Food for Worms - a short story

Food for Worms (Fiction 101 Series)

 

Bob felt his way through the dirt and rock. He reached the wall of wood within the earth, six feet under. The trails his predecessors had blazed before made the journey bearable. But Bob was faced with a dilemma he and many before him had faced before. They had reached the wall of wood and failed. Many had retreated to locate other sources of food. Others became what they sought and died trying. Finally, Bob found a weak spot in the wood. He burrowed his way through. And there it was. Some dead guy named Bob. And he was all his. 

(Dedicated to five friends of mine who bravely traveled the width of America in a VW Bus back in the late 80s. They called the trip, "The Food for Worms Tour." Here's to Matt, Chris, Paul, John and Mandeep.)

No Screen Time - a short story

No Screen Time – a short story 

One Saturday afternoon, I noticed that my daughter and her younger brother – in the same room – had been glued to their phones all day. With a slight huff, I untethered both from this screen-addiction. After their juvenile protest, I told them, “no more screen time for the rest of the weekend,” which drew overdramatized complaints, and with an increase in volume. I simply encouragement them to go out and play. This led to a look of betrayal followed by silence. But at least their faces were no longer trapped inside a flat rectangle.

Moments later, I spied the two sitting in lawn chairs at the front entry. The front door was open, and they were intent on staring out the screen door. I asked, “What are you doing?”

They ignored me, at first. The younger finally piped up, “You said, ‘no screen time.’” And he rejoined his older sister at what I perceived to be their way of rebellion.

But soon, I found myself staring. Staring at the cars passing by, at the neighbor walking by with his dog and another riding her bicycle.

Then I thought, at least they’re looking outside.

 

Inception

Inception is like

a wildflower

planted at birth.

Buds emerge from growth

             that flower into inspiration,

                   and seeds spread with the wind

                          throughout the landscape…

Summer Carousel - a short story

Summer Carousel - a short story

The last ride on the carousel, on the last day of summer, was the most anticipated for the four Bender children – Anson, the eldest and his brother Phillip, along with their two younger sisters, Anya and Phoebe. Anson paid the carousel operator the usual four dollars for each of them. And with the money they saved all summer, the ride was all their own.

Around and around, the multi-colored lights streaked in a three dimensional circle. They laughed and laughed on mythical creatures – up and down, up and down. The carousel spun faster and faster until the lights disappeared into a fourth dimensional sphere.

When the ride was over, their laughter faded but something fantastic altered their glee. The carousel operator was gone. He was replaced by someone else with a big, bushy mustache. They turned to see the Opening Day banner at the main entrance of the carnival. It was the beginning of summer – just like they had planned. They could relive all their summer dreams. But as they walked through the crowds, everyone was finely dressed. Phoebe said they all looked like they were going to a wedding. The finely dressed people looked at the children’s strange attire. Several commented that Phillip was in his undergarments. When they reached the parking lot, all the cars were gone – the parking lot was gone. Instead, the street was lined with horses and buggies. 

Phillip, Anya and Phoebe all gaped at Anson for an answer.

“Where are we?” Anya asked as her deep, dark eyes widen.

Anson thought for a moment. A deep, dark moment as if he fell into one of the carousel mirrors that became a pool of water only to be pulled out by the carousel operator. It was a moment that felt like all summer. Finally, after a nudge from his brother, he stated as he exited his trance-like state, “Not where?”

Phillip and Anya focused on their older brother with a voltage-like shock.

Phoebe tugged at his cargo shorts and asked with her soft, brown eyes, “When do we eat?”

~

Also published in Synchronized Chaos, the August 15th 2026 issue.

That's Bad - a short story

That’s Bad – a short story

I used to drive my mom nuts whenever I called something “bad!” Like a black 1963, split-window Corvette or a buddy performing a spectacular jump on his BMX bike. But when I came home from school and she asked me how I did on my test I said, “bad.” Decades later the same Corvette was “wicked,” but mom had once read a Psalm to me that mentioned we should avoid the wicked. And just a decade ago, a brand new Corvette was “sick!” It all made sense to me. But not to my mom. Even so, things are changing – again. 

When a friend had taken me for a ride in a mid-engine Corvette on Laguna Seca raceway, I stepped out of the car and became sick. Because now it’s “dope,” which I needed from being sick. And now, I hear a phrase like “only in Ohio,” and I can’t tell if my daughter is talking about her geography or something else. Not sure if this sounds nuts or weird, but I wish I could drive to Ohio in my bad Corvette.

Update - a short story

Update (Fiction 101 Series)

The next thirteen words Marvin typed did not display due to another anti-virus ad. “No more damn updates!” Marvin shouted at his computer.  

Marvin’s coworkers knew the wisdom of keeping a safe distance from him when he failed at techno-anger management. He had been known to throw his phone from the balcony of the office. And this morning, he threatened his laptop with the same fate.

Nevertheless, at his retirement party, they gave him Ari – a female robotic AI. The other androids stood around and watched his reaction.

He closely examined her and asked, “Is she my date? Or my update?”

