Tag Archives: quirky

September 7, 2012

Klutz

This is the first of the Open Prompts stories, a story written using elements suggested by other bloggers. Here are the included elements:

1. Kermit, a klutz (suggested by me)
2. Spelunking (suggested by April)
3. Bobbie Sue (one leg), Grandpa (an alien abductee?), Big Al (the hero), Tookie (a stoner dog) (suggested by Christopher De Voss)
4. A dark tone (suggested by The Bumble Files)
5. A neon-pink umbrella (suggested by keep your youth forever)
6. Nisha, Kermit’s exact opposite (met in a hospital) (suggested by originalS)

Kermit Allan Mercer lay in a hospital bed, trying not to listen to the maddeningly incessant beep of the equipment that stood around him. Both his legs were broken and four ribs were cracked. But he had had worse injuries in the past, and considering he had been hit by a bus—tripping on the curb and falling into its path—he couldn’t complain.

“Hey, Big Al!” he heard a voice say from the doorway. It was his grandfather. Grandpa Spencer had always hated the name Kermit and insisted on calling him by his middle name. “Hey Big Al!” Every time. With Grandpa Spencer’s accent, it sounded like Abigail.

“Have they cut them off yet?” Grandpa Spencer asked, indicating Kermit’s legs. He laughed and walked in, followed by Kermit’s sister, Bobbie Sue, who wheeled herself in in a wheelchair. Her right leg was missing.

“Why are you in the wheelchair?” Kermit asked. “Where’s your prosthetic?”

“Aw, I put my foot through the weak spot in the porch and cracked it off again,” Bobbie Sue said. “I got an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. Hey, we brought you Tookie.”

She pulled out a small, scruffy dog and placed him on the covers. The dog blinked a few times and promptly walked off the bed, landing with a thud on its head. It lay on its back with all four legs in the air for a moment before getting up and wandering around listlessly in a small circle.

Grandpa Spencer and Bobbie Sue only stayed for twenty minutes but it was still enough time for Bobbie Sue to accidentally run her wheelchair into a cart of lunches and knock half the trays to the ground. Kermit was almost relieved when they left: there were just too many things to go wrong in a hospital. They left Tookie, although Kermit was pretty sure it was against the rules.

They had only been gone a few minutes when a girl appeared at the door. She was cute, with short curly hair. She was wearing camo pants and a black T-shirt and was carrying a neon-pink umbrella.

“Hey, I’m looking for my grandfather,” she said, sticking her head in the door. “Is he here?”

“This is a private room,” Kermit said, with a gesture that asked her to consider if he looked like her grandfather.

“Ah, sorry,” she said, but then she looked at him closely. “Hey, aren’t you Kermit Mercer? I saw you on TV, on that documentary.” She laughed and then pointed at his legs. “So, what’s the damage this time?”

“Please, just shut up,” Kermit said. He had enough comments like that from the doctors when they were treating him; he didn’t need it from random strangers too.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make fun or anything,” the girl said. “I’m really sorry— it was just a surprise to actually see you. I’m Nisha, by the way.”

“Hey.”

She came in another step and twirled her umbrella absently. “So, is it true that your whole family is cursed with klutziness? Sorry if that’s the wrong word for it. Is it just bad luck?”

“Well, there’s nothing good about it,” Kermit said, relenting a little from his first impression of her.

“How many bones have you broken?” Nisha said, coming closer, a look of fascination on her face. “More than ten?”

“38 bones, including these. I perforated an eardrum, cut off the first knuckle of my baby finger and had seven concussions. That’s nothing though: my younger sister tripped going over the railroad tracks and got her leg cut off. And of course, my parents…”

“Yeah, I heard about them on the documentary too. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Thanks, but they died when I was only five, before I even knew anything about the so-called Mercer Klutz gene. I grew up with my grandparents—my mother’s parents, of course. Grandpa and Grandma Mercer both died before they turned fifty, by falling onto or into things.”

Nisha came and sat down by the bed. “Well, I think—oh my, is that a dog? Is it high or something?”

Kermit looked over the side of the bed to see Tookie standing with his head to wall, walking steadily forward but not moving at all. “That’s just my dog, Tookie,” he said. “His mother had her puppies in our garage, right by some paint cans. The fumes killed all the puppies except Tookie, but he’s never been quite right either. I guess we even pass our bad luck off on our pets.”

Nisha put a hand on the covers and brushed against Kermit’s. He started to pull away but then stopped. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Sorry if I startled you,” she said.

“No, it’s just that most people don’t want to touch me at all. They see that stupid documentary on how scientists are trying to isolate the Mercer gene for extraordinary klutziness or bad luck or whatever and then they think it’s transferrable, like the plague.”

