Short Stories
A Barbie World
I wake up in a dark place, and it’s not my usual shelf. I’m, like, pulled out of a paper bag and the weirdest thing is holding me: a 6 year-old boy. Ugh. With him is some bald guy that, like, is totally too old for me. I think they’re talking in, like, Spanish or something? I don’t think I’m in America, but I wish I were. I’m about to throw a fit when my box suddenly goes, like, dark. OMG, he did not just do that. Deep breaths, Barbie, it’ll all be fine, you’ve got, like, more smarts than that legally blonde poser. Plus you have more degrees. I get bored, so I take my well deserved beauty rest, but then I’m totally interrupted by the bitch that turned on the lights, like, you’ve got to be kidding me.
This thirty-something year-old lady is just sobbing at me like it’s the first thing she’s ever been given. Then it hits me super hard. The boy thought I’d be the best present for his mom because she’s a girl, and that’s like, super sexist. Then the lady just hugs the bald guy, and I’m like - ew, he totally wants to fuck you. After lots of hugging and kissing, she takes me out of the box and she, um, plays with me and her son for, like, a minute or two. He’s barely playing along, because he probably doesn’t know how. I bet he calls his dolls action figures or something. I wasn’t given like 40 PhDs to be played with by some mom – that’s like so un-cool. It’s not like she even means it, right?
While they were moving me around (without my consent) I noticed the house was way too plain. The living room had like a couch and a dining table with some chairs, and, like, nothing else. This kid is so inconsiderate. I mean, couldn’t he have bought her something useful instead of me? I’m a doll. When they’re done, she takes me to her room. I bet she’ll just, like, stick me in the closet, but instead she’s combing my hair. Afterwards, she puts me away in her small book shelf next to her bed. If I could, I would totally tell her to dump her boyfriend’s bald ass, cause she’s, like, my fam now.
For a long time I’m just sitting all day. My only company is a Deepak Chopra book, and some others I don’t know about because they’re, like, out of sight you know? Things happened in between, like, they adopted a puppy, the bald guy disappeared for a while, came back, left again but kept in touch, the dog died, and eventually we all moved. All the while I’m thinking to myself: not being biodegradable sucks, I wish I could die. Then I remember I can’t wear cute dresses when I’m dead, and I feel better.
For a while I get boxed again, but when Mom lets me out, I’m in a completely different place, like I teleported or something. Now we’re in an apartment that’s actually furnished. The same things happen again, but it’s been a different guy, a different dog (who bit foot my off), and a different book. Now I’m sitting next to some book called “The Secret”, like, how desperate can you get? Never mind, she’s kept me this long and her teen son doesn’t know she smokes. I know exactly what’s going on. How? Oh, I forgot to mention, I happened to be boxed next to a Spanish to English dictionary. That’s right, “Yo hablo espanol muy bueno”. If I can’t fix my amputation with my medical degree, then I can’t fix her problems with my psychology degree. She’s like a total loser, but I, like, totally missed her.
The boy comes and goes every so often. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen his Dad, like, ever. When he’s not around Mom’s new boyfriend comes around. I can’t even. This was the worst, like really sucky. The ass-hat was gone when he slapped the wrong cheek. I swear I could whip out my law degree and take that pig to court! Sometimes I’m like: girl, you don’t need no man, just live your life, but then I remember she’s got a son and that I don’t so she probably knows better. Last thing I see before getting boxed again is Mom and her son talking about a trip. I think he’s going to college, and he’s supposed to be an adult now? She comes back later and she’s all by herself. Meanwhile, I’m like: I’m so glad I’m not biodegradable. She cries and she looks at me and I know what she sees, but she won’t pick me up. Bitch, pick me up already so I can hug you!
I get pulled out of a box again. It’s just Mom in a different unfurnished house. Some other girl is speaking English on the phone nearby. Is this America? Wait, is that a roommate?? OMG, am I still relevant??? Even on my last leg she brought me along. Like, I’m sorry I called you a bitch. She combed my hair one last time, and she set me down in a little wooden toy cabin that I barely fit in. I guess this is where I’m retiring now. That young man better come visit us, I know well his mom deserves it.
The Fragrance of Dark Coffee
I had finished work and was heading to the bus station to go home after a long day. I noticed that there was a new coffee shop in town. It was puzzling; I hadn't seen any remodeling being done at all. I had time to enjoy a nice cup of coffee; after all, it was the weekend, and I was alone.
Inside, the shop was smaller than it seemed. It had three tables with two seats each and a counter, with an old woman standing behind it. I sat down at the counter and read through their small menu, and ordered an espresso. The lady began to perform the task. She seemed too fragile to be working anywhere. The lady slowly moved through what little space she had, picking up the materials needed for the brew. Her hands remained held together whenever she wasn't holding something, rubbing each other as if the café had been cold, or as if she had an elaborate scheme. The coffee machine looked antiquated, made of brass with multiple knobs. The coffee, pouring out of the machine, emitted a wonderful scent in the form of thin white smoke. Never in my life had I smelled such a fragrance come from coffee. When it was done, I picked up the cup and looked at its contents.
There was darkness, more than a human could possibly create. The darkness was such that it would put dark matter to shame. Once cool enough I took my first sip, intending to explore this mysterious brew. The bitterness of the coffee overwhelmed my palate, winding deeper into my system faster than I wanted. I savored it, sip after sip, thinking that if I tasted it more I would understand what made this coffee so magnificent. The rim of the cup on my lips felt like a kiss, the warmth of the coffee flooding a void in my heart that I never knew existed, and after every sip the aftertaste was so intense that I felt it embedding itself into my being.
The cup was endless. No matter how much I drank, the darkness wouldn't become any shallower. My heartbeat was increasing at a painful rate. With no regard for this, I kept drinking – it was not possible that this was happening. I was terrified; I had fallen in love with the sultry flavor of this coffee. Fleeing was a choice, but it wouldn't have done me any good – my obsession would haunt me. In panic, I threw the cup in a random direction, hitting a wall and shattering it. Its contents dripped down the wall, forming text that read, “I thought you loved me.”
Poetry
Freedom
I find myself walking
the dark streets, a small drizzle
petting my head and shoulders as I go.
It's late.
Things could happen,
they say,
crimes, tragedy, worse?
Bah, I've been through much worse.
If safety were a concern,
I wouldn't be out right now.
I would have better memories of home.
Nostalgic belongings taken, gone,
like digits from your bank account,
except they weren't spent by yourself,
but by a nobody who doesn't know
the worth of your work.
A dog, a teacher, a friend, and family.
Syphoned by force from what use to be
my life's work.
I ran away...
I feel much safer out,
here on the damp roads,
surrounded by strangers
that barely notice me,
like a leaf and unlike a bill.
