't let this be drugs," Harriet whispered into Elena's shoulder.

"What?"

"I said," said Harriet, stepping back, "I miss you giving me hugs." She nodded at the plain white box. "What do you got there? Leftovers?"

Elena glanced down as if the box had just appeared in her hands, the way she had appeared in the kitchen moments before. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, I guess. In a way. Just something from where we went." With a resolute nod, she smiled and held the box outward. "I want you to have it, Mom."

"Oh, honey, we just ate dinner not too long ago."

"No, not like that," Elena said. "Just--whenever you need something different." She passed the box to Harriet, who raised an eyebrow and placed it on the counter. Elena smiled at her again. "I'm going to go take a shower," she said.

"Just let me know if you need anything," Harriet said. She watched Elena climb the stairs. She knew she wouldn't have many more chances to watch where Elena went. The box on the counter was small and simple and begging for Harriet to open it. So she did. And her eyes went wide. She could barely begin to imagine how far her daughter had gone.

"In Need of a Dragon"

 

Not two minutes after Ms. Wright had finished speaking with the owner of the appliance store and hung up her phone did her doorbell ring. It was not the delivery person ringing but instead a dragon, ten feet tall and shimmering in its blue scales, its neck bent low under the porch roof and its wings folded like fans. It wore a grey fedora.

"Hello," it said. "Pardon me for intruding, but I got wind of your neighbors' chatter and heard your furnace is on its way out. Might you be in need of a dragon?"

Ms. Wright, of 142 Oak Terrance #3, merely stood there.

"My card," said the dragon. It pinched a thin card between two knife-sharp claws and passed it toward Ms. Wright, who opened her screen door just wide enough for her hand to fit. The dragon, in addition to being a home heating specialist, was also a supply logistics manager. Its name was an illegible scroll.

"I just ordered a new furnace yesterday," Ms. Wright whispered, barely able to meet her visitor's gaze.

The dragon clicked its tongue. A curl of smoke escaped from between its jagged mountainpeak teeth. "I'm always just a little too late on these house calls," it said with a sigh. "I was on my way over much earlier in the week, but I caught the scent of the earth turning over far below the grass, because, as you know, spring starts next week, and the smell was just so...."

The dragon sighed again and shook its head. 

"Forgive me. I'm easily distracted in my old age," it said. "If I may ask, the warranty on your purchase...?"

"Ten years," said Ms. Wright.

"Well, that's good, that's quite standard. I'd like to point out, however, that dragons are rather long-lived, and incredibly efficient to boot, the source of our flames being nothing more than a slight twist in our anatomy."

"Of course, of course." Ms. Wright's eyes had not grown any less saucer-shaped since she answered the door.

"And," the dragon added, removing his fedora, "we've also been known to make excellent companions on rare occasions, particularly for those among your kind who--and please consider this a term of respect, as you'll imagine it must be for my ilk--who are more advanced in years." Here Ms. Wright touched her grey curls and finally looked straight at the dragon, who seemed to understand her in a way no other salesperson ever had. "While I understand you have a commitment with another seller and have no wish to pressure you out of it," the dragon said, "I do hope that, once your warranty's over, you'll keep me in mind. For as I suspect you may know, there are some chills that come with age that won't go away no matter how high you set your heater."

The dragon cleared its throat and blinked, and then smiled before placing its fedora on its head. "Ms. Wright, thank you so much for your time," it said. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

The dragon lifted itself into the air on its mighty wings, stirring the scent of springtime with each beat. Ms. Wright remained at her door, her eyes swimming in tears, her mouth ajar, and her fingers fumbling for her phone as she tried to recall the appliance store's cancellation policy.

"Askew"

 

"That streetlamp over there," the man said, pointing at a decorative lighting fixture on the other side of the road, "is leaning way too far over, don't you think?"

Its metal body jutted a few feet into the roadway space, like a thrillseeker seeing how far she could lean over a cliff, whereas normally it stood a few feet taller and vertical, like a poet enjoying the view. "That could be an issue," the woman acknowledged.

"Someone should probably be called about that," the man said. He took his phone with him into another room but returned twenty minutes later, banging the phone against his forehead.

"I was on hold for, like, fifteen minutes," he informed her. "I finally got someone who connected me to another department, who said they'd place the request for repair in the appropriate crew's work queue, but I could expedite the request if I came in and filled out form jay-one-six-I-don't-freaking-know."

The woman nodded in response and went outside. The man looked on as she lay on her belly on the path leading to their porch, with her head close to the stones that filled in their landscaping. "If you could talk to your friends underneath, please?" she said.

"Not a problem," said a voice that came from the cluster of stones. Instantly the earth below them gave a shudder, and the shudder rippled across the street like a wave in the pond. The man and the woman watched as the ground around the streetlamp churned, pushing the pole upright.

The woman sat up on the walkway and the man came outside to sit next to her. "Sometimes it's just a matter of knowing how you can best make change happen," she said. "I mean, to be fair, that office you called is really good with the water bills." They saw a utility truck drive by them, zipping past the decorative lamp that the earth had stood straight.

