Child’s Play (fiction)


The day Mrs. Yarborough arrived a child came with her. They were to live in the guest house on a grand estate. She certainly wasn’t going to leave her daughter with distant relatives while she tutored another man’s prodigy, Lilly. This was the day that Lilly met Aisha; and, so a bond was born. So strong was this bond that time, space, money, age, or indiscretion couldn’t touch it, much less tarnish it.

Aisha was French-creole, originally growing up in Louisiana, except during her stay with Lilly. Immediately, Lilly and Aisha shadowed one another. One could not be found without the other sternly in tow. If someone was up to no good, everybody knew they were both in on it. If caught, they were equally punished. They both devised schemes, but Lilly was usually the planner while Aisha the executioner. Lilly spent lots of time on look-out so their plans could unfold. They were in a constant war with the boys that played street hockey in Lilly’s neighborhood. Their favorite activity was to prank those wretched creatures.

The day the war started the boys, who were only a few years older than the girls, were playing street hockey during the summer. Otherwise, during the rest of the year, the boys were preoccupied playing ice hockey for their school. But the boys would not let Lilly or Aisha play with them in the summer, even though they both had inline skates, sticks, and protective gear. The boys said the girls were too young and too little. The boys laughed at them and their protective gear. Then, the boys started setting up their goal net in the street in front of Lilly’s gated driveway. The boys wanted to rub it in and it worked. Never had two girls so hastily agreed upon revenge than on that day. If the girls couldn’t play street hockey with the boys, then the girls would make sure the boys couldn’t play, either. And, so the summer war was on.

“We should tell your uncle and get him to make them move that goal,” Aisha adamantly proclaimed.

“No. That would take all the fun out of it. Let’s see how much we can get away with first,” Lilly suggested.

After a momentary pause to go over it in her head, Aisha replied, “I like the way you think!  Okay, I’m in.”

They pinky swore on it and the summer’s fate was sealed. That day sent a rush through Lilly that she’d never felt before: the warm companionship of a best friend.

Lilly was great with numbers and devised a point scale based upon successfully executing missions without getting caught red-handed. The girls decided to prank each boy, but make him think his buddies did it. How much trouble they could get the boys into once the prank was pulled counted for bonus points.

However, if the boys managed to gain substantial satisfaction by pulling any jokes of their own, the girls lost their points for the week. The boys would learn what was in store for them soon enough. The girls hoped that by being hockey players, the boys might catch on to the point system, but never did. Stupid boys.

The girls’ command center consisted of Lilly’s tree fortress, as they called it. It was wired with electricity and plumbing and was more like a condo built around a majestic tree than any kind of home-spun tree fort of old wood. Instead of a rope ladder, it had a spiral staircase that wrapped around the tree leading to a back porch. Bean bags riddled the interior floor. Video games and big screen TVs centered the main living area. Lilly, also, had a separate room she referred to as the “laboratory” where she worked on special projects for her advanced electronics and computing tutor, Mrs. Yarborough. Lilly even had an art room with a window as a wall overlooking a lake to inspire her creativity. She had a baby grand piano in there, too, which she played beautifully. Yet, the girls renamed this the “war room” and they drew up schematics of the neighborhood on top of the baby grand while planning their raids on the boys.

The girls were serious about reconnaissance and would watch the boys in the street by duplicating and, then, rerouting the estate’s security feeds to Lilly’s tree fortress.  They also used sonic laser targeting, one of Lilly’s “special projects”, to get audio from outside the gates. They watched and listened to what was happening during the street hockey games on the living room screens. They knew what the boys argued about and what made them celebrate. They even knew which boy would get mad if anyone talked smack about his momma. But Aisha believed in first-hand intelligence, too.

Six boys comprised this “boys only” hockey team. Drew was a defenseman and their Captain. Nick rounded out the defensive pair. The triplets, Ron, Tom, and Jon, made up their offensive line. Andy was the goalkeeper. The “penalty box” was Lilly’s driveway: the boys’ choice, but a perfect one for the girls’ efforts. Stupid boys.

Aisha showed Lilly how a master of manipulation went to work. She wanted the boys to think they were safe outside the confines of Lilly’s gate. Aisha would strike up conversations with her little head pressed against the bars proclaiming that she was bored while Lilly studied. The boys tried to ignore her, but Aisha was the kind of girl that could make you feel like spilling your guts. They fell for it every time.

