An Extract From The Memoirs of Mayor Manuel Garfias Pasadena: Lion Taming and City Wrangling

Our wagons rolled between wild city prints, the only path across this wilderness. They were ichor splattered, someone had wounded this town. We found him under his crushed horse, Chicago Hunter, the city wrangler.

Leave him, we’re desperate enough already, they told me accusingly. But I was ringmaster.

Chicago never survived the winter. But with his tools, and some reinvention on my part, the Pasadena Circus had a home. Pasadena City never stood a chance.

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A Timely Gift

“What is it, Professor?” Asked lovely Miss Whitt.

“I don’t rightly know,” he said, waving a beeping device over the object. “It’s wrapped like a gift, but not from our timeline. Ordinarily I’d invent a lie like “Chronomium particles” to impress you. Oh! I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But your scanning device…?”

“Merely a speaker that beeps when I press this button.” He did. It did.

“Apparently the present present’s presence prevents pretense.”


I wrote this for Christmas and never got around to posting it here!

Cotton Lambs

Eric had joined the police force to protect. And he was. But he’d expected to be protecting the general public from criminal elements, not money thirsty businesses from protesters who seemed to have a point.

“Steady,” called the sergeant. “Here they come, stand tight.”

Buffeting, shoving, shouting. The protesters retreated.

It was the skulls that really got to him. Tiny lamb skulls on stalks, surrounded by circular patches of dirt where the grass had been eaten to the roots. How hard would it have been to feed them? Or finish them humanely? Who’d let a lamb starve to death just because it had roots instead of hind legs?

Eric came to a decision. The protesters would make it through today.

 


An unfinished 300 word entry.

Tweet loud enough the gods can hear

“What in my name is a hashtag?!” demanded Zeus. His fingers inched closer to a lightning bolt, the best response to confrontation.

“Stop avoiding the point,” said Themis, voice cracking. “There isn’t a goddess present who hasn’t felt your hands or worse.”

“I fought Typhon for you. I’m your king!”

“Touch any of us again,” said Demeter, “and I will cast you down myself.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

Zeus’ hand trembled, weaponless.


This was improved by feedback from the lovely people at the Chrons forum.