"Stuffed"

 

I sat with Bear in her cave, because there wasn't much else either one of us could do at the moment.

"Sometimes," I said, taking a sixth slice of pizza from the box, "when I do stuff like this, I imagine that my stomach's full of rocks. Like I'm just swallowing rocks and sinking them down in my belly. Because that's how I'm going to get myself to stay in my chair and get everything that I need and want to get done done. I am weighing myself down so that I have no choice but to sit and work."

"I think that's just all the cheese you're feeling," said Bear. I looked at her and chuckled. "Seriously," she continued, "you should try some protein next time. Fills you up longer." She herself was enjoying one of several fish that her mighty claws had snatched from the river, with a complement of berries that she had shaken free from a nearby bush.

"Well, aren't you the healthiest bulk eater in all the land," I said. "Next I know, you'll be telling me about the virtues of eating several small meals throughout the day."

"That 'grazing' bullshit? Hah, what do I look like, a deer? I am not a fucking deer," said Bear. "I have things to do."

"Me, too. In fact, I should probably get going soon."

Bear extended an open paw toward me. Several round, red fruit rolled around on the pad. "Take some berries?" she asked.

"Nah, I'm stuffed," I said. "Plus, I think for humans, those might be psychotropic."

She raised her eyebrows and pushed her paw closer.

"I write better with a clearer head," I insisted. Standing, I pointed to my box of pizza. "You want the rest of my cheese-flavored granite?"

Bear sniffed. "Yeah, leave it," she said, "I might be hungry when I get up."

"I'll call you later," I told her.

"Much later," she agreed. "Hate being woken up early. This body does not do Januaries."

I gave her a hug before I left her cave; already she was round with everything she would need for the winter. I saw her roll onto her great side as I walked away, preparing herself for the long work of dreaming.

"Safe from Dragons"

This is our dragon, a.k.a. our furnace. Lately it hasn't been behaving the way we'd expect a furnace to behave.

Oh, how the villagers hated that fire-breathing dragon. Loud it was, and smelly--its stink seeped from deep within its mountaintop cave and flowed all the way to the valley below like a river of vaporous sulfur. The villagers gathered in the inn to discuss the dragon and often were joined by foreign mercenaries and quest-bound knights, all of whom asked the same question: "What should be done?" The mountain was the tallest in the land, and the mouth of the cave poured forth dragonfire almost constantly, great geyser plumes of flame that could be seen in the village day and night. Danger lay in wait on the mountaintop. Surely that danger was waiting to invade the village.

The people assumed their time had come the day the dragon left its cave and flew over the valley. They ran inside their homes, not knowing what else to do, except for one small boy who stayed outside while the dragon, so close to them all, neither roared nor breathed fire but simply glided overhead on its thin wings like a parchment kite. The boy was confused, amazed, and humbled. He was also, however, deeply human. "Go away, dragon!" he screamed. "We don't want you here!" He never told anyone that the dragon looked at him.

Not once in all the days after did any of the villagers catch the torturous odor of dragon flesh on the wind or hear a wild, clawing bellow tumble out from the high-up cave, and it was for the better, they said. Who knew what that dragon had been up to? And now they were safe. The inn began to close early. The mercenaries and knights who still passed that way left town with a quick nod, there being nothing else for them to do. And the villagers, instead of gathering to talk, went to bed every night not long after supper. They slept in a place that was dark all around, as any place without a dragon is bound to be.

"Glue Skin"

 

"Teacher, look, I'm peeling my skin off!"

"Jenny, you have until I'm done writing this problem on the board to clean up your art supplies."

"Teacher, why am I all red and squishy underneath? Is that where blood comes from? I think I see my bones. I'm a skeleton! Raaaa! I'm dropping my skin on all of you!"

Lessons put into practice during arts and crafts that day: using fine motor skills. Following a sequence of events. Walking, not running, on the way to the principal's office.

"Salt the Earth"

 

From the corner of the room, across from where their foreign guests stood, Lot's wife heard what her husband offered the mob when it demanded that the strangers come outside: "I have daughters, virgins both. I will bring them out here, and  do what you will with them, but do not touch these men who have taken shelter beneath my roof."

Every tear that Lot's wife then would have cried instead hardened inside her, becoming a lump in her throat, a knot in her bowels, a clenched fist that she felt in all the other muscles of her body; and every tear traveled to the field within her that had been given to Lot to grow his nation, until the field was dead and dry, just as her heart for him now lay fallow. Never again would she bear his child. She would find a way to make certain of that.

"That First Taste"

A lighting fixture inside Tamale Hut Cafe

 

The story goes that Dom Perignon, great contributor to the art of winemaking, said to his fellow monks after first tasting champagne, "Come quickly: I am tasting the stars."

