Jim Archives

May 24, 2007

Jim: And What's Up With Those Boots?

I stopped with only one arm sleeved. “What?”

Jack sat on the edge of his cot, looking up at me. “That shirt,” he pointed, grimacing. “It’s all wrong.”

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” I asked, sliding on the other sleeve.

“Have you even seen yourself in that shirt? It sags on your chest and it’s too tight around your tummy. I’ve seen scarecrows with more fashion sense than you have!”

I stared at him for just a moment. Then I grabbed my helmet and left our tent.

Jack doesn’t have a good handle on that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing.

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May 25, 2007

Jim: Always Room For One More

Like most who came before, he just stood there, silent. Sparse hair like the last snows of winter wisped across his spotted pate while eyes that had once been piercing blue now stared at me in rheumy confusion.

I took the pamphlet from him and read the name. “Hello, Ryan,” I smiled. “Won’t you come inside?”

He continued to stare at me as if stricken dumb.

So I put my arm around his thin shoulders and led him in, feeling his youthful vigor return as he crossed the threshold. “I think we’ll be good friends, Ryan. My name is Peter.”

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May 28, 2007

Jim: Senus Fugit II

The highway cut surgically straight through a landscape that mirrored Jacob's face: timeworn but still stony hard. White lines on the pitted asphalt flashed a steady cadence as the minivan sped away from the deepening sunset.

The young couple had offered him a ride out of the desert and he’d told them about his home. It was back east somewhere, a modest place where his wife waited for his return. Funny how he couldn’t recall her face…

That couple had been so nice. Sometimes Jacob looked around and wondered where they had gone. But all he saw was drying blood.

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May 30, 2007

Jim: Caribbe

Hair-beads clacking rhythmically, Mama Shandee shook her head as she watched the horrible little man leave into the night with his ‘pet’.

Watching that poor girl die had turned her stomach but working the voodoo to bring back the girl chilled Mama’s bones to the marrow. But now the debt was paid and never again could the little man tell Mama what to do.

She had only had a few moments alone to teach the zombie to kill the little man. Maybe those moments had been enough.

Mama spat after the little man and closed her door against the darkness.

From: One Night In Martinique.

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May 31, 2007

Jim: The Obvious Pun

“How about Power Woman?” asked Chloe. “Power Woman sounds good!”

Linda Danvers looked up from the sewing machine and wrinkled her nose. “That name stinks,” she said.

“Then what about Mighty Gal? That’s got a certain ring to it.”

Linda shook her head and resumed sewing. “That reminds me of pet food. Besides, I’ve already chosen a name.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sneered. “A copy-cat name. I think you need something more original.”

“At least people will recognize the colors,” Linda grinned. “You can’t beat red and blue for superhero clothing.” Then she sighed and went back to making her S cape.

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June 1, 2007

Jim: A Life Of Pane

The dame had legs that stretched like a highway. The kind with signs that said ‘dangerous curves ahead’. Her lips pouted invitingly but her cold, blue eyes weighed me like fresh produce. “You must be Detective Mercer,” she finally decided. “Follow me, please.”

Two of her goons fell in as she led me to an office. “You know why I’m here,” I growled after planting myself in a chair.

“Yes,” she hissed from across her desk. “But I’m afraid its curtains for you, Mercer.” She suddenly produced a thick book full of linen swatches.

The dame knew her window treatments.

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June 4, 2007

Jim: Final Destination

He had been told where he was going.

He was given a hero’s farewell; his mother’s eyes nearly burst with pride and sorrow. And all the while, the bag had been carefully prepared.

He looked forward to arriving.

The taxi dropped him off at the airport. He stood near the ticket counter.

He wondered if it would be like they said.

A family stopped beside him: parents weary-eyed from travel and four children hopping with excitement.

Where was he going?

The little girl smiled up at him. And the bag stopped ticking.

Suddenly, he knew. He was going to Hell.

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June 5, 2007

Jim: They Walk Alike, They Talk Alike...

“Frank?”

“What’s up, Hank?”

“Look. Dressing identically was cute when we were seven …”

“And?”

“We’re thirty-five now. Let it go.”

“No problem. I’ll go buy some different shirts.”

“Also…”

“There’s more?”

“Yeah. Don’t you think it’s time you…”

“Got my own apartment?”

“Yeah. And that reminds me of…”

“Something else?”

“Yeah. Stop finishing my goddamn sentences for me!”

“Anything else, Hank?”

“Nope.”

“Um… Can we still both date Laura?”

“What?!”

“Never mind.”

“Be right back. I need to go to the kitchen…”

“And get something to drink?”

“I’ll do that after.”

“After what?”

“After I’m finished with the knife.”

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June 6, 2007

Jim: And The Rest...

It took weeks to salvage all of the usable lumber from the wrecked ship.

Then we spent almost a month building a boat from the reclaimed wood and hardware. It wasn’t the most seaworthy of crafts, with a roof made from palmetto fronds. But it floated and was large enough to carry seven plus a month’s worth of water and provisions.

Six weeks if we began rationing immediately.

Then somehow – against all odds – the entire boat ended up falling into the open mouth of an active volcano, burning to ash in mere moments.

But Gilligan said he was real sorry.

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June 7, 2007

Jim: Implementation

Lamont shoveled down some cereal and hammered a glass of orange juice. He found himself wanting to add some vodka but a screwdriver was out of the question.

Lamont stopped in front of the mirror and liked what he saw. As always, the hoes at the Crow Bar would be impressed with his rakish clothing and even mower admiring of his ready cash. But that would come later.

One final flash of his golden grill and Lamont scooped up Ms. Fluffywhiskers. He clamped her firmly and boxed her up for the vet. Today was the day she was getting spade.

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