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January 03, 2006

New Year Issue: January 3, 2005

And we're back! Hope everyone enjoyed their holidays.

We'll start with an obvious sort of theme:

You have just returned from a trip.

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Ted: Return

Dad told me it was time to "get the fuck out and go home." Mom said, "why the fuck are you even here?" My brothers looked at me through slitted eyes, saying nothing, but body language screaming for me to leave.

Fine. Fuck you then too folks. I didn't want to be here in the first place. But the cabbie wouldn't take me away. I barely even remember getting in the cab in the first place.

"Mr. Bronson? You're awake? I'll get the doctor!"

What the???

"Mr. Bronson? I'm Doctor Lebowitz. You're lucky to be alive. Do you have insurance?"

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Laurence: Home Sweet Hell

"Welcome home, Sir," said the demon on duty at the Gates of Hell.

"What's with the damn line?" asked Satan. "It took me two weeks to get to this spot."

"Someone moved our records to that stupid Windows Vista crap and-"

Satan raised his hand. "Say no more." He laughed and walked up to the turnstile…

THUNK

Which didn't budge.

"Stuck?" asked Satan.

"Um…" stammered the demon. "While you were gone, we had a teensy weensy revolution kind of thing."

"Hitler?"

"Yasser."

"Figures," said Satan. He turned around.

"Leaving again, Sir?"

"Yeah," said Satan."Call if you need me."

They didn't.

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Michele: Clean

My hair is cut.

My clothes are fresh.

My shoes do not have holes.

My breath does not smell of gin and desperation.

My eyes are clear and bright and see straight.

I walk toward my apartment on feet that don’t trip over themselves, in a line that is straight.

I do not puke up a $500 bar tab in the elevator.

I am clean.

Sober.

Proud.

I open the door.

There is a note.

She is gone.

I shake. Stop.

I want a drink.

No.

I am clean, despite her.

It is good she is gone.

I have returned.

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Stacy: First Wife

I hear the noise before I can see it. The monotone chanting scrapes like a burr across my ancient nerves.

Centuries I've been gone and still with the chanting.

I turn my head towards the light, eyes still blurred from my long sleep. I flex my claws...when did I get claws?...and the chanting falters.

I can smell them, these humans, and that's one thing that hasn't changed. They stink of soft living and ease, no whipcrack of hardship has ever befallen these.

My vision clears and I spring to my feet, wings unfurling. Let's see what we remember about hardship.

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