Aisha wanted to unearth what the boys would never talk about during a game. She managed to get most of their dirty laundry – their fears, the names of the girls they liked at school, their favorite foods, their birthdays – pretty much anything Aisha wanted to know. All one boy had to do to reveal another’s secret was to take a bad hit or penalty. Then, they sat in the penalty box steaming mad, chirping away in Aisha’s ear. She discovered that Drew’s parents were going out of town, which, finally, set the pranks in motion.

Drew’s parents traveled from time to time and left him without a sitter since they considered him old enough to be responsible at fourteen. It was Drew himself that told Aisha about the party but was quick to point out that only girly girls were invited, which did not include her or Lilly.

On the night of the party, the girls “borrowed” Mrs. Yarborough’s satellite phone. Instead of calling the real cops, they called Drew’s parents pretending to be the cops. They wore voice modifiers that Lily built to make them sound like adult men. The “officers” gave Drew’s parents the opportunity to keep them from going over to the house if they could have a neighbor handle the situation.

Drew’s parents called Nick’s parents, who caught the entire team of boys with liquor, weed, and girls. They were all grounded for a week. Lilly and Aisha were free from the boys outside of the gate for seven whole days. When the boys were finally allowed to play street hockey again, the girls rode their bikes down to the end of the driveway. With a toot of their banana seat bike horns, police sirens played and the girls giggled. The boys didn’t get it. Stupid boys.

It didn’t take long for the hockey boys of a small town with large mansions to get a reputation for being the bad boys on the block. The boys loved it, which kind of back-fired on the girls. So, they lost their points for the week and set out to make things right again in the universe.

Next on the girls’ hit list were the triplets. They were the oldest of the bunch, turning fifteen at the end of the week. They couldn’t wait to get their learners permits so they could learn to drive. The day of the written test came and all three boys passed with flying colors. Their father agreed to take them all for a spin the next day.

Knowing this, the girls prepared. Aisha watched internet videos on how to build a homemade “Slim Jim” and, then, did it. She practiced using it on some older model cars owned by the mansion staff, but always locked the cars back up before scampering off. Lilly designed and built a device that gave off a small-ranged electromagnetic pulse (EMP). This device would temporarily disable all electronic devices within its range. All Lilly needed was one that would disable cameras and alarms for five minutes at a time. It was a lot to do within a week, but the girls were ready when the time came. They waited until the night after Ron, Tom, and Jon passed their tests and, then, at the witching hour, the girls slipped out of Lilly’s compound estate to go to work. Lilly’s EMP device worked well enough to disable the estate’s security feed, so they could slip out. The girls followed the tree line, up the hill, toward the triplet’s house.

The EMP device also worked on the security system for their estate grounds and the used Volvo the boys were going to take for that spin. Aisha was quick with the Jimmy. They were in. Out of Aisha’s knapsack came the biggest bag of glitter the girls could get at the town craft store. They dumped all of it into the air conditioner intake vents. They worked quickly and were back home in time to get in a good night’s rest.

In the morning, the girls heard fighting at the end of Lilly’s driveway. There were the boys, the triplets covered head-to-toe in glitter fist fighting the other three glitter-free boys. By the time the girls managed to ride their bikes to the end of the driveway, all six boys had enough glitter on them to be mistaken for a woodland fairy. The boys stopped fighting just long enough for the girls to roll up to the gate and each toss a handful of glitter into the air with giggles. The boys stood there dumbfounded. Points earned.

This time, there was no doubt about it; the boys finally knew that war had been waged.

That night, the boys tin foiled Lilly’s entire gate, for what they thought would keep them hidden from the girls’ prying eyes. But, the girls just watched them on TV, instead. Stupid boys. That day, the stubborn boys didn’t take the tin foil down even though it was reflecting the heat of the sun right into their faces. Their bodies dripped with sweat and their eyes squinted. The remaining glitter from the day before still sparkled on their uniforms.

Finally, the girls quietly made their way down Lilly’s driveway. Their arms went crashing through the tin foil like caged zombies, grabbing at the boys as they sat outside the gate drinking water. The goalie nearly choked. The girls ripped down the rest of the foil and made silver snowballs to throw at the boys, which they immediately swatted back at the girls with the end of their hockey sticks. The silver foil, snowball fight went on for a while, until the girls announced a truce at sunset. Particularly suspicious, the boys waited for the trick.

