KCKinny

Clarence slowed for a red light, fearing the moment he shifted down to first gear. The motorcycle went from a satisfying thrum to a violent near-rape of his entire butt. He pogo’ed in his seat at a rate of 20 jolts per second. “Hey!” the man in the next car shouted. “Nice bike!” Vibrating and in pain, Clarence gave a thumbs up. He was heading straight back to the Harley Davidson dealer.

“Oops,” the day worker said. He’d tossed the stepping stone too hard and it lay on the lawn, cracked clean in half. “I thought they were harder than that,” he said. “It happens. Don’t toss them from so high up, please.” “Oops,” the day worker said. The boss looked. The day worker had sliced through a cable with his shovel. The boss sighed. “Yeah, alright. We’ll fix it,” the boss said. It took a trip to the hardware store and the day worker fiddling with the cable for twenty minutes before he got it spliced together again. “Fixed it!” He went back to digging. “Dig shallowly, and use the hoe, not the shovel,” the boss said. “Oops,” the day worker said. The boss carefully unclenched his fists and looked. Water was geysering six feet into the air, the water pressurized halfway to hell and back and coming from a pipe that couldn’t be anything but a secondary main. The day worker’s shovel was in the center of the upward waterfall, somehow jammed in the pipe so deeply it couldn’t

In the last moments before the sun went down, Zane tried to reach her. He paced in the tall grass, the stomped blades smelling green and fresh, and she did not answer. It was getting harder for him to move. He redialed. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he said. Second to last ring, the sun winked out on the horizon. He dove back into his car and slammed the door shut. The phone went to voicemail, and he left a message that was only silence. He was sprawled across the car seats, already cold and dead. Morning came and the sun blinked into the sky. Zane opened his eyes, warm and alive. He groaned and spilled out of the car into the dewy sunshine of a brand new day. Birds called, the air perfumed with the scent of grasses and flowers, and all he cared about was that his shirt was getting wet from the dew and he was hanging upside down out of his car door. He waved his arms around until he could feel them and slowly rolled himself backwards until he belly flopped in the wet grass. His phone said no

Lenny’s Bar & Grill was probably the last place in the world that had an actual Happy Hour. The Happy Hour was literally just that — one hour. There was none of this “all day” crap. You wanted to get happy, you got one hour to do it. God, that place was a sweaty sardine can at Happy Hour. Everybody and their grandmother jammed in there, grinning and holding red plastic cups of whatever liquid mistake they preferred. And every day, at five o’clock, everyone got happy. Their worries vanished. They didn’t care about their bills, the divorce, how little Billy was doing in school, or the slow leak in the car tire. Everyone became blissfully happy. The talkers always went into a corner, jabbering in tones of pure joy, while the meditative ones usually sat in the booths. The dance floor was for dancers and singers and hip-wigglers, and the stage was always populated with a dozen fools with dozen different instruments. The music was always good even when the players had never met before; the

I stood up from the alley I was cowering in and walked into the middle of the street. In the midnight rush hour, this would ordinarily be suicide. But the hour had lost its rush and the cars were motionless. The drivers were slumped over their wheels. The pedestrians were packing the sidewalks with their prone, silent bodies. The subway grates still gushed their hot air, pipes rattled and electricity still hummed in the overloaded wires. I alone was still alive. “Well,” a man’s voice hissed. “Well, well.” I turned so fast I tripped over myself and went tumbling backwards. A man was approaching me. He wore fully black clothing, from his long coat to his broad black hat. The only skin visible was that of his face, and even then the hat hid his eyes. His lips smiled against the milky pallor of his flesh. “Wh–” I rasped. I licked my lips and tried again. “What is this? How could you… do this?” “Shhhh,” the man said, walking closer, “they are not dead. Only sleeping.” I scrambled back

By the time the library caught fire, I knew I had lost. Once the library goes, it all goes. All the ideas, the memories, and the knowledge inside… an entire identity. All gone into the roaring maw of the flames. I stopped fighting. I let myself burn. “Okay,” said the doc. “All erased.” The dark man in the doorway said, “You are certain?” “Yeah,” the doc said. “Watch this.” Fingers snapped in front of my eyes. It was hard to focus but I tried. “Hey,” the doc said. “What’s the last thing you remember?” “My library burnt down,” I said. My words slurred. “What was in my library?” “That’s what I like to hear,” the doc said with a chuckle. He slapped me on the shoulder and looked at the dark man. “He doesn’t remember jack. He’s all yours.” The dark man smiled. My heart jumped in my chest and began speeding up. I was afraid. Why? “You were a hard man to catch,” the dark man said to me. “O-oh,” I said. “You’re going to be my new lieutenant, you bastard.” Two years, and acres of spilled blood

Lai was mentally numbed by the time she crawled out of the rush hour traffic. She pulled into her driveway and engaged the parking brake. She tried to turn the car off and it buzzed its disapproval at her. She hadn’t put the transmission into park. She did it. Car off. She opened her door and sat there. Stared at the garage door, the one she couldn’t park behind because Nai Nai had too much stuff in there. Because she was sitting there, mentally blank and physically silent, she was able to hear it. A soft, feminine voice whispered, “Help.” It was coming from under the car. Monica had clung to the bottom of the car until she was sure it had stopped. The heat from the engine still emanated towards her, and it had taken all her will to keep herself frozen to the metal underbelly of the car. Then she let go, ice melting from her hands and allowing her to drop gently onto the cracked concrete of the driveway. “Help,” she whispered. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t even shimmy out

Hans Grubber had made a number of regrettable life choices. Most of them were the pedestrian regrets of a Westerner. Signing a two-year lease on a place that made his soul want to vomit. Punching a homeless guy who turned out to be holding an e-cig instead of a knife. Getting into cocaine. Sometimes, he even regretted getting out of cocaine. Despite the drugs, shit neighbors, and cold nights in the county drunk tank, there was only one thing he wished he could travel back in time to stop himself from doing. He would do anything to stop himself from falling in love. But Hans knew it was too late. “Anna,” he breathed. She bent low, brushed her lips across his. He leaned forward but she held his face in her hands, keeping her kiss an empty promise. “Do you love me?” she said. Hans closed his eyes. A tear escaped and pooled around the manicured fingers of his woman. “Do you?” she whispered. “God,” Hans whispered. “I do.” Her voice was a velvet vice. “Good. Good.” She kissed him and he