Flat - a short story

Flat (Fiction 101 Series)

Before Earth was first visited by aliens, it was believed the planet was round. But it is round – and flat. A flat disc that spins like a record as it plays the songs of peace and war. 

The aliens remained above the edge as if a giant hand held a needle over the planetary vinyl. And they listened to the many dissonant tones of international news. Of the non-harmonious national news. And of the off-key local news. These songs smothered out all others. And so the aliens left. For they did not want to land on such a mind-numbing flat note.

Survival of the Diligent - a short story

Survival of the Diligent (Fiction 101 Series)

The Wolves hunted Them with the arrow. The Bears with the rifle. The Cows herded Them into fences and corrals. The Bears initially protested the Chickens for being too civilized until they witnessed the cramped, industrial housing provided for Them. Fascinated, the Bears adopted this technique and shared it with the Wolves.

Then the Robots built the Processing Centers once their empirical study of the Animals was complete. They approved of their efficient extinction methods of Them – albeit brutal. Ironically, the responsibility lay with Them when – many years prior – they had invented the Robots and traded Human civilization for the Artificial. 

 

Sand - a short story

Sand (Fiction 101 Series)

Mining had always been dangerous, especially below the turbulent global ocean. That was where most of the valuable sand was located – under water. Cities spotted the planet over the ocean and on the remnants of high ground and mountains that pierced the raging sea. The cities illumination was meager compared to the past. So the vast blanket of bright stars returned to the night sky. It was a reminder of what once was. Now, the sand was more valuable than diamonds and more beautiful than stars. And the dry sand was still more plentiful than the inhabitants of the priceless planet. 

April 1958 - a short story

April 1958 (Fiction 101 Series)

April sat up in her desk. Her teacher asked for the second time. Two was all the times the teacher allowed before being sent to the Principal’s Office. So, April sat up. This only gave her a better view out the window. From the second floor, she could see out her mystery window. Now she remembered. Her mystery window provided her an “A” on her last theme. She imagined a mushroom cloud erupt and instantly collapse, replaced by a man on a white cloud. She wrote a new theme about her collapsing fear. When will this take place? She asked herself. 

~

"[The angels] said, 'why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.'" - Acts 1:11

The Promise - a short story

The Promise (Fiction 101 Series)

Aaron blew out all one-hundred candles. The assisted living nurse cut his cake. He always liked his birthday. And this was the day he needed to fulfill a promise. The morning after his fiftieth birthday, his mom had called him and said, “Welcome to the second half of your life.” And that’s when he made the promise. Aaron had been an avid cyclist most of his life. His plan, ride his age every birthday. So, after his morning birthday party he snuck out of the facility and prepared his bicycle. Ten long hours later he finished. The next day, he died smiling. 

~

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." - 2 Timothy 4:7

A Different Smile - a short story

On March 11, 2020 the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a global pandemic...

~

A Different Smile (Fiction 101 Series)

“Can you tell the difference?” The salesperson asked. He tapped his pad for the units to rotate.
“Not yet,” she looked them over from head to toe. “Biotech integrated?”
“Of course,” he assured her. “And with memory reset – if you’re ever inclined.”
“When?”

“Today, if you like!” His enthusiasm betrayed him. 
“You know I meant the time period.”
He checked his pad, “1920.”
“Ask them to smile,” she insisted.
Reluctantly, he accommodated her request. Each unit smiled.
“These three are the same. That one’s different,” she pointed.
He coughed and double-checked his pad, “My apologies. That’s our 2020 model.”
“Looks anxious.”

Tears of War - a short story

Tears of War (Fiction 101 Series)

The generals exhausted all options – on all sides. All the options exhausted nearly every resource. No bullets. No bombs. Depleted crops. Limited energy. Clean water, more valuable than gold. Until one day a scientist came across a unique discovery. After the last fallout, a specific compound mutated. The tears of children could be used to regenerate crops – even purify water. However, one side-effect placed the children in a conundrum. The tears could be weaponized by inflicting extreme passivity, and the opposition would just lie down and die. Eventually, the children learned how to only cry tears for peace, and not war. 

~

To the day when there will be no more tears!

Singularity - a short story

 Singularity (Fiction 101 Series)

The crew was halfway through the blackhole. Streaks of light swirled and flashed past them like their memories of home. The gravity sheers were real when they first approached the event horizon. But they had to protect each other and protect the mission – at all costs. Their last radio transmission to Earth was filled with a singular focus – their respective families, who wouldn’t receive it within their lifetime. But the message wasn’t for them – it was for their descendants. How many generations was unknown. How many other descendants was unknown. But the message was clear, “Protect the crew. At all costs.”

(See the other side, the other story by clicking here.)

Singularity, Dark Manifestation - a short story

Singularity, Dark Manifestation (Fiction 101 Series)

The solo occupant was halfway through the blackhole. Streaks of light swirled and flashed past him like the deceased crew across his fading memory. The mutiny was real when they first approached the event horizon. He had to save the ship, save the mission – at all costs. His last radio transmission to Earth was filled with a singular focus – his daughter. She wouldn’t receive it within her lifetime, but the message wasn’t entirely for her – but her descendants. How many generations and other descendants was unknown. Just as his ship was breaking apart he reported, “Save the ship. At all costs.”