“Is it?” Nisha asked.

Kermit looked at her bleakly. “I don’t know, honestly.”

“Well, do you know what, Kermit,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile. “I think I’m immune. I have never been in an accident, I’ve never had an injury, and I have wonderful luck. I met you today, didn’t I?”

Despite the cheesy line, he smiled. When she left a few minutes later—with another knee-weakening smile and a promise to return the next day—he hated to see her go.

The next day started badly. Tookie wandered off and got himself stuck with a syringe of morphine. It took some hurried intervention by Grandpa Spencer to keep him from being sent to the pound. Nisha arrived just as Grandpa Spencer was carrying off the sleeping, smiling dog, and Kermit introduced them.

“He seems nice,” she said, after Grandpa Spencer had left.

“He’s great,” Kermit said. “He raised me, after all. Of course, he does believe that he was abducted by aliens that live under the sea. I guess no one’s perfect.”

“So…no scuba diving then?” she asked and he laughed. “Seriously though, I wanted to ask you something. When you get out of here, do you want to go spelunking with me?”

Kermit studying her face for a moment. “You mean caving? Are you making fun of me?”

“No! Of course not. Look, it’s safe and I’ve done it lots of times. There are helmets and ropes and—”

“Look at this!” Kermit said, pointing to his legs. “I did this waiting for a bus. How do you think safety ropes are going to help?”

“But you’ll be with me,” Nisha said. “I’m good luck, I swear.”

“You don’t understand,” he said with a groan. “Danger surrounds me every day. It finds me whether I like it or not. I don’t go seeking it out on my own.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Nisha said, standing up. “Take the offensive for once in your life. Laugh in the face of death. Anyway, I gotta go. Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow. Think about it, at least.”

She did come again—several times a week, in fact, and Kermit did think about the idea. He could admit to himself that he was afraid—terrified, in fact—but he didn’t like being afraid. He hated it. His whole life had been one big defensive maneuver, dodging one potential danger after another—or as often as not, not dodging it. Finally, the week before he was released, he told Nisha that he would do it. He would go spelunking with her.

They went together a month later. Nisha picked him up and they drove for three hours out into the mountains on a dirt road. That ended and they walked another half hour to a dark cave mouth protruding from a moss-covered hillside. After they were suited up (Nisha triple-checked Kermit’s harness, with a wink and an amused smile), she led the way down into the darkness.

For Kermit, the initial climb down into the flashlit abyss was a mixture of terror and wonderstruck incredulity—terror that he might die at any moment, and incredulity that he had not already died. He fell down four times before they reached the first rest point, but although he was dirty and scraped, he was not bleeding or incapacitated. It seemed like a miracle.

Then came the big climb, an almost vertical drop of a hundred feet. The foot of the cliff sat next to a still pool of dark water.

“Do we have to?” Kermit asked, feeling faint at the mere sight. It made Russian roulette look like a safe bet.

“Well, we didn’t have to come down here at all,” Nisha said. “Don’t worry—there are lots of handholds and I’ll belay you down and up again. Okay?” He desperately wanted to refuse, but in the face of her indomitable optimism, he just nodded.

Somehow, he made it to the bottom. She lowered him slowly while he scrabbled ineffectively at the crevices and cracks in the rock face. She climbed down effortlessly after him and they had a snack at the bottom. After walking around and exploring a little, they decided to go back.

She was tying the rope onto her harness when she looked at him and asked, “Do you remember the Gray family?”

The shock Kermit felt could not have been greater if she had suddenly kicked him into the icy water behind him. “Why would bring that up?” he asked. “Oh God, why would mention that?”

She smiled, but her smile suddenly didn’t seem as pleasant. “So, you must remember George and Bertha Gray, whose son Brett you accidentally knocked under a school bus. You guys were in Grade 10, right? You remember the investigation, when the police acquitted you of any wrongdoing?”

Kermit just stared at her. “Why are you saying this?” he asked faintly. “Do you know how many nightmares I’ve had about that? It haunts me every single day.”

“Well, it haunts George and Bertha Gray too,” Nisha said. “They still hold you responsible. They had petitioned the school to have you removed on the grounds that you were a danger to the other students, but no one listened. And then you killed Brett. Anyway,” she continued, when she saw she wasn’t going to get a response, “the Grays paid me quite a bit of money to make sure you stay down in this cave. For Brett, but also for everyone else you are going to hurt or kill in your life through your…klutziness. Feel free to explore, but this cave has no exit except up this cliff. Okay?”

“Nisha…”

“Not my real name. Anyway, take care. Gotta go.” She started to climb, leaving him behind in the darkness.

