Year: 2013

The backhoe hit something solid. The road workers grumbled to a stop and stared at the great metallic wings among the fossilized shells.

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Terrified by what I’d built, I drowned my robot in the creek behind the house. At night, he returned. Said I never gave him lungs.

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Just north of the border, traffic came to a stop. She practiced her smile, took his hand off her leg and put it back in the glovebox.

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“Fox!” the boy called with little interest. He missed the days before budget cuts and downsizing when he had been the boy who cried wolf.

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No way this thing should be able to fly. I mean who makes their own helicopters? I glance down at the ground and wish I’d learned to land.

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These are originally posted on Twitter (@jdbrush). I’m trying to do one per day this month.

He wore a hatful of moonlight and in the daytime pretended to ignore the inconvenient coyotes trailing him through the streets, howling.

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Savage! The savage savage savagely savaged the other savages for their refusal to act as pronouns, prepositions, or conjunctions.

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Years later, she opened the book and saw the letters had slid off the pages and clumped in the gutter. She pieced together a new scripture.

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The leviathan, hungry for prophets, swam in ever-widening circles and considered the ursine shore, the polar bear market.

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The old astronaut in the tee box glanced at Cygnus. He was go for the black hole in one. It was a par 3.1555787×10e18, but he felt lucky.

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These are originally posted on Twitter (@jdbrush). I’m trying to do one per day this month.