Dates
By Scott Cole
It's mid-afternoon and I'm sitting in front of the TV eating dates. One of the science and nature channels is on, but I'm not really paying attention to whatever is playing. Something about bugs.
The dates taste rotten, but this doesn't stop me from eating them. I scrape the flesh off with my teeth and swallow, then lay the slimy almond-shaped pits down in a line on the coffee table. I was told there were a hundred and forty-four dates in this bag, and that better be right, because I'm doing rows of twelve.
When I get to the bottom of the bag, I'm short by two. That bastard at the fruit store lied to me. Now my plan is ruined.
When I go to rearrange the pits into a new pattern, one of them sprouts legs. It looks like a cockroach, or some sort of beetle, but it's neither. I jerk my hand back. A second later, another one grows legs. Then a third, and a forth, and a fifth. They're on their backs, squirming and wriggling, rocking back and forth.
My DVR changes the channel, and something about the end of World War II comes on, as I race to the kitchen and open up the fridge. I grab a blue paper container filled with mushrooms and run back to the room with the pit-bugs.
When I return, they've all grown legs, and most have rolled over to more mobile positions. They scatter around the room when they see me, but none of them actually cross the threshold.
I place the mushrooms, cap ends up, all around the perimeter of the space, but save the biggest one for the center of the coffee table, where I had the pits laid out until very recently.
The power cuts out, and everything in the room flashes white. I'm blinded for a minute, but when I can see again, the mushrooms are gone, and the pits are back to being pits. I gather them up, dump them in the bag they came in, and head back out to the fruit store.
I'm going to give that bastard a piece of my mind.
- - -
Scott Cole is an artist, graphic designer, and writer, all at the same time. His words have appeared in places like Flashes In The Dark and MicroHorror, as well as a handful of print anthologies, while his images have been in magazines and on CD covers. He lives in Philadelphia, as well as online at www.13visions.com.
By Scott Cole
It's mid-afternoon and I'm sitting in front of the TV eating dates. One of the science and nature channels is on, but I'm not really paying attention to whatever is playing. Something about bugs.
The dates taste rotten, but this doesn't stop me from eating them. I scrape the flesh off with my teeth and swallow, then lay the slimy almond-shaped pits down in a line on the coffee table. I was told there were a hundred and forty-four dates in this bag, and that better be right, because I'm doing rows of twelve.
When I get to the bottom of the bag, I'm short by two. That bastard at the fruit store lied to me. Now my plan is ruined.
When I go to rearrange the pits into a new pattern, one of them sprouts legs. It looks like a cockroach, or some sort of beetle, but it's neither. I jerk my hand back. A second later, another one grows legs. Then a third, and a forth, and a fifth. They're on their backs, squirming and wriggling, rocking back and forth.
My DVR changes the channel, and something about the end of World War II comes on, as I race to the kitchen and open up the fridge. I grab a blue paper container filled with mushrooms and run back to the room with the pit-bugs.
When I return, they've all grown legs, and most have rolled over to more mobile positions. They scatter around the room when they see me, but none of them actually cross the threshold.
I place the mushrooms, cap ends up, all around the perimeter of the space, but save the biggest one for the center of the coffee table, where I had the pits laid out until very recently.
The power cuts out, and everything in the room flashes white. I'm blinded for a minute, but when I can see again, the mushrooms are gone, and the pits are back to being pits. I gather them up, dump them in the bag they came in, and head back out to the fruit store.
I'm going to give that bastard a piece of my mind.
- - -
Scott Cole is an artist, graphic designer, and writer, all at the same time. His words have appeared in places like Flashes In The Dark and MicroHorror, as well as a handful of print anthologies, while his images have been in magazines and on CD covers. He lives in Philadelphia, as well as online at www.13visions.com.
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