52stories

(2 votes, average: 2.5 out of 5)

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Rain splattered irregularly on my windshield. I couldn’t find the right setting of intermittent speed for the wipers. To fast and it was annoying, too slow and they screeched loudly without water to lubricate their way. Again, annoying. The strong winds of the day’s storm were finally letting up. Starlight couldn’t make it’s way through the cloud cover, but the silence was the worst. My wife was giving me ‘the silent treatment’ despite my earlier attempts to talk it out. She was too mad for that. My mind drifted back to what I’d heard on the radio, about women’s brains physically ‘wired’ to be madder longer. A fat lot of good that did me now, as just knowing a fact doesn’t help make it untrue. And just wishing you could take back the last hours of your life doesn’t mean it will happen.

She moved, although still looking out the passenger side window, then returned to her previous pose, fingertips on her lips. I think she was wiping away a tear, but it so quickly, I really didn’t get a good look. I was a second-grader again, scared, and sad, waiting for my punishment. Except this time I hadn’t cut Sally Jenkins hair with scissors, or glued a book’s pages shut. I had, I just realized, ruined lives! Well, was it that bad?

I signaled my approaching turn off the road, the click-clack sound the only thing louder than our breathing. It wouldn’t be long, we’d be home. I thought I knew how it would play out. She’d go to our bedroom and shut the door. I’d wait, just wait, not daring to enjoy myself with TV, or the computer. Our boy would might be sleeping anyway. Where would I be sleeping?

The rain decided to stop, as did the wind, just the time I pulled into our driveway. She spoke, “Lou… I want a…” Her words stopped, her focus now on something else entirely. “SAM!” She opened her door, well before I could put the car in park. Running through the sloppy lawn, she screamed our son’s name over and over again. “SAM! SAM!” I saw what triggered this burst of energy, a tree had fallen on our son’s play set. Large splinters were everywhere, branches, leaves, all littering the grounds. Seeing Linda stagger around the area, coming up with nothing, I bolted inside the house. It was my turn to yell, “SAM!”

Continue reading ‘Timber’

(2 votes, average: 4.5 out of 5)

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Brisk wind blew relentlessly across the quad. Four men, each clad in a thick coat and fur-lined hat stood in an improvised circle. The hard years had chiseled deep wrinkles, and not a one still had color to his hair.

“Only four.” Pete said, which elicited a soft round of murmurs of agreement.

“Seeing you guys is great fodder for nightmares and all, but can we get on with it?” Gus’s voice had all the compassion of gravel, and a similar timbre.

“Yeah, here, here.” Isaac piped up, always the vocal one. But they were all old and cold, and getting out of the cold had a special poignancy.

“Okay, come on.” Pete turned, and the foursome began to march across the yard. Sixty years ago, this lone prison island off the coast of San Francisco was the only home these men would have for a dozen years. Bank robbing carried a high penalty, especially when the offenders were caught. In 1947, ten men executed the largest bank robbery ever in the Hawaii, having banks before even having official state status with the US. Two were shot and killed that day. Two died in prison, cancer got one, as did a car accident another.

Fate had deemed only these four clemency long enough to wait for this day. Sixty years to the day, and the statue of limitations would dissolve. The money would be, for lack of a better word, legal tender. The crew had all agreed not to talk, and not to take, in honor of the fallen, until this day.

The men would not get to enjoy much of the take, each share now worth a full million dollars. It was now a gift, to children or grandchildren or as a donation toward children to be. Perhaps to do some good. A warped robin hood, steal from the dead and give to the not yet born.

The people milling about were focused on taking pictures, smiling and waving to cameras. Pete was repulsed, tourists gawking and chattering about. This was the prison for the worst, including himself, not a place for site-seeing. It should be respected, sacrosanct. But that time had come and gone it seemed, and he had lived to see it. The place hadn’t beaten him, he, no they, had outlived it’s terrible grip. And while the island may be here for centuries until worn away by salty sea, no one in the universe could take that pride from him.

Continue reading ‘Two Late’

(2 votes, average: 4 out of 5)

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Dean Stanton sat in the floor of the skiff, his eyes closed, his lips mumbling continually.

“Relax, Pal”, Will Cubit touched the man on the shoulder, but the accountant still jumped, and continued to shake. “We’re almost there. Look!” Will’s finger pointed south. Dean dared open an eye, his flesh and fat vibrating furiously from each wave they crested. “It’s Rainbow island.” Stanton resumed his frightened mode, and Will continued navigating their way to the shore.

Once they arrived, Will half expected the suit to kiss the sand. Instead he pulled out a camera, and began taking video of the abandoned features. Only these two men occupied the island. “You do know my employer wants a citadel, a head-quarters. This looks like… an amusement park.” The tone indicated to Will his commission was in serious jeopardy.

“Oh, of course, but that’s the beauty of this place. Everyone thinks it’s all jolly-fun-time here. Who would suspect a super-villain…”

“My employer prefers the term, Renegade Genius.” Stanton corrected instantly.

“Okay,” Will had no qualms about the semantics, “Who would suspect anything nefarious to come from such a wonderful locale? People don’t see biological weapons factories, they see mass-market treats. They don’t see weapons assembly lines, they see thrill-rides being repaired. Even the name, Rainbow island sounds so harmless, who’s going to look for a evil, er, Renegade Genius here? You buy Skull-crusher Mountain, or Castle Grey-Skull, or anything with skull in it’s title, and the do-gooders will be tipped off from day one.”

“You either make a good point, or are completely nuts.” Stanton said pulling on the merry-go-round, testing it’s resistance.

“I know, that’s why it’s the company slogan.” Will smiled, pressing his card into the man’s suit pocket. “Tell you what, try out a few of these rides with me, and if you’re still not sold, you at least got free admission.”

Like any adrenaline junkie, Dean began enjoying each new thrill-ride more and more. The catapult, the spleen bender, and the RNA de-coder where his favorites. Add to that a large swirl of cotton-candy, and the deal was closed before closing time.