8 Short Free Stories
Table of Contents
1: What A Wonderful World
2: Carma
3: The Sticky Note Of Destiny
4: The Snake Of Zogo
5: Tire Swing Duo
6: Of Nerds and Heroes
7: The Competitive Couple
8: Crazy Man At The Mall
1. What a Wonderful World
I was the world greatest financial mind. I had 300,000,000,000 dollars in the bank. I had created "Immortality," the first stem cell pharmaceutical company to take ten years off. I finally was married to a woman named Jane Berber at the age of 33. The only problem was 12 hours after the marriage she'd filed for divorce.
We were married and no sooner had the wedding night passed then did she disappear and send her lawyers. It became clear quickly, the love of my life wanted half of my fortune to spend with the love of her life.
I sat in the chair and stared at the wall. How could I be duped? I, the richest and therefore presumably the most powerful man in the world.
It then hit me. What about the globalization project. That bitch was going to take 150,000,000 ,000 dollars from the poorest nations in the world. I could not let that happen.
I began to question how I would stop her when the phone rang.
"Hey this is the foundation for the global prosperity, could we interest you in donating to help a good cause today?"
I smiled.
"Actually, yes. You might have just solved a problem for me," I replied.
"Oh, I'm glad to hear that sir. Is there anyway you could find it in your heart to donate just $20 dollars to us today?" the telefund caller asked.
I replied, "You'll need to get your supervisor, I intend to make a much larger donation."
"Oh, well I am permitted to handle all calls up to a thousand dollars," the telefund caller responded.
"Well I'm thinking about donating much more then that," I replied.
"Right," the man said with a tinge of disbelief in his voice.
A moment later his supervisor was on the line, "Hello, this is Anna Bent. I understand that you are wishing to donate more then a thousand dollars?"
"Anna, I'll bet you I'm about to make the largest donation you've ever had," I said smirking.
She replied, "Oh,you might be surprised."
"I'd like to donate 300 billion dollars, and-" I began.
"Very funny sir," she interrupted.
"I'm serious, let me give you my debit card number," I replied.
"OK, Mr. Billionaire, what's your account number?" she asked.
I told her the debit card number and a moment later I got a phone call by an automated voice on my cellphone. The woman at the donation center was still on the house phone.
The robotic voice said, "Our records indicate you are making a donation of three, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero dollars today. Is this correct?"
"Yes," I replied.
The voice responded, "Thank you, and have a good day."
I put my ear up to the house phone and the woman was silent at the moment. All of a sudden there was a loud, "Oh my god. I must be dreaming?" on the other side of the line.
She picked up the phone, "You are a saint, who the heck can give away 300 billion dollars? Whoever you are you are my new hero," the Anna said, she was crying with joy. Her tone betrayed her to be sobbing with happiness.
"You can mark the donation as anonymous," I said. I knew full well that the world would know who made the donation. The IRS would likely be the first to know. My wife's lawyers would probably be the next. After them, my wife would know. After she did the news would find out. Then the world would find out.
"Thank you for your donation sir," the Anna said. She had a bit more composure.
"Thank you for sitting in a call center and helping the world every day, each of us does our part. I did mine and you did yours," I replied and hung up.
I knew full well that I'd make the full amount back in a few years, as eternal youth isn't a product anyone wants to live without. My ex-wife however, would be hit by a media storm as soon as the questions came in about why I chose now to donate. A billionaire's wife of 12 hours wouldn't likely be able to fend off some of the more ruthless questioning she'd receive. If she's lucky, she might get some media coverage and end up as a porn star. She might make a million or two out of it, but, at least then she'd contribute something to the world.
2. Carma
"So which road will take me to the bridge to Canada?" asked the truck driver.
The angel on my left shoulder said, "Don't do it you mother fucker."
The devil on my right shoulder said, "I'm your right hand man, don't listen to that patronizing bastard."
"Well, you actually want to head south to the highway," I said.
"South?" he repeated.
"Yep, most of the roads around here are rural and you might risk losing your load. The highway is well maintained and will lead you right up to the Detroit Windsor bridge."
At this time the angel was stabbing my ear with his sword in an attempt to make me twitch and look like I was crazy, but I persevered.
"So how far south do I go to get to the highway to Canada?" the truck driver asked.
