Do You Want To Hear A Story

 The Skeleton Lady smiled at The Psychic Girl one night and said, “Do you want to hear a story?”

The Psychic Girl stared at her bony grin with apprehension, unaware that this clearly inhuman abomination was able to tell stories.

The Skeleton Lady simply stared at The Psychic Girl. She wanted to tell a story.

“What sort of story,” said The Psychic Girl.

“I remembered a story,” said The Skeleton Lady. “My favourite story. My mother used to tell it to me when I was young. I remember things easier when I’m around you.”

The voice of the Psychic Ghost resounded in her head. Don’t trust Teysla. She shook her head.

“No?” said The Skeleton Lady, frowning. “You don’t want to hear my story?”

“No, no, that’s not why I’m shaking my head,” said The Psychic Girl, rubbing her temples.

“So you do want to hear my story!” said The Skeleton Lady happily.

The Psychic Girl rolled her eyes and sighed. “Why not.”

“Did you know,” said The Skeleton Lady enthusiastically, “that there was a world before ours?”

“What,” said The Psychic Girl, “like another planet?”

“No,” said The Skeleton Lady, “but almost. This world didn’t have psychics in it. Or lizardmen. Or vampires.”

“No?” said The Psychic Girl. She sat down. “Then what did it have?”

“Humans. People, they called themselves,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“People,” repeated The Psychic Girl. “They built all the ruined stuff, then?”

“That’s right,” said The Skeleton Lady, “only when they lived, it wasn’t ruined.”

“I could have guess that,” said The Psychic Girl. She bit her lip. “Go on, though.”

“When they lived, there were so many people. Millions and millions of people, all in one kingdom. They had food, as much as they wanted. They all had homes. And friends. They had technology, too, the kind of things we’re lucky to get running again. They had clothes and they could go where they wanted and do what they wanted. They were free.”

The Psychic Girl frowned. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“But what did they do?” said The Psychic Girl. Her stomach rumbled. “If they had food all the time they wouldn’t have problems!”

“Maybe they didn’t,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“Then why are they all dead?!” said The Psychic Girl.

The Skeleton Lady looked around at the rubble. “Maybe they made their own problems.”

The Psychic Girl got up. She pointed a finger at the rubble and shot it with lightning. “Why’d they ruin a world where nobody had to be different? Where nobody had to be a psychic.”

“Sweetie,” said The Skeleton Lady, “are you… sad?”

The Psychic Girl’s mouth jumped into a frown and then a scowl. “No,” she whispered and then fired another blast at the rubble. It exploded in half. “I’m mad. I want that. And I can never have it. They wasted it.”

They Say You Never Forget Your First Time

An eye-patched man came through the space café

Patting a boy on the back, he had this to say:

“Listen, everyone,” in a voice filled with delight

“This young gent had his first one tonight!”

All the patrons let out a drunken cheer

Cups clasped in their hands filled with alien beer

“Buy the boy a drink, then!” said one woman, “get in line!

It’s not every night one gets to celebrate their first time.”

When the boy settled down with green beer in his hand

The pub chanted and wailed like an unruly band,

“So tell us, oh tell us, what was it like?”

The boy bit his lip and smiled in the neon light:

“It was awkward, and quick,” the boy admitted

“But I know that after tonight, I am committed.”

The pub cheered again, and a woman came forward,

Dressed in black leather, she looked like a warrior.

“My first time was something I’ll never forget;

Our hands on each other; slow, and passionate

And the screaming…” smiled the woman playfully;

“You’ll want more, kid, there’s bigger fish in the sea.”

“My first time,” reminisced the man with a patch over his eye,

“Was very emotional. The night after, I cried.

Because I knew at that moment I’d never again

Have the innocence I had before I shot that man.”

For in the space café only mercenaries enter

And their talk of first times is the first ones they’ve murdered.



I’m Going To Be Honest

Everything terrifies and depresses me. Healthy relationships are swallowed up in complex complexes. Inferiority? Superiority? Both simultaneously? Not simultaneously. More consecutive. Alternating, re-alternating.
I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared. Of? Dying, ugly. My beauty will have faded away with no fame to speak of. Beat beat beat

This is not a natural fear. It is insanity. You are contemplative, caught up in a torrent of extremes. We gawk at extremes. The extremes become the norm. The norm becomes boring. Breathe breath.

I see other happy people. I’m not sure if they’re happy.

I’m still jealous of them. Jealous and spiteful. Jealous and unhappy.

It’s a welling in the pit of my stomach with no discernible cause, that good relations can qualm but not kill.

Every passing second is a regret.

In other news, popcorn: best with seasoning, or without?




Everything’s bigger in


the PLACES are bigger,

[golden arches towering over you, smell of grease lingers in your nose]

the PEOPLE are bigger,

[waistlines rampantly expand, result of said golden arch]

the CARS are bigger,

[trucks, trucks everywhere, even normal-sized trucks have eight wheels]

the PATRIOTISM is bigger,

[t-shirt: “the GOVERNMENT didn’t build this city, the VETERANS did”]

the GUNS are bigger

[bumper sticker: “if the government outlaws guns, I become an outlaw”]

the BIGOTRY’s bigger,

[bumper sticker: “Trump THAT, Bitch! Make America Great Again!”]

Come on

[read: “come on…”]

down to


[read: a breath of air to prepare you for the inevitable]