Earth Day · romance · Saturn · short story

romancing planet earth

  

Earth woke up and rolled on to her back and then stayed still long enough to listen to her birds singing for awhile.

Today was a special day…the one that the humans designated to honor her for a full 24 hours.

She turned a jade and ocean cheek toward the sun and listened even harder.

Her humans were so quiet lately.

She knew they were struggling with the odd viral visitor who was making the rounds introducing himself to the neighborhood.

For a moment, she felt bad. The people were shitting themselves, trying to figure it all out.

They’d get it eventually, she promised herself. They’d gotten so smart over the years, despite how badly they treated each other sometimes.

Earth took a big deep breath and covered her backside with her soft black starry night.

The animals and plants and bugs and viruses and bacteria and fungi celebrated her properly every day, not just April 22nd.

“Smarter than the humans,” she whispered to herself as she started to close her eyes again, figuring she might fall back to sleep for just a little while.

Suddenly, she heard a soft creak and turned to see that handsome devil Saturn looking down at her with a sleepy crooked smile on his face.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he said. “Happy Earth Day.”

He held up her favorite mug piping with hot coffee in one ring and a giant chocolate chip cookie in another.

Earth smiled as she sat up, totally surprised to see him and definitely ready to enjoy a delicious breakfast in bed.

“You’re so sweet, Saturn,” she said.

He kissed her lightly on the North Pole. Then he took a seat next to her.

“So what are you going to do for your special day?” he asked, watching her stuff the cookie in her mouth.

She had chocolate chip smeared on her bottom lip. He thought for a moment about kissing it off.

“Same old stuff,” she replied. “Rotate on my axis, do some continental drifting. I’ll check in on my humans too.”

“How are they holding up?”

“Not great. The virus is freaking them out really bad. And…”

Earth hesitated.

Saturn looked at her.

“And?”

“Well,” Earth continued. “They’re currently really flipping their shit because you’re so close to me. You’re usually viewed best with help from a telescope at night. Now you’re, like, right outside their windows. They’ve been screaming non-stop ever since you got here.”

Saturn hadn’t considered that. All he wanted to do was surprise his ethereal new lady love with a tasty morning treat on Earth Day. He stood up.

“I should get on back to my orbit,” he said, giving her that crooked smile again.

Earth looked up at him with her awe-inspiring majesty.

“Stay,” she said, reaching for him.

He sat down again.

“You don’t mind me scaring the humans?”

Earth paused and felt the vibrations from all life on her freaking the hell out.

“What’s one more thing?” she asked.

Then she kissed him.

And he thought to himself that she tasted like chocolatey planetary perfection.



~the end~




romance · seasons · short story

April Love

September pulled April into his arms and brushed the starlings from her rat’s nest of long golden hair.

She looked into his eyes which burned like a bonfire from a Friday night football rally.

“I don’t care what everyone says,” she cried pressing her cheek against his brown suede criss-cross laced-up kinda Jim Morrisony shirt covered chest. “I don’t want you to leave. I’ll just be rainy and cold. People will just have to get over never knowing how to dress for any of my 30 days.”

September winced. Her promise to have him stay thrilled him, but he knew the repercussions were too steep for the general population.

“April,” he soothed. “April, I must go. I love you, you know it’s true, but you have to go and make peace with my archenemy May so that warm dry weather becomes the law of the land.”

April knew he was right, and even though she hated that stupid son-of-a-bitch May, she had signed a contract that bound her to working with him towards preparing for world famous Hollywood tycoon Summer’s eventual takeover.

“Will you call me?” she asked, tiny blue forget-me-not tears falling from her eyes.

“Of course I’m going to call you. You’ll get sick of me calling you. You’ll be like, I am so sick of September calling me, I wish his phone would fall into the toilet and stop working and he doesn’t have an upgrade any time soon so he can’t get a new phone to call me sick of me calling you.”

“You could always just borrow a phone or buy another one like on eBay or something,” she told him.

September smiled. April smiled back.

Then he bent to kiss her and it was like a giant mashing together of toasted marshmallows and Easter Peeps. Sticky. Sweet. Messy.

When they pulled apart, strands of moist marshmallow hung between them like a gooey bridge.

September wiped it away with the back of his hand and dragged the residue across his jeans.

He winked at her then picked up his guitar and walked to the gravel edge of the Seasons freeway where he stuck his thumb up out in the air.

