Chapter 10: Coffee and steak make Arthur Martian’s gears turn.
“Refill sir?” the waitress asked.
“Sure,” Arthur scooted his cup toward the edge of the table. She filled it and spilled a few drops on the packet of Snoogin’s utility records.
“Hey, watch it,” he said.
Her sharp features turned a shade of pink. The girl couldn’t be more than nineteen years old. She looked at the ground, paused, then turned to walk away. Short cropped black hair bounced in rhythm with her slim hips. He recognized that type of behavior. Pausing like that, it indicated she was waiting to be dismissed by him, the man. Arthur could only guess what sort of asshole broke her. If he had a dollar for the head of every stepfather he slammed into a door or a wall he would probably have close to a hundred. His eye’s stayed locked on her as she gracefully floated back behind the counter.
Danny Machal May 31st, 2009
The madness of topics continues over at the 100 word story podcast. This week’s topic is equally as weird as the last.
hint: I wrote this story only after reading the wikipedia entry on mosquitoes.[audio:dannymachalentry162.mp3]
“Buzzalina, come dear, tell me what happened,” the surgeon said.
“Oh doctor, I’ll never be a mother now. I should just kill myself; I’m useless.”
“There there, sweet, sweet girl. Things will be okay.”
He held her while she wept. No, she would never bare any children and she would probably ensure her own end. A broken proboscis almost always means instant death, she was lucky. One could call it a miracle from up above – a testament to the power of faith and the prayer of her family.
A.P. – Cybernetics Inc. releases organic flesh like covering for metal replacement limbs.
Danny Machal May 28th, 2009
Chapter 8: A Thanksgiving Remembered.
A neon Burger King sign illuminated the brown shuffling figure that was Remy. He smacked his lips at the sight of a discarded Whopper in the parking lot. Picking it up, he put it under his filthy rags of clothes and set out to find a location to eat. A place where he would be hidden and out of sight.
The burger meat was cold, the bun stale, and the cheese hard. Surprisingly he didn’t have to pick off any insects. Usually, depending on how long the food was on the ground, the ants always attacked first, then the bees set to work, and if it was a substantial piece of organic protein, the maggots would soon take up residency. Remy was only forced to pick off maggots one time, before he knew the ins and outs of being a condemned person. It was right after she took everything and changed the locks on the doors. His drinking drove them away, it drove everyone away. He had no where to go but the gutter, and there he stayed, just like he deserved.
Danny Machal May 24th, 2009
It was a rainy afternoon in Seattle when they got off the bus for lunch. Eight homemade renderings of the King all sat around the teppanyaki table as the chef danced with razor sharp ginsu knives. Gold Elvis clasped his hands around his throat, a large piece of beef wasn’t going down, and the Heimlich proved ineffective.
Gold Elvis writhed in panic and toppled a bottle of oil onto the griddle. The flames ignited a White Elvis rhinestone cape triggering the sprinkler system. Gold Elvis fell to the floor, an umbrella popped open. The Benihana chef acted quickly with a Ginsu Tracheotomy.
“Beginners luck,” he said, wiping the blood on his apron.
Danny Machal May 22nd, 2009
Chapter 6: Hoooooooooot Pockeeeeeeeeeeet
“Record setting temperatures are expected in the City this week with humidity levels in the forties. Community weather gurus are urging people to keep hydrated and stay indoors. More on that after the break.”
Remy watched the TV through the rusty steel mesh outside Smitty’s front window display. The microwave hadn’t produced a damn thing in two days and he was starving. He opened the windowed door nearly every ten minutes and kept getting the same empty disappointment. Under normal circumstances he would be gathering up cans, or holding his “will work for food sign” on some street corner, but it was just too damn hot to be in the direct sun. He held onto hope the microwave would produce again, even tried to leave it alone for a few and come back to it, hoping for another Breakfast Dinner. Looks like his Guardian Angel has moved on to another lost soul, back to the one man show.
The sign on the door said Smitty would be back at 1:30, said he was, “out to lunch.” That fat-fuck was constantly eating and living chubby off the misfortune of others. People from all walks of life could stumble in his store and get pennies on the dollar worth for wedding rings, watches, stolen goods or any electronics, Smitty didn’t care, he took it all. If the cops collected the inventory lists of all the house robberies this month, guaranteed, half of that stuff was at Smitty’s dingy Swap Meet. Remy heard the slow clinking of metal approaching from around the block.
Danny Machal May 18th, 2009