War of the Worlds

On Thanksgiving, a family listened to the Orson Welles radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds, in which earth is attacked by alien invaders in tripod warships that walk and kill as they stroll. The attackers give no quarter to mankind, vaporizing questions of life in the universe with their solemn and brute heat-ray, annihilating all interlocutors. There will be no Thanksgiving day in the War of the Worlds.

Sad Red Boots

A woman wearing tall red boots strolled up to the shop counter and ordered coffee. One hand in her coat pocket, the other hand leaning hard against the counter, she stared at the wall, her long eyelashes blinking back sorrow. Outside the shop window, a man banging on a snare drum wandered past, weaving this way and that, heading down the sidewalk to an unknown destination.

Corner Store

At the neighborhood corner store, a young woman approaches the register, where a round-bellied man, nicknamed the Big Piñata, rings up her purchases. “I might be old and worn,” he informs her, “but there’s still a lot of candy left in this piñata.” The woman exits with her groceries—but no candy.


Thanks to Maude Hines.