Trunk Bites

I give to you a story in two times eleventy-one words...

‘It bit me!’

Liam’s parents exchanged a glance. ‘What bit you?’ His father eyed him with an interest he hadn’t shown since Mazeroski hit that famous walk-off homer.

‘The trunk!’ Liam cried. ‘Look.’ On the inside of his index finger, two tiny holes began to trickle red globules. ‘It hurts,’ he waved it in the air like a mad conductor aching to extract baroque themes from a Philip Glass work.

Doing her best mourning dove impression, Liam’s mother cooed at him as she gently grasped his forearm. ‘Trunks don’t bite,’ she chuckled airily.

After Liam’s mother had applied unguent and an aged bandaid to the wound, she brought him upstairs where his father sat on the offending piece of furniture. Dazed and pale, his father gave him a weak smile. ‘This trunk won’t be biting anyone else,’ he declared in mock triumph. ‘Come see.’

Liam vehemently shook my head.

His mother stepped from behind him and sat next to his father on the trunk. ‘See?’ she commented, ‘Perfectly safe.’

Liam inched toward them. ‘What did you do to it?’ he asked.

‘I fed it so it wouldn’t eat you,’ his father smirked.

Liam froze.

‘Jim, what are you doing?!’ my mother fumed. And then to her son, ‘He’s just kidding.’

But Liam had already fled to seek the safety of his room.

Long Night

I give to you a story in two times eleventy-one words...

A commotion in the kitchen preceded a disappointed exclamation. ‘Look,’ he whined in dismay as into the room I popped. I glimpsed the broken plate, then realized it wasn’t a plate from the cabinet.

‘Where did you get that?’

His grimace told me something was awry.

‘From the hutch?’ His upspoken statement trailed as he wilted beneath my stern gaze.

‘Have you lost your mind?’ I shouted before stalking off to the bedroom.

Knowing I needed time to simmer, he entered later with a plate of deviled eggs and a snifter of scotch. ‘How are you?’ he inquired sheepishly.

I half-heartedly grunted.

‘I’m sorry. I wanted our last night to be special.’

‘They specifically said not to use anything in the hutch.’

‘I know.’

I popped an egg into my mouth.

‘You’re going to fix it, right?’

A swig of scotch washed down my throat. I sighed.

‘Right?’

The mustard’s tang and the scotch’s smoke commingled deliciously. Time paused; I felt in the back of my neck the beginnings of a familiar pain.

He waited.

‘When are you ever going to take responsibility?’

‘Sorry’ he groveled.

My no longer nascent headache worsened. ‘Fine; bring me the plate.’

‘Yay!’ he exclaimed insensitively. ‘Oh, and I’ll take care of everything else’ he replied as an afterthought.

I sighed again, preparing for a long night.

Mini-fridge

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

The two men wheeled the mini-fridge into the coffee shop and asked where it should go.

A young Asian man, the owner, directed them to a seemingly unreachable spot behind the counter.

The two men looked at each other and chuckled. ‘You figure it out,’ one of them responded.

Displeased, the owner subtly uttered three words, ‘Do your job.’

The men immediately lifted the unit onto the counter.

The owner persisted, ‘Finish your job.’

They stomped behind the counter, lowered the box onto the ground, and maneuvered it into place.

The owner concluded, ‘You may go.’

They marched out.

The owner turned to me and smiled. ‘You will write about this.’

Magic

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

With his birthday celebrations ended, he chose to spend a day alone in Brooklyn.

He would visit Catland, a metaphysical shop, and Roberta’s, a pizza place.

He stepped into Catland expecting to feel magic.

There was no magic, just old comics and phallic candles.

He scurried away.

He entered Roberta’s wanting to order a slice.

There were no slices, just something pizza-like.

He took two and left.

He proceeded to a park hoping to sit and eat.

There was no park, just a baseball field under construction.

He opened the gate and sat in a dugout.

He sighed, then chuckled.

Magic exists within each of the moments that comprise a life.

Lazy Day

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

I wake.

It is early and there is no sun.

I pray and do twenty-two pushups in memory of a friend and stretch and write and read aloud to myself an excerpt from Satchmo.

The forty-nine square mile map gazes up at me in miniature begging me to choose some part of its peninsular tip.

I savor a lackluster sandwich and the outdoor seating at a local establishment known for its fruit.

The hill climbs ahead of me bellowing its laughter up into the wind while my bald head burns beneath cooling perspiration.

I arrive after wandering circuitous paths, all in service of the destination.

The return is uneventful.

I sleep. 

Pizza 2

I give to you the second part of a serial based on this Reddit writing prompt in eleventy-one words...

Yes, I have a plan. It involves my big mouth, lots of pizza, and not getting killed before 7am. Gino has agreed to donate the food and his ‘special’ delivery truck. I’ve mapped the route that has the least chance of running into people. And I’ll have two times as many pizzas as I need. If – or more likely, when – I get pulled over by the gangs, I’ll do a quick sell and offer slices for the road, free of charge.

Why wouldn’t they shoot me and take the truck and pizza for themselves? I’m glad you asked. Let’s just say it has to do with what makes the truck ‘special’.

Click for Pizza 1

Pizza 1

I give to you the first part of a serial based on this Reddit writing prompt in eleventy-one words...

‘This is stupid.’

‘If Gino’s gonna pay me seventy-five times my regular salary, I’m gonna try. You know my mother needs this money.’

‘Tom was the last guy who tried it, and he died. It ain’t worth it. We’ll get the money another way.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know. A raffle or a bake sale or something.’

‘A raffle? Really? Look, I’ve already committed. And Gino has told ten clients that I’m coming. That’s eight grand before tips.’

‘Delivering pizza on Purge Night is suicide! The only people ordering tonight are rich sadists who enjoy seeing you try not to die.’

‘I don’t care. I’m doing it. And I have a plan.’


Click for Pizza 2