Each year’s Hot Flashes–between 2002 and 2007, at any rate–has a Cafe Press store. Visit the Shop link on this web site to find out more.
She closed herself into the balloon’s basket. When Pirate John, with a rakish grin, reached for her, she held up a book in her gloved hands: Guide to Proper Behavior.
With a glance at the boiler, she said, “Kindling.”
The balloon ascended.
Seemed like a good idea: take DNA, repair degradations, replicate it, inject it, and let rejuvenation spread like cancer through the system.
Turns out the aging process is part of what makes us who we are.
Wonder how I’ll turn out this time?
Mom doesn’t believe in ghosts. She thinks Molly is moving the toaster and hiding the car keys.
She never paid any attention to me when I was alive, so why should I expect things to be different, now?
Madame Zora looked into her crystal ball and told him, “You will marry on August 21 of this year.”
He kissed her, even though the Fortune Telling tent at the school fair wasn’t where he’d expected her to name the date.
He couldn’t find lost objects.
He couldn’t help the police with their investigations.
He couldn’t win at the casino.
But he always knew who killed Mr. Boddy, where, and with what.
The Tell-Tale Black Cat
I’ve read everything Poe ever wrote. So it’s disappointing, really.
Maybe it’s the insulation? I chained him up behind the wall days ago, and never heard a thing. I don’t think Poe mentioned the smell.
He Had It Coming
When Mr. Loftus applied for a loan, he didn’t know me as the boy who’d “never amount to anything.”
I approved it. I owed him, plus interest, for all the stuff that boy stole from his shop.
He crouched in the bushes outside her house, willing her to come out so he could show her how much he loved her.
The door opened! She headed for the street, unaware of him.
He leaped from hiding, one very happy stray dog.
Jennifer is great at makeup and hair. I’m better at business.
Some day, we hope to marry and open our own place. We even have the name: Evergreen Funeral Parlor.
The Haunted Mirror
My hand shakes as I turn on the light.
There she is! In the mirror! A ghastly crone, wrinkled and bent, her flesh melted away by rushing years.
Yep. That’s me.
She poked irritably at a frozen turkey.
“They’re too big for one,” the stranger said. “And I only like dark meat.”
“I only like white.”
They talked, had a date, another, and two lonely Thanksgivings merged into … well … the opposite.
Santa didn’t use a sleigh this year. He used a military transport.
He brought me the only gift I asked for: My son. Home. Safe.
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Go to the Flashbacks link for all years’ Hot Flashes.