Tag Archives: Alastair’s Photo Fiction

May 18, 2015

The Worst Thing About Skeletons

The Worst Thing About Skeletons

The worst thing about skeletons is that they’re heartless. It’s also true that they don’t have an ounce of bile in them, but this hardly makes up for it. I’ve only known one skeleton and he drove the ice cream truck that prowled my neighborhood like a jangling Jaws.

Tinkle tinkle tinkle

I was mowing the lawn one day when I heard the truck coming. The sound make the image of frosty popsicles and drippy ice cream sandwiches rise like mirages in my heat-addled mind. The truck pulled up and stopped next to me.

“Hey Mort,” I said.

“Hot day, isn’t it?” the skeleton said, leaning out, the afternoon sun gleaming on pearly white bone where his heart should have been.

“I’m on a diet,” I said. “You know that.” I’d been off ice cream for over 50 days. Ice Cream Anonymous had even given me a chip.

“For old time’s sake?” Mort said, holding out a Fudgsicle to me.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I said, then had an idea. “Okay, fine. I’ll have one . . . when you gain one pound. How much do you weigh now?”

“17 pounds,” he said.

“Prove it,” I said. He came into the house and weighed himself: 17 pounds, 2 ounces. “The day you’re 18 pounds, 2 ounces, I’ll have an ice cream,” I said.

“No problem,” he said, grinning with all his teeth.

I saw him later that week, stocking up on calcium pills. Two weeks later, he stopped by. “I’m up 3 ounces,” he declared proudly. A month later, he’d made it up to 17 pounds 7 ounces. I wasn’t very worried.

The next week Mort showed up at my door. He was wearing a coat, which was odd for him. He usually only wore a coat in the fall to keep errant leaves from sticking in his rib cage.

“I’ve gained a pound,” he said quietly. “I’m 18 pounds 2 ounces now.”

“Really?” I looked hard at him. His bones didn’t look any thicker. I wondered vaguely if he’d gotten a brain.

He opened his coat. “I got a heart,” he said. I saw it sitting in his rib cage, pumping idly in a self-conscious way, like a shadow boxer who suddenly finds himself the main event.

“Fine, you won.” I fingered the 100-day chip in my pocket sadly.

“I’m sorry for before,” Mort said. “I didn’t understand.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a peeled apple perched on a cone of wrapped kale. “Snack?”

21 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, diet, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, funny, heartless, Ice cream, Mort, quirky, skeleton | posted in Light

April 26, 2015

Kafka Crap

By David Stewart

My first instinct was to write a story about Nepal, in recognition of the terrible tragedy that just occurred there. The reason it hits so close to me is that we have a very large population of Nepalese students at my university and one of my students is from Nepal. Actually, just a few days ago we were discussing in class what natural disasters occurred in their countries and the Nepalese student said none, except maybe earthquakes. That kills me now.

But I think it’s too soon and I don’t want to write something that will depress me further. So, instead I wrote something utterly bizarre and zany, because that’s who I am and sometimes I’m in the mood, and sometimes it’s just a coping mechanism. I hope this introduction didn’t kill the whole mood of the following story.

Kafka Crap

Mark woke up one morning and found that he had turned into a horse. His first thought was, I don’t have time for this Kafka-esque crap. I’ve got stuff to do. He tried to check his phone but he cracked the screen with his hoof. He was so frustrated, he kicked a hole in the wall.

His mother ran in and stopped. “Did you turn into a horse?” she asked.

Mark stamped once, for yes. “What a bunch of Kafka crap,” she said. “What are we going to do now?”

Mark didn’t know how many times to stamp on the floor to answer and he had no answer anyway. She sighed. “I suppose I’ll call into work for you.”

Later that day, a man showed up at the door. “We hear your son turned into a horse. That’s illegal, you know.”

“How so?” my mother asked.

“I can’t tell you,” the man said.

