Fantastical ferries with fists of fancy descended upon Sally Studebaker’s backyard in a flurry of stardust and the aroma of lilac lollipops and honeydew gumdrops. Sally's imagination was hijacked by the renegade band of mystical marauders and magical mayhem ensued. Sally's rather stark surroundings - a veritable wasteland in the arid, sterile city - were transformed into a surreal wonderland that only Sally could see.
A half-dead tree missing a quarter of its branches became a majestic castle, a rusty Pinto its gate. A plastic milk jug, hanging on the highest branch, became an imprisoned Knight, a soldier in distress. The landing 747 – it's approach directly over the yard - became a fierce dragon guarding the castle. A discarded and embarrassed umbrella became her sword, and a broken branch from the tree, her horse. A grocery bag flew across the yard and was caught by one of the branches near the milk jug and became the waving scarf of the handsome Knight, whose scream sounded a lot like the whistle of the freight train passing behind the fence.
Sally scaled the castle wall, defeated the castle guards - a trash can and a clock radio - and rescued the Knight just as another fierce dragon breathed overhead, which caused Sally to lose her grip and fall from the castle.
Sally awoke, flat on her back, on top of the Pinto, with a milk jug in one hand and the faint taste of honeydew gumdrops in her mouth.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Highway
Truckers trucked by, chattin' on CBs and changing lanes with a careless suaveness, bullying hybrids for their green points so they could buy a Slushee at the next truck stop.
Signs remained motionless, decrying the civilization to appear miles ahead of their current, static position. Rocks on cliffs were poised and ready to fall at any moment and crash to the pavement across the eastbound lanes of I-76 like a death piñata. Hardees served food that lived up to its name.
A dashed, white line stretched as far as the eye could see, vaguely differentiating one side of the road from the other and the only charge for passage between the two high-speed areas is a small, blinking light - if you so choose.
The horizon swallowed up the sun and raised a purple curtain into the sky. And, as darkness ascended, the world collapsed to the size of the transport that the lovers shared and their future was only as far as the headlights could reach.
Signs remained motionless, decrying the civilization to appear miles ahead of their current, static position. Rocks on cliffs were poised and ready to fall at any moment and crash to the pavement across the eastbound lanes of I-76 like a death piñata. Hardees served food that lived up to its name.
A dashed, white line stretched as far as the eye could see, vaguely differentiating one side of the road from the other and the only charge for passage between the two high-speed areas is a small, blinking light - if you so choose.
The horizon swallowed up the sun and raised a purple curtain into the sky. And, as darkness ascended, the world collapsed to the size of the transport that the lovers shared and their future was only as far as the headlights could reach.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Atop Mount Eversplash
Atop Mount Eversplash by Christopher M. Bohan
The line to the top of the waterslide seemed endless: heads and inner tubes as far as the eyes could see. Every five seconds the blur of a human being would zip past and a second later their scream of delight would come chasing after them.
A little math, and some generous averages, told Chet it would be at least 40 minutes to the top of Mount Eversplash, but the shouts of glee emanating from the shoots indicated that the arduous ascent might just be worth it. Chet had no one to talk to, no cell phone to hide behind. He felt rather uneasy in groups, and therefore focused on the ride, envisioning the freedom he would soon enjoy.
Never the rebel, or even a rabble-rouser, Chet shed his docile coat today and called in sick - something he had never done before - and made his way to H2-Normous Water Park for a self-inflicted kick in the pants. Chet needed to add a little spice to his life, and this was just the ticket.
Finally at the top, he surveyed the snaking shoots and let out a primal scream that silenced the crowd, for a moment. Then, in a conscious echo, the entire crowd let out a howl. Chet hit the slide and never looked back, trusting that his excitement was following close behind.
The line to the top of the waterslide seemed endless: heads and inner tubes as far as the eyes could see. Every five seconds the blur of a human being would zip past and a second later their scream of delight would come chasing after them.
