Tom's Old Toothbrush

TOM'S OLD TOOTHBRUSH
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

"What happened to your toothbrush, Daddy?" Lainey asked. She'd caught Tom brushing with a toothpaste covered index finger.

"I tossed it out," Tom said, with greenish-white spit dribbling down his chin. "I thought we had some extras but I guess not, I can't find em anyway. I'll get some more when I go out today."

"What was wrong with your old toothbrush?" Pete asked. He'd been listening from Tom's bedroom during a commercial and was out to see if anything interesting could be gleaned.

"It just . . . had a bad taste is all. I tried it for a couple of days, couldn't get rid of it.

"What'd it taste like?" Pete wanted to know.

"What could it taste like?" Lainey said. "You didn't like, drop it in the toilet or anything, did you, Daddy?"

"Lainey! Jesus!" Pete said, holding his head.

"Listen, don't you kids have school or something?"

"It's Saturday!"

"Why do you think we're still in our T-shirts and underwear?"

"What did we eat, Pete?" Lainey said. "What did we have in the last couple of days?"

"Who the hell cares?" Tom yelled. "Why is this so important?"

"It's a commercial!" Pete insisted, as if that made it his inalienable right to know.

"I was just wondering why our toothbrushes didn't have the same taste," Lainey said.

"It wasn't food, okay? It was an adult thing!"

"Oh, Daddy. You haven't started drinking again?" Lainey asked.

"You promised you'd stop!" Pete said.

"I didn't drink anything, goddammit! If you want to know so bad "

"What is it?"

"It's your mother's . . . vagina."

Everything stopped for a moment. It was Pete who broke the silence:

"Okay, we can't turn back time can we? And make this conversation not happen?"

"Next time you won't be so nosey, will ya'?" Tom said. "Go back and watch your show."

"I don't . . . think I'll be going back in there . . . in this lifetime. I'll be in my room."

"What about you?" Tom asked Lainey.

"I gotta pee."

"Go ahead, I'm done." Even after he left the bathroom she stayed, bouncing in the doorway.

"What?" he asked.

"Daddy could you get your old toothbrush out of the bathroom garbage can first?"

The Universe, Take Two

THE UNIVERSE, TAKE TWO
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

The Universe, for some strange reason, had turned into a blank white board, stretching into infinity. Donny floated alone in the vast nothingness beside it with twenty-seven billion and three dry-erase markers.

He grabbed the closest marker and drew a woman to keep him company. Although he was no great artist, he could do better than stick figures. He took his time, because he seemed to have no pressing engagements. He used quite a few different colors, and tried to make her as realistic as possible. When he was finished, he floated back a bit and waited.

Nothing happened.

Talk about disappointment. He'd just assumed she would come to life, like that kid's drawings in the books and cartoons. You know, his name was Simon? And the things he drew came true? But she just sat there. He even named her Melanie, but that didn't seem to help. Sure, it was a crazy idea, but look at how the day had gone so far.

Donny had to face it: the Universe had become a white board and only a white board. Nothing magical about it. He couldn't recreate the human race or draw a firetruck that he could actually drive. He couldn't even keep himself company. He looked around, as far as he could see. There was no one. He was utterly alone. There was no one around and no one to ever be around.

Finally convinced, he gave Melanie much bigger boobies.

Flow

FLOW
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

When Frank discovered that the human body was about sixty percent water, he had faucets installed. Then he drank enough water to bring it up to about sixty-two percent. When he went to bed, he turned off the flow from both hips and one shoulder so his legs and left arm shut off. The bed seemed much roomier, but it only reinforced his loneliness.

Frank went to the beach the next day and increased the flow to his limbs and chest, reduced it to his gut and butt until he almost passed for being in shape. Women spoke to him, they laughed at his jokes, everything was right with the world. A movie producer offered him a job in a porno movie. It was his dream come true and he jumped at the offer.

He turned the hose spigot in the old crotchal area to give himself a couple extra inches, and a star was born. Frank had incredible staying power, being able to literally turn himself off at a second's notice. When the time came for the big finale, he got so excited he broke the spigot and ejaculated his entire body. Frank would never know that this single scene would make him a legend in the adult film industry and earn him truckloads of posthumous awards.

When the director yelled cut, the only sound among the horrified actresses was the clanking of brass and chrome water fixtures hitting the floor.