“Hey, Drew,” Aisha started, “You know, I think you’re kind of cute.”

“Me, too,” added Lilly in an innocent voice, “in that Tomato Head kind of way.”

“It’s Potato Head, silly,” Aisha corrected with a smirk.

“Tomato, Potato,” Lilly responded. “Whichever.” Lilly and Aisha slid mirrors and moisturizer in between the gate grates, turned around and whistled while they held hands and skipped back to the tree fortress.

Drew picked up one of the mirrors. In the dimming light, he could finally see the purplish sunburn starting to blister around his lips. He looked at the other boys. Their own tin foil master plan had done them in. Another week went by without any street hockey and the girls kept their points.

The girls knew they had to step up their attacks now that the boys were in on the war. Lilly used her lab computer to hack into the boys’ cell phones. Not only were their voice calls and text messages cracked, but so were their pictures and music files. Lilly sent a picture of Nick flexing naked into his mirror to Andy’s mom with a “bow-chicka-wow-wow” song in the background. Then, Lilly sent a duplicate message to every boy on the team. After that, Andy wasn’t allowed to play outside with the team anymore, and Nick couldn’t be coaxed out of his room. The team was two down, one of which was the goalie, Andy. Drew was forced to step in as the only defender against the triplets for their games. Yet, again, the girls rolled up on their bicycles and began showing each other their phones and laughing hysterically. The boys called it a day and didn’t finish their game. Points earned.

The four remaining boys, led by Drew, tried fast to retaliate. They hatched a plan to fill water balloons with rubber cement to chuck at the girls if they came anywhere near the driveway gate the next day. The boys didn’t consider that the girls were still tapped into their phones. In their defense, not one of them knew that Lilly and Aisha, together, may have been evil geniuses. Still, stupid boys.

Territorial, to say the least, Lilly was quick in the lab mixing chemicals and plant mash into a funnel as Aisha held out their balloons while wearing rubber gloves and goggles. They were ready for the boys’ ambush.

As bright as any other summer day, the boys stopped playing street hockey as soon as they saw the girls coming. The girls, however, wore hooded raincoats with slickers and had a stack of water balloons of their own in their bicycle baskets. They stopped their bikes well away from the gate.

The boys did not retreat, but instead, continued with their rubber cement strategy. They threw their cement-filled balloons high into the air, over the gate at the girls, but none had an arm good enough to reach them.

The girls used slingshots to skyrocket their balloons at the boys. The balloons exploded on the street and splashed upwards, others rained down right on their targets, although Aisha was a better shot than Lilly. The girls dowsed the boys with Lilly’s green concoction. Satisfied, the girls rode back to the tree fortress.

The boys wiped themselves dry with their sports towels and resumed their game. However, within the hour Ron was the first to scratch his neck. Then, within minutes, every other boy was driven mad by itching. Lilly had used liquid poison ivy in her balloons. To this day, Aisha doesn’t know how she came up with that one. But if there was one thing Aisha really loved about Lilly, it was her ability to improvise.

While the boys’ parents were in a frenzy to find calamine lotion anywhere they could, Lilly explained to Aisha that she sometimes she walked around the property lakes and woods to pick poison ivy and poison oak. She was already doing experiments with it in her laboratory before the fight but still insisted on lecturing Aisha on the dangers of making chemical weapons. But, Aisha was hard to convince when another ten days went by with no boys and no street hockey. Points earned.

With the boys locked inside, stripped of their cell phones and dignity, the girls finally felt the freedom to venture beyond the front gate of the property. They rode their bikes to the top of the high, steep hill, pedaling hard, only to race each other down as fast as their banana seat bikes could carry them. At the bottom of the hill, the girls skidded to a stop in front of Lilly’s gate.

Lilly said, “You know, Aisha, maybe we went a little hard on the boys.”

“What? Are you crazy? This has been the best summer ever!” was her reply.

“Yeah, but it’s not like the boys really have a choice about where they can play street hockey. We live at the bottom of the hill. They can’t play at the top, in case one of their balls rolls all the way down here,” Lilly said with some practicality in her voice.

“Forget them,” Aisha protested, “All they had to do was let us play, too. They brought it all upon themselves.”

“Is that, right?” called out a voice from in the distance. “Fire!”

