22 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY december 26, 2024-january 1, 2025 www.montereycountynow.com because,” he wasn’t fun to be around. He often bragged about his exploits like he had his own reality show—something the family didn’t like. They didn’t need the heat. One Thanksgiving, Bobby tried impressing Vic—a newcomer—about his last kill. “Why they call you ‘Four-Banger’?” Vic asked. “Cuz’ my signature move is two in the head, two in the heart.” Vic nodded. Pumped a single slug into Bobby’s temple, dropping him. “They call me ‘The Golfer,’” Vic said, smirking. “Hole in one.” It’s the End of the World as We Know It, and I Feel Fine By Ashley Shaffer The first time the sky was erased, everyone panicked. We were convinced that the apocalypse had come and that sins were going to be atoned for. But none of that happened and, as things tend to lose their luster with repeated exposure, by the third time, the mass hysteria had calmed down quite a bit. Everybody who’d given away their belongings for free was trying to track everything down, and anyone who’d blown up their relationship was trying to take it all back. Now, when the sky disappears, we post memes and wonder why we have to keep going to work. February 2, 1848 By Andrew Bauer The cry of “Land ho!” shatters five months of ocean monotony and soon my sea legs are wobbling out onto California’s sunlit soil. Monterey is wobbling too: a mirage more dreamlike than how I dreamed she’d be. Barrels crash and bribes vanish into sly hands. Tobacco and hides hit the buggies. Five months of salt-stained misery dissolve in the sun. “I’m free!” I yell, over the seagulls squawking and Californios shouting. “Bull and bear fight tonight!” But no time for that. I’m bound for the golden hills. Just as soon as I’ve had my drink. Always the drink first— always. No Pardons Needed By Alex Hulanicki Have you considered the life of the golden-crisp bird on the Thanksgiving platter? Let’s call him Nicholas. He grew up on a turkey ranch. He didn’t know his mother; she didn’t know his father because she was artificially inseminated. Nicholas was injected with hormones and drugs to prevent flu, easily spread in crowded conditions. Indeed, he wasn’t an organic, freerange bird. He wasn’t allowed to play football; couldn’t chance a broken leg. Soccer and track would keep his weight down. He gave up his life for your feast, but he lives on in soup, salad and sandwiches. Give thanks to Nicholas. Power’s Out By Clark Coleman Hank, the lineman, was working to secure the insulators on the power pole for a new power line through a section of the Sierras. Pines had already been cut back from the projected path of the power lines. Hank wanted to complete this pole before he was free from his shift. The utility van pulled up and Hank climbed down to greet the driver. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Hank barked, following the driver, a new kid, to open the van doors in back. There, in a colorful box, was an Optimus Prime toy. “Wrong transformer,” Hank said, shaking his head. Capturing the Soul By Louie Montgomery In a world humming with AI-generated prose, Sophia sat before her blank page. Around her, people praised the flawless words their machines produced—efficient, polished, but soulless. She had tried it, too. The AI captured her style, mimicked her tone, yet left her feeling hollow. Now, her pen scratched across the paper. The sentences stumbled, uneven and raw, but they were hers. Every word carried a piece of her—her passions, her joys, her essence. She realized true freedom wasn’t perfection but imperfection—expressing herself, unfiltered and alive. As she wrote, she smiled, knowing no algorithm could ever match her soul. Hit the Sleigh By Clark Coleman “So let me understand this,” Santa said. “Inspired by Kamala’s presidential run, you now want to pick up half of my stops on Christmas Eve next year?” “Yes,” Mrs. Claus said. “I found six reindeer and have my sleigh already picked out.” “What will the public think? I’ve been doing this for more than 200 years. I don’t think the free world is ready for Mrs. Claus to deliver gifts.” “Because I’m a woman?” “No, of course not. But why six reindeer?” Santa asked. “I only need six. No offense, but you need eight because you kind of let yourself go.” I Just Want to Help By Peter Mehren Would you like a fresh cup of coffee? Shhh! I’m writing. Would you like me to turn on the overhead light, or not? Shhh! I’m writing. Would you like me to turn up the heat in the room, or down? Shhh! I’m writing. Is the cat bothering you? Should I take her out? Shhh! I’m writing. I’m going to the store. Anything you want? Shhh! I’m writing. Is something bothering you? Did you just hear that soft, fluttering sound? That was Inspiration flying away, free. Now, what were you saying? Oh, don’t let me bother you while you’re writing, dear. New to Town By Gabriela Ortiz In 1880, Cole, a young cowboy, rode into the dusty town of Laredo, seeking freedom from a past full of trouble. He was tired of being hunted for crimes he didn’t commit. As he entered the saloon, the sheriff, Emma, caught his eye. “You here for trouble?” she asked, hands on her hips. “No, ma’am, I’m just lookin’ for freedom,” Cole replied, tipping his hat. Emma smirked. “Well, freedom’s expensive.” “Then maybe I’ll pay you in other ways,” Cole winked. Emma chuckled. “Guess you’ve never been arrested for offering that kind of payment before.” Cole grinned. “Guess I’m about to be.” Circle of Life By R C Roach A tired old oriole took another free drink from the hummingbirds’ feeder, ready to build a nest again, when he fell down to the concrete pad in a colorful coat of majesty, and quivered. A raven swooped in a funnel of shadows and landed on top of the arbor. The family, now a female with two immature sons and one daughter, clung in a line on the yucca tree and looked down to that listless body below. They No Context Here are some of our favorite lines from stories that did not make it to print. The imposing red and white sign read: “Wall Coming, January, 2025.” The dragon dies at the end of this story. I-want-to-eat-you face. When I got out of the car, the cold wasn’t right. High in an oak tree, nestled in a hidden hollow, lived a seemingly innocent chipmunk named Hazel. Great-aunt Agatha had always been the family invalid. But that’s not enough to let someone live. She was so proud of his big head. “Yippee!” His slimy scales scintillated under the clear fresh moonlight as monstrous feet clobbered the mud mounds. It was like any other day, except it wasn’t. He blowtorched the rude seller’s head. I carefully crafted my entries for maximum groanage. As an American I am free to delight in the children of migrant workers. Yet no one is entirely free of occasional diarrhea. The Clock Tower Serpent summoned a horrendous dimension and forced me into it. Luckily, before the waves reach the town and cause chaos, I suddenly hit my word limit. It feels a melting of a veil was happening. She could really use a new sofa. This one, if dried out, looked promising. 101-Word Short Story Contest
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