Nightmares

As a child, I was often chased by Something on the dark, wet streets of my nightmares. I could never get away fast enough, as if slogging through a waist-deep bog. I could never gain momentum, and Something always closed the space between us. It was easy. It delighted in my fear.

Eventually, Something caught me, but I was older. I fought back. Even as I beat it into a bloody stump, Something delighted in my fear.

Today, when I see him, waiting for me to panic and run, I stand fast and defiant.

Today, he only stares back.

Technophobe

She avoided computers at all cost. “Computers hate me,” she would say, which became a burden to other employees who took up the slack in work she didn’t do. I swore to never enable her, and one day peeked into her cubicle to see what she did all day instead of work.

She sat there, spaced out, doing nothing. Finally, she reached for the mouse – and the monitor smashed her in the face. The monitor arm recoiled to its original position as she cried softly.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She turned, her nose bleeding. “Computers hate me,” she whimpered.