A little math, and some generous averages, told Chet it would be at least 40 minutes to the top of Mount Eversplash, but the shouts of glee emanating from the shoots indicated that the arduous ascent might just be worth it. Chet had no one to talk to, no cell phone to hide behind. He felt rather uneasy in groups, and therefore focused on the ride, envisioning the freedom he would soon enjoy.
Never the rebel, or even a rabble-rouser, Chet shed his docile coat today and called in sick - something he had never done before - and made his way to H2-Normous Water Park for a self-inflicted kick in the pants. Chet needed to add a little spice to his life, and this was just the ticket.
Finally at the top, he surveyed the snaking shoots and let out a primal scream that silenced the crowd, for a moment. Then, in a conscious echo, the entire crowd let out a howl. Chet hit the slide and never looked back, trusting that his excitement was following close behind.
Carl's Cheeseburger by Christopher M. Bohan
Carl's cheeseburger was rather dry and the cheese was not melted in the least bit. His French fries were cold and the milkshake had melted, and was now just mostly chocolate milk; warm, chocolate milk. He stared at his lunch for a long time. He had no idea why this had come to pass. Why had he waited so long to eat? Why did the ketchup packet sit unopened? Why was he in prison? Why did he not remember? Then, he remembered.
Carl never felt like eating after visitation day. His children - Cindy, 3 and Charles, 2 - were too much for his heart to take. They were growing up too fast, and not right in front of his very eyes. Their beauty strangled his appetite. Their gentleness burnt his soul. Their eyes forgave his shame.
Every Saturday they brought him lunch and sat in his lap and kissed his cheek. They did not know his past, they only loved him in the present. They did not see gates, nor guards, just a man who looked a little bit like a mirror.
Carl said his grace and ate his cold meal as his joy waved goodbye from the other side of the fence.
Carl never felt like eating after visitation day. His children - Cindy, 3 and Charles, 2 - were too much for his heart to take. They were growing up too fast, and not right in front of his very eyes. Their beauty strangled his appetite. Their gentleness burnt his soul. Their eyes forgave his shame.
Every Saturday they brought him lunch and sat in his lap and kissed his cheek. They did not know his past, they only loved him in the present. They did not see gates, nor guards, just a man who looked a little bit like a mirror.
Carl said his grace and ate his cold meal as his joy waved goodbye from the other side of the fence.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
You're Lucky You're Cute by Christopher M. Bohan
Corinne made a left turn onto Mulberry Street, put the car in neutral, turned the car off and drifted about 500 yards before coming to a stop in front of Cecilia's house.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, in a hushed breath, noticing she had forgotten to turn off the headlights. She saw Cecilia's bedroom lamp click on and off, twice, and knew that the coast was clear. She got out of the car and made her way around to Cecilia's backyard, where she found Cecilia's father sitting in a patio chair smoking a cigarette and laughing a little bit.
Corinne froze.
Mr. Turk spun around in the chair - like a super-villain would do in a James Bond film - and spoke with a cackle, "Hello, Corinne. One: If you are going to sneak up to my house, don't park out front. And two: Don't forget to turn off your headlights. You're lucky you’re cute. A little slow, but cute.”
Cecilia came out the back door and whispered, "Corinne?"
Mr. Turk, spinning around in his chair to face Cecilia, answered, "She's right here, honey. So, where you girls going tonight?"
Cecilia froze.
All was quiet, except for the sound of someone getting out of the pool; Corinne's father.
He spoke as he toweled off, "Come on sweetie, let's go. Thanks for the call, Turk.”
Corinne’s father took the keys from her shaking hand and said, “You didn't leave the headlights on again, did you? How many times I gotta tell ya ‘Turn off the headlights!’ You’re lucky you’re cute."
"Shit!" she exclaimed, in a hushed breath, noticing she had forgotten to turn off the headlights. She saw Cecilia's bedroom lamp click on and off, twice, and knew that the coast was clear. She got out of the car and made her way around to Cecilia's backyard, where she found Cecilia's father sitting in a patio chair smoking a cigarette and laughing a little bit.
