How do you write a good poem?
I literally googled 'octave'.
If only I could hire a gnome
so that I could write everyone's fave.
Alas, blank sheets I'll roam.
While in search of that inspirational knave.
Talent or muse or a kick to the dome
are the only things that can save
this poem.
&&&
I miss you
I miss your touch
I miss you so much
I know your stress
Has made you a mess
But I miss you nonetheless.
So there I was, no shit, in my electric boat with a shark swimming nearby. I'd heard about this scenario somewhere, but couldn't recall the exact specifics of the situation. In any case, a storm was raging, I was far from shore, and my emotional support llama was of absolutely no use.
In short, I was screwed.
It seemed like this was going to be a 'man versus' nature story with myself as the protagonist. Some real gritty stuff could happen - how would I weather the storm? Would I have to fix a leak in my boat as part of the road of trials? Would the third act be a confrontation with the shark where something set up earlier pays off? A new skill or tool or knowledge of myself?
John Jolie was pretty pickled. As he carefully navigated one more sip of beer to his lips, he reflected on what all had transpired that day - no, week - that had led him to this particular besotted condition.
"It all started Tuesday," he spoke to no one. "It was that fucking goat."
He was referring to a goat that had locked eyes with him on - you guessed it - Tuesday. By 'locked eyes with' I mean looked in his direction. Goats, with their rectangular pupils and approximately 320 degrees of vision, don't really 'lock eyes' with anyone. Regardless, the goat had pointed its head in Joh's direction and promptly died. It was a whole thing.
Shocked by this development, John had made his way to the farmhouse where he presumed the goat's owner lived. He'd knocked on the door and - having waited a few minutes - began writing a not on a scrap of paper mentioning the goat's demise. At the precise moment he reached out to wedge the note between the door and door jamb, the door opened.
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| Art by Ginnie |
Don't you love me?
Of course I love you.
I can tell when you're lying
No you can't - that's my special power.
I didn't mean it like that. I know you. I've known you for a long time now. I can't necessarily tell when others are lying, but you? I can tell when you're lying.
Ah, and?
And you don't love me anymore.
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| Art by Abe |
Brother!
Brother!
Tonight we dine in Valhalla!
Valhalla!
Yes, Brother. It is time to dine with our elders. To make good on our promises. To prove ourselves worthy of our family name.
Brother.
Brother?
What if we didn't?
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| Art by Matt |
"Look what I made," I said, holding my creation up for all to see.
Nobody seemed to notice.
"Look what I made!" I said a little more forcefully.
Again, nobody seemed to notice.
I went up to the nearest man and showed him my creation.
"Look what I made," I implored.
"Oh, nice," he said, looking at it for a mere moment.
"Do you like it?" I asked.
"Sure, it's great," he answered. "Now why don't you go show it to someone else."
Content Warning: a gory death
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| Art by Shane |
"Happy Burstday!" the crowd cheered at me.
"Thanks," I said. "But it's not my birthday?"
"Not his birthday! Not his birthday!" a smaller man with red hair and a green-and-yellow striped shirt cackled.
"Not his birthday!" the crowd echoed, then broke into laughter.
"I'm serious though! It's not my birthday!" I tried.
"We never said it was," answered the strange man.
"But you-"
"It's your BURST day!" the man said, grinning from ear to ear.
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| Art by AJ |
"I said 'get along little doggy'!"
"Yeah, and I asked 'how long?' I don't understand the confusion."
"No, it's just a saying, like 'move along' or 'hit the dusty trail'."
"And what does it have to do with dogs?"
"Nothing, I suppose. There aren't any reptiles involved in 'later alligator' or 'in a while, crocodile' phrases."
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| Art by Gabby |
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| Art by Bennett |
"Dick Tracy isn't just some party game, you know," Emily said, pointing at my crotch. "It's also a comic book and stuff."
"Watch," I said, pen in hand.
"I already saw!" Emily exclaimed.
"No, he had a watch. It was a radio or something too." I explained.
"Oh, true," Emily said. "That doesn't explain what you're doing."
"Nothing really - just following some advice I read in a book."
"Tyler, what was the title of this book?"
"Ten Ways to Ruin Your Life - why?"
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| Art by Dan |
We sat there for a long time. Together. Quiet. Watching the water and the setting sun and the breeze rustle through the grass and the leaves. We were at peace, together, despite the circumstances. I was loath to leave, but nothing lasts forever. Nothing lasts forever.