And all the starlings that were in April’s hair started flapping their wings til they lifted her like a cloud into the air and she began to fly away.

As they passed over September’s head, she called out

“Don’t you look up my skirt, you hippie!”

But he did anyway, just to make her laugh.

Couldn’t see anything though.

Damn birds got in the way.

Easter · Easter Bunny · romance · tiny story

Don Juan Easter Bun

The Easter Bunny squeezed through the narrow aisles that now plagued his home. He could hear 2 girls fighting on Jerry Springer on his tv across the room but couldn’t see them because of about a million colorful plastic eggs piled high on the floor and furniture.

Bunny felt sad. He knew those chicks were probably ripping each other’s wigs off. And he was missing it.

He smooshed himself between a mile high pile of boxed Peeps and his kitchen counter. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a can of Spam and cracked it open. Then he pulled his Lucky Strikes and a lighter out of the pocket of his ratty blue terry cloth robe.

The smell of chocolate bunnies and jellybeans in his home overwhelmed him, so as he chomped away at the block of meat and sucked deeply on a cig, he made sure to enjoy the hammy smoke scent sensation as it temporarily hung in the cramped air around him.

Every Spring, Bunny experienced stress to the Nth degree. Sometimes he wished he had never gone into the family business and taken over for his dad. But the old man needed a replacement, none of Easter’s siblings wanted the job, and God knows he spent his entire life just trying to get an ounce of his father’s approval.

So now, once a year, he had the hell of candy prep and one night world-wide delivery to contend with.

He was tamping his cigarette out on the counter next to hundreds of cartons of malted milk ball eggs when he heard his overnight guest attempting to come down his stairs.

“Easter?” she called out. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, babe,” he replied.

He heard all kinds of rustling around and muttering of swear words as his lady love walked the crazy candy maze.

Finally she popped into view.

Mrs Claus was pulling her sweater close around her shoulders, her weird little elasticized hat and eyeglasses askew. She straightened the glasses and looked at Bunny.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “How much candy do you have in this place anyway?”

“You should be used to this kind of thing,” Bun said. “There’s a lot of good little kids out there, I guess…the little bastards.” He lit another cigarette.

Bunny and Mrs Claus looked at each other. In the background they could hear the people on tv cheering “Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!”

They smiled at each other.

“Would you like some Spam?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Cigarette?”

She shook her head again.

“Candy?” He held his arm out like one of those models on The Price is Right.

She laughed out loud.

Bunny cocked his head and smiled. She sure was pretty for an old broad. He liked when she laughed like that. He made a mental note to bump the chocolate rabbit in her Easter basket up a couple of ounces. He didn’t care if her old man noticed. He hoped he did.

“I gotta go,” she told him.

“Hey, I thought you might like to stay and help me assemble a couple million baskets of candy today,” Bunny suggested.

Mrs Claus looked at him like he was insane.

“Like I don’t get enough of that kind of crap at home!”

Bunny walked to her and pulled her into a hug.

“I was just kidding,” he whispered before he kissed her one more time.

Even though he kinda wasn’t.

The two of them wedged their ways to the front door. Before she left, he handed her one of those plastic toys that have a suction cup on the bottom that you stick on the floor and press down so it pops up into the air after a second or two. The character on top of it was in the shape of a bunny.

She took it and smiled at him then walked to her snappy red Mazda Miata parked out front.

And Bunny shut his door, turned on his big bunny heel, and promptly tripped over a bushel of Cadbury eggs in his hallway trying to make his way back to the kitchen to finish his Spam.

Boz Skaggs · bratty kids · cliffhangers · down on your luck · heat wave · romance · Satan · suburban living · writing

Soap Opera Satan

Satan walked out of his garage and sidled up next to the car sitting in his driveway.

Running an evil red fingertip along the shiny red hood of his 1983 Pontiac Fiero, the horned lord of the underworld felt a tingle run down his spine, through his tail and shoot out the pointy arrow at his end.

“You gorgeous bitch,” he whispered to the car as he settled his hefty red ass in the leather seat. Pulling his tail in next to him and tucking it around himself, he cursed the entire auto industry for never creating proper tail accommodations for demons.

He started the engine and glanced back to pull out of his driveway.