Corinne froze.
Mr. Turk spun around in the chair - like a super-villain would do in a James Bond film - and spoke with a cackle, "Hello, Corinne. One: If you are going to sneak up to my house, don't park out front. And two: Don't forget to turn off your headlights. You're lucky you’re cute. A little slow, but cute.”
Cecilia came out the back door and whispered, "Corinne?"
Mr. Turk, spinning around in his chair to face Cecilia, answered, "She's right here, honey. So, where you girls going tonight?"
Cecilia froze.
All was quiet, except for the sound of someone getting out of the pool; Corinne's father.
He spoke as he toweled off, "Come on sweetie, let's go. Thanks for the call, Turk.”
Corinne’s father took the keys from her shaking hand and said, “You didn't leave the headlights on again, did you? How many times I gotta tell ya ‘Turn off the headlights!’ You’re lucky you’re cute."
Brand New Year by Christopher M. Bohan
"Hey, Jill. Hi. Yeah, so, I just purchased my Toy Story 3 IRA from Nike Bank and was thinking of picking up a 7-Eleven Big Gulp down at Bank of America Plaza. Wanna join me? Well, I was thinking of parking in the Nextel Parking Lot next to Frito-Lay Hospital. Well, yeah, I guess it would be quicker to just take the Subway Subway. Should I get off at JC Penney Junction, or AT&T Universe? Sure, yeah, that's right, I could just take the Taco Bell Trolley to Cabbage Patch Street, transfer to the Banana Boat Bus and get off at EZ Pass Plaza...They have a 7-Eleven there, yeah? That's right, it is on the upper level...So, I’ll just take the East Coast Pizza Elevator, or the Dunkin Donuts Escalator. But then I gotta get home, because my sister is going off to school tomorrow. She’s going to Pizza Hut Tech. Yeah, it used to be Penn State. She'll be studying in the GE College of Electrical Engineering. She was going to go to Pfizer, in California, but she thought she might get too homesick. Alright, I gotta run. See you at 7-Eleven. Say, you still want to go the Starbucks Shore this weekend?"
Written: July 31, 2010
Written: July 31, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tom's Dream by Christopher M. Bohan
When Tom wanted to go shopping, he went shopping. When Tom wanted to sleep, he slept. And when Tom wanted to eat, he ate. But, Tom could never dream.
A day dream here and there, sure, no problem - if he saw a sporty car whiz by as he walked to work he was able to imagine himself behind the wheel, zipping through the side streets of an Italian village with a silk scarf snapping behind him. Yet, every morning Tom awoke with a lament that no cold shower could rinse away. He wished for dreams, but to no avail. He prayed for dreams but received no answer.
His mother used to dream. She would steal into his room in the middle of the night and wake him to share her dreams of floating mountains and birds that ate lollipops and caves of fire. Those were his dreams: waking dreams of a mother's fantasies.
Now, he lies awake in the middle of the night and imagines dreams his mother may have had. Or, he imagines the fantasy she now lives in a world of floating mountains and birds eating lollipops. That is Tom’s dream.
Written: July 30, 2010
A day dream here and there, sure, no problem - if he saw a sporty car whiz by as he walked to work he was able to imagine himself behind the wheel, zipping through the side streets of an Italian village with a silk scarf snapping behind him. Yet, every morning Tom awoke with a lament that no cold shower could rinse away. He wished for dreams, but to no avail. He prayed for dreams but received no answer.
His mother used to dream. She would steal into his room in the middle of the night and wake him to share her dreams of floating mountains and birds that ate lollipops and caves of fire. Those were his dreams: waking dreams of a mother's fantasies.
Now, he lies awake in the middle of the night and imagines dreams his mother may have had. Or, he imagines the fantasy she now lives in a world of floating mountains and birds eating lollipops. That is Tom’s dream.
Written: July 30, 2010
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