Same Room, Different Planet by Tom Allman

The bespectacled eyes of two lonely people met across a long, musty cardboard box. On the last day of the comic book convention he was looking for Mutant Revenge Team #6. She was looking for Love, and a Brave Teen Trio Omnibus. Neither thirty something exercised regularly, preferring the armor of Nerdy T-Shirts to protect their bodies. She wore way too much purple eyeliner and he often forgot to comb his hair and floss. Fate, just like in Moth Maiden’s latest issue, was about to intervene. “Do you have Ninja Marmoset Hipsters #1,” she asked coyly? He flinched, clearly no Casanova. “Of course I do,” he scoffed. She’d soon coaxed him to a nearby restaurant then to her hotel room. She arrayed today’s comic haul on the bed and excused herself to the bathroom. He checked to make sure that they had Cartoon Channel on the cable. She soon emerged wearing only a smile and Wonder Wench undies. He craned his neck to see past her and catch the end of Star Wranglers. “Now, for all your fantasies to all come true,” she purred. His jaw dropped and he nearly shouted. “You have a Mutant Revenge Team #6?”

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Earth Day by Tom Allman

I have sailed the eternal ether sea between stars I have pushed out to meet the silence and laughed I have touched the mote in god’s eye and wept Today is my earth day intrepid explorer I have returned home hero’s welcome I shall lie beneath her green grass and rest

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Sweet Revenge by Tom Allman

Delores’s Family told her that she was being paranoid; which proved that they were out to get her! Her Cat, Mr. Puss, confirmed her worst fears. “Darling, your loved ones mock you whenever your back is turned.” Delores decided to have a third eye grafted into the back of her head. She took a “ME” weekend and had it done on the sly. It was neatly covered by her mop of auburn hair. “I’ll show those eye-rollers and tongue-sticker-outers,” she fumed. The duplicitous feline told the rest of the family what Delores was doing. “He’s been so helpful and given us such good advice since the operation,” they all said. When she returned home they followed her around striking lewd poses and making “do you want your face to freeze like that” expressions. This was the last straw. Terrible and irrevocable things were said, dishes and collectibles hurled. This home was now broken. His job complete, Mr. Puss lay in a laundry basket grooming the area where his testicles had been and savored his sweet, sweet revenge.

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Magdalena by Tom Allman

Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her that she should lock her dreams in the shells and hide them under her bed. When Magdalena showed the first signs of becoming a woman her parents started their negotiations. Her father was a landowner and had several head of cattle; there were many suitors. Magdalena sat in her room, with her shells, wondering at the commotion. The morning of her wedding Magdelana’s Mother and Grandmother explained what her duties would be. Magdalena excused herself, retrieved the hatchet from the hearth, and went into her room. The older ladies heard a gentle sobbing then the crash of hatchet on conch and chambered nautilus. Wiping away the last tears of a little girl, she stridently emerged and announced that she was ready to be a good wife.

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Rotten (a parable) by Tom Allman

Miscovitz is a vile wretch of a man. Other than his long-suffering Mother, everyone reviles him. In ’78 the Gods reached into the core of his putridness and removed his soul. When informed, his mother was inconsolable. To ease her suffering he promised to find a suitable replacement. Miscovitz traveled the world consulting sages, clerics, and prostitutes. After a few years he came to the following conclusions: that he was truly rotten, and that his immortal soul was more of a hindrance than a help. “Good riddance,” he shouted. But, he had promised his Mother. Miscovitz found a disgraced surgeon who could replace his soul for $500 cash. He grafted a mayonnaise jar into his abdomen (with the mouth and lid protruding). He told Miscovitz to write down every bad thing that he’d ever done on little pieces of paper and put them into the jar, so that whenever he did a good deed he could open the jar and throw away a sin. Miscovitz has learned no lessons. His new soul is overflowing with sinful confetti. But his Mother is happy, and the Doctor is now making millions in Hollywood.

