The Bee Farmer

The idea had been simple enough when his editor proposed it, a story about the mysterious fate of the disappearing bees.

Now, after weeks of interviews with scientists and bee farmers, he found himself on this lonely road, in the middle of nowhere Arkansas.

As he pulled up a long gravel drive, he noticed the air was pregnant with bees.

He knocked on the farmhouse door. A grizzled, bearded bear of a man answered.

"I wanted to ask you about the bees on your farm."

"I reckon I'll have to kill you like I killed the others," sighed the farmer.

Office Drone

He adjusted his tie, making sure the knot was centered, and returned to his keyboard. He added a macro to the spreadsheet.

He stood up, and took a lap around his desk. Maybe if he took off his jacket. He shrugged his shoulders, stretching out his arms, then returned to his keyboard. He double checked all the numbers for the third time.

His pants were starting to bunch up. He stood up to straighten out his pleats, and returned to his keyboard. He'd be finished with the spreadsheet in another hour. Maybe he'd have time to fit in some minesweeper.

Jake And The Chrononauts

Jake, the only remaining Chrononaut, skated to a stop on top of the telephone pole. He was out of bullets, and his knife had broken off in the helicopter propeller. Percival still clung to his back, but using the three-toed sloth as a weapon would be too risky, not to mention politically incorrect.

I never should have dropped that alligator.

The Baskerville hounds blocked his escape. The Redcoats advanced with precise timing, firing shots every five paces. And the Voodoo priestess was still alive, hiding somewhere in the catacombs.

Jake finally conceded trusting the Hitler clone had been a mistake.

The Longest Night

Carter paused to rub his hands. Callouses had already started to form. Dawn was fast approaching, and his aching muscles longed for repose.

Why not give up this tedious digging? What rewards could he expect at the bottom?

But he continued. The men stared down at Carter from above, perched like gargoyles, or maybe angels gazing down into hell.

Carter resented their leisure. "That's it. I'm not digging anymore." He threw down his shovel.

"That's deep enough." Carter saw the flash before he heard the shot, and he realized in that final instant his childhood nightmare had finally come true.

Survival Stories

A dim blue light manifested over the valley. The crisp breeze squeezed even the rumor of moisture from the air.

A spot of water, too meager to be named a drop, formed on the needle of a cactus. It clung near the edge, threatening to plummet into the abyss.

Gravity pulled, the breeze tugged, but the droplet's tensile strength held firm, and rather than fall, it rolled the length of the spine, reaching the porous membrane at the cactus's heart.

The water seeped inside. The cactus sprang to life at the sudden nourishment, enough sustenance to endure another few weeks.

The Brubaker Spectacular

The Brubaker Spectacular trundled down Main Street, festooned with ribbons and fur, exploding confetti at every corner.

The children trailed after the wagons, quivering in epileptic fits of joy. The Brubaker Spectacular had arrived.

Elephants trumpeted at the sky. Acrobats danced from the rooftops. Giants wrestled lions, while swinging from trapezes suspended over fiery pits.

The Brubaker Spectacular promised two weeks of bewitching sensation, exceeding even the most remarkable dreams of splendor.

Shops closed their doors. The school master tossed aside his exams. Reverends and ministers forgave a fortnight worth of transgressions.

Nobody ever said no to the Brubaker Spectacular.

Working For A Living

"Time to go to work."

Oliver crawled out of bed. He crawled out of his room, and out of the house, and down the hill. He crawled along the dirt path.

Oliver paused for a few moments to crawl in circles. He then continued to crawl along the dirt path.

Oliver found a giant bread crumb. He joyously crawled over it and under it and around it. This would feed his family for a few hours.

Oliver crawled back to the hill. He did not forget to crawl in circles a few times along the way.

Oliver loved his life.

The Book Of Lost Worlds

Robert shifted through the pile of old books. He quietly shone his light from title to title, but had begun to have doubts.

The book had been stolen from him, many years ago. He still remembered the evening he first opened it, and found himself magically transported to the other world.

Here it was! The same blue cover, the same tattered corner worn away by his own fingers.

"You found it," his wife exclaimed when he brought it home.

Robert slipped it onto a corner of his book shelf.

"Aren't you going to open it?" she asked.

"Only when necessary."

A Stitch In Time

Revere eyed the man to his right with a growing sense of animosity.

"I don't know why I set foot in that infernal time machine of yours, Franklin," he complained.

"Would you rather be back in 1783, listening to Hancock's monotonous anecdotes?"

Franklin took the silence as a No. With a smile, he adjusted his bifocals and revved up his chainsaw.

"See you on the ground."

Franklin leapt from the jet. He glided onto the back of the saber-toothed tiger, and with the skill of a man not new to battling prehistoric animals, beheaded the monster with one swipe.

"Tax this!"

The Spy Who Couldn't Spell

Agent Baker scribbled fervently on his notepad. Dr. Kupfernickel would return any minute.

The footsteps warned him. He folded his note into the perfect paper airplane and launched it through the window just as the door swung open. Baker turned confidently to face his adversary.

The paper airplane glided across the square and into the waiting arms of Agent Donnelly, who quickly read the missive.

"Is this message encoded?" asked Donnelly's puzzled partner.

"Baker is dyslexic. He can't spell. He said to wait here until he gives explicit orders. So we wait here."

They found Baker's body two weeks later.