A lone bead of sweat rolled past his ear and under his starched white collar. He thought of his family briefly but quickly pushed them aside. The pain, the suffering, the humiliation came back is heady waves. Today all would be set right. Reaching inside his overcoat he flicked a small switch.
10… 9… 8…
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Granddad crunched through the field at peace in the silence of the thick blanket of snow. Turning home he crossed through the thin line of trees on the property line. Two steps into the yard a war cry erupted. Snowballs whizzed around him.
Granddad had forgotten that the grandkids were coming over for the afternoon.
“What! They showed up?”
“Yeah.”
“But it’s cold out.”
“So?”
“Okay, but… how many of ‘em made it? I mean, you can send some home, right? So, how many of ‘em are there?”
“Forty, maybe forty-five.”
“Shit! Damn it! Damn it! Now what do we do?”
“It’s your call.”
“Fine, I’ll take the deal.”
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Our fourth and final story of the day from Mort.
I was writing in my upstairs study, having instructed my wife and daughter not to disturb me. Nonetheless, I heard tiny footsteps coming upstairs, the door opening. “One little kiss, Daddy?”
“No, Darla,” I shouted, “Daddy’s very busy. Later.” And then I heard the horrible flip flopping sound down the
stairs.
“Now, Darla, no later!”
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Our third story of the day from Mort.
“Oh mom, am I glad you called. I’m so sick, I can’t even cook.”
“Don’t worry, I’m coming with chicken soup. I’ll do everything. You and Jack won’t have to do a thing.”
“Jack? Who’s Jack?”
“Your husband!”
“My husband’s Joe.”
“Aren’t you Brenda?”
“No, I’m Cynthia. Does that mean you’re not coming?”
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Our second story of the day from Mort.
“No, daddy, don’t hurt my minnow,” cried four year old Charlie. “The hook won’t hurt him and flounder love minnows,” said his dad. “But the flounder will eat him!”
“Time for Charlie’s sedative,” said the nurse. “Imagine, ninety-four and still wakes up screaming, ‘The flounder’s coming!’”
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Today we’ll be featuring several stories from Mort Ginsberg. Thanks for the stories, Mort!
“I’ll always love you, Dusty,” she shouted through the roaring wind, clinging to him as they were both drawn up out their cozy little home into the powerful vortex. Those were the last words he head before the final shout from above: “Hey, honey, this new vacuum cleaner works great!”
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99,900
99,910
99,920
Luke wasn’t as interested as Daddy in the electronic beep coming from the table.
99,940
99,950
Daddy was scarcely aware of Luke as he crawled between his feet.
99,980
99,990
The screen went black as Luke sat under the table and pressed the button that turned the small orange light back on.
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In the moonlight the mouse inched from its burrow. The wind stirred dry leaves and carried the scent of food…
and a screech owl!
In frantic spurts, the mouse followed the airy trail to a recently harvested wheat field. Filling its cheeks the mouse raced home, only too aware of how close death had flown.
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Jim sat on the bench reflecting on the everything that had happened.
A road trip to the big game.
A dramatic last second score.
A few beers to celebrate the upset.
It was shaping up to be one of the best days of his young life.
“Now what,” he wondered as the cell door closed.
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