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The Lion of the Nile by Tom Allman

The “Lion of the Nile” walked onto the balcony to acknowledge his adoring subjects. Legend has it, as a young solider, he’d killed a lion with a dagger then mounted the lionesses seven times each. Now, the lions of the Delta are gone, save one. He gave the peasants a tight smile and a half-hearted wave. He failed to notice the upturned faces were gaunt, hungry and bent on revolution. The Lion believed that his teeth and claws were still sharp and that none dare oppose him. His most trusted Toady tugged at his elbow and said, ” The people are starving, your excellency.” “Throw them a few pennies to ease their hunger,” the Lion said. “There are no pennies left to give, your excellency,” the last part delivered with a sneer. The Lion thought that the old Lickspittle was making a joke. His fate sealed as well, the Lions’ servant angered, “Perhaps we should throw them a Mercedes or two, you have plenty to spare.” It was then that the Lion noticed the torches and scimitars. He could now see the circling vultures and hear the hungry yelps of the jackals in the square. Only in zoos do lions die in their sleep.

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Downstream by Tom Allman

My body is stuck in an inner tube bobbing slowly down our little river. My mind is moving somewhat faster. I zip past a paddle wheeler whose cub pilot is marking twain. Then, after shore leave in the Big Easy, I ship out to the Heart of Darkness to find the White Whale. My bony old butt scrapes a rock and I have to paddle like an upside-down turtle back into the current. Under full steam again I scoot by Gilligans’ Island and render honors to Darwins’ Beagle. Soon though, I arrive at my ultimate destination, my tiny kingdom somewhere in the Pacific. This is where my dreams always end, in a hammock under the bluest sky you’ve ever seen. Every morning the children gather flowers to weave into my crown. In between sunrise and dinner I manage to fend off European invaders and a giant squid. This is the somewhere I’ve never been that is more familiar to me than my own skin.

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The Friendly Confines By Tom Allman Jr.

I got a postcard from myself yesterday, postmarked from Twenty-Three years in the future. On the front was a picture of New Wrigley Field…… My weary eyes fluttered open, I could see Joe Jr. He’d hardly left my side in the last week. My kith and kin had all come and gone, saying goodbye to a skeleton that used to be me. Joe Junior and I had butted heads after his mom had left. I surprised him one day at college and took him to a Cubs game. Two men, at the Friendly Confines, sharing a few beers and few laughs. “Remember Old Wrigley in May,” I rasped. “Yeah Dad, I do,” his voice cracking. “I’m taking the boys on Tuesday wanna go?” “Yeah I do Joe.” The back of the postcard said, “Screw work, take Junior to a ball game.”

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Lost in Translation by Tom Allman

We sailed, at dawn, to the last outpost of the Aztec Empire. Intrepid explorers of the planet we. I the Gastronome, eating my way across six continents and Fitzhume the cunning linguist, speaking in tongues. We arrived just in time for second breakfast. I rubbed my belly and shouted for Count Chocula. Presently they offered Fitzy and I, steaming and pink, a giant conch full of chunky and decadent chowder. Nonplussed Fitzy attempted to teach the proud natives the vowels and consonants of other General Mills products. The throng parted and up walked our missing European friend. Oh fortunes favor, we turned and shouted in unison, “Frankenberry”!

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Ferdinand’s Mom by Tom Allman

Ferdinand was an excellent dancer; at least that’s what his Mother had told him. Around and around they would spin in the front parlor to some old Les Brown records. He begged her to allow him to meet a real girl. Sheltered but smart, Ferdinand believed that his mother had only the best of intentions. Ferdinand’s Mother knew that if her boy ever held or smelled a sweet young girl he’d be gone lickety split. This Saturday’s Sadie Hawkins Dance at the Grange Hall would be a perfect opportunity for her to make sure that never happened. With his shoes polished and his dead father’s suit hanging nearby he readied himself for the final touch. Smiling (on the inside) his mother lowered a bowl onto his head. Clickity Clack went the scissors and his dreams; it was the Birth Control Haircut.

