When Billy emerged from the well, his silver dollar in hand, he meant to turn around and throw in the quarter he’d meant to fling in the first place. But a horrifying sight confronted him. The sky was angry red, the buildings were annihilated, and even their ruins covered far less land area than they should have.

“Bu…wha…?” Billy stammered.

“Billy.” It was the voice of the well itself, a sepucheral dirge from beneath the earth itself. “Gaze upon your crime. By undoing a wish you have undone all wishes.”

“What? That’s crazy!”

“In 1975, the mayor wished for the town to be revitalized. Not no more it ain’t. In 1982, a little girl wished for there to be no nuclear war. Now we got the blowup we should have.”

Billy grabbed for his silver dollar. “I’ll wish it all back! I’m sorry!”

“It’s too late for that, Billy,” the well said. “Your mom was here in 2006 and wished she could catch her sweetheart’s eye.”

With a final wail of helplessness, Billy and his silver dollar vanished from existence.

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And then I realized that anyone can buy those little orange cones, and that they are almost universally obeyed. So I dropped $50 on a set of eight direct from the same Chinese outfit that sells them to the DOT. Now, everywhere I go, there’s a parking spot reserved for me.

And if there isn’t, I make one.

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“Oh. My god.”

“What now, Dick?” sighed Anna, straining not to roll her eyes.

“That. Do you see that thing?”

Anna looked up at her (admittedly unfortunately-named and unfortunately bland) date. He was standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, apparently oblivious to the rushing nightlife crowd around them, and staring straight ahead.
Anna tried to stare too, peering through and around the bodies flowing past her. And yes, there was something in front of them. Something that looked quite like a praying mantis. Or, no, she thought, like a tree. And were those hands?

“Quick, Dick!…wait…*snirk*” Anna snirked.

“What?”

“It’s the Mantis Lord! Get him!” Anna cried, tearing off her plainclothes to reveal a latex leotard.
Anna, aka Missus Wow!, flew at the Mantis Lord and threw him into a building with her super-strength.

“Aw, what, now? But we were on a date…fine.” Dick wiggled out of his clothes to reveal…a less-attractive latex suit. The Dickless Wonder aimed his palm at the Mantis Lord and prepared his laser beams.

Her scream pierced the night. Another damn nightmare. For weeks after that lousy date, Anna had been dreaming for that guy. Not that she was actually interested in him or his unfortunate name, he just kept appearing. She could go through the whole day without thinking about him, but every dream lead her back to that night and their plain simple date.

Still, she hadn’t seen anyone else since then. It was simply that no one else had come into her life, or so she told herself. Trisha from the office was still to get her second cousin Bill in town to meet Anna, but nothing had come of it. So instead she laid in her bed in the dark of night, terrified of her walking dream.

“Would you like that dream expunged? That awful date, those terrible comic book references? I can make that happen for you. No more nightmares and no more datey thoughts…for a price.”

She looked up, startled, from her bed at the hunched shape in the corner. Half convinced it was another dream, she would only say: “What price and who’s asking?”

“The Motley Man asks, and his price is quite reasonable,” came the oily-smooth reply. “Or would you rather go back to being Missus Wow to your awful date’s Dickless Wonder for the rest of your slumbering life?”

“All right,” she said. “I don’t care what the price is. Just take away the dreams and the memories of that date.”
“Deal,” said the Motley Man.

The memories were gone. The dreams were gone. But that, perhaps, was because she was now an inanimate bookshelf frozen in a silent scream.

Inanimate though she was, Anna was still aware. Trapped inside her head and inside another dream which was, if possible, worse. Time was wrong. She sat on a throne, that crooked Motley Man at her side bearing a tray of all manner of strange things and before her knelt a man.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Why can I not understand you?”

She laughed bitterly. “I do not even understand myself.”

“Please,” he said, “tell me, oh Time, how I can better understand you, better spend you, and better find you.”
The words rose as if she had been born to say them.

“You must go to the Jungle of Luud. My servant will go with you. Do everything he tells you and you will find yourself in the Sacred Geometry. There you will find the one you seek. When you have pulled her from the Geometry, then you will understand what you seek.”

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The pizzas were bubbling and browning in the brick oven Shokunin had spent the previous day building. Fired by his own special mix of wood and kuso, they would soon be ready to feed the starving villagers. But as Shokunin took up his ancestral pizza peel to paddle the pies onto plates, he was stopped by the flat of a hostile ken slapped onto its handle.

“Halt!” said the ken‘s bearer, an unkempt bandit wearing the mon of Clan Sutoronbori. “These pies belong to us, in place of the tribute these miserable peasants have failed to provide!”

Shokunin bowed. “You have shown me the error of my ways,” he said. “I shall take up my pizza peel and use it to deliver your rightful reward.”

Leering, the bandit allowed Shokunin to take up his peel. A moment later, he gasped in pain from a blow that had come too swiftly to see; he then slid apart at the waist, his innards like toppings upon the grass.

