Fiction: Katydid
Katydid sat on the couch and looked at the bare, boring linoleum floor. She had nothing better to do.
Mommy had been lucky enough to get a job at a diner and was gone most of the day. There was no TV, no computer to play games on, no one to play with, and only three books, all of which she’d read dozens of times. She stared at the floor, trying not to cry from sheer exasperation and misery and memory.
This isn’t real, she thought. This isn’t my life. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
Over and over again. It became her mantra as she stared at the floor and let her eyes go unfocused. She gradually gave up thinking the words and let herself fall into the belief that what she was living was not real.
haiku 101
foggy night—
dog rolls around
in the snow
Fiction: Dreamcatcher
“I told you that report had to be done today. Why isn’t it?”
Hal tried not to wince as his boss grilled him. “I don’t have all the information I need from marketing yet.”
“Then get it,” Lydia said. “Just go down there and wait until someone hands it over.”
“Max Grillke says he can put the info together, but his boss has him working on other things. This isn’t a priority in marketing.”
“It’s a priority for us. Get it done.” She started to walk off but turned back. “Work smarter, remember?” Hal threw a few mental daggers after her and picked up the phone to call Max yet again.
Lydia stopped at another cubicle.
“Karen, did you get that mess with Rogers untangled yet?”
The older woman nodded entirely too much. “Yes, it’s all straightened out now. It shouldn’t happen again.”
“You shouldn’t have let it happen once. How long have you been here? Keep up the good work.” Lydia speared Karen with a hard look and moved on to her next problem.
haiku 100
darkening day —
snowflakes rustle
dry grass
Fiction: Community
A birdbath sat in the middle of the little park in the center of the upscale housing complex. It was a popular attraction.
Mrs. Williams watched it to see the birds that came to use it.
Mr. Fiore watched it to gauge the amount of extra bird droppings that would fall in the area had it not been there.
Ms. Saito watched as the groundskeeper dumped out the previous day’s water and refilled it. Surely this was a nonessential use of a precious resource.
An ordinary gray tiger cat that answered to several names watched it with the thought of catching a meal.
Mr. Loess watched it to see if Viking — his name for the cat — would catch a bird, as called for by the feline’s place in the food chain.
Mrs. Pantini watched it with a BB rifle at hand to shoot the cat if it killed a bird.
Mr. Pantakis watched it with a hunting rifle at hand; he knew of Mrs. Pantini’s BB gun, and if she shot Cuddles — his name for the cat — it would be the last thing she ever did.
On four weekends during the summer, the homeowners association sponsored a picnic and everyone gathered in the little park and talked and laughed and ate. The cat made the rounds of his friends to pick up some choice treats. The birds went elsewhere because of all the people and their noise.
After the gatherings, the birds returned to the birdbath, the cat to his favorite stalking place nearby, and the humans to their individual stations to keep their vigils: to enjoy, to worry, to watch the hunt, to prepare to attack, and to be ready to retaliate.
haiku 99
fat snowflakes fall
past my window —
damn groundhog
Author’s Note: The Coming Revolution
I just wanted to note that the bureaucracy in my story is not the one in your city or state, nor is it the one you perhaps work for.
I feel better having cleared that up.
Fiction: The Coming Revolution
He was getting reports about this place, and there were stirrings in his own office that lent those reports credibility. Something looming this large demanded his personal attention.
He donned a disguise for his task, making himself appear to be a white male of average height with dark hair and a Van Dyke beard.
It was late in the afternoon when he walked in the door. The office held all the charm of a medieval sanitarium, only with overhead fluorescent lighting and Lysol. He took a ticket from the dispenser and waited in the shortest line. It also was the slowest line. Just as he was about to become annoyed, he recalled having instituted that perversity himself. He reined in his attitude; he was supposed to be the author of annoyance, not a victim.
“Six six six,” a flat female voice called, and he stepped up to the counter.
“Last name,” the woman demanded in the same monotone.
“Satan.”
haiku 98
neighbors’ field
bright under
ringed moon
NEKWE
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