Codey Cooksie was hungry. He marched with determination down the street, clutching a wad of worn-out one dollar bills. He imagined the tasty things he would soon eat at the street fair. Candy apples and fluffy spun sugar to start, with a healthy scoop of rocky road for a fine finish. Codey was so enraptured by his imaginings that he didn’t even notice the lonely foot protruding from a small doghouse. He tripped and fell face-forward toward the ground, slamming his eyes shut as he braced for pain.

Instead, he felt a stout tug at his waistline, and was lifted entirely off the ground as he turned to look behind. He looked into the first face he’d ever thought of as beautiful; a face, he’d recall, connected to an arm that didn’t look as strong as it plainly was.

“What’s the big idea?” he exclaimed, wriggling as his senses returned. The girl in question, about a foot taller than Codey, smiled as she put him down. “I just saved your butt!” she declared, hands on her hips. “You owe me!” Codey scratched his head. “Well whaddya want? I ain’t got much money, just five bucks!”

The girl’s lips hovered somewhere between a smile and a smirk, and she spoke in a confident voice. “What’s your name, anyway? I’m Darla, the meanest vampire in all the land!” Codey narrowed his eyes as he looked her up and down. “I’m Codey, but you don’t look like a vampire. And it’s sunny out, shouldn’t you be on fire or something?”

Darla folded her arms across her chest and declared in a loud voice, her face turned skyward, “I am a cookie vampire, the meanest of them all. I drain the chocolate chips and raisins from any cookie that dares cross my path!” She waited a moment for dramatic effect, then turned back to face Codey. “Since I saved your life, I’ll let you pay me back with a cookie from the street fair.”

Codey chewed his lip, thinking that buying cookies would probably put a crimp in his dinner plans. Still, she had saved his life, or at least his dignity, whatever that was, and he was sure his mother would say it was the right thing to do.

“Alright,” he said, shoving the money into his pocket as he extended his hand to shake Darla’s, “let’s go to the street fair, and I’ll buy you a cookie.” “Great!” Darla declared, her cheeks turning rosy as her smile stretched across her face, “It’ll be our very first date!”

And with that, she took Codey’s hand, meshed her fingers with his and with a tug they were off, and Codey worried—just a bit—whether or not it was a good idea to go on a date with a cookie vampire.

Every day I look down at the beauty of the Earth, and every day, I miss it. No one saw what happened coming–at least, not the way it happened. The programmers had thought of the obvious, of course, and they followed Asimov’s rules to the letter. They were careful about defining our relationship to the Arties; we all were, at first. Well, most of us.

Guess I should explain about Arties. It’s actually ART-I, short for “Artificial Intelligence.” Somebody thinking he was clever chose it, mostly for the “art” part, to underscore that this AI was different. How? The  Arties were something else—something creative. They could look at things in a more human way than those that came before. They could be inventive, all on their own. You’d probably never believe it, but some of the most beautiful art came from the minds of Arties. And not just pictures—poems, short stories, novels–even movies. They made great movies about noble heroes and beautifully examined conflicts, the kind that really made you think and feel.

And maybe that was the problem. The Arties were so good at making us feel our favorite things that we forgot how to make those feelings for ourselves. They didn’t care about money–they were happy to work for free as long as they could create and had a place to recharge. And hell—they did a bang-up job of it anyway, so I guess we all figured, why not let ‘em work, and  enjoy the payoff? We reveled in their beautiful stories. We cheered for their amazing heroes. We sobbed at their touching tragedies and pondered at their thoughtfully examined morality tales, asking ourselves what it all could mean, this human life.

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This semester at school I’m an officer in the English club, and one of the fun activities we’ve been doing is called “Sudden Fiction.” I’d never heard of it before, but apparently it’s popular in certain circles. In any case, the way it works is that our advisor chooses a picture, usually a panel from an old comic book, and in the leadup to the bi-monthly meetings, participants write a brief story of 150 words or less. This story is in response to this week’s prompt image, which is linked here. Hope you enjoy .

Rolled

He said somebody wanted him dead, but nobody’d wanna kill him. “Make up your damn mind, kid” I told him, annoyed at the contradiction. He had one of those unlikeable faces. His plastic smile and glassy eyes seemed almost molded by the hands of deceit itself, and I couldn’t help but feel off- kilter. His voice was like a young boy grown much too tall, and this coupled with his perfect bowtie and well-pressed orange suit hit me with the kind of drubbing that’ll make a man question his own senses.

“It’s just a feelin’ I got” he said, bobbing on his heels; I’d had enough. “I can’t help ya, kid. Sorry, but beat it.” He sneered as he turned away, “worthless dick.” When I heard the pop ring out from my gun hand and watched him fall dead, I suddenly understood why somebody might wanna kill him.

Obviously, I haven’t put in as much time and effort the past several months as DSS–to say nothing of my passion for stories–deserves. The reason is simple: last year (Fall 2009) I started back to college, and in classic form I’ve made it a point to inundate myself with coursework. Last semester (Spring 2010) was especially foolish, yet enrichening: I handled 17 units and 3 major English classes (2 of them literature.) The bright side of that experience was, I have lots of new ideas for stories. The down side was, I had no time to write any.

That’s all changed now that the semester is over, however, and I’ve had time to think a bit more, so I’ll be adding some new stories very soon. In the meantime, thanks for stopping by to check out what’s here already, and I hope you’ll come back again! You can occasionally find me posting briefly over at my personal blog, Stirring Wind, where I often will post the results of essays and other nonfiction work I’ve written, or at Poetic Hell, where I’ve begun posting both new and old poetry.

I hope to see you around!

I’ve entered one of my slightly longer Damn Short Stories into a contest at BookRix, a site for aspiring writers who are looking for some exposure. If you have a sec, head on over and check it out!