The Important Thing

THE IMPORTANT THING
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

The important thing was that tourism increased as nature overran the works of man and if every so often you spotted some human remains, you just kicked some leaves over them and went on with your picnic.

Bisected To Life

BISECTED TO LIFE
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

Existential aliens split us open and what came out was not blood and muscle and marrow, but our true selves. I became a man of black rubber bands who became attached to everyone who had ever touched his life and was pulled in all directions for the duration of the experiment. My wife Hilda sprang to life as a wrecking ball dead weight, pulling me down to my ideal hell at the same time my leg, wrapped around her neck, choked the life from her. Our babies escaped their human shells in violent puffs of smoke.

To another it might seem harrowing, what the aliens did to us, but honestly, we had already grown accustomed to the situation before they ever showed up. We felt not shock so much as relief that we could finally show each other how much we suffered and point the blame with the whole of our very beings.

When it concluded, things changed. Not just for us, but for everyone in the world. Divorces were rampant. Games and distractions were gently set aside and we went about the business of helping one another. Hilda and I simply walked a block away from each other, each with a child in hand. We tried hard to stand for something beyond mere suffering. We transformed our lives and when the aliens came back again, we welcomed their next experiment.

I became a young oak . . .

All The Love He Gets

ALL THE LOVE HE GETS
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

It wasn't until he was absolutely fucked up on kerosene that Pete got the idea to seek out Karen. He'd spent the morning in his closet, breathing deeply with an open jar. He'd been going for suicide but the shit had broken his concentration and now he stumbled down the long halls of condo city, not really feeling when he came down CRACK on one knee or hit his mouth on a faux-marble windowsill.

Joey got him to Karen's place in his old Charger that was more Bondo than body. She and her family were doing their Memorial Day thing in the back yard. Pete fell out of the car, closed the door slowly and poked his head back through the window at Joey.

"I'm gonna stick this," Pete said. He found the paperclip in his pocket and jammed one end right through his nose.

"Good God!" Joey yelled. "Jesus, man, when the cops pick you up, don't even tell them you saw me today."

Joey tore off and Pete faced Karen's house. He came out with everything, just as he'd planned.

"Karen! I love you!" he shrieked, and then he pissed his pants. And that was everything. That was all he had. He waited because he didn't have anywhere else to go. He had been planning to kill himself earlier. It's not like he made any appointments for this afternoon or anything.

Pete didn't really register Karen's four brothers coming out to greet him. The oldest one punched him into the ground and they were pissed at him when he couldn't get up. They generally felt bad about kicking people, but they didn't feel like bending over this time. They were scrawny, but what they lacked in size, they made up for with enthusiasm. Eventually they got tired and went back to their barbecue. There had been screaming somewhere during the whole process.

Pete lay filthy and bloody and half in the road, broken teeth, swollen eye and coughing up blood. He stared at the sky for a long, long time. Karen came dreamlike into his line of sight. She knelt above him, her tears burning beautifully his opened flesh.

"You have to stop now, Peter," she said. "Go away and don't come back or else they'll kill you next time." She started to get up.

"Hold it," Pete said. "You came out here, even though you hate me. That's all the love I get, this time around, and it's good enough. Just stay a second. I wanna enjoy it."

I Am Verbing

I AM VERBING
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

I am sleeping.
I am dreaming.
I am ejaculating.
I am waking.
I am cursing.
I am doing (the laundry. Early.).
I am showering.
I am shaving.
I am eating.
I am pissing.
I am brushing.
I am going (out).
I am walking.
I am running.
I am skipping.
I am laughing (at the ugly children).
I am racing (them to the bus).
I am beating (their asses to the bus).
I am getting (on the bus).
I am closing (the door).
I am starting (the bus(because I'm the driver)).
I am laughing (at the ugly children outside of the bus).
I am ignoring (their pounding).
I am running (some of them over as I pull away from the curb).
I am rolling.
I am speeding.
I am speeding.
I am hurtling (down the highway).
I am crashing (into the front of the grocery store).
I am leaping (from the burning wreckage).
I am thrashing (through the aisles).
I am stealing (all the pudding cups I can fit into my pants).
I am fleeing (the authorities).
I am running.
I am running.
I am panting.
I am slowing.
I am being (caught).
I am resisting.
I am being (beaten).
I am screaming.
I am hurting.
I am crying.
I am sleeping.
I am waking (in the back seat of a police vehicle).
I am moaning.
I am complaining.
I am threatening.
I am pulling (down my pants).
I am defecating.
I am laughing.
I am laughing (less).
I am being (pulled from the car).
I am laughing (less and less).
I am being (beaten severely).
I am being (beaten repeatedly).
I am waking (in prison).
I am showering.
I am soaping.
I am dropping.
I am bending.
I am questioning.
I am screaming.
I am screaming.
I am screaming (?).
I am smiling.
I am switching.
I am lying (in my bunk).
I am contemplating (the ugly children).
I am considering (the reverse function of my wet/dry vac).
I am recalling (the fifty-five gallon drum of spaghetti sauce in my uncle's old bomb shelter).
I am noticing (the looseness of the pipes behind the toilet).
I am observing (the obvious softness of the guard's skull).
I am wondering (what tomorrow will bring).

