Blog > Archive for 03/01/2012 - 04/01/2012
Archive for 03/01/2012 - 04/01/2012
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Thursday, March 29, 2012
at 12:00 AM
Contributor: Scott Harmon
- -
It was then and there. We waited, as if perched on a cliff. Our entire existence was on the line. Then we heard it. A sound... To most beings it was barely a hiss of nothing. But to us, it was the most beautiful thing we'd ever heard. Our bodies of cement, brick, wood and shingles began to swirl. Our substance and tangibility started to sift like sand. No longer were we to be chained down to our cement foundations. It was over.
Before all this, we watched day after day as our free floating neighbors went off to explore the world. Always returning some day to spout their adventurous tales. We had grown angry....restless. It was useless to complain. Everyone told us it was impossible. How could a house roam the planet like a bird or a speck of dirt? It was not reasonable. Of course we knew that. As a house,...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Wednesday, March 28, 2012
at 12:11 PM
Contributor: John Laneri
- -
The first time I saw a flying saucer was the morning I arrived at my putt-putt in hopes of playing a few rounds of golf before the day got hot.
I called the place, Justin’s Fabulous Putt-Putt. And, it truly was a challenging, eighteen hole, miniature golf course that featured water falls, windmills and the only singing parrot in the community of Possum Hollow.
Naturally, my girlfriend Becky tagged along, nagging me as usual about getting married. She immediately spotted the saucer.
“A flying saucer,” she said excitedly, running to it – her shoes, flip-flopping ahead of me. She was a cute little thing with a nice smile and skinny legs.
At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The thing was just sitting in the middle of the sand trap on the eighth hole streaming whips of vapor from both sides.
Right off,...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Sunday, March 25, 2012
at 7:56 AM
Contributor: Brian J. Smith
- -
TOMMY GIBBS WAITED UNTIL THE BLUE FORD ESCORT EASED OUT OF THE driveway before creeping down the hallway into Bridget’s bedroom. There was no room for failure this time; no slip-ups like last time when she caught him two nights ago and screamed for Daddy as he bolted out of the bedroom. Outside, the rich blue sky was vibrant with sunlight and streaked with clouds shaped like joints. Across the street, a two story house had been ate by fire, its rough brick exterior and large windows smudged by soot. The joyful sound of afternoon play from the neighborhood kids echoed up and down the street.
He knelt down before her bedside table, moved the four Twilight novels aside and came up empty. He was setting them back up when his eyes drifted over to the small pink object jutting out from between the mattress...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Saturday, March 24, 2012
at 6:25 AM
Contributor: Jim Barry
- -
People from all over Ohio called Cleveland “The Mistake By the Lake”. But I didn’t care. This was my hometown. Sad thing was, there really wasn’t really much of a lake to speak of. Most of it had been polluted by radioactive waste. I remember when the water was actually blue. Or was it green? Well, that point was moot now as the water had turned a bright purple. It also wasn’t uncommon to find garbage floating in the waste. Popsicle sticks, women’s shoes, 7 Up cans, dead midgets, you name it.
Most regretful was that my father used to take me fishing by the lake. I do miss the sound of the actual water splishing and splashing as we would skip stones. Now, well, hmm..now you really couldn’t call it water. It was more like an ooze. It would bubble and cough. A sickening sound that was reminiscent of a frog with...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Sunday, March 18, 2012
at 12:00 AM
Contributor: Damien Krsteski
- -
"Oh, crap," said process ID #71, also known to other currently running processes as Dave. "I can't make out the second word."
His hands shook visibly, cueing Steve, or process ID #72, to step in. He elbowed his way to the front, took Dave's place before the controls and peered into the periscope himself, though not without first casting a reproachful glance at the other, apparently much less capable process.
"Second word's 'incense' you myopic moron," he said, handed the periscope back to Dave and proudly strolled to the back of the room. Dave blushed and mumbled something about the letters being in different colors and hard to discern.
The whole vessel, which rather resembled a submarine, vibrated softly, its passengers buzzing with excitement. Finally, they'd been given access to the password...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Saturday, March 17, 2012
at 8:38 AM
Contributor: John Laneri
- -
I've watched enough television to know that DNA evidence is often found on a murder victim’s hands. With a dead body across the street, it's clear to me that I'll become a prime suspect when the police begin to canvas the neighborhood.
The ironic thing is, I didn't murder the woman. I hardly knew her for God’s sake.
My dilemma started last night when our new neighbors, the Johnson’s, threw a neighborhood party. Jane and I attended along with most of the other people on our street.
We arrived at eight o’clock. The host and hostess were cordial people from the west coast. He was into banking and she… well, I’m not sure about her. But, we did converse briefly before Jane and I headed to the food table.
After about thirty minutes, the party came to life. By then, Jane had wandered away, so I looked around...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Monday, March 12, 2012
at 11:03 AM
Contributor: Molly Hamilton
- -
I came by myself tonight. I walked into the room and selectively took my seat in the middle of the rows and rows of chairs. It’s like tic-tac-toe—the middle is the best spot. Surely somebody will come sit by me. Here they all come, all of the people, my future friends. I hope I look nice. I put on my best outfit. I’m smiling.