"Just follow this road south ten miles and the highway will be right there," I said and the devil was laughing in his little high pitch manacle bursts.
"Thanks man, you really helped me," the man said and went over to his truck and hopped in.
I smiled. I'll be long gone before he figures out I was fucking with him.
The truck driver drove off and I went to get in my car. All of a sudden a fire ball fell from the sky and struck my car crushing it. It was a meteor.
"How does that feel, bitch?" the little angel on my shoulder asked.
3. The Sticky Note Of Destiny
I read the sticky note that changed my life, "You are the main character of a story. You die at the end. You do get the girl though."
"Hallelujah!" I yelled and ran out to go see the girl I'd been stalking for a decade.
As I arrived at her window I noticed something out of sort. It was if some divine writer had positioned a crook in the right spot to break a window.
Of course I wasn't going to let this opportunity pass. The guy behind the keyboard wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. God those poor readers. They must be bored out of their minds. I'm not very interesting.
Then I smiled, at least I'm going to get some.
As I jumped in the hole in the wall and made my way up the stairs it became apparent to me that something was off. There were no signs of something being strange and no gut wrenching feeling of something being odd. Maybe the person behind the keyboard wanted me to sweat it out for the sadistic entertainment of his viewers. If that's the case, you readers should be ashamed of yourselves. I'm just a 30 year old man from Ohio, I don't need to die.
So I walked up the stairs and then walked into her room. Let me note it's the same room that we were in as kids. Now I'm trapped here.
Ahem... Yes, Joe is trapped in the room. Seeing as he's going to die, he can't exactly tell the story in the past tense. I'm the omnipotent narrator Bob. Here's the thing. The writer is trying to decide whether this should be a short story or a novel. Normally there's a coin flip. Ah up ah, there it goes. Please let it be tails, for Joe's sake.
Oh, it's heads. Sorry Joe, but you're kind of fucked.
"Really? God that sucks. At least I get the girl sooner. By the way, is it just me or is this disembodied voice a weird thing?"
It's just you Joe, you are a schizophrenic. You know what, I will give you another chance. I'll let the viewers decide whether to make a part 2 or to make this into a novel.
/> Viewers decide, would you like to hear more about Joe?
"Or will I meet my untimely untimely demise?"
Yes, his untimely untimely demise.
"Do I get some say in this?" Joe asked.
"Who the hell are you talking to Joe," said his long time dream girl Carla.
"The author," Joe replied.
"The author?" asked Carla.
"Yes, none of this world is actually real. We are figments of the overactive imagination of a college student." Joe raved.
"How can you be so sure Joe?" Carla said, starting to back her way to the door.
"Well if this wasn't a book, don't you think you might be wondering why I'm in your house. I've been stalking you for ten years, I mean you normally wouldn't just be starting a conversation if this was real life," Joe replied.
Carla retorted, "Maybe I'm just eccentric and have fallen in love with you overnight?"
"Or maybe that's what the author wants you to think?" Joe argued.
Carla leaned forward and kissed Joe passionately. Joe arguments melted away as his heart melted.
"You see, I'm of my own will," Carla said.
"You do love me then?" Joe asked.
"Yes, I had a dream about you. When I woke up, I was going to call you but I decided it would be weird," Carla smiled as she said this.
Joe smiled and said, "This is the best day of my life!" Then it hit him. He really was going to die.
4. The Snake Of Zogo
We looked to our prophet, the one who they each had vowed to follow to the ends of world. The prophet that had lead them on the journey to Congo to help start a war and spread the religion of Zogoism. He had brought 10,000 followers to the god Zogo and we all were in one camp in the middle of the dessert.
"He was found dead a few moments ago," one of the elders said opening the flaps of the tent to reveal the body.
Our leader was dressed as a cheerleader with a cape hanging from his dead body. He was hanging from a noose and it was clear why the elders had called me into the tent. I was the pr guru in my last life. If a CEO was caught cheating on their wife and the company wasn't going to let them go they had to call someone. They'd call me.
"What a disgrace to Zogo," a Grey bearded elder said.
"Wait!" the most senior follower said.
Old Zed had been following Zogo for fifty years. The other elders turned to face him with their utmost attention.
"What if this was some sort of lesson. His prophecy predicted he would die in an unexpected way," Zed said. The elder Susan and master of arms pulled out an object she found under a chair. It was an orange dildo.