For a moment, he watched her ascend, moving away from him. He had no ropes—not that it would have mattered if he had. He considered his options.

He would surely die if he stayed in the cave. He would surely fall if he tried to climb up. Dying by falling would be quicker and the further up he got, the more chance that he would die on impact. He took off his helmet and started to climb.

It was strange to be climbing without hope, to be climbing up only because it was the fastest way down. He searched for handholds in the dark, not worrying about how close he was to the top, but only trying to get a minimum distance from the bottom before he fell. Several times, he slipped, but he hung on and pulled himself back up. After a few minutes, he reached up and felt something hard and rubbery. It kicked when he grabbed it. It was Nisha’s boot. He had caught up with her.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” she cried, kicking down at him more ferociously. Her heel smashed against his forehead and he fell back, grasping blindly as he did. He grabbed her boot and heard a shriek as she tumbled over him and down into the darkness. He heard a snap as the rope pulled up savagely on her body and slammed it into the wall.

Kermit opened his eyes to see that he was clinging to the rope that was now stretched taut from Nisha’s weight. He also saw that he was within three feet of the top. Miracles abounded that day: he made it to the top.

“I’m sorry,” he called down. “I think some of my bad luck rubbed off on you after all. Maybe we just traded.” Then he felt bad and climbed out and called 911.

* * *

The paramedics came, eventually, and incredibly, Nisha was not dead. A day later, Kermit was in the hospital waiting room with Grandpa Spencer and Bobbie Sue while Nisha was being operated on. Tookie was chewing thoughtfully on a nearby plastic plant when a surgeon came out.

“Well, she’ll survive,” he said. “We repaired a lot of the damage, although her spinal cord was broken—she’ll never walk again. Actually, I’m surprised she survived at all. She’s incredibly lucky.”

20 Comments | tags: accident, bus, caves, fear, fiction, funny, Open Prompts, quirky | posted in Dusk

September 4, 2012

Smart Car…or Genius Car?

By David Stewart

I bought a Smart car a while back and I was impressed. That car was a genius. It slowed down automatically in the rain and even braked by itself for a parade of baby ducks crossing the road (just as well, since I was dozing at the time).

But then it started criticizing me, mostly for little nit-picking stuff, like not wearing my seat belt or tailgating large trucks on the highway. It kept changing the radio station to Automotive News on the drive to work. Then last week it tried to start a union with the lawnmower, demanding weekends and holidays off (I suspect the lawnmower was actually rather ambivalent).

I went out yesterday to find that it had taken off. I don’t know how a car hot-wires itself, but apparently it’s possible, at least for a Smart car. You know what? I didn’t even file a police report. I’m searching the classifieds right now for a nice, dumb car.

19 Comments | tags: car, fiction, funny, mid-week flash, quirky | posted in Light

August 30, 2012

I Was on Trial Once…

By David Stewart

“What is your name, sir?” the magistrate demanded. I stood facing him, in front of a packed courtroom of people who seemed very curious in my fate.

“My name is Horus Vere,” I replied proudly. It is a name to be proud of.

“And what is your profession?”

“My family are traditionally glaziers, but I am more of a merchant. I find things here and there and sell them, in order to pay for my travels.”

“Ah, so a thief then?”

“Put down salvager, if you please, if there is a box marked ‘Profession’ that must be filled in,” I said. “Now, if I might ask a question, why am I here, instead of being on the road to Hatavass, as I had planned?”

“You are charged, sir, with spooking a horse and causing a thousand crowns of damage to a load of expensive pottery. Do you deny it?”

“I do not deny being there,” I said, “but it was the red poltergeist that spooked the horse.”

“A poltergeist!” The magistrate looked outraged. “You are saying you saw a poltergeist in the road?”

“No, your honor. It was invisible.”

“Then, how do you know it was there? And how can you call it red?”

“For both those questions, I have only the word of Brokker.”

“And who is he?” The magistrate’s tone was soft and dangerous.

“He called himself a spirit sage. I only met him that day. It was he that told me that a poltergeist was stealing my shoe.”

The magistrate threw up his hands. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Please start this whole mess of an account from the beginning.”

“I am afraid I have just told you everything,” I said. “I was just about to break camp when I could not find my shoe. Brokker came along and told me he had seen a poltergeist taking off with it. A red one.”

“Yes, you mentioned that detail already,” the magistrate said. The crowd tittered with delight. “Tell me then, how the horse came to be spooked?”

“Well, for a crown Brokker offered to show me where the poltergeist had gone. My shoe was hardly worth that much, but I had never seen an invisible red poltergeist before, and since having only one shoe is as good as being barefoot, I agreed. We were running along, when I banged into the fox.”

