Michele Archives

June 2, 2005

Michele: Teach Your Children Well

Pretat, sent through the portal to track down some escaped faeries, found himself at a carnival.

As he was scanning the crowds for the fairies, a chubby kid pointed at him and shouted “MIME!” Heads turned and everyone gave small grins of mime pity. He shooed the child away, but the kid prodded Pretat with his fat, dirty fingers while his mum looked on and laughed.

“I’m gonna make the mime move,” he barked, kicking Pretat in the shin. His mother shrugged.

A few minutes later, both mother and child lay dead, though Pretat thought the mother deserved it more.

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June 3, 2005

Michele: The Downward Spiral

She dreamed of funerals, of the pretense of mourning and the guilty glee that came as the coffin was shoved into the ground. She fantasized about dead-of-night accidents on the New Jersey Turnpike, car overturned, wheels spinning, broken glass piercing his eyes.

She dreamed of her own death then shook the thought away and replaced it with dreams of flying. Sprouting wings, flying high above everything, tasting freedom on her tongue. She landed in places that were not so dark, not so bleak. When she woke up it was always with the sinking feeling that her wings had been clipped.

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June 4, 2005

Michele: Tick Tick Tickin' in My Head

I turn to pay for the sunglasses. Two seconds. When I turn back, she is gone.

I scan the store for her yellow shirt. Nothing. I yell her name. Nothing.

The floor tilts. Time sucks in its breath, stops and lurches. Fifteen seconds could be three days. I hear nothing but the roar of panic in my head. A barrage of thoughts: lost, crying, kidnapped, hurt, drugged, her hair dyed, her name changed, sold into child labor, black and white fliers, milk cartons, accusations.

I glimpse yellow. She’s there, tugging on the mannequin’s dress. “Mommy?”

Time lets out its breath.

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June 5, 2005

Michele: Frappaccino, Rappaccino, Al Pacino

Jon walked into Kofehaus expecting to feed his caffeine withdrawal.

A goateed man with an affected scowl and a badge that read Barista was helping a confused woman.

"Do you want caramel? Vanilla? Steamed milk with cinnamon?" Barista took a breath and exhaled more choices “Almondcherrytoastedpecanroastdecafsupercafgetyourbuzzoncaff?”

She blinked.

Jon poked the woman. "Do you want coffee or a three course fucking dessert?" He barked at Barista, “Black, no sugar. Make sure it’s not some free range coffee bean crap.”

Barista balked. "How uncivilized!"

Enough. Jon pulled out his gun and shot the guy right in the goatee.

"No, that’s uncivilized."

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June 6, 2005

Michele: In the Beginning

It rose from the bottom of the sea, finding energy in the currents, the tidal water forming a long, glassy arm. When it reached the surface, waves balanced and curled on its peak and a knuckled fist took shape.

The arm pulled back into the sea; when it rose again, its mighty fist pummeled the sky with a deafening roar that seemed to come from the air and the earth as well as the water. It tore a deep hole in the sky, from which a brilliant display of light and color flowed.

The two beings tumbled through the hole.

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June 7, 2005

Michele: Bottom of the 9th

"In case you're wondering, I don't spend the entire workday inside my tailor shop. In fact, just yesterday I went to Brooklyn to visit Pat.”

“Dad, Pat’s been dead for....”
“Shhhh..” Craig’s sister whispered. “You promised you’d go along this time.”
“It’s sad.”
“It’s all he’s got.”
“He’s living in his head.”
“And in his head, he still runs the shop, isn’t in a nursing home, and the Yankees win every night.”

“Son, why don’t we close up shop and go to Coney Island?”

He glanced at Alice, who nodded.

“Sure, pops.” He tried to smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

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June 8, 2005

Michele: Satan Laughing Spreads His wings

“Birds are evil creatures which carry the soul of the devil on their wings,” Dr. Cortex explained. “The appearance of so many in the Vatican courtyard can only mean the anti-Christ is nigh.”

Father Michael watched with the Pope as the crew performed an eerie ballet, costumes glimmering in the twilight. Sparkles of electricity flew from their fingers, raining embers on the grass. When the first crow fell from the sky with a thud, Father Michael gave a relieved smile to the Pope.

When the pontiff‘s hot, dry fingers closed around Michael's throat, the priest realized they were too late.

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June 9, 2005

Michele: All I Want For Christmas

Becky Forrester is the only one out of millions who gives me hives. I itch just thinking about her.

Each year it’s “But I waaaaaaaant a pooooooony!” Her parents do nothing to downplay Becky's equine lust, even though I told them eight times I do not deliver animals.

Last week at Gardenia Mall, Becky grabbed my beard and told me if I didn’t deliver a pony this year, she’d have her father beat me up.

Fine. She’s getting her pony this year. Godfather style.

I grab Dasher’s reigns and pat the bloody package.

Ho, ho fucking ho, Becky Forrester.

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June 10, 2005

Michele: Go Nuts

My cousin Barry doesn’t understand why I’m doing this. See, the crows are planning a takeover. Our threat level is Orange, and I’m prepared to defend my home and protect my family. Those damn crows are gonna come for us and I need to gather as much food as a I can just to play it safe.

Barry won’t gather nuts because he thinks we’re gonna make nice with the crows. Hah. He’ll be sorry when the attack comes. I’ll have all this food and ammo and all he’ll have is that one acorn he stole from me. Stupid pacifist.

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June 11, 2005

Michele: Wackiki

Greg laughed to himself, a low giggle that he tried to disguise by coughing.

"What can you possibly be laughing at?"

"I was just thinking of that Bugs Bunny cartoon where the two guys are stranded and..."

"....They imagine each other as hamburgers and hot dogs," Frank finished.

"Yea," Greg smiles, then sings "We're gonna have roast rabbit...." Frank joins in for a few seconds and then they both trail off into silence.

Night falls and another day without food passes.

“That’s six,” Greg whispers. He lays on the sand, tries to sleep. “Good night Frank.”

“Good night, hamburger.”

“Whaaa...?”

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