Oh…here came his neighbors Glen and Judy Clarkson and their grandson Connecticut walking down the sidewalk. That Connecticut kid was a hoot. He frequently came to spend time with his grandparents and drove those poor people to the brinks of their sanity. Also, Satan thought it was hilarious the kid’s name was Connecticut. What kind of name was that anyway? Plus, he had no nickname. It was like the longest weirdest name ever, especially for a kid who lived in Illinois.

“Hey buddy,” Glen called out. “Time to get the old Devilmobile out and about, huh?”

Satan smiled and nodded and waved the trio along so he could get going.

It was then he saw that little kid stick his tongue out and flip him the bird.

“Kids got some cojones on him,” he muttered appreciatively before shifting into reverse and backing the scarlet vehicular Jezebel out of the driveway.

As he tore down his tree-lined street totally ignoring the “Drive Like Your Children Live Here” signs, he turned up the band KISS on his tape deck.

“Knights in Satan’s Service, my ass”, he thought to himself. Those guys had lost all their power when they took off the makeup in ’83. And that Simmons guy was a real douche-canoe, flying around attached to cables and spitting “blood” that came from Halloween store capsules.

Poser.

Still, Animalize was a tuff album. There was no question about that.

Traveling full-speed with the tires burning rubber and the sound of leopard spandex rock-n-roll filling his head, Satan pointed a crooked calloused finger to the button on the dash of his hot rod. He pressed the “Hotter Than Hell” button in and a wave of bone-crushing heat suffocated a large portion of the lower 48.

“AH-hahahahaha!!!!” the demented one laughed maniacally, his evil deed fulfilled as he drove on with the knowledge that humans would be suffering even more than usual today.

Then he came to a stop at a red light. Suddenly, the air conditioner in his vintage sportster fizzled out. He pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow and banged on the dashboard.

Nothing.

Great.

There was yet another expensive repair to take care of. You know, when he bought the Fiero he knew it might be high maintenance, but at the time the sleek hot chick magnetism of the car was all he cared about.

Did he have enough money in his checking account to call Leo at the repair shop?

Then he thought–Wait a minute. I’m Lucifer, ruler of the Lake of Fire and Eternal Damnation. What the hell do I care if my air doesn’t work?

Then he shifted his gaze to the right where he spied a beacon of delicious hope.

He guided the Fiero into the Dairy Queen parking lot like a Great White shifting quietly through the salt water of an ocean full of digestive possibilities.

“Diet be damned,” he told himself. “A twisty cone sure sounds yummy right about now.”

It was Monday, though. Not a “cheat” day. He pursed his lips again.

“Oh, what the hell,” he concluded as he parked the car, jumped out and ran into the ice cream store.

“I’d like a twisty cone, s’il vous plait,” he said to the kid behind the counter.

“The soft serve machine is down,” the kid said looking at the weird red man in front of him.

Satan sighed and figured it was a sign that he really shouldn’t cheat on his diet. Smirking at the kid, the Devil turned on his hoof and left the ice cream store.

As he went to get back in his toasty Fiero, he heard an uproar of laughter coming from a bar across the way. Twirling his keys around his fingers, Satan gave a moment’s consideration to his 6 years of sobriety. It hadn’t been easy, but after the intervention his minions held all those year back and by the grace of God and the help he got at the Betty Ford Clinic, he hadn’t touched the stuff in years and really hadn’t missed it until…well, just now.

As he walked up to the open doors of the place, he heard a tune playing on the jukebox that turned his blood ice cold.

What the hell kind of day was this, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and took in the words to the beautiful love song “Look What You’ve Done to Me” by Boz Skaggs.

It had been “their song” all those years ago…

Satan walked in the place and all the patrons turned to see the return of their old friend.

And behind the bar, he couldn’t believe it, but there she was…

 

Anita.

 

The love of his life. The one who had broken up with him, crushed his heart, and left him a broken incubus.

Their eyes met across the 4000-degree room.

 

<cue organ music>

 

Tune in next week when we find out the answers to these questions:

 

Will Satan’s car’s air conditioning get fixed?

 

Will he fall off the sobriety wagon?

 

Will the flames of lust between the Dark Prince and Anita rise once again?

 

Will Connecticut’s grandparents tell their kids they aren’t going to babysit him anymore?

 

Will the soft serve ice cream machine at the local Dairy Queen get fixed?

 

And finally, will the heatwave over the eastern half of the US ever come to an end??

Next week on

SATAN OF SUBURBIA