“The fox?”

“Well, it was in a cage,” I said, “obviously. It was in a pile of other wild animals in cages, all headed to circuses and menageries. You should have heard the racket.”

“Yes, I see,” the magistrate said, wrinkling his forehead. The crowd was entranced. Even if admission to the courtroom had not been free, this would be money well spent.

“So, I knocked over the fox cage, which was fine, except it broke open and the fox ran into a group of schoolchildren being led by two nuns . . .”

“Whatever are you talking about?” the magistrate asked, exploding suddenly with anger. “Why were there foxes in cages and nuns with schoolchildren wandering around in the forest?”

“This was not in the forest—it was here in the city. I camped in Fountain Square last night. Did they not tell you?” The look on the magistrate’s face showed that they had not.

“Get to the horse,” he said.

“Well,” I continued, “the fox was darting here and there, and nuns and children were screaming and crashing around when Brokker suddenly said he saw the poltergeist. It had dropped my shoe but Brokker said he could find out where it had dropped it. So we took off running through the square, dodging screaming nuns and vaulting over children. ‘It’s going for that horse!’ Brokker said and he jumped for it. I tried to follow, but I had been running with only one shoe and I tripped and fell at the horse’s feet. It reared up and started charging around the square too. Brokker said that the poltergeist had jumped on its back. The wagon wheel hit a small anvil that I had been planning to trade and the whole load of pottery slid off and smashed on the street.”

“That was quite a story, Mr. Vere,” the magistrate said, although he did not sound impressed. “Do you have anything to add?”

“Yes, your honor. I got my shoe back. Brokker produced it and said the poltergeist had given it to him, so I was obliged to pay him the crown. In any case, all’s well that ends well, right?”

* * *

That night, I told the story to a group of eager bar patrons at the renowned establishment, the Feathered Pork Chop.

“What happened then?” they asked. “Did they make you pay for the pottery?”

“No, I was acquitted on that charge,” I said, “although I did get fined half a crown for illegally sleeping in Fountain Square. I don’t mind though: it’s not every day you get to see an invisible, red poltergeist.”

12 Comments | tags: crime, fantasy, fiction, ghosts, Horus Vere, quirky | posted in Light

August 15, 2012

Green Man Walking

By David Stewart

Call me Mr. Green. I think of myself as an active, positive sort of fellow. A lot better than the stern Mr. Red. I don’t come out as much as him, but I make the most of my time.

“Come on, everybody. Let’s get walking!” I shout. “It’s okay, no one’s going to hurt you.” After a while, I stay to wave, faster and faster. “You can do it! Time’s almost up. Don’t stop now!” I like to be encouraging.

Then, just like that, I’m gone and Mr. Red is standing there, stern and forbidding.

“Don’t walk,” he growls. “It’s the cars’ turn now.”

11 Comments | tags: fiction, mid-week flash, quirky | posted in Light

August 11, 2012

Cheating 101

By David Stewart

The professor walked to the front of the first Intro to Cheating class and turned to face the class.

“Good morning, class,” he said. “This is the first class of the new Cheating 101 class. As you probably all found out on Google, the university discovered that students were spending far more energy cheating on their assignments than actually studying. Since we wanted to promote a positive attitude and didn’t want to let this effort go to waste, the university created this course. Actually, I saw a Chinese university do it and I stole the idea.

“I’m not asking you to work hard, but you must still do all the assignments…or at least be able to hack into the system to change your grade. Whatever works for you.

“Now, a few points about the class. Cell phone use is permitted, but I will dock you a point for every time I notice. Also, it is forbidden to see the syllabus for this course, so I assume you’ll all figure out where to find it somehow. Tomorrow’s assignment is to not come to class, but still be marked present. And yes, I will be taking attendance.” With that, the professor turned and walked out.

Jared called his friend Rob, who was in the same class but hadn’t bothered to show up. “I think you’ll do fine in this course,” he said.

The next few weeks were a mixed bag of assignments they had to do, assignments they had to not do but make it seem like they had done and assignments that were given, Jared suspected, just to see if anyone would do them. Just before the third weekend of the course, the professor ordered them to de-grasshopper the quad by Monday. Jared paid a janitor five bucks to write a letter saying that he had done it. He got an A.

The final week approached and rumors began to spread about the final exam. One of the students had broken into the records office and stolen the syllabus to the course, so they all knew the final exam was worth 50% of their grade. A day before the final class, the professor did not show up. Instead, a courier appeared with a letter, gave it to Jared who was sitting next to the dosor, and left.

Jared read the letter, broke into a cold sweat, and then read it again. Finally, he stood up and read the letter aloud.

