5. Emails, by Alex Z. Salinas
“Ugh! Can’t sneeze without a hundred emails coming in,” Shannon complained.
“Right?” Lorena commiserated.
Teddy, cubicle-sandwiched between them, munching on a sandwich, thought something.
“Funny how the not-real distresses us so.”
“What?” said Lorena.
“We thought digital communication would have us singing kumbaya. I think now it’s slow murder.”
“Yes!” Lorena agreed.
“Y’all think Ray Tomlinson saw this coming?” asked Teddy.
“Who?” said Lorena.
“The guy who created email.”
“Teddy, how many emails do you get a day?” Shannon asked.
“Enough to enjoy this sandwich,” Teddy answered.
Were it not for his loud chewing, Teddy would’ve heard Shannon mutter, “Prick.”
4. The Problem with Colours, by Henry Bladon
I never planned to be a bomb maker, but there’s not a lot of decent employment for a chemistry graduate. Anyway, tedious lab work would drive me mental and I don’t look good in a white coat; I’m more of a colours girl. Colours are the problem right now, though, as I’ve kind of messed up. If I let go of the little green wire, the fluids will mix, and my Nikes will end up on Neptune. It’s not what you’d call an ideal situation. And it’s my birthday.
Like I say, I never planned to be a bomb maker.
3. Inside Out, by Don Tassone
The boy stepped up and rang the bell. A woman opened the door.
“Good morning, Josh,” she said.
“Can Jake come out?”
“He’s in his room, playing video games. Do you want to join him?”
“No, thanks.”
Josh walked to other friends’ houses, but their parents said they were inside, too, mainly playing video games.
And so it went for most of Josh’s childhood. While his friends played indoors, he played outdoors, wading through creeks, climbing trees and hiking in the woods.
This morning, now Secretary of the Interior, Josh announced a name change—to the Department of the Exterior.
2. After Work, by Julie Achilles
Fiona dumped her shopping bag on the table and immediately began her after-work rant. “It’s all right for you … I have to stand in the shop all day … my feet are killing me, whilst you lounge around, here, in the warm, doing nothing.”
It was like this most nights. Fiona would come home, moan endlessly, not a word about his long-awaited dinner … he should be the one to moan, being kept waiting, starving.
Fluffy could hear her voice droning on and decided to make good his escape, dashing through the cat-flap. He’d come back later when she’d calmed down.
1. The Mysteriously Appearing Grapefruits, by Fliss Zakaszewska
I knew that look on my brother Mick’s face as we sat on the hillock in our tropical garden overlooking ‘The Club’, its swimming-pool, tennis courts and the hotel’s henhouses – but no grapefruit trees.
Weeks later, crack of dawn – BANG-BANG-BANG and an uproar of angry hens. Grapefruits in the pool, on the courts and the henhouse’s metal roofs. Investigation proved inconclusive.
Bang-bang-bang, two weeks later, and again and again … Then I found it. A superb tractor-tyre catapult. My silence kept me in chocolate for the rest of my childhood and a grown-up single malt every Christmas since. Sorry, hens.