“Who exactly are you again?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you,” the man said. “Just have your son show up at this address for his trial. He needs to write out a deposition himself too. Make sure it’s legible.”

“What a bunch of Kafka crap,” Mark’s mother said, slamming the door.

His father was reading a blog story. He pointed to the screen. “Well, it could always be worse.”

*This story references two Kafka stories: The Metamorphosis, and The Trial. To understand the last line, click the hyperlink.

23 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, funny, horse, Kafka, metamorphosis, police, trial | posted in Light

April 4, 2015

Car Hunting

By David Stewart

My dad loved to show people around his trophy room, so when my college roommate came over for Thanksgiving, of course Dad gave him the tour.

“You’ve done a lot of hunting!” Kiefer said. I rolled my eyes. Don’t encourage him.

“Yep, I sure have,” my dad said, making a sweeping gesture to encompass all the license plates on the walls. “This here was from my first one. It was a ’68 Chevy Chevelle. I got it going down Route 46, not far from here. Single shot—bam!—right to the engine block. Damaged the body a bit but stopped it dead.”

“So you mostly go for sedans then?”

I tried giving Kiefer a warning look. My dad was going to talk for hours at this rate.

“I have tried all kinds.” Dad was beaming now. “When Bobby was little, we’d go out for hatchbacks. We tagged two in one day over in Breathitt County. We could only bring the fenders home, although of course Bobby liked to keep the spark plugs as souvenirs.” I blushed.

“Do you think I could give it a try?” Kiefer asked. My dad’s face lit up.

“Why sure! We’ll go grab you and Bobby some licenses and head out tomorrow. You haven’t tried car hunting until you’ve done it on Black Friday. You can use my SUV rifle.”

“Aren’t you a member of Greenpeace?” I whispered to Kiefer.

“This isn’t nature,” he said. “This is cars!” He and my dad high-fived and I knew that I’d lost him.

22 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, Black Friday, car, fiction, flash fiction, funny, Greenpeace, hunting, quirky, roommate, Thanksgiving | posted in Light

March 22, 2015

Death Don’t Us Part

By David Stewart

Death Don’t Us Part

Life and death never end up like you think. I went to sleep one night, dreamed about being back at college with a lobster for a roommate, then woke up in a coffin. It was comfortable, at least.

I lay there for a bit, wondering why I had had a lobster for a roommate when I heard a tap, tap, tap.

“Who’s there?” I said. What else do you say?

“Is that you, Jamal?” It was my wife Olivia.

“Yeah, I’m in a coffin. Where are you?”

“In one too. I’m next to you.”

“Huh. Do you suppose we’re dead?”

“I suppose.”

There was a pause that could have been a few seconds or a few years.

“Do you think this is because we omitted ‘Til death do us part’ from our vows?” I asked.

“Could be. I never thought of this happening. So, you want to get out of here?”

“Can we?”

“After you, monsieur.”

I tried and a moment later, I found myself in a cemetery at night. A translucent version of Olivia appeared a moment later.

“Have you lost weight?” I asked. She rolled spectral eyes at me.

“You don’t have to be so grave about everything,” I said. That made her laugh.

“You kill me, you know?” she said.

“Not anymore. So, what now?”

She took my hand. “I don’t know, go visit our old haunts?”

“Now look who’s starting.”

We floated off. Together.

26 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, death, fiction, flash fiction, funny, ghosts, marriage | posted in Light

March 14, 2015

Acid Rain! Now in Different Colors!

By David Stewart

I pulled back the shower curtain after my shower and saw a group of people in blue raincoats crowded in front of me, holding up cell phones and cameras. I was shocked for a moment, then nodded smugly, remembering my new LSD-laced shampoo: Acid Rain! I didn’t think the hallucinations would be so specific though. The ceiling wasn’t melting or anything.

“Can we ask you a few questions?” one of them asked.

“I can’t hear you,” I said, combing my hair. “You’re just a product of double lathering.”