All of the people are walking by. They’re grinning, identifying their buddies. A mob of them is being divided slowly. They’re sectioning off into groups: a cluster of pretty girls here, a cluster of laughing boys there, and a pack of artists up there. Perhaps a group will sit by me. I move my purse over. I sit up straighter. I look around. I watch the packs of teens. The groups are migrating to seats, filling all of the rows and rows of empty chairs. “Come over here!” I want to...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Sunday, March 11, 2012
at 6:53 AM
Contributor: Chris Sharp
- -
There was some extra quality of urgency in the 6:30 am telephone ringing. It made Scott Gillespie sense there was much more urgency to come from the other end of the phone line.
“Scott, good morning. Did you hear call about the solar storm about to hit us in an hour?”
“No, George. I mean yes. These solar storms that come and go in cycles, as the weatherman said.”
“But the weatherman also said this will be the biggest solar storm to hit the earth in history, much bigger than the enormous sun storm in 1859 that had the magnetic force to magnetize the Northern Lights into the New York City skyline.”
“Well, that would be fun. I would like to see some Northern Lights here on a Saturday night.”
“This is serious, Scott. Because you have high blood pressure.”
“Because I have a little high blood pressure?”
“Exactly...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Saturday, March 10, 2012
at 8:51 AM
Contributor: Eric Suhem
- -
He pedaled more furiously. He was 3 years old, riding a tricycle through a maze of hedges in the springtime. At each turn he became more lost, and he could feel the wings bearing down on him from the sky. His brain started to throb and bubble, seemingly simmering for an imminent explosion. Finally he couldn’t pedal anymore, and the tricycle stopped in the far corner of the labyrinth. His sister was there and she looked at his head. “There’s a dead butterfly in your hair,” she said, pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. He stared at her, and looked around, seeing nothing but foliage towering above, and started to smile.
Now he was riding a bright red bicycle over the new pavement in the tract-house suburban neighborhood. He was 9 years old. It was a bright summer’s afternoon, the temperature over 100...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Wednesday, March 7, 2012
at 9:41 PM
Contributor: John Laneri
- -
It was a Sunday morning. Jillie and I had just finished breakfast, and I was sitting on her porch swing reliving our night of pleasure – a good one too. I'm not sure I got my boots off the first time around.
Jillie, as most folks know, runs the finest establishment in Texas. As to me, I'm the county's most confirmed bachelor. I'm also the sheriff of Neverton, a small community along the cattle trail to Fort Worth.
About then, I noticed the new girl standing to the side of the porch. In appearance, she was a cute little thing with freckles on her nose and a friendly smile on her lips. For dress, she was wearing a red ribbon in her hair and a man’s shirt with long tails hanging to her knees – nothing out of the ordinary for most of the girls working at the boarding house.
Thinking back, I suspect her spurs...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Tuesday, March 6, 2012
at 3:13 AM
Contributor: Samantha Memi
- -
I was walking along the street on my way to see a friend when I noticed something sparkling in the grass of the verge. I picked it up to take a closer look. A bracelet, which seemed to be gold, a pattern of entwining hands, encrusted with turquoise and what I thought might be rubies. Good, I thought, I’ll sell this. Just as I’d decided to be my usual dishonest self, a woman ran down the road towards me. She looked around frantically then turned to me, desperation in her face, and asked,
“Have you seen a bracelet?”
I gripped the bracelet tight in my fist, determined not to give it back.
I tried to say ‘no’, but the word stuck in my throat.
I felt the bracelet burn in my hand, and she glanced at my fist and back to my face. Her eyes narrowed. The bracelet wanted honesty.
“Yes,” and against my natural instinct...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Sunday, March 4, 2012
at 1:40 AM
Contributor: Linda Garnett
- -
Two exhausted vacuum salesmen walked to the last house in the neighborhood.
A 'Solicitors Welcome' sign hung on the front door.
"Don't you think that's a weird sign, Joe?" said Dave.
Joe rang the doorbell. "Are you kidding me? We've been to at least thirty houses today and we haven't made one sale. I think that's about to change!"
An elderly man wearing sunglasses opened the door. "Hello, boys. What are you selling today?"
"I'm Dave and this is Joe. We have here the new Kilby Supreme Sucker Vacuum. It'll clean up the toughest spills and stains you got, even beer and pizza. Let me show you how this beauty works."
"Sure, come on in! I've had visitors all day and they've left behind a huge mess."
They followed him into the living room and saw large piles of orange goo everywhere on the carpet and around...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
- By E.S. Wynn
-
Posted Saturday, March 3, 2012
at 4:09 AM
Contributor: John Laneri
- -
Sheriff Matt Carson paused to let a horse drawn wagon clatter past then continued on, his steps taking him toward Aunt Jillie’s Boarding House, the finest establishment in North Texas.
“From the way you’re walking, it must be time for lunch.”
The Sheriff recognized the voice as that of Roscoe Sayers, editor of the Brazos River Weekly.
Turning in Roscoe’s direction, he headed toward the boardwalk, saying, “I didn’t know my hunger was so obvious. I must have been thinking about the fried chicken at Jillie’s. Today’s Wednesday, my day for chicken.”
In appearance, Roscoe was a skinny, little man with a balding head and bulging eyes.
“I've always liked fried chicken,” Roscoe said. “But, the little lady prefers I take my noon meal at home – says it’s good for my digestion.”
“There’s nothing better than fried...
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
Help keep Linguistic Erosion alive! Visit our sponsors! :)- - -