I was the first to move, the first to break the silence. I squeezed his hand for an eternity that was probably five or ten seconds and let him know it was time to go. I was the first to stand up. I was always the first.
As we walked back to the car, I mused on being first. Out of a score of cousins and the dozen of aunts, uncles, and parents who raised us, I had been the first to complete college. I was also the first girl in our family who hadn't gotten pregnant as a teenager. I was on my way toward breaking out of a small town and finding something bigger for myself. Until, of course, something small found me.
"I thought you all breathed fire," I said, looking up at the great wyrm. The beast, two stories tall with wings that could hide a house, scowled down at me.
"That's racist," it sputtered.
"Sorry! I didn't mean-"
"Oh, nobody ever means it."
"I, I just mean it wasn't my intent to insult you."
"Yet here we are."
"Oh, babe, we're going to have to disinfect that. Come with me."
"Is that the burny stuff?"
"Hydrogen peroxide, yes. I'm sorry honey, but we don't want any germs to get in."
"I don't want to."
"I know you don't hon, but a little hurt now is better than a lot of hurt later."
"I don' wanna!"
"It'll be so quick and we'll put a little medicine on. You can even pick the band-aid and I'll kiss it to make sure it heals up nice."
"Can I get a dinosaur?"
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| Art by Petra |
"What's the meaning of what?"
"This! My car! What the fuck is this all about?"
"What? It's a joke!"
"A joke! You painted shit all over my car!"
"Yeah, I got you a paint job. It's the letter 'S' all over the car."
"What. The. Fuck."
[Content Warning: this story depicts gruesome mutilation. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever written. It’s what came out of my pen upon seeing the title.]
It was a shop like any other. The sigil of the flayed man was prominently displayed on the door (as per the Ordinance) and the window frames were sticky with putrefying blood. If one didn't notice the straw-packed effigy hanging outside the entrance one may have mistook it for the apothecary or the bowyer's shop. That’s assuming, of course, that Karg wasn't advertising outside.
"Maidens! Maidens! I take’r stock and make'm maidens!"
His voice was one of a chorus of shopkeeps bellowing into the street. While the pitch and tenor of the vocals all meshed together from afar, each shopkeep had a distinct cadence that could be picked out by a trained ear. An ear like Gek's.
"Maiden Maker" Gek cried out to Karg from across the street. "Maiden Maker!"
Karg acknowledged Gek with one big wave and then encouraged him to enter the shop with another. Gek entered with his human captive in tow.
"Dis da one?" Karg asked, if only to start the conversation. Gek modded, Karg pretended to inspect the captive as if he was going to recommend anything other than the total makeover package. "Good, good," "he added. "Lots to work with."
"Caught 'm three days back," Get said proudly. "Got lotsa meat left on 'im"
"Tink you should get da works," Karg recommended.
"Tink I should," Gek agreed. Karg hid his surprise - usually there was some pushback.
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| Art by Sabrina |
"Hey Jay, are you buzzy right now?”
"Did you just say buzzy?"
"Busy. Busy. Sorry. Are you busy right now?"
"Why did you say ‘buzzy’?"
"Slip of the tongue, tongue, I swear."
"Sure, Fred, sure."
"I swear! Sorry."
"...fine. What do you want?"
"I'm so sorry about my slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to imply anything."
"Sure, sure. What did you want?"
"Well, Jay, I… uh… I was wondering if you could teach me how to dance."
"Really Fred. Really."
"What do you mean? I hear you're a great dancer."
"Yeah? You want me to tell you where the nearest flower is, you need some pollen pointers? Some insect interpretive dance? Fuck you."
"No. Jay! I swear I didn't mean anything. I heard you have some great moves and I could use pointers."
"You mean it?"
"I swear, Jay, I swear."
"You're not putting me on?."
"I'd never - I've known you most of your life."
"That's what, a month?"
"A month, a year, who’s counting? I know you have the moves and I want to learn."
"I suppose you’re not wrong."
"Well, will you help me?"
"You mean it?"
"Yeah, Jay - I have a strong urge and I need to see something special."
"Something special?"
"Yeah, I want a mate with... well... a certain spectral asset."
"Fred, please spit it out."
"Jay, sorry. I want you to teach me to dance so I can finally see some boo bees."
“What in the world is going on!?" Gene roared.
"Nothing! Nothing, I swear!" Kelly responded, hastily pushing a box into a closet.
"Nothing my butt! What are you hiding in there?"
"Nothing?" Kelly responded slower this time.