I Got Nuthin'

Okay, I'll admit it. After pretending for hours that I had a story in me tonight, I'm coming clean and letting you know I don't have diddly.

So. What now? Well, I hope everyone voted. Ummmmm. Oh.

I have been a little obsessed with my probable number 54, The Way to His Heart. I've been fiddling with it constantly. Hopefully, it will be ready by Friday.

Fans (and by that I mean MY fans, you two there) may be interested to know that my story, Passions in Orbit, a Stirring in the Pants (#52 for those keeping track) will be published in the beginning of 2007 at Antipodean SF.

Also, Challenging Destiny will be publishing my story, The Keys to the Yellow Kingdom (#43) around June-ish 2007.

I'd like to give you a link to something mildly interesting. I don't know what it might be yet, let me check around here . . . (sounds of Matt clumping down the stairs in his boots. What follows is his voice, faraway and a little echo-y.)

"Everybody's seen that goddamned OK Go video . . . That one's stupid . . . Time-wasting bullshit game . . . That one's just gross . . ."

Okay, here's an interactive map of Springfield. Now that's mildly interesting.

Man, even my links suck.

Ah. Post Secret. Always fun to be disturbed.

The Short, Yet Quite Fulfilling Life Of The Food Taster

THE SHORT, YET QUITE FULFILLING LIFE OF THE FOOD TASTER
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

The food taster tasted the food and not just a taste, but all the food. One never knew when a side of a roasted boar was untainted yet the other poisoned. From soup to pheasant hearts to chocolate-dipped giraffe's head, the food taster ate the most exquisite meal of his low-born life. Then, once the food taster was properly prepared in full view of the court, the king ate the food taster.

Not surprisingly, good food tasters were rare.

But seared on the outside to seal in the juices.

Words To Live By

WORDS TO LIVE BY
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

Denemar's words held power, suspended it on the physical plane. When he was seventeen and full of something, he began to recite himself a ladder constructed of his own sentences for the purposes of climbing to Heaven, where he belonged.

"Don't do it!" his mother cried. "You'll never make it!"

He ignored her, climbing as he uttered his manifesto, made up on the spot. He improvised the philosophy which would take him through existence.

"Come back!" his father cried. "It's a fool's errand! There is real work to be done down here!"

But his father's entreaties blew away on the wind from which they were made. Denemar's words were sturdy and clinked together like magnets. They were far below now, his family, his friends, his earthly concerns. How far, he'd never know, for he wasn't looking back.

Denemar fell to his death when his throat went dry and his hand missed a rung that was not there.

He looked down upon them all from Heaven and laughed at what idiots they'd been to doubt him.

War Is Over

WAR IS OVER
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

It was an electronically imposed night, the whole continent bathed in a black light that overwhelmed the sun until it shone a dark star. Survivors danced to a techtronica algorithm that surged from the ground, a throbbing beat shook every molecule of their bodies. War was over and there was a lifetime for crying. Today was for celebration, the biggest party imagined.

They hired a sentient Yukon storm to blizzard down on the too hot Mediterranean. With a lifespan of mere days it took payment in the instant gratifications which the American enemy had long ago mastered: chocolates, sex, the sensation of a good bowel movement and inane Internet videos. The storm snowed neon through the night, frosting the thin bare trees that lined the streets.

Xuxa sucked in the cold air and fanned her brown leather jacket to let it all in. Her sensitive skin bruised when the storm's light shone on her angelic face and her head still spun from the glut of new information that overwhelmed her at the nodelink. She'd absorbed the entirety of the conquered country, available for only twenty-two Euros per download.