"Zogo save us!" one of the elders murmured as others gasped and still more face palmed. The elders exchanged looks. This could be the death of the worship of Zogo.
"This will be easy to fix," I said. The faces of the elders lit up like a child about to open a Christmas present.
"There is one more thing," Zed said frowning.
"What," I asked.
"This entire camp is atop an oil field. It was a part of the prophecy that we would use the oil to achieve our military ends," Zed replied.
I smirked, "and so we shall."
"Zed, stand outside the tent and make sure no one comes in or out. Susan, I need you to strip him down and put all the damning evidence under the desk. Elder Eric, get some gasoline from the fuel repository. Elder Carnge, I need you to find the most faithless Zogo follower in this whole camp," I commanded feeling my old world starting to kick back in.
Fifteen minutes later we were spreading gasoline around the inside of the tent when Elder Carnge came back with a drunken guard.
I turned to face the guard. "I have an important duty for you," I said.
The shitfaced guard turned to face me, "What?"
"In exactly five minutes I need you to go fetch a pale of water and come back here," I told the guard.
"OK," he said.
As I walked out of the tent to rejoin the elders Zed asked, "You aren't planning to frame him are you?"
"No, you'll see. Trust me, I was the best in the industry," I replied.
Fifteen minutes later the guard dutifully left and we were a good twenty yards away at a podium and we'd just called a town meeting. The crowd was gathering all around.
Master Zed began to read the script I gave him.
"Last night, the prophet came down with a terrible flu. He was resting and recovering when Zogo came to him. Zogo said, "Tomorrow I will take you to the promised land and leave your followers a gift for being faithful."
The crowd stirred with excitement. A few cheers were given and the crowd silenced again with Zed raised his hand.
"He is not dead, but the doctors predict any moment the prophet will pass. The gift-" Zed said interrupted by a giant explosion behind them.
The prophets tent exploded into flames and the crowd cheered. They began to chant, "To the promise land, to the promise land."
They all looked at the explosion who's fire did not burn out as a normal explosion would. The crowd watched for a moment as the fire burned and the soldier ran up with the bucket of water.
Zed as planned called out, "Do not snuff the fire, it is the gift of our Zogo."
It was too late, the soldier had thrown the bucket onto a portion of the tent that was still surviving for the moment and it froze instantly.
The crowd cheered again, " To the promise land, to the promise land."
Then something unexpected happened. The soldier rifled through the wrecked tent and pulled out an object that ought to have burned. It was blurry from the stage but it could just barely been seen. It was orange.
Oh no, I thought.
He ran up to the podium with the frozen orange dildo that had been temporarily made unrecognizable by the nitrous oxide he'd unwittingly poured onto it. As he handed the frozen orange dildo to Zed, Zed looked to me.
I made the body motion of my hand running across my throat. In most of the world this meant stop the show, cut it or at least cease and deist. He apparently misinterpreted the signal.
"I need a sword!" Zed yelled.
A sword found it's way onto the stage and unto the podium.
The orange dildo encased in ice wasn't recognizable, but if he split the ice it would be. I began to make a break toward the stage to stop him when the sword hit.
Zogo had always been described to them as a snake. After the sword struck the dildo splitting a hole for the mouth and shattering the ice and various fragments of plastic that made it recognizable, the holy artifact that was to define our religion took form.
It was the Snake of Zogo.
I can never tell my fellow man to this day of this story. If I did they might lose faith in him and go back to killing each other. Let my brothers believe in miracles. Let them believe in the Snake of Zogo.
5. Tire Swing Duo
The Tire Swing Duo
The business meeting had just concluded and the old click walked out. Rusty watched them exit their meeting room and walk across the floor. His freshly cleaned floor.
Apparently he had been staring too hard as Joe looked up at him.
"Rusty, am I bothering you?" he asked. Joe had taken off his suit-jacket and was carrying it in his arm so as not to damage it. All Rusty could notice was the tie. The tie swung back and forth kind of like the tire swing between his parents trailer and Joe's parents house when they were kids.
"No, Joe," Rusty said looking at his childhood best friend square in the eyes.
Joe's temper flared, "You address me as Mr.Carlson now Rusty. I am your boss."
"Yes, Mr. Carlson," Rusty said looking at his feet.