A story for the first taste of tequila: After a sip of the liquid he saw spilling from the heart of a tortured agave plant, a man said to his friends, "Guys, you know that 'lightning' thing we see in the sky when it rains? Dude, one day, people are going to harness power like that for use inside their homes, and it's going to be insane," upon which he passed out.

I can only imagine the strange lights and unexplained currents that accompanied that first taste of tequila.

"Geeks in Love"

Can you see it? I barely can. But it gave me this idea anyway.

"You know, for some reason, I thought a bat house would be, you know. Bigger," one said, squinting and staring into the field, where a short wooden pole supported a small wooden box, producing an unspectacular shadow of insignificant height.

"You had it mistaken for Wayne Manor," the other said simply, wherein the first geek poked the second in the shoulder, and together they dabbled in all sorts of conjecture regarding the wooden pole, the technologically stunning lair that the pole undoubtedly led to, and the tricks that the Adam West incarnation of the Caped Crusader would have used to deal with the inevitable issue of splinters.

"The Frog"

 

Umbrellas open.

Pavement stones thick as lily pads together.

Rain leaps from one to the next.

"Chicago Politics"

 

The polling place was located in a building with hallways that seemed tucked away inside each other's turns and bends, like the coils of a snake.

When the two people, having voted, finally found a door that led outside, they discovered that snow had fallen heavily since they entered.

"Wasn't this the way we got here?" one asked.

"You know, I don't really remember," said the other.

Footsteps marched away from the doorway.

"If nothing else, other people have tried going this way before, so it's bound to be right!" the first one decided. Together they left the building and instantly got lost in the blizzard.

Neither could afford the bill the city sent for their rescue.

"Make Time Stop"

 

In that room is a woman who for decades has been waiting for something to happen to her. Any day now, she once said. But the moment she said it, the clock in that room all of a sudden ceased to work. Dust continues to settle on top of it, the woman's body ages and sags, and still she watches for some movement from the minute hand so that everything that's going to happen will happen already.

I see that door next to me in the mirror; I know what goes on behind it. And I keep it locked, I keep it locked, I keep it locked.

"The Witch"

 

Someone had placed a hat on top of her head. It tipped forward like a downed horse and covered most of her face, but it wasn't enough to ward off the vultures, which the boys knew waited low in the trees just some distance from this one, their hunger drawing them long and lean, like shadows, as the sun fell.

A few of the boys could just reach the hat's brim. "Go on, lift it," said Bryon.

"No way," said Louis.

"Chicken. You're chicken."

"I sure am," Louis announced. "Go ahead and show us how it's done, since you're so brave."

Bryon drew circles in the dust with the tips of his toes. "It's disrespectful," he said finally. "I just wanted to see if the body was still here."

"Disrespectful, nothing. She was a witch."

"That's just a story. She murdered someone is all. Ain't no such thing as witches."

"Then take off the hat."

"You do it."

"You."

While the others squabbled, a boy named Henry, tall and quiet, approached the hanged corpse. He raised his hand toward the hat, and everyone stopped. His fingers were so close.

Then the wind gusted. The vultures' shapes grew in the trees. And the boys turned and ran, each one of them suddenly believing in magic. 

"Cleaning Your Glasses"

 

"You keep cleaning your glasses," the child said to her grandmother one day when they were sitting together.

"Because I can't seem to see right with them on," the grandmother replied, though she could see well enough to understand what the girl thought of that. It isn't that I can't that accept my eyes are failing, she wanted to tell her. It's that I can't accept that this is as good as it gets.

"I guess I can see all I need to, though," the grandmother said instead, putting her glasses on and looking away.

"Safe"

In case the picture is hard to see, these are being sold as "Safe Tunes" headphones.

"I'm sorry, my lord," said the wizard to his evil overseer, "but they've proven too powerful. Never again shall children catch wind of the faint whispers of sex and hints at medicinal pleasure that music offers. No, they shall heed their parents' orders and grow up to be respectable citizens who pursue careers in health care, or perhaps business administration."

"Not necessarily." The overseer stroked his beard with fingers as gaunt as bone. "Dip the pacifiers in antibacterial coating," he instructed.

"The one laced with arsenic? Yes, my lord," the wizard said, disappearing with a flourish of his robe into his chamber to summon the spirits of mass production.

"Under the Tarp"

 

"Fact Number One," said Nisi's neighbor, "the thing you say you have under there survives by ingesting nutrients that come from broken-down organic matter."

"From food scraps and yard waste that decompose in the compost pile, yes," Nisi told him. She tied a knot in the cord, securing the tarp in an embrace strong enough to be considered parental.

"Awesome, it eats the dead. Fact Number Two," he continued, "you say you're expecting the thing you have under there to push its limbs up through the soil and essentially come back to life in a few short months."

"Maybe sooner, depending on the weather."

"I'm pretty sure you're raising a zombie and not a perennial herb," the neighbor said.

Nisi laughed. She patted the billowing tarp, urging it down. Trapped beneath its heavy folds, the wind groaned with its ache to rise.