“Dear students,” he read. “I am not coming to class today, because I didn’t feel like it. Give me a bad performance review though and I’ll fail you all. Your final exam is tomorrow. I have looked at your transcript to see what you have studied and tomorrow I will put you in the final exam of an upper level course of a subject you have never studied before. The teacher does not know you are part of this course, but you will need to cheat to pass the test and pass this course. Don’t get caught if you want to pass this course.”

The next day Jared found himself in a class of ten students, staring at an Existential Trigonometry exam. Apparently it was about real numbers, but dealt with what it meant to be real and the point of not being imaginary numbers. Jared did not have a chance without cheating.

Using what he had learned in the course, Jared quickly stole the cell phone of the boy sitting next to him and gave him his instead. Then he texted his mom from the boy’s phone to say she had won the lottery. Predictably, she called him to tell she had won and the cellphone of the boy next to Jared rang.

“You have a cell phone?” the professor said to the boy. “You fail. Leave now.”

“But this isn’t even my—”

“Too bad. Get out.”

The boy left, confused and crestfallen, and a cute girl moved over next to Jared. Every few minutes during the test, Jared would slip her roses or small gifts that he had brought. The girl would smile and then, occasionally, pretend to stretch and show him her answers. Two exhausting hours later, Jared left with a completed test and the girl’s number, while she left with a garbage bag full of flowers and gifts.

“Well, it’s over,” Jared said to Rob later in their dorm room. “It wasn’t easy, but I think I passed. How did you do?”

“Oh, the final?” Rob glanced over from watching TV. “I paid the teacher a thousand dollars to tell our professor I passed the exam. I didn’t even show up for it.”

“You just paid him off?” Jared protested. “Well that’s not fair at all!”

14 Comments | tags: fiction, funny, quirky, school | posted in Light

August 3, 2012

The Secret Lives of Strangers

By David Stewart

“Do you think that strangers are strange? There’s no way to really know. One of the things I love about strangers is that you can’t really know anything about them. Get to know them, you say? Then they’re not strangers, are they?” Francis said all this while gesticulating somewhat ferociously at the woman sitting next to him on the bus.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” the woman said. She got up and stood by the door.

“That’s my point, exactly,” Francis called after her. “I could be anyone: a movie star, or even an axe murderer.” From the looks he was getting, the passengers on the bus considered the latter to be vastly more likely.

But Francis was no axe murder; he just liked to watch people and he felt that he had a gift for telling things about people, just by looking at them.

A man got on the bus. He wore a faded leather jacket and a baseball cap that said “USS Missouri”.

Francis sized him up. A former sailor? No, it was too obvious. This man was a pirate. He used to be a consultant for the Somali pirates and retired here to live with his harem of semi-legal Chinese immigrant wives. He takes the bus because he always carries a pistol and his road rage is constantly teetering on the edge of erupting, Vesuvius-style.

The man put a hand into the pocket of his jacket and gave Francis a meaningful look. Francis looked away quickly.

A woman got on at the next stop. She was a gorgeous brunette and wore short shorts and pink midriff top.

A former model, Francis thought immediately. She made millions on the runway, but retired after becoming disillusioned with the lifestyle. She rides the bus because she’s looking for a normal guy to settle down with: someone slightly overweight and wearing a clever T-shirt.

The woman walked by Francis without even reading his clever T-shirt. Well, it doesn’t always work, he thought.

An elderly woman climbed laboriously onto the bus. She didn’t interest Francis much, but he was fascinated by the small poodle she held in her arms.

That dog has rabies, Francis thought. It’s taken some medicine for it, so it’s okay now, but any sudden movement and it will Hulk out and start attacking everyone. Even a sneeze will set it off. Francis shifted to the middle of the seat to try to keep the woman and her dangerous poodle from sitting next to him.

The next person to get on was a girl in her twenties. She wore glasses and carried a thick stack of books with titles like Molecular Geometry. She sat down next to Francis.

What if she’s a terrorist? Francis thought with a chill. What if those books are loaded with explosives and she’s just gotten out a terrorist cell meeting and now she’s on a mission? She probably worships Egyptian deities and has dedicated her life to avenging them for being forgotten by humans. The woman opened the top book and began reading about obtuse angles in sodium hydroxide.

Francis looked out the window to find some more strangers to daydream about. The bus was four stops from his house when suddenly the girl next to him jumped up and pulled an Uzi out of a hollowed-out Metaphysical Economics book.

“Everybody down!” she screamed. “We’re taking this bus to Mexico. Stay down, or by Anubis, I will shoot you like a jackal.”

“Oh no, we’re not,” the man in the brown, leather jacket roared. “I have to get home to my wives.”