“Actually,” one said, “we’re part of a focus group on the drug-related merchandise you’ve recently bought.”

“You’re not hallucinations?” I asked.

“No.”

“You’re real people?”

“Yes.”

“So, I should put a towel on?”

“Please!” they all said, in unison, like they’d been practicing.

“Now, you have questions?”

They all pulled out clipboards. “How’s the shampoo?”

I shrugged. “No dandruff. Pleasing smell. The morning is a magical time.”

“Have you been eating your Weedies?”

“Every morning!” I said brightly.

“And how is your new Honda Ecstasy?”

“Great gas mileage!” I said, “and I always get to work happy.”

“Excellent.” They all scribbled notes assiduously. “Now, we’d like your ideas for other things.”

“Well, maybe some sort of heroin bicycle?”

There was a shocked silence. “Heroin?” one said. “At OmniDrugCo, we’re trying to make the world a better place. We’re not monsters. Now take your free sample of meth and have a nice day!”

12 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, fiction, flash fiction, funny, heroin, LSD, marijuana, market research, meth, quirky, shampoo, shower | posted in Light

March 9, 2015

First Week at the Nexus

By David Stewart

I realize this is two letters home from children in a week, but they’re very different and apparently this is how my mind is thinking at the moment.

Dear Mum and Dad,

Greetings from the land of inter-dimensional hospitality! Well, my first week at the Nexus Hotel is over. It didn’t drive me insane but there were several points where I wished I’d never been born. Sorry Mum, you did your best and all.

It’s pretty brutal out here. I had a party of Neanderthals stumble in from some primitive dimension and demand the first floor suites. No credit card, of course, but I got half a gazelle as payment. They trashed the rooms and set fire to two of the beds. They also massacred half a Venusian furry convention that was meeting on the third floor. I comped the survivors their rooms. Hope that’s okay.

On Wednesday, we had a couple dark specters arrive. Didn’t pay, of course, just loitered around haunting the place. I got them exorcised finally. It’s fine now.

Some sort of space princess came two days ago. That’s when things started looking up. She’s pretty. I let her have the top two floors indefinitely. I’m redecorating for her, turning it into a castle.

Don’t worry about the hotel, I’m handling everything.

Your son,

Winky.

Winky’s father put down the letter. “Maybe I should go help him out. Just for a few days.”

“You’re retired,” his wife said. “You promised.”

Her husband noticed the way she was fingering her knife. “Right, right. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

12 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, aliens, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, ghosts, hotel, letter, Neanderthals, other worlds, science-fiction, space | posted in Light

March 2, 2015

Any Suggestions?

By David Stewart

Any suggestions?

“Next week is the midterm,” the computer ethics professor Dr. Bevin said. “There is no exam.” He cut off the collective sigh of relief with a sharp gesture. “No, instead you have to break your world.

“All of you have been observing your custom world simulators for eight weeks now, or 20,000 years in-program. Unless you have a world that is already a nuclear wasteland—Jared—I want you to write the inhabitants a message. From you. Ask for suggestions on how to make things better. Write an essay giving the results and what you think the impact of those changes might be.”

There was a stunned silence, then a phalanx of questioning hands. Dr. Bevin dismissed them all. “That’s all. You figure out the rest.”

That night, Ben opened the program and rewound to watch the last four centuries that had progressed during the day. A lot had happened; way more than he could take in. There were 12 billion people now in his little world, spinning through the cosmos that was the class’s shared universe. Some of his classmates wanted to help their people explore and find each other’s planets, except that Dr. Bevin forbade any interference.

Until now.

It took Ben five minutes of coding to set it up. He hated to do it. It would wreck everything, but in the end, this little world was just a Petri dish, a place to play around with issues in the safety of a computer. He sighed and hit Enter.

* * *

On the planet of Geral, a man named Hyerai was walking home from work when he looked up at the moon. Slowly, lines of fire appeared on its surface, forming into words. He gaped. They said, “HI, I’M BEN. ANY SUGGESTIONS?”

17 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, computer, exam, fiction, flash fiction, midterm, other worlds, playing God, science-fiction, simulation, university | posted in Dusk

February 23, 2015

5 Annoying Things About the Apocalypse

By David Stewart

It was the end of the world in a few hours. Yep, no doubt about it. The news had confirmed it and they were never wrong. Half the population was cowering and the other half was making fun of it or partying.

She clicked on a comedy site link: 5 Annoying Things about the Apocalypse.

We’re never going to be able to make a movie about this.

We’ll never be able to eat up all the canned beans in our fallout shelter in time.

Game of Thrones will never, ever be finished.

Bruce Willis really dropped the ball on this one.

Despite all our pop culture about the apocalypse, absolutely no one saw this coming.

Cassandra looked sadly over at her sandwich board lying by the door, The End is Nigh scrawled in her spidery handwriting. She opened up her blog where the last entry: WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! sat with no comments and no likes. It had been posted a week before the news of the monster asteroid had been announced.

The phone rang. “Hey Cassandra, let’s go out with a bang!” her friend said. “A group of us are going over to the bar to get drunk.”

“It’ll be closed,” Cassandra said.

“No it won’t. Come on!” Her friend hung up.

Sigh.

19 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, apocalypse, Cassandra, fiction, flash fiction, prophesy, quirky, science-fiction | posted in Light

February 15, 2015

Ablutophobic

By David Stewart

Ablutophobic

“NOOOO!” my son screamed. He Houdini’ed out of my grasp, snaked between my legs and sought refuge under the table.

“Nathan,” my tone was firm but warning. “This is going to happen. Now hold still.”

He was like a cornered tiger, so I took it slow, making hushing noises as I moved in. Just when I thought I had him, he slipped under the far side and hopped out the kitchen window.

My walkie-talkie crackled. “Status?”

“He pulled a runner,” I said. “Target’s in the backyard, heading towards the woods.”

“Copy. I’m ready to go mobile.”

I ran to the roof, where my wife was in the cockpit of a small helicopter.

“He can’t have gotten far,” she said. As soon as I was in, she took off, heading towards the grassy space behind the house.

“Do you have the stuff?” I asked.

She pointed between the seats. “Right here.”

We spotted Nathan running hard. My wife maneuvered the chopper above him. “Now!” she shouted.

I grabbed the bucket and dumped the warm, soapy contents out the door. It hit Nathan square on the head, running down his hair like a judge’s wig.

“Does that count as a bath?” she asked.

“It’s as good as we’re getting.” Nathan was looking up furiously. I threw him a towel.

“How long will this have to go on?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Well, his high school graduation is this afternoon. I think he’s on his own after that.”

Note: although I used this title for comedic effect, I don’t wish to make light of the actual phobia, which can be a serious thing for those who suffer with it.

15 Comments | tags: ablutophobia, Alastair's Photo Fiction, bath, funny, helicopter, parenting, quirky, son | posted in Light

February 9, 2015

The Bronze Lady

By David Stewart

The Bronze Lady

There was a crunch and the chariot lurched. Another puppy gone. A scream from the owner.

“Watch where you’re going, you maniac!”

“Shut up, shut up!” Boudicca yelled. She maneuvered the chariot further into the dog park. This clearly hadn’t been a good idea.

“Are you insane?”

“I’m trying to give the horses some exercise!” she shouted over her shoulder. There were too many trees here for a good run.

“They’re bronze! Why do they need exercise?” someone yelled.

“Well, I don’t need to kick your arse, but I still might,” she said, pulling back a bronze foot to emphasize her point.

It was no good anyway; the heavy wheels were sinking into the turf. She turned around and retreated.

As she rode back sadly along Bridge Street to her pedestal, cars honking behind her, she sighed. There was no place in this modern world for a bronze woman. It was lonely, being the only one of her kind. If only her friend the Iron Lady were still alive.