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Elspeth By Tom Allman

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Deep in the Old Forest there was a forgotten graveyard. The weathered and broken tombstones were scattered like so many broken teeth. It was the quietest place on Earth. But, on the first day of spring a troop of tiny homunculi jump and frolic around a lonely marble monolith. Nut brown and as big as a whisper they were a gift for the daughter of a forgotten Wizard. He’d made them from the good earth and her tears. “Oh Elspeth” they sang, “Walk with us to Silvery Stream and dance amongst the daffodils.” A friendly breeze would stir the gentle Willow. Then all was quiet once again.

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A Long Line of Entertainers by Tom Allman

Arkady and Victor were brothers.  It was assumed they would join their family in the Moscow Circus.  But, they were extremely fond of the bottle.  Unable to hold a job in a country of alcoholics, they spent most of their time waiting in line. The Brothers argued a lot.  They yelled and bullied, screamed and harangued, insulted and insinuated. Their fellow line-standers found their antics extremely entertaining.  They provided the brothers with vodka, cigarettes, and encouragement. Arkady was a bear of a man, and had a temperament to match.  He would stomp up and down the sidewalk bellowing curses and admonitions.  He was a true Soviet Man and believed that the State was right in all things. Victor was sharp witted and had the tongue of a poison adder.  He would lean against the wall, hands in pockets, and calmly knock holes in his brother’s arguments.  He was a skeptic and a cynic. It was so entertaining that people would say that they were on their way to see the Arkady and Victor show rather than to queue for canned fish.  Then one day the old bosses were gone. The new ones didn’t believe in long lines.  Arkady and Victor were no longer famous, and the Moscow Circus had moved to Branson.

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Unseen by Tom Allman

“Oh, and the leader of the Shadow People talked to me today,” he added. “I didn’t know they have a leader,” she laughed. “And what the hell are Shadow People?” “You know, you see them out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head they disappear.” Not wishing to cause an argument, she decided to play along. “I was sitting in the big chair watching Matlock when he came up to me.” She took a breath and was going to question his sanity but was distracted by a rat trying to pull an apple core to it’s lair. “I’m serious, he said they live in the dark places in our homes pretty much like you and me but made out of shadow stuff.” “What did he want?” “Oh, they want me to clean the god-damned apartment!”

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ARCH RIVALS by Tom Allman

The slow, grinding, metal on metal whoosh……whoosh…….whoosh startled the doves sleeping in the rafters of the warehouse. There/not there/there-an impossible Blue Box appeared from nothingness. The door of the Impossible Blue Box creaked open. Bony fingers, gripping a cylindrical metal MacGuffin, preceded a sharp elbow and the sandy haired pate of the foppish chrono-hippy. Confidently he maneuvered through the jumbled crates to the fresh, man-shaped stain on the dusty floor. Was the HE really gone? Through all of time, back and forth, and back again they had battled. To have it end with a sickly-sweet smelling stain didn’t seem very cricket. Stooping, he waved his beep-boop twinkle stick over the patch. What would he do now? An impish Cheshire grin began to creep across his face. No, this wasn’t HIS man shaped stain. He stood, stuffed the beep-boop twinkle stick into his breast pocket and headed back to the Impossible Blue Box, whistling an Arcturian pop tune that wouldn’t be written for another eleven centuries.

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the last time by Tom Allman

the last time the black comet passed this close to Earth, it left the ELDER ONES the last time THEY walked the Earth THEY marched through our blood and gore the last time THEY slept was for ten thousand years the last time that man awoke as master of the earth was this morning the last time

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We are not responsible by Tom Allman

Slowly, as if this were a horrible dream, he moved the aptly named “Happy Fun Time Incredibly Dangerous Pyrotechnic Device” closer to his charred face meat. “We are not responsible for any injuries that may occur while using this product,” It read.  “Hmph,” he croaked, “Damn Lawyers!”

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