Smooth, glassy, black wolves raced through the streets ahead of the devil-boys. The drive-by canings began at midnight. Even Xuxa headed for higher ground.

"The only thing that's keeping me here is the gravity," she said.

Lyla's Declaration

LYLA'S DECLARATION
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

"How much do you love me, Pietro?" Lyla asked. They held each other beneath the stars in his back yard, while Gert, her little Scotty, sniffed circles around them.

"You'll call me a dope if I tell you the truth," he said. His eyes looked tired and his smile was wide and soft like he had something good in mind.

"No, I won't. Tell me!" Lyla urged him on with a sharp hug.

"All right. For forty-five years, I was absolutely miserable. I didn't have a hard life or anything, but I was starving for something I couldn't get. I didn't even know it existed. It was you, Lyla. I needed you to live as much as I needed water. I didn't know what living was until I met you last year.

"I feel like I've spent my life paying my dues and your love is some incredible reward I've earned for all of my heartache. If I had to live my life all over again and I knew that after forty-five of the worst years imaginable, I'd have you there waiting for me at the end, I'd sign up for it in a heartbeat. That's how much I love you. I feel like you're a part of my soul and if I die tomorrow, everything will have been worth it.

"Look at you, you're speechless," Pietro said.

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"Tell me how much you love me, then."

"Well . . . okay." Lyla looked at his chest, then down at Gertie before looking at Pietro again. "Um . . . Lots! I guess."

He kissed her passionately and they made love, falling asleep in the grass just before the dawn.

The Underwear Dynamic

THE UNDERWEAR DYNAMIC
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

Suddenly, at work, we all wore nothing but our underwear. And though it only lasted seconds, glances were cast. Glances were avoided. In a flurry of evaluation we judged each other on how we had lived our lives up to that point. We judged each other on this morning's decisions. We judged each other and ourselves on the circumstances into which we had inexorably knotted our lives. Jealousy, arousal, pity, disgust and utter humiliation; the company never ran the same way again.

Soapslut

SOAPSLUT
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

The soapman and Vanya made sudsy love in her shower for the fourteenth time that month. Once plump and glossy, his limbs now grew slender and cracked, his skin mottled. But Vanya didn't mind and that's why he loved her.

He was supposed to stay in the bathroom when she went to work. At least he thought he was, but Vanya had turned the fan off too soon, and he felt sticky and clammy too far into the day. He checked the linen closet for a towel, and saw another soapman.

It startled him. It still lay in its original packaging, bright green where he was yellow. It stood six and a half feet tall and took up the entire left end of the closet. He looked at himself. Had he ever been that large?

He called Vanya at work.

"Garrollo's Air Printing, this is Vanya, how may I help you?"

"You like green more than yellow, do you?" he said.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"This is your soapman. I just found your boy-toy in the linen closet. I thought you loved me."

"I don't " she started loudly, then whispered. "I don't love you. You're the soap."

"I'm giving my life to you, Vanya, rubbing myself into oblivion so you can be clean!"

"So what am I supposed to do when you're gone, never wash again? I can't believe I'm arguing with the soap! Hang up the phone and get back in the bathroom."

"I'll not! I'll go find a homeless woman who'll appreciate me. She won't bathe again when I'm gone."

"Jesus, whatever, just lock the door on your way out."

"Of course," he said. "I'm not a barbarian."

Before she hung up, he heard her say, "I'm calling Soapster " So, she was going straight to his manufacturer.

He left the house, but found he didn't want a homeless woman. He wanted Vanya, even if she didn't want him. A light rain started and he hid in the bushes beneath the house's overhang to stay dry.

That evening she came home and half an hour later a Soapster truck pulled into the driveway. Would they take him away and sell him to a used car lot? No. They delivered four new Soapmen and one Soapwoman, rushing them in on handtrucks as the rain picked up. After the truck left he went to her bathroom window and peered into the frosted glass.

They were all in there, Vanya and all the soap people, the seven of them showering in a disgusting but remarkably clean orgy. He stepped back into the open yard, shocked by Vanya's lack of inhibition. She wanted dirty love, he could see that. It was the one kind of love he could never give.

"You soapslut! I hope one of them gets in your eye!" He screamed out the fill of his broken heart. But Vanya never heard as the raging thunder obliterated his shouting. The soapman raised his hands to heaven and embraced the cold rains, melting to a pale sliver in the driving onslaught, slowly, gladly.