Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Up Late With All The Power in the Universe
Thursday, January 28th, 2010
The first thing Claude did when he realized he had magical powers was to refluff his stuffed dog, Nostrils. Nostrils had gone through the dryer once before anyone knew how nobbly that would make his fur, and he had been nobbly ever since. Restored by magic, he was now fluffy again, blissfully soft.
It was late at night–almost nine–and he wasn’t allowed to be awake this late, except he had just realized he had magic powers. He had been dreaming about talking to a big crow, and the big crow gave him magic powers. So Claude woke up, and there was Nostrils right next to him, and he immediately used the magic.
The second thing he did was to make it so that all of his toys could talk, and the third thing he did, in a panic just about a second and a half later, was make it so that they were very good at using their super-quiet indoor voices when it wasn’t time for loud talking.
Claude’s Mommy, a tall, beautiful lady who knew everything, poked her head in Claude’s room, but Claude lay still with his eyes closed. Nostrils wriggled a little with excitement, but the toys were quiet, and after a moment Claude’s Mommy closed the door, proving, Claude realized, that she didn’t know everything.
The toys–stuffed animals, matchbox cars, action figures, and so on–were talking in excited super-quiet indoor voices, and mostly they were asking Claude questions.
“Claude, why did you make us alive?” said a monkey with a drum. “Now that we’re alive, we have a lot of feelings, and we don’t know what to do.”
“You should play with me,” Claude said. “That’s what you’re for.”
“But if we have our own lives, should we really be just doing what you want all the time and being ignored other times?”
“Yes,” said Claude.
“But I want to do the things I want to do! Once I know what those are.”
Then Claude immediately took back the aliveness of the toys, except for Nostrils, and he gave Nostrils a complete and utter love for him.
He didn’t have to bother. Nostrils already loved Claude completely and utterly.
Then Claude, who could do anything, went back to sleep, because he could always play with the world in the morning.
Bad Dog
Wednesday, January 27th, 2010
“I thought you said the dog was dead,” Eddie said.
“I said you didn’t have to worry about the dog anymore,” Pete protested. “You think I’m going to kill a dog?”
Eddie smacked Pete in the face and shook his head in disappointment. “Pete, Pete, listen to me,” Eddie said. “It’s not a dog. It’s my ex-wife, reincarnated into a dog by that damn priest over on the other side. If we don’t take care of her, then this whole interdimensional smuggling operation we’ve worked so hard on … are you listening to me?”
Pete was rubbing his forehead with his hand, looking down. He nodded a couple of times without looking back up.
“… then this whole operation is going to come crashing down around our ears. Is that what you want? You want this to turn into fuckin’ La Guardia?”
Pete shook his head, still not looking up. Eddie frowned, unconvinced.
“Hey, listen to me! Look up! Eye contact!” Pete looked up. Eddie hit him again. “Dead dog or La Guardia. Your choice. What’s your choice, Pete?”
Pete murmured something.
“Speak up, Pete! I’m not hearing you!”
“Dead dog,” Pete said quietly.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“DEAD DOG!”
“That’s more like it.” Eddie put his hand on Pete’s shoulder. Pete flinched, but Eddie just patted him. “You’re a good kid, Pete. You’re an asset to me when you listen. But you’ve got to listen, OK? So now go kill that bitch.”
#
Pete locked his apartment door behind him and whistled.
“Here, puppy!” he said without conviction. “Come on, girl!”
Nothing. He discarded the grocery bag in which he had a saran-wrapped, styrofoam tray of New York strip and peeled back the plastic. “Come on, puppy! I got something for you.”
The dog padded out into the hallway, all lolling tongue and wagging tail. Pete threw down the steak and watched her launch into it with a long face. After a moment, he took out his gun and aimed, wincing. Then a shot rang out, and Pete dropped to the floor with a red hole in his forehead.
Irene looked up from her steak. “Nice shot.”
“There just better be as much money in this smuggling thing as you claim,” said the shooter from the kitchen doorway.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Now let me finish my steak, and then we can go take care of Eddie.”