February’s Speculative Fiction Prompt: Anjana and Trina

Each month Diana Wallace Peach issues an image as a prompt at her
blog, Myths of the Mirror. This is my SOC mashup of a response.

February’s Speculative Fiction Prompt from D. Wallace Peach
February’s Speculative Fiction Prompt

***

Anjana and Trina

Anjana the elephant wanted to know who caused the snow.

He hated snow and wanted it stopped.

In the distance, he saw a house resting lopsided in a baobab tree.

“Is that house crushing my tree?” Anjana muttered to himself.

He lumbered through the snow until he reached the house and peered
inside.

A little girl sat cross-legged on the floor with a notebook and pen.

The little girl looked up and smiled at Anjana.

“Hello…I’m Trina.”

Anjana stepped backward and bowed.

“I am Anjana,” he said.

Trina wrote his name in her notebook.

“Are you a munchkin?” she asked.

Anjana scratched his head with his trunk.

“No, I’m a demigod.”

“Pan?”

“NO!”

“I see.” Trina smiled. “If you had fingers you could snap them
and fix my house.”

“I don’t need fingers to fix your house!”

Anjana lifted the house from the tree with his mighty trunk and
set it gently on the ground.

“Oh thank you!” Trina said. “Where am I?”

“Milwaukee.”

“Do you have other powers?”

“Well…No. I used to hold up the World, but that was when it was flat.”

“Silly elephant! The World was never flat!”

This annoyed Anjana. “People thought it was flat, so it was flat!”

“That’s a good point!” said Trina.

Then she stood and shook her pen until it stretched and became
a wand.

“Shall I stop the snow?”

Anjana stared at Trina with wide eyes and slowly shook his head yes.

Trina waved her wand and shouted: “Snowmobilus! Stoppus!”

Anjana looked way from Trina and watched in awe as the snow slowly
stopped.

When he turned to thank Trina, she and the house were gone, replaced by
seven white mice dressed as elves.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2019

 

A Flight of Ideas: Tats

I grabbed Judy’s arm:

“If Jesus had been his girlfriend things would make sense!”

Judy gave me some Haldol and went back to her charting.

Jimmy, I thought, grabbing myself by the short-hairs; you should
forget this aggression: join the Army, put on a show; a thousand
lights search the sky, the shadow of a star taped on glass.

Who do you think Judy thinks she is?

White woman savaged by selves.

“Tell it to the Huns,” I say.

I strip to wrap my arms around Ronnie’s bare chest.

I listen to his beating heart; “You made people
think you cared so they blame themselves for being
poor.”

“Is that why you want to kill me?”

Nah,” I say. “I just wanna leave without paying, like you!

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

A Flight of Ideas: Aloha

There is a commotion among the staff when a patient’s
mind collapses; they surround her to contain the chaos.

That patient is my Mother and I cannot stand her pain.

She screams in her restraints, a voice whispers that I
am a woman strapped to a stretcher, but I know better
and eat my oatmeal.

Billy watches TV and rubs his dick when no one is looking.

Hollywood Squares is on, Paul Lynde says something
faggy and the audience titters.

When the show is over Billy goes to his room with a
glistening stain on his jeans.

Sometimes I want to taste it to see if we taste alike.

One day I asked Judy if all men taste alike and she said
the question was inappropriate.

I asked so I could watch her pale little cheeks blush
at the depth of my depravity.

These days I’m two or three separate people.

We live on separate planets named for the gods
of destruction.

My planet is Aloha; named for the Goddess of
Marketable Love.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved