200 More Years

FacebookTwitterGoogle+Share

I never tell anybody this because I know they would think I’m crazy, but most of the time I think that I can probably continue living. Not indefinitely. I don’t think I’m invincible or a god or anything like that. But I don’t think it’s so crazy that I might live for another 150 years or so if I stay on top of my health and informed about innovations in medical technology.

At the library, I read Scientific American, Science Today, Modern Medicine News and even Wired to learn about the newest wonder drugs that are being evaluated by the FDA. I make notes about which internal organs the researchers are having the most success cloning or growing in the laboratory. I also research infectious diseases on the internet for about an hour each day to see what the next big epidemic might be and how a person can prepare for its arrival.

[Read more…]

Oliver’s Dogs

He arrived in California as a refugee with a fever, wiping his nose on the dangling end of his scarf. Everyone here smiled, white teeth stark against skin, and they looked like little dogs, wagging their tails when they climbed into the cars of their happy, tan relatives. There was no car for him to climb into, and his suitcase was on its way to Chicago. The man at the counter, a bulldog type, repeated that they would have the suitcase delivered if Oliver could only give them an address. Oliver shrugged his shoulders. It was illogical, but he was afraid that this bulldog might try to send him back to Michigan if he found out that he didn’t belong to any address here. It was lucky that he kept extra underwear and a toothbrush in his backpack.

[Read more…]

The Laughing Ones

“When can we stop playing this game, Harris?” I asked the old man on our way back to the lock-up.

He stared at me from the back seat, making eye contact in the rear-view mirror. “Won’t be long now, officer,” he said, sniffing deeply. “You can smell it on the air. It’s brinier, more brackish, stinks like the dark.”

“You’re sure that smell isn’t from the buckets of chum you were splashing on all those doors by the waterfront?”

“I was just trying to help,” Harris said. “If we smell like the deep they might pass us by.”

“They?”

[Read more…]

Wasted at 27

He desperately wants to stop, but he can’t. “Just one more time, then I’m done for good.” He’s uttered those good intentions so many times that he’s lost count. But he’s meant it every single time he said it.

He doesn’t say it anymore.

That lowlife Cobra put an end to any hopes and dreams that still lingered in his troubled mind. Cobra screwed him over good, real good, screwed him over to save his own sorry ass. Maybe he would have done the exact same thing if he were in Cobra’s shoes. But he likes to think better of himself, likes to think he would’ve never gone down that dark road of betrayal.

[Read more…]

The Garden in Scotland

I
Ladybug

“Help!” Lewis the ladybug called out for help. He was traversing across the garden when he stumbled onto a little ball, attracted by the bright white colour of the golf ball with its little dimples. Unfortunately, he lost his footing and got stuck in one of the dimples he was admiring moments ago.

“Help” he called out as loud as he could until he realised no one was coming.

It’s a hard knock life for a male ladybug in Edinburgh, he thought to himself as he tried to get himself unstuck.

[Read more…]

Half-Life

I was born on January 23, 1989, at one thirty-one in the afternoon. Three minutes later, the better part of me was born.

When my brother and I were fighting, as children, after he’d hit me, I would play dead and freak him out. It didn’t please our mother.

“Momma! Momma!” He cried as he ran from my side. I could hear him blubbering to her as I lay sprawled out on the floor, holding my breath for realism, trying my best not to smile or peek out beneath my eyelids to see what was happening.

[Read more…]

Sex, Drugs, and Polka Music

It was my 12th birthday. I wanted an electric guitar. I wanted girls’ attention. I wanted to wear sunglasses, t-shirts with cut-off sleeves, jeans with tears in them and all black chucks. I was going to grow my hair long, not give a damn and be a badass rock star. Screaming fans, loud music, and money!

My parents placed in front of me this large box with shiny blue wrapping paper. My entire family watched me intently as I opened the card that was on top, first. The card had blue, red, and white guitars on the front of it and read: Happy Birthday!

Inside the card:

I hope your day ROCKS!

Love,

Mom and Dad

I looked up at them and smiled. Months of dropping hints had finally payed off.

[Read more…]

Organ Rejection

First he gave away his kidney and then he left his wife. It was a failure in her duty of care. She’d taken into herself something of his, then returned to the same neglect. Late nights, drinking binges, medication left untouched in the cupboard.

His counsellor had warned him this could happen. “We have to be prepared for some kind of reaction. Not a physical or biological rejection, but a psychological one. The worse thing that could happen is for her to feel indebted. Of course, you’d want to rebel.”

Perhaps he wanted her to feel indebted. How incredible, they’d said, despite her large family that he was the only credible match. That proved something. It’s a rare kind of love that would go so far as to share a bodily organ. There’s all that free talk about the merging of hearts but to give up a kidney shows real commitment.

[Read more…]

Mithu

A fierce hurricane was supposed to hit the coast. Adults had their ears glued to the radio; there was no television in those days. Thick clouds covered the sky, and the roads were deserted. As the evening progressed, the wind picked up to a fierce speed. It was threatening to break open the closed doors and windows. I heard sounds of tin roofs flying off and window panes breaking. The storm, accompanied by heavy rain, continued all night.

Next morning on the radio they reported the damage the storm had caused. Hundreds of uprooted trees blocked the roads. Dad could not go to work, and the schools remained closed. It was a forced holiday.

My uncle came with a box in his hand, “Look what I have brought you.”

[Read more…]