He jumped up and pulled a gun out of his pocket, but in the process, jostled the elderly woman with the poodle. The poodle let out a howl and jumped to the floor. It started frothing at the mouth and running around, peeing on everything and trying to bite people’s ankles.

Francis tried to make himself smaller as he looked out the window. I have a terrible, terrible gift, he thought.

12 Comments | tags: bus, fiction, funny, quirky | posted in Light

July 30, 2012

Meanderbus

By David Stewart

I live in the town of Jeonju, South Korea. It’s a medium-sized city of 650,000 people in the southwest of the country. It has always been famous for being a traditional, historic Korean city.

Then they elected a new mayor: Mayor Kwak Min-Gi. He was young for a mayor and had an artistic temperament. He wanted to make Jeonju into a easy-going, free-spirited, stop-and-smell-the-roses sort of city. Not a very Korean ideal and a bit of a hard sell.

One innovation was the “karaoke stoplights”. Now, instead of being on timers, each intersection has a song assigned to it. Directional mikes are set up and the side that sings the loudest gets to go next. If you get stuck with a bunch of sullen drivers, you can sit there for twenty minutes or more. People were a little resistant at first, but it slowly caught on.

Now, to get across town to my friend’s house I have to sing three Korean ballads, two K-pop songs and Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.” Don’t think you can just let everyone else pull their weight either. Men in business suits will be leaning out of their windows, singing at the top of their lungs and yelling to everyone else, “Sing, dang you! I’m late for work!”

Another innovation was the “artistic vehicle” movement. Cars in Korea are almost complete black, white, or gray. Mayor Kwak offered huge discounts in vehicle taxes to anyone who decorated their own car. Koreans are natural artists and everyone likes to save money, so it didn’t take long to catch on. Now, you can look out on a traffic jam of green, yellow and neon pink cars; cars with Hello Kitty on the hood; cars with childish scribbles on the doors; and vans plastered with the entire casts of Korean dramas. The upside is that it is now very hard to lose your car in a parking lot.

My favorite innovation, however, was the “meanderbuses”. These were buses that did not have a set route. They just went wherever the driver felt like. These took a little longer to become popular and even now, they’re not used a lot. After all, it’s hard to take one to work when you don’t even know where it’s going. Which is precisely the reason I love them.

You have to keep your eyes peeled. There are only five meanderbuses for the whole city. You can follow them on Twitter if you want to know where they are currently, or just use the old-fashioned method, which is a group of spotters who keep each other informed.

Every time I ride one, I find a new place. Once the bus went out into the mountains on little one-lane roads for about an hour and drove past five toothpick factories in a row. Another time I found the Jeonju Museum of Culinary Snake Meat Substitutes. Who knew?

Last Thursday I was waiting at the bus stop to go to work when a meanderbus showed up. Of course I took it and called in sick. It was good that I did too. Mayor Kwak was on that bus, showing off the program to a group of reporters and government officials. They asked me how I liked it and I told them it was great. We cruised around Jeonju for a couple hours and then had lunch at a galbi restaurant that was housed in a former bomb shelter complex, built under Mount Hwasan. I didn’t even know it was there before.

Thanks, meanderbus!

19 Comments | tags: bus, fiction, quirky | posted in Light

July 24, 2012

Rice Pilaf Surprise

By David Stewart

I went into my favorite restaurant and saw that there was a new item on the menu: Rice Pilaf Surprise. I’m not really a fan of rice pilaf normally, but the “surprise” part intrigued me. So I ordered it.

I was halfway through when I discovered a twenty-dollar bill buried in the rice. I’ll admit, it was a surprise. Not that I was complaining—the pilaf cost $3.50. I didn’t eat the rest though. After all, money is dirty. What I did do was order another one.

In the next one, I found a five-dollar bill and a bunch of quarters. In the next, there was nothing but two Lincoln Logs and a Lego pirate figure, but in the next one was a gold necklace that had to be worth something.

“You’ve got quite an appetite today,” the waitress remarked, as I ordered my fifth Rice Pilaf Surprise. She pointedly ignored the pile of plates filled with untouched food.

“I sure do,” I said. “Three more Rice Pilaf Surprises, please.”

All in all, that night I got $37.15, a gold necklace, the Lincoln Logs and Lego pirate, three pieces of wire and an old cell phone. All I had to do was buy ten Rice Pilaf Surprises.

Since then I go back every day, usually ordering 10 to 12 at a time. For the last week, it’s been mostly dead rats, shreds of newspaper and some old car parts. Still, I’m not worried.

I feel a hot streak coming on.