"That doesn't seem like nothing - that seems like something that you're doing a bad job of hiding from me."
"Uhm," Kelly said slowly, "It is something, but for later"
"Later?"
"Yes. A surprise!"
"If it's such a surprise, why were you making so much noise as you put it in the closet?"
"I didn't mean to - I just knocked over some boxes by accident.”
"On accident?
"Yes."
“I think you woke me up on purpose.”
“Oh?” Kruk took a second before confessing. "You got me. I didn't mean to ‘wake you’ wake you - I thought you were just laying down."
“So what's up? What's in the closet?"
"Nothing, babe - I'm wearing it."
With this Kelly slipped out of her over clothes to reveal some lacy lingerie.
"Happy Anniversary!"
"Rawr!"
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| Art by Kohlwin |
“A broom? I’m not your maid.”
I looked from the woman to the implement in my hands and then back again. She didn’t seem to notice my incomprehension.
“But it’s a gift?” I tried.
“Are you telling me my house is dirty?” she spat
“No, no,” I fumbled. “It’s… I thought you used them to fly.”
“Oh, are you telling me to get the fuck out then?” Well maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just pack up all my dirty, unwanted potions and leave this shit little town to wallow in its mediocrity.”
“No, I-” I started
“I don’t want to hear it, you little shit. And here I thought you were being a helping hand. But no, you’re just like all the others. Always in need of something or other without offering anything in return.”
“I don’t want anything?” I tried.
“Then what do you want?”
“I, uh,” I paused. “I want to say thank you?”
“Oh?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Ever since you came to town everything has been a lot better. Fewer illnesses. You fixed Jim’s broken arm. Our crops have grown faster and have been more plentiful.”
“Yes, yes. And what?”
“So we made you this as a gift - it’s not much, but we carved all our names on it and tried to make it as nice as we can make a broom.”
“Well, we noticed you didn’t fly a whole lot and figured maybe you needed a broom or something.” I explained.
“Well, in that case, I’ll take it. Hand it to me.”
I obeyed.
She looked it over for a good moment.
“Now where am I supposed to put this?”
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| art by Evan |
“What in the dick-licking, cunt-crunching fuck is that!?” I exclaimed loud enough to get my point out but soft enough not to startle anyone.
“What are you talking about?” Ben asked, the words dribbling out of his mouth before his eyes left the phone in his hands.
“That!” I gestured at the mailbox.”
“Wut?”
“Holy fuck, Ben, look up from your phone for two fucking seconds.”
“What? Jesus dude, you don’t have to harass me like that.”
“Apparently I do.”
“Fuck you dude. I was paying attention.”
“Yeah, to Tik-Tok.”
“Bro”
“What? It’s true. If your eyes were any more glued to that screen I’d have to start carrying around rubbing alcohol.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s a solvent. It dissolves glue. I’m saying you’re really fucking glued to your phone. Fuck, dude.”
“I’m not that bad, Ben said, instinctively looking down at his phone before looking back up. “Hey, it’s not like I’m the one who crashed his car.”
“Yo, fuck you. I know I fucked up, but I took my licks. And it’s not like I was texting and driving all the time. You’re the one whose eyes never leave the phone.”
“Still didn’t crash a car.”
“Fuck you dude.”
“Yeah, and fuck you back. Now what the fuck did you want me to see?”
“The mailbox dude, look at it.”
“What about it? Is there a big spider or something?”
“No - LOOK at it. Jesus.”
“What? Fuck you and just tell me.”
“It’s not USPS Standard 7C compliant. It shouldn’t be out here.”
“What?”
“It’s fucked up.”
“Fuck you dude.”
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| Art by Emily |
“Lime or lemon?”
“Lime or lemon?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you mean lemon or lime?”
“What?”
“Isn’t it normally ‘lemon or lime’? Like it’s not ‘breakfast and bed’ but rather ‘bed and breakfast’.”
“Sure?”
“...”
“... lemon or lime?”
“Better, thank you.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well what do you want in your glass?”
“What do you mean by what I want in my glass? I ordered a vodka water.”
“Yes and-”
“And I want a vodka water in my glass.”
“Sure, yes, gladly.”
“Good.”
“But we usually add a bit of citrus.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to add some citrus to my glass?”
“Yes.”
“Which is why you asked me about limes and lemons in such a weird way?”
“... yes.”
“Ah.”
“So, Lucy, would you like a slice or lemon or a slice of lime with your vodka water?”
“Uhm, actually, do you have orange?”