Aisha’s eyes focused like a hawk’s, but before she could warn Lilly about the snipers in the window, the paintballs started buzzing by their bodies. The girls fell off their bikes and landed on the hard pavement. They screamed as the fast-moving paintballs exploded against their bare skin. They were scratched and slightly bloodied with welts forming red swells all over their arms and legs.

“Hold your fire!” yelled out a single voice. Drew and Nick walked around from behind a tree. When the girls looked back in the direction the paintballs had come from, Andy and the triplets gave a little wave, and, then, refocused their sights on the girls.

“So, you think you can just run around and do whatever you want? Now, it’s about time we taught you a lesson about messing with a hockey team,” Drew threatened.

“What team? You’re dreaming! You’re just five barely pubescent boys and a fat goalie!” Lilly shouted.

“Hey, I’m gonna grow out of that,” Andy defended from his window perch.

“Alright, you asked for it,” Drew replied.

“What’s going on down here?” came the voice of sweet relief from Lilly’s Uncle. “What the hell do you boys think you’re doing to my girls?”

Nick stood by Drew in shock and could barely stammer out a response. On cue, the girls huddled and started crying. They held on tightly to one another to keep the other from turning her crocodile tears into bursts of laughter.

“Get the hell out of here and don’t let me see any of you down at the bottom of this hill, again!” Lilly’s Uncle yelled out and, then, proceeded over to the girls, who pulled themselves together.

“Young Ladies, that’ll be quite enough out of the two of you – glitter, hacking, and poison ivy balloons? I’ve had enough phone calls from these boys’ parents to last a lifetime.”

Lilly tried to break in, “But, they started it!”

“No, they didn’t. They just wouldn’t let you play a game with them. And they were right. You are too young and too little to play with them. Now, you got hurt, anyway. Are you happy, now?”

The girls looked at one another. “No, Sir,” they said.

He continued, “Now, both of you go to the study in the main house. Consider the tree fortress closed for the rest of the summer and you’re both grounded.”

“But, what are we going to do all day?” Lilly whined as Mrs. Yarborough approached. Aisha stiffened up.

Aisha’s mother told them, “Grammar – in English and French. You’ll be learning proper grammar rules for the rest of the summer. Maybe that will teach you to be proper, young ladies.”

The girls looked at each other defeated. Points no longer mattered. The summer war was over. There were, now, causalities on both sides.

Lilly’s Uncle continued, “Lilly, Aisha, you’re both too smart for this. Now, move it.”

The girls walked back to the house.

Mrs. Yarborough turned to Lilly’s Uncle when the girls were out of earshot and said, “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll teach them – gloating only gets you caught.”

Harry looked at Mrs. Yarborough. “That’s always a tough lesson.”

She replied, “Not half as tough as grammar, though.”

They both laughed. Harry continued to chuckle as he spoke, “Well, you’ve got to admit, they make a great team.”

Mrs. Yarborough smiled and said, “They do.”

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Axle (fiction)


The dirty, white van screeched to a halt, just missing her. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The van had been mounted sideways on new axles. Why, she thought. There must be a rational explanation, but no. Out popped a fiery blonde with tangled waves in her hair that fell to her chin, her features pointy but appealing. She got out to inspect her van.

“Here. Put this on,” she said with no introduction as she handed the enchanted girl an eye patch. It wasn’t as small as a pirate’s patch, but a large, black post-surgical patch that came to a soft point in front of her eyeball so that she could still blink behind it.

“It’s the only way to see,” the blonde continued. She was his best friend. She knew it without any words passing between them.

One of the back doors fell open flat, like a tailgate, since it sat sideways, as the blonde popped the handle. The new girl peaked inside.

“Cool,” was her awkward response.

“Not really,” said the blonde. “We can’t eat at the table.”

The girl bent down a little more to see through the door and, sure enough, a small round table was mounted to what would have been the bottom in any plain, old caravan. No, this one jetted out of the left wall. She could see through the sparse, metal interior straight to the windshield. It looked like the driver and passenger seats had been remounted in a normal position. They sat with the windshield facing out. No, the van was just twisted in the middle, the front wheels mounted on their plain, old, regular axle. It was only the back axle that had been retooled. There was no glass in the skylight that sat on the right side of the van. The glass in the windows on the top and bottom were also missing.

“Sit up front. Hurry! Let’s go!” she commanded.