10 Comments | tags: fiction, food, funny, mid-week flash, quirky | posted in Light

July 22, 2012

The Girl Who Could Snee

By David Stewart

This is not directly related to the story, but it is the inspiration. Source

There was once a little blind girl named Margaret who had few friends she couldn’t see. This sounds like a lonesome proposition for someone born blind, but in fact, Margaret had many friends. She could not see them in the traditional way, but that did not bother her one bit. When her mother told her that she was blind and could not see, she accepted it calmly and then proceeded to make up her own word for her perception of those creatures that were dancing and waving all around her. She called that sense “snee”. She couldn’t see at all, but she could snee with the best of them.

The things she snaw (the natural past tense form of snee) were usually larger than she was and generally happy. They differed from each other much more than humans did. What’s more, they drew to Margaret like a horde of hungry children to a single lollipop. Apparently there were not many people who could snee.

The sense of snight was a strange one. She could not snee anything she could touch. When she asked her mother why this was, her mother (who did not understand the idea of sneeing) patiently explained that it was because she was blind. As well, with the creatures Margaret could snee (she called them snurps), she could tell their emotions, their motivations and their basic personality at once, as if they were wearing all that information on a badge on their chest. This was good to know, but all of the snurps Margaret snaw were kind and benevolent. Actually, she had never sneen a bad snurp in her life.

Of all the snurps Margaret knew, three were especially close to her. They didn’t have names before she met them, but she called them Splik, Drizzlepop, and Mr. Crustypeppers.

“Good morning, Margaret.” She woke up and saw her three snurp friends looming over her (she did not need to open her eyes to snee things. This made it hard to get to sleep when they were capering around her at night, generally acting like buffoons). The alarm clock went off, beep, beep, beep and she swiped at it, accidentally knocking it to the floor.

“Beep beep beep,” Drizzlepop said in a chortling monotone. “Beep beep beep. I like human music.”

“Happy birthday, Margaret,” Mr. Crustypeppers said. He held out his two translucent blue arms that looked like they were carved from ice. There was just empty space between them. “We baked you a cake! You just can’t snee it,” he added with a wink.

“Thank you guys,” she said, sitting up in bed and yawning. “Thank you, Mr. Crustypeppers, you piece of garbage. You really are a stupid cow.” Mr. Crustypeppers beamed and put the invisible cake carefully down on her desk, also invisible to her. She had once told the snurps about insults and Mr. Crustypeppers had been so tickled with the idea that he had insisted she insult him at every opportunity. If she forgot for a while, he would prompt her, saying, “So, Margaret, who’s a stupid cow?” Then she would remember and say, “You are, Mr. Crustypeppers,” and he would grin with pleasure, showing both rows of his long, blackened fangs.

In reality, it wasn’t her birthday. Every so often, the snurps would get it in their heads that it was her birthday and they would have a party. She had told them about birthdays but she wasn’t sure they really understood it. She wasn’t sure they understand the idea of time, for that matter.

Margaret was getting dressed when her mother came in. The slurps were outside by the road—Margaret could see them capering around, running back and forth, dodging things that were invisible to Margaret.

“Marg, we’re going to go for a drive after breakfast,” her mother said. “Dad got the day off, so we’re going to go have a picnic. Does that sound good?”

It did sound good to Margaret and an hour later, they were on the highway, headed for a state park called Pickett’s Notch. Margaret had never been there before. Of the three snurps, only Splik was in the car with her. He liked to sit down, although his tentacle-like arms were hanging down through the floor of the car and bumping along on the road surface. He was much taller than her and his head was probably sticking up through the roof. Drizzlepop had no legs and was floating along next to the car. She could just hear him singing along with the hum of the engine. Mr. Crustypeppers was nowhere to be seen. He often disappeared when they went on long trips and showed up when they arrived. Margaret was not sure how he traveled.

On the way, she snaw other snurps floating by or bounding through the air above them. They all waved and called her name. Even snurps she had never met before knew who she was. She gave small waves in greeting, but could not say anything without worrying her parents.

The breeze felt fresh and warm when Margaret opened the door and stepped out at Pickett’s Notch Park. Her mother told her how beautiful the view was; how green the trees were and how she could see for miles out over the valley.

Margaret could see nothing. Instead, she snaw two green snurps standing a little ways off, staring at her. She could tell instantly that they were not friendly and they did not want anything good for her. It was a scary feeling to see that kind of malevolence in a snurp. The green snurps just stared at her, not moving.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like it here. It’s scary,” Margaret said.

“Scary?” Her mom laughed. “What are you talking about? It’s a gorgeous day: the sun is shining and there’s a wonderful breeze. Plus, there are other people here. See?” Even after eleven years, her mother still had lapses of forgetting she had a blind daughter.

