The Art Collector
He wandered the rooms of the gallery. There being no sign of his friend, he decided to start his perusal of the artwork that adorned each wall. He was no connoisseur of art in general. He liked what he liked, but the nuisance of the various styles of art escaped him. The were some pieces here that he likened to something his seven-year-old niece could produce. Then something caught his eye.
He took another sip of his Chardonnay. They had provided the free booze in the hope of loosening the inhibitions to spend money. The wine was of an inferior quality. It did contain the necessary ethyl alcohol relaxant, however, so he would put up with the taste. But there it was. It was an abstract piece. He guessed they would call it modern art, but it held a simple quality to it that resonated with him. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but the artwork somehow beckoned him. It wanted him to come closer…
Made In Our Image
The cooler was on the fritz. Carl would have to call the repair service, again. Filling a cart with the milk cartons of the refrigeration cabinet, he wheeled them over to the unit with the sodas that still had cooling capability. Wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve, the tired proprietor of the ‘Stop and Charge’ pulled a can of soda from the ‘frig and headed outside of the convenience store.
Carl had become the proud owner of this store on highway 38 west of Centerville ten years earlier. In that time, he had seen many changes in his world but none more significant than the introduction of AI. Thankfully to Carl, the fingers of that computer construction had yet to impact his business. Yet…
Chivalry's Champion
WHOOSH!
The dragon had returned to the realm. It moved with all speed careening this way and that to avoid collision. The beast was green with black striping. It boasted its name on its side in large chrome letters: ‘Mustang’. The monster was the terror of all who lived in the kingdom. The creature had to be stopped.
A young boy (by all measures) stood at the curb waving a long wooden stick at the offending creature. The boy wore elbow and knee pads, like those one might wear to a skateboarding event. His torso was wrapped in bubble wrap, and he sported a plastic pail on his head. The pail had two eye holes cut out for vision and a ‘T’ shaped opening for nose and mouth…
Stress Clinic
The hotel room was filled with flower bouquets. The air was perfumed by their pheromones. The trash cans by the window housed some discarded carnations. Carnations were not acceptable. Carnations were ugly. At least, that was the prevailing attitude of the room. If one were to send flowers, like all these adorning devotees had, one must have the good sense not to send carnations.
“I don’t care how you do it, JUST DO IT!”
She screamed the order at the top of her powerful voice, shaking the panes in the windows of the hotel room at the same time. Martin Cornelius was used to the abuse; he viewed it as part of his job description. Still, it couldn’t help but hurt at some level. No person starts out in life to be the whipping boy for anyone, much less a narcissistic ego-driven applause hog like his employer. Martin needed the job, though. He needed the money…
The Little Pianist
The rain outside only made her isolation more draconian. She had been placed under house arrest by her country’s vicious dictator, Klaus Heinrich, after she had attempted to pass military secrets to the enemy. Her homeland had been at war for four years with neighboring Mueslichstan. She had watched as their leader had imprisoned and murdered thousands of her fellow citizens. She had not liked what she had seen.
Svetlana was wildly popular in her country. She was considered the queen of Lardanian pop music. It had been her fame, she thought, that had prevented her outright imprisonment or execution. Supreme leader Heinrich wanted her alive, of that she was clear…