Memories

Thanks for the memories was Bob Hope's signature song. In his old age, he sat in airport lounges hoping someone would recognize him.
Bad memories are part of who we are. But I won't attend high school reunions. A mine field of bad memories I do not need to revisit. Classmates would reminisce about the great times, while I have little to feel good about. We make our own history and must live with it. Bury it, I say, and move on.
So I become a writer and just make stuff up. So much safer.
If I ever ran into Bob Hope I'd shake his hand and say thanks for everything. I'd offer him a mint.

Drunken Tree

It leaned far to the left, frightening the flowers. Its shade also leaned. Roots tried desperately to keep it straight. Soon, at this rate, the tree would collapse.
How could this happen, asked the grass. One other tree responded. We are all jealous of the drunken tree, it admitted. The children from the family owning the property played only on it, hanging from the branches. The rest of us were ignored.
Now the kids are grown and gone. All we hear is the sound of birds.  The drunken tree is sad, causing it to sag even more. One day it will crash to the ground. Men will come, chop it up and take away the pieces. Only an empty space will remain. Memories will fade.
WTF! screamed a tulip. What about us. We'll be squashed, crushed under a dead tree. I need a drink. Why can't flowers absorb alcohol?

Jump

Why have I stopped jumping for joy? As a kid I was always joyous, especially at Halloween. Adults would place small unwanted pets in my trick or treat bag. Also a hamster, roach, spider and entire ant colonies. A baby chick. Once, a cactus. OUCH!
I jumped for joy when I saw my muscles were bigger than Sandra's and I had more leg hair, although it was close.
It wasn't until I was older that I realized giving was better than getting. So I impart my charm, wisdom and knowledge to others and watch their faces light up. As a senior I enjoy hearing my neck crack and peeing straight. I jumped for joy, but forgot to zip up first and almost knocked myself out from my weenie impact

Escape Plan

When I was a mailman I fantasicized about just driving my truck away into another state like Pennsylvania to escape. I would start over without all the same mistakes. Others have done this, people I've known. Why they vanished from my life, I haven't a clue. I think I smell okay.
I found Escapes R Us online and made an appointment. I wanted answers, but they were so persuasive, I forked over the fee for running away. They put together a complete package. I had a new city, name, posture, wardrobe, persona. I am called Fannie and I wear a pixie cut.
I wonder if someone else seeking escape became Joe the Mailman.

Perfection

I am eating a perfect Portuguese roll. Fresh, soft, evenly buttered. I got it at Quick Check, a perfectly laid out store. All types of coffee on a table, with five different milks, sweeteners, stirrers and caps. The newspaper section located by the seating area. Sandwiches, cakes, snacks, beverages, all easily found. Clean floors, polite cashiers, plenty of light.
Wonderful salads.
In these areas, McDonalds has issues, but I won't specify.
At the risk of sounding immodest, no one can cnsume this particular roll like me. I calculate how big of a piece to bite off, how many chews before swallowing and how long before taking another bite.
I am a perfectionist. Even when I don't shave my scruff is evenly textured I want to make others feel better about themselves, so one day I will reveal a flaw. I come off as a rough and tumble cattle rancher.

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Lost It

I lost it. The most brilliant paragraph I've ever written, done on a piece of scrap paper. I was sure I put it in a safe place waiting to be typed up. I looked everywhere. It's gone.
This is the writing that would have gotten me a grant, awards, maybe a position at a top university. These were the images that would have gotten me compared to Hunter S. Thompson. Lorrie Moore. Donald Bartleme.
I can remember only the first two sentences. You're not getting them here, in case the rest comes back to me. This is like Picasso losing an early brilliant sketch that could have launched him. Frank Loyd Wright misplacing a schematic for a home. Rogers losing Hammerstein.
I don't have a big co0ndo. This should never happen. Somehow I will go on .Something else. I lost a $3 bonus coupon from CVS. That is two beef jerkies. Organization is now my priority. I swear, that lost paragraph could have gotten me a MacArthur Genius Grant.

Squirrel

Noted flash fiction author Joseph Del Priore was on his way to a reading when a flyng squirrel landed on his head and knocked him out.
Months in a coma ended with him awakening in a hospital. Nurse Beth, who had been taking care of him all those months, was overjoyed to see his eyes open. He slurred his words, but thanked her profusely for taking care of him. He wondered aloud if the squirrel who landed on him was demonized.
He looked up at nurse Beth. I need one favor, he whispered. Could you slide the bed pan under me and press down on my stomach? I feel like I'm ready to explode. Nurse Beth reached for a pillow and thought about something horrible and completely against hospital policy. No, she would let him live and write again. I think I need a bigger pan, she thought.

Floss

Max loved flossing beyond anything else. He did it several times a day. He took a chance on a new brand of thicker string. Midway through, he realized the string was caught between a molar and incisor. He yanked and twisted to no avail. He tried to close his mouth, but his jaw locked halfway. Panic stricken, he dialed 911, but his words were unintelligible. He hurriedly dressed and ran out to his car. Drooling and wild-eyed, he scared parents walking their kids to school.
Max was so nervous he smacked into a mailbox with his car. Someone saw it and called police, thinking he was drunk. The cops came, saw his predicament and made a call.
Minutes later, a Volvo pulled up. Out stepped Finn Wrobbles, who walked over wearing a serious expression. He examined Max and said get him inside where I can do my work.
Max was shaking and in tears.
Finn calmed him with these words--Do not fret, sir. I am the floss whisperer. You arein good hands.