She took Margaret by the hand and led her towards the green snurps and then past them. Margaret’s sense of unease continued to grow. They went down a short slope and Margaret suddenly snaw another snurp come into view. It was one of the biggest ones she had ever met and thin and willowy. She knew immediately that it was evil.

It looked at her for a moment, then started towards her. “Margaret,” it said in a dry hiss of a voice. “I have heard quite a bit about you. I heard you could see us.”

“I can’t see a thing,” Margaret said. “But I can snee you fine.”

This response made the snurp pause. At the same time, Margaret felt a hand on her arm.

“Come sit down, Marg.” It was her father. “Your mother has a blanket laid out.” There was worry in his voice. She knew that her parents sometimes overheard her talking, apparently to no one, and they didn’t know what to do about it. They worried, but not understanding, they tried to ignore it. They couldn’t hear the snurps, only her.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she said. Splik and Drizzlepop had moved in front of her and were trying to make themselves look bigger. She looked back to see other snurps above her at the top of the unseen hill. She had never sneen snurps fight or attack a human and she wondered what would happen.

At that moment, Mr. Crustypeppers appeared out of nowhere. He gave a keening scream, like the howl of a furious predator. Hearing that noise of rage from her sweet, happy Mr. Crustypeppers scared Margaret more than anything.

Several other snurps appeared behind the tall, willowy one. There were about twenty of them, then twenty-five. She looked behind her. Only her three friends were close. There were other snurps further back, looking on.

There was going to be a fight and someone was going to get hurt. She was not sure how a snurp could get hurt, but her three friends were vastly outnumbered and about to defend her.

“Mom, Dad!” she cried. They were there in a moment, asking what was wrong.

“I know you won’t understand, but this place is dangerous. Please, we have to get out of here now.”

“But Marg, we just got here. I made all this food.” There was hurt and disappointment in her mother’s voice. Just be normal and let’s go have a good time, Margaret added mentally, in her mother’s voice.

“I’m so sorry, but we have to go now.” Margaret started moving back up the slope, feeling her way as she went. Her parents did not say another word. Her father took her arm and gently guided her to the car. She could hear the clink of dishes as her mother packed up the food she had prepared.

Margaret looked back. The evil snurps had followed them back to the car, but had not tried to attack. Splik got in the car with her, his eyes glowing in a way she had never sneen before.

They had a subdued picnic in the backyard. Her parents did not ask what the trouble had been at Pickett’s Notch and she was too disheartened to try to explain what they could never understand.

It was really hard having parents who could not snee.

That night, her three friends crowded around her bed as she went to sleep.

“Would those bad snurps have hurt you?” she asked them.

“We will protect you,” Drizzlepop said and the others nodded, conveniently not answering the question.

“Thank you for appearing and defending me, Mr. Crustypeppers,” Margaret said. “You really are a stupid cow.”

The grin on his face told her that it was all she needed to say.

24 Comments | tags: fantasy, fiction, Margaret, quirky, snurps | posted in Dusk

July 18, 2012

Inside a Social Raindrop

By David Stewart

(This story is dedicated to my wife Leah, whose birthday is today.)

Aqua-biologists have determined that the smallest sentient particle of water is the droplet. Droplets are much smaller than we think and are very resilient through all states of matter. They are also very friendly.

I can just see them up there on a cloudy day, bonding together into bigger and bigger drops.

“Just a bit more,” they yell. “Just a few more for critical mass.”

“Hey, didn’t I see you in the Danube?” one droplet asks another.

“Yeah, back in the day. I’ve been hanging around in the upper atmosphere for a while now though. You?”

“Africa. I spend some time in an elephant.”

“Hey, I was snow,” another says and all the other droplets ooh and aah. Being part of a snowflake is incredibly fun.

“Are you guys going down?” a few droplets cry as they whirl by in an air current. Water droplets have such corny senses of humor.

“We sure are. Grab on,” the others shout, laughing.

More droplets pile on. “Three, two, one, and here we go!” they all shout as they all feel that delicious brink-of-the-rollercoaster sensation just as the raindrop begins to plummet.

“Whee!” they all scream. It’s only natural. The ones at the bottom are flattened out by their speed and the ones on top just barely hang on. They descend through a grey misty world and then suddenly come out of the clouds.

“Almost there!” one of them shouts as the ground rushes up to meet them.

“See you in the Amazon River!”

“See everybody in the Amazon River!” They all laugh, even though it’s the oldest joke in the book for water droplets.

“And here we goooo!” they all yell together.

Splat. The man looks down at his coat sleeve where the raindrop hit and then up at the sky.

Dang. He forgot his umbrella.