Archive for the ‘David Kopaska-Merkel’ Category
Jana’s World
Monday, November 3rd, 2008
When
* Jana made the world she used her grandmother’s favorite bowl.
* Carson unlocked his office door he knew right away something was wrong.
* Some of the mixture slopped onto the floor, Jana wiped it up with a rag.
* Carson saw the mixing bowl he noticed right away that it was dirty.
* She put the pan in the oven Jana saw the dishrag burning with an enduring flame.
* Carson touched the bowl he heard a symphony of dissonance. He saw it too. And smelt
it.
* Jana emptied the trash she put the can out by the curb.
* Carson wiped his hands on his sweater he felt light-headed.
* Jana heard the timer go off she was on the phone.
* Carson started typing he seemed to be all thumbs.
* Jana took the pan out the world was a little crispy around the edges.
* Carson looked out the window everything seemed to be getting dark. Except at the
horizon, where it was even darker.
* Jana turned the world onto a board she set it out to cool.
* Carson looked up from the computer he smelled a peculiar odor.
* Jana looked around she could not find the mixing bowl.
* Carson made to leave he wondered what was for supper. And whether it had been burned.
* Jana saw the time she ordered takeout.
* Carson got home his dinner was waiting, made just the way he liked it.
After supper
* Jana remembered the world.
* A crow had snatched it from the window sill.
* Carson was disappointed there was no dessert.
The end
Werecats of Kansas
Monday, October 20th, 2008
1. Moonrise at the aubergine farm
Farmer Brown sat bolt upright. There it was again, that hideous yowling. The farm lay still under the full moon. He peered out between the slats, shotgun in hand. A cool, moist breeze caressed his face. A shadow slunk across the yard. Farmer Brown fired both barrels. He watched for a long time, but nothing else moved.
2. Green eggs and fritters
“I’ve said it before, Mabel, your eggplant fritters can’t be beat.” Farmer Brown pushed his chair back and patted his stomach. “A shame to sell ’em.”
“Get along with you,” his wife said. “Them purple beauties won’t grow themselves.”
“All right,” he said, “but I saw something out there last night. Almost looked like a … something nasty and sneaky. Well, I’ve got to check it out.”
“Be careful, Pa. Them felines can be mean when roused.” He winced. He had a little cat problem, but couldn’t afford a psychotherapist.
“Don’t believe in them anyhow,” he would say, meaning psychotherapists.
3. Field of nightmares
The fruit hung plump and dark. Huge pear-shaped Black Beauties, phallic Ichiban, and the new ones. Farmer Brown believed genetically modified crops were the coming thing, and he’d invested in a new variety that promised to take every shape imaginable.
He had planted the Baroque on the back row. Several looked a lot like the King, one a bit like Jesus (he might be able to sell that one for a premium), some didn’t really look like anything. And there it was. The cat. A big chunk was gone from the end and the tail was missing. Oh, he recognized it alright.
“This ends here,” he growled, and pulled out his pocketknife, opening the big blade. He reached for the stem with one hand, and held the knife in the other. The plant seemed to vibrate – he froze. How could it be active when the moon wasn’t up? The fine hairs rose on the back of his neck. Sweat beaded his forehead. His heart was racing. Mabel always told him to watch out for that high blood pressure he’d inherited from his pa and grandpa. The knife fell to the ground. He backed away, trembling. When he got to the end of the row he turned and ran.
4. The year of the cat
He didn’t harvest any of the Baroques. He let his children and neighbors take what they wanted; the rest rotted. That winter he didn’t see a single mouse.
The end