Saturday, July 25, 2009

Jesus Wept

Jesus watched over the anesthetized girl. The operation to restore her sight was a delicate one, and the surgeon needed his help.

When Jesus felt the familiar tug of people praying, He tried to ignore it, but He’d promised to be wherever two or three were gathered in His name, and this time there were thousands.

With an agonized glance at the little girl, Jesus left the operating room.


Rocking her sightless child, the mother cried, “Why, Jesus? Why?”

Jesus wept but remained silent, unwilling to tell her He’d been called away by thousands of people praying for a touchdown.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

The Defendant

The defendant appeared to be praying.

Her lawyer glanced at the jury; they didn’t seem swayed by her pose of innocence.

“Did you kill him?” he asked his client.

She bowed her head. “No.”

“Isn’t it true that you had sex with him before he disappeared?”

“Yes, but he left afterward, and I never saw him again. Maybe he mated with someone else.”

The prosecuting attorney rose. “Objection.”

“Sustained,” the judge said “Just answer the question. Did you kill him?”

“No. He was young and healthy and strong.” The mantis gave the judge an apologetic look. “So he got away.”

Monday, February 2, 2009


Cuddling her baby, Cassie went to answer the door.

Anna, eyes bright beneath hooded lids, smiled at her. “I came to see my newest neighbor.” She bent forward and peered into the baby’s face. “Oooh, he’s so sweet I could just eat him up.” She held out her arms. “May I?”

Pride welled up in Cassie’s chest. “Sure.”

With a sudden sinuous motion, Anna took the baby, popped him in her mouth, and swallowed him whole.

Unable even to scream, Cassie stared at the bulge in the woman’s midsection.

“What?” Anna gave her a puzzled look. “You said I could.”


The drab little man in the gray suit entered the bar at five o’clock as usual, huddled on the same bar stool he always did, and waited to order his usual martini.

An almost pretty woman perched on the next stool smiled at him as if they were going to be good friends. Then a fellow wearing a loud shirt approached and handed her a rose. As she got up to follow him, a single petal fluttered to the floor.

“Your usual?” the bartender asked.

The man glanced at the rose petal, straightened his shoulders. “I’ll have red wine today.”

A Drop of Honey

A drop of honey formed on the vaulted ceiling.

He strained against his bonds. How much more could he take? The drop slammed into his forehead with all the force of a sledgehammer.

Through his pain, he heard a loud drone. He turned his head.

Two feet away, the yellow-jacketed silhouette of McQueen stared at him, immobile except for her rapidly beating wings. “If you had not meddled, you would not be in this sticky situation. Tell me who hired you.”

“None of your beeswax.” The words scraped his throat.

“Tell me,” McQueen demanded.

The honey began its downward journey.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

The Perfect Wife

“Are you coming right home after work?” Gina asked.

“Yes. Why?”

She gave him a sultry look. “I have a surprise for you.”

Bob’s heart beat faster, wondering what delight she had in store for him this time.

He finished his breakfast, rose from the table, and kissed her. Her lips were warm and full of promise. He ran his fingers through her hair, then pressed the button at the back of her skull. She went still.

“Bye, Sweetheart,” he said. He paused at the door and looked back. “I can hardly wait to get home and turn you on.”