“I am Pizza Chef Shokunin!” cried the pie chef, hefting his sharpened paddle. “My peel was forged by Anchobi the swordsmith from the same pig iron furnace that birthed the Fudo Masamune with a handle carved from the same trunk that furnished the mount for The Forceful Cutter. Who will stand before me and receive the just reward for their insults and lack of honor toward pizzas?”

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Here at the Sanctuary for Unusual Birds, we do our best to offer a safe and secure environment for avians that for whatever reason are not able to function in their natural enviornment.

Take Phil the Polychromatic Chicken. Like all of his kind, his feathers change to whatever hue someone mentions, from pink to purple to burnt sienna. However, he has been shunned by his kind ever since some terrible person mentioned plaid to him and caused poor Phil to have a nervous breakdown, half-plaid and half sea-green.

Then there’s Kiki the Gyrostrich. Like all Gyrostriches she is a natural dancer and can often be found in the wild busting a move. However, she dances tap, with shoes scavanged from the wreck of a Carnival cruise ship. The other Gyrostriches dance ballet, and therefore shun her.

And who could forget Claude, the vegan hawk? The Sanctuary found him half-dead in the dumpster of an organic health food store, living on discarded tofu and enriched kale.

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As long as Janis could remeber, Teddie Bear had been her wise protector and guardian. Whenever she had a problem she had but to whisper it to him, and sage advice or swift action would follow.

“Teddie, Aron Schmidt is bullying me in school.”

“Fear not, young one. This will only take a moment.”

Janis had never found out what Teddie had done in that time, but Aron Schmidt had never bothered her again, and he seemed positively contrite afterwards.

“Teddie, I’m worried about my math test on Friday.”

“Fear not, young one. This will only take a moment.”

The study guide that had appeared, fully annotated, the next morning on Janis’s desk had helped immensely.

“Teddie, I’m scared. Those zombies outside just ate the neighbors.”

“Fear not, young one,” said Teddie, hefting a chainsaw and standing up. “This will only take a moment.”

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“What’ll you give me for this?” the guy said, hefting the Blu-Ray player onto the countertop.

“Market’s not what it was,” said the owner. “Everyone’s going digital. A pound is the best I can do.”

“You sure you can’t do two?” said the guy. “I really need this.”

“If you throw in that Bluetooth headset, I could give you one and a half,” replied the owner. “Final offer.”

“Fine, fine,” said the man. “Give it here.”

The owner hefted a bucket onto the countertop, dripping with salt water and smelling like the beach at high tide. “Here. One and a half pounds of fresh prawns.”

Eagerly, the man put on a bib with a decapod emblazoned on it and licked his lips. “Just what I needed!”

“Remember, you can get your Blu-Ray back within 30 days if yo repay me in full plus ten percent,” the owner added.

“I don’t think so,” said the man, his mouth already full of chitin and butter. “I don’t think so.”

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Name: Clara Noir
Occupation: Professional Mime
Height: 5’6″
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Black
Skin: Death metal pale
Outfit: Black and white striped trench coat, black fedora, black leggings, white boots
Description:
Mimetown is a rough-and-tumble neighborhood of the city, with a vibrant culture and cuisine that hides a seedy underbelly. Clara Noir plies her trade in the roughest part of town as she mimes glass boxes and ropes for tips.

Some say that she is involved in other, darker business with Mr. Quiet, the unspoken crime boss of Mimetown. Trouble never seems to be far behind her, and if she knows anything, she ain’t talking.

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A jawbreaker lies
Uncjewed on the ground, shattered
By the jaws of life

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The man lay dead on the floor of his apartment, lovingly polished brass in his hands. “Look at this,” said the responding officer, Detective Mullins. He pointed at the cause of death, a bullet that had shattered the mouthpiece of the instrument before entering the man’s skull. “Shot him right through the sax organ.”

“Yeah, hell of a way to go,” said his backup, Grabowski. “From the pose and everything, it looks like he was in the middle of sax when he died.”

“Is it a sax crime?” said Mullins. “Should we get forensics in here to sweep for sax fluids?”

“Well, from what I see in the database, he was a registered sax offender. Played loudly after midnight despite repeated complaints.” Officer Grabowski shook his head.

“Don’t they send you to jail if you get back into sax with mirrors?” said Mullins, looking at the full-length mirror before which the dead sax offender had been playing. “That sort of thing makes me sick.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” said Grabowski. “Maybe this sax maniac had it coming? Maybe we just look the other way at another scumbag sax offender.”

Mullins frowned. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite us?” he said. “It seems pretty clear that the people upstairs got tired of all the noisy sax.”

“Well, if he had been put away for sax crimes years ago, maybe,” said Grabowski. “Time was they’d call you a sax offender just for being horn-o-saxual. But this guy, with his rap sheet, and his sax with mirrors? No, the world is better off without his kind.”

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