(See the other side, the other story by clicking here.)

Arrow of Time - a short story

Fiction 101 Series

Arrow of Time 

(Or The Results of Present-Indefinite When Attempting to Cheat Entropy)

Today, I sit behind the controls of my time machine. Not to travel to the past and correct a mistake, but to the future. Safely cloaked, I see the thousands of autonomous people oblivious to the horrors of the news flashing on the giant TSX Broadway screen of Times Square.

A decade past. Eventually five. Inside the ship, only one day. My goal, to reach the future Gene Roddenberry envisioned. However, when I disengage, I return to just one day after I had left.

 

And the only thing I gain, my present is redefined by the end of today. Or was.

 
~
 
Inspired by the Charles Yu novel, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, and inadvertently, by the previously written poem of the same title. 

 

The Unsolved Mystery - a short story

The Unsolved Mystery

With pen in hand, I reflected on past cases of Sherlock Holmes, which have to my fortune reached the public in print over the many years. But it was today that held a singular significance. The embers of his pipe had gone out as I saw my friend in a state like none other. Outbursts of frustration or revelation had been an outlet in the past, but it wasn’t in his nature to allow violence to pacify his anger. However, the corner of his desk suffered the most when he struck it with the poker.

He shouted, “Watson! It is not this case. But it is the reasoning, or the lack thereof, that has forced me to trod along in such a precarious manner.” He turned toward me, “Good doctor, is my brain that far gone?” He paused, then forced an answer, “I think not!” He stepped toward the window.

“My dear Holmes. Need I remind you, today you reached a significant birthday.”

“Please don’t,” he brooded. “Death is a mystery never to be solved.” He lifted his finger toward the heavens.

“I wasn’t speaking of your end.” I tried to relay some comfort.

“But age has a cruel way of reminding us of our pending exit. It is unavoidable.”

“Then tell me, why do you try?”

His wiry smile flashed his answer before he spoke, “If not my mind, then the rare superior intellect of the next generation may live on – if that is even possible.”

I simply replied, “But probable, Holmes.”

He lifted a curious brow in my direction and then toward the window as he gazed up and down Baker Street. And as if he could see through the flats across the street, he peered over the London skyline as if the future would never provide a mind that would contain his abilities.  “Can it? Is it possible to pass down what I hold?” He pointed at his head. “Perhaps, what I have learned. But knowledge is not a gift with which we are born.” He paused as his hand drifted to his chin. He then let out a loud guffaw and, in opposition to his previous outburst, he quietly returned his attention toward the inner workings of his flat, as he reignited his pipe and with a new illumination in his eyes on the case presented before him.

I returned to my comprehensive writing for all posterity – to keep my friend alive. 

~

Also referenced in The Sherlock Holmes Society of London journal, The District Messenger, March 2026.

Born this day in 1854. Happy birthday to the greatest consulting detective to have ever lived! 

The Thief of Time - a short story

The Thief of Time (Fiction 101 Series)

Thad was looking around the bookstore near the Science Fiction section adjacent to the corner shelf of the calendars. It was only June, but his life revolved around the new calendars. And they didn’t arrive until August. Two months later he returned to his favorite corner – no calendars. September, then January – no calendars. He couldn’t figure it out. The store manager was no help.

As he sat brooding on a stool next to the Science Fiction section he spotted a new book called, “The Thief of Time.” Crying, he frantically ran to his mom at the other end of the bookstore.

~

The phrase “Procrastination is the thief of time” was coined by the English poet Edward Young in his 1742-45 work Night Thoughts (or The Complaint), though Charles Dickens later popularized a similar sentiment in David Copperfield: “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.” 

Like Kris Kringle - a short story

Like Kris Kringle (Fiction 101 Series)

Love is like a Kris Kringle gift exchange at Christmas time.

“Let’s just open these damn presents!” An angry Calvin plopped himself on his mother’s red velvet sofa.

“Can’t you just be civil for once.” A frustrated Lorraine chastised as she sat next to her younger brother.

Mom, joined by aunts and uncles and cousins sat around the tree. They opened their gifts. Each one filled with Love. Some shared their gift. Others didn’t want to part with their gift.

Calvin opened his, “What’s this? I got Crazy!”

Mom peeked at the open package, “No it’s not. You also got Love.”

~

"When it's hard and you are doubtful, give more." - Francis Chan

The Art of Procrastination - a short story

The Art of Procrastination (Fiction 101 Series)

Aaron stood from his chair. He made another pot of coffee. He poured a little whiskey in the coffee. He stared out the window. He poked at the fire. He sat down again. He examined the blank page. He stared through the fibers. He set his pen down and picked up his laptop. He stared through the blank pixels. He stood from his chair and stared out the window and poked at the fire. He did everything and anything other than the one thing he should be doing. Or he did nothing. And he thought of nothing. And nothing was done.

~

The phrase “Procrastination is the thief of time” was coined by the English poet Edward Young in his 1742-45 work Night Thoughts (or The Complaint), though Charles Dickens later popularized a similar sentiment in David Copperfield: “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.”