Riding the Bus

Short story inspired by "Idea for a Sign" by Lydia Davis.


I'm not one of those annoying patrons of the bus who spends the entire trip on their phone. Believe me that is not me. 

You will not hear what I did throughout the day; will not hear what she did or did not do; will not hear about how sick I have felt all day, making you wonder if I am still contagious; would not ride the bus if I was contagious, unless, of course, I had to, which I wouldn't; will not hear how I can't wait until I get home; how slow the bus driver is driving; how bad traffic is. Of course you can see those things for yourself so why would I say them? I will not laugh loudly and unexpectedly, causing you to spill your coffee on your shirt and bag; would never get an argument on the phone, how awkward to hear a one-sided argument; will not have the ringer obnoxiously loud then answer the phone just as loudly to say "I'm on the bus!".

Unless, of course, someone calls me.

Save the Fly

This story was for the Figment.com July contest. The challenge was to write about an animal activist. I decided instead to be the animal activist for an undervalued animal in our society. Here is my tongue-in-cheek entry.

Consider musca domestica. Short life: thirty days. Less, if you are successful.

Soaring through the kitchen air.  Hair flowing. Globe-like eyes, golden iridescence seeing everything. Light shining through asymmetrical shapes etched into translucent wings, causing prism-like rainbows on the wall. Swift movements, grace unmatched, dodging between fingers, twirling around instruments of doom. Laughing at the hunter's clumsiness?

Fighting for survival. Living peacefully, buzzing joyously. Continually hunted, anxiety marring the happy flight.

Consider musca domestica. Short is his life: only thirty days. Someday there will be no buzzing, no iridescent eyes, no prism-wings, no pirouettes; only miserable silence.

The Daily Starter

The Daily Starter is a controversial product. Invented by Check MacLin, the product was meant to help the consumer start their day right. All a person has to do is stand on the small, circular platform, and the product does the rest. Cleaning, prepping, make-uping, combing, clothing, feeding. Everything is done in 10 minutes. What once took people an hour in the morning now only takes 10 minutes. At least in theory.

But the product malfunctioned. Almost like clockwork. The same thing every time with the same results.

Danger Bear! Dos!

Ever since the diving incident, Scribbles and I haven't been getting along. It's a good thing my owner is also into fish. Gary and I have really hit it off lately. Goldfish aren't much for talking (I can't hear him anyways given the glass between us). Still, he follows my paw wherever it goes.

I wonder if he would talk if there wasn't glass between us. He's in that big tank all by himself. Maybe he could use some company. Taking this thought into action (that's why they call me Danger Bear), I decide to stack some books next to Gary's tank. Next to the books I drag over a large snow globe. I use the books and the snow globe as stairs until I am towering over the water. Without warning I hear a "RIOWR!" and Scribbles pushes me into the fish tank. I thought that cat couldn't climb up here! I'm going to need better defenses against this cat.

My teenage owner isn't one for cleanliness so the lid to the tank is missing. I can't swim and my fur starts to take in water. Eventually I sink to the bottom of the tank and Gary starts swimming laps around me. Apparently he can't talk because he never laughs or says a word.

Danger Bear! Uno!

Danger Bear here. I've been locked up in this closet for the last three hours. Apparently Scribbles doesn't like it when I dive on him from the dresser. But they don't call me Danger Bear for nothing!

I'm getting out of here. Scribbles can't stay out there all day. Let's see. What do we have here? This umbrella will work. I'll take this stocking hat as well. It looks good on me.

I push the door open and Scribbles is ready to strike. You have to give that cat credit. Three hours of waiting and he is still ready to pounce. Unfortunately for him I expected that. As soon as I open the door I push the umbrella in his face. Scribbles gets a mouthful of umbrella giving me just enough time to climb up the dresser. By the time he realizes what happened I am in perfect mocking condition atop the dresser.

Maybe I'll launch down on him again...

The ah-ha!

Chopin's Etudes sits at his piano as he begins practicing. His fingers race through the familiar notes. He's played it hundreds of times, but this time he stops halfway through the twelfth measure.

It flickers for an instant. A moment of brilliance. A melody. A harmony. The perfect music dancing through his brain.

He scrambles to his feet! Frantically searching for a blank piece of sheet music and a pencil, he pushes papers aside, opens drawers, checks shelves until finally! He finds a half-used piece of sheet music and a pen. Sitting at the piano he begins to capture the masterpiece he always wanted to write. The pen touches the paper but nothing happens.

It doesn't come to him! The melody is gone! The chords are disjointed, no longer flowing. He stares at measure twelve. Plays measure twelve. Fast. Slow. Nothing! The magic is gone. The brilliance of the measure fades.

The light has flickered out.

He sets aside his paper and pen, pulls the bench to the piano, and resumes practicing.