The girl did as she was told, maybe to get in the blonde’s good graces, but felt instant vertigo as she did. The blonde pushed the gas pedal to the floor and before she knew it, they were swerving back and forth as the velocity held the girl in her seat. She hadn’t bothered with a seat belt. It was a van that had seen a lot of gravity.

The lot they steamed through must have been measured in acres with flat, creamy cement. Only one tree stood off to the left side, somehow immune to the cement ground. Tall grass and whippersnappers demarked the line of sanity on all four sides ending the horizons. There he was watching, holding onto the chain-link fence with his tender hands.

“He’s a pompous academic, you know,” the blonde said flatly as she continued to dodge things only she could see. The eyepatch wasn’t helping the girl at all.

“I know. I kind of like that about him,” the girl stated with no emotion.

He hadn’t been so pompous when she laid almost naked on the four-post bed with a cushy down mattress. She wore nothing but his open robe. Another girl laid there, too, but she had her clothes. How funny, thought the girl.

“Why would you be here? Are you his girlfriend?” she said to the other woman.

The other woman began to explain, but the words coming out of her mouthed turned inside out, going back into her throat. So much so that her words became softer and softer until she was mute. Our enchanted girl felt like an intruder and got up, putting her clothes on, again. Then, he walked through the door to stop her.

Their ages matched perfectly, but his black hair was already riddled with salt. He shook it out and took the girl into his tight, muscular arms and wrapped them around her waist. They stood nose to nose because his grasp had brought her body up against his, making her feel taller. The other girl on the bed was plump and upset. Her black, moldy face crunched up and he shooed her away while never losing eye contact with the girl. He had been a rock climber once, which explained his muscles, before becoming a Ph.D., which came with all the benefits of student sex.

“She’s a graduate,” he protested to the other woman. The other gave up and collected her yellow purse from the ground and exited the wide-open space of the bedroom.

Once the other was gone, they kissed, the girl trying passion, as he remained tight-lipped, sucking. Her face was twirling, almost lost to a black hole. It wasn’t a marvelous kiss, so she tried again. Again, she was met with the same kiss, but he rubbed her close to him with a moan. He was trying passion and that meant the most.

He took her clothes back off and went down on her. Now, the sucking kiss felt right. That explained it. She’d teach him the difference later. But he knew he had Chlamydia and he warned her that they should wait. After consideration, she did. It would clear up soon, she knew, after the season for it.

“So, what does this mean moving forward for our future?” he asked, sincere.

“You mean you want more than this?” the girl felt surprised.

“You’re a graduate and capable,” he said. “Meet me at the festival parade,” he followed up with, not explaining his meaning, but her butterflies knew exactly.

She couldn’t wait but had to. She despised this season.

“I have to go feed my dogs, you understand,” he said as he walked, shuffling the papers beneath his feet. “I can grade later.”

She went to get some coffee out of his pot, waiting for his return, as his two cats, already fed, twirled between her legs, putting on a fluffy show. It was a sign of good times to come. He wanted a future.

With that future upon her, the day of the demolition festival arrived. Now, being vetted by the wonky blonde, she could start to see the derby with her good eye behind the patch. The blonde made it out. With stretching metal creaking, the van tried to keep up.

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Wake Up Call (flash fiction)


I can’t wake up. All of my life I’ve been a heavy sleeper.

I hadn’t found an alarm clock that was up to the challenge until my best friend gave me a chicken alarm clock. Its body comprised the clock face surrounded by white plastic, etched feathers. Above that sat the head of the chicken with a yellow beak and that red thing on top of its head. Well, that red thing was the snooze button. In order to turn off the alarm I had to flip a switch on the yellow feet. At the set time, the chicken crowed like a rooster for daybreak. I’d finally found the one. I was eleven.

At nineteen, I found Bill. He is a tortured artist.

Once, he slathered himself in multi-colored, acrylic paint and rammed himself against a wall. The remaining full-body ink blot was like a cloud to us. We’d sit and try to find unique shapes in that splat, like elephants or dolphins. I moved into his loft-style, garage apartment. I brought my chicken clock. Bill was a vegetarian. He always seemed to look at the chicken with contempt. We got into a fight; I brought home a burger; the next day he broke up with me.

After he left, so I could pack, wailing and screaming, I destroyed much of his artwork. During my fit, my chicken clucked away. I threw it against the wall and it shattered into pieces. I immediately realized what I had done.

I don’t break my stuff anymore.

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