by Joseph Davidson
When I was young, Calvin and his tiger taught me a cardboard box could be a time machine. It didn’t work for me. Angry, I piled up those books and burned them.
As I turned thirty, life fell apart. My love left. My dog died. No job. I found myself with a Sharpie, scrawling TIME MACHINE on the side of another cardboard box.
I hopped in. Closed my eyes. BANG! There I was, staring at a younger me, matches in hand above the comics. I took them from him with a conspiratorial wink.
Maybe thirty won’t be so bad now.
Author bio: Joseph is the Assistant Director of Storyfort in Boise, Idaho. When he's not working with Storyfort he's either working on finishing his Creative Writing degree at Boise State University or being the head honcho over at Procyon Creatives. His work has appeared in 101 Fiction and From Whispers to Roars. You can find him on Twitter @ajoedavidson and check out what the Procyon crew is up to at procyoncreatives.com
Cardboard is part of 101 Fiction issue 25.
Showing posts with label Joseph Davidson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Davidson. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 December 2019
Sunday, 4 March 2018
Imposters
by Joseph Davidson
When they came, they only wanted two of each species. It became clear that we weren’t the equine masterpieces they were going to choose.
Their data was faulty, so when the broodmare and I managed to embed horn-like shards of farm rubble into our skulls they thought they had found the last of our kind. We traded grisly incineration for permanent headaches.
Ours was the grandest cage of them all. A place of honour. I traded with one of the bipeds for a steady supply of pink glitter.
If their data said our shit sparkled, then it damn well would.
Author bio: Joseph is a student from Boise, Idaho working towards a degree in Creative Writing with an emphasis on fiction. He likes weird stories, hanging out with dogs, and believing in unicorns. You can find him on Twitter @thew0ck.
Imposters is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.
When they came, they only wanted two of each species. It became clear that we weren’t the equine masterpieces they were going to choose.
Their data was faulty, so when the broodmare and I managed to embed horn-like shards of farm rubble into our skulls they thought they had found the last of our kind. We traded grisly incineration for permanent headaches.
Ours was the grandest cage of them all. A place of honour. I traded with one of the bipeds for a steady supply of pink glitter.
If their data said our shit sparkled, then it damn well would.
Author bio: Joseph is a student from Boise, Idaho working towards a degree in Creative Writing with an emphasis on fiction. He likes weird stories, hanging out with dogs, and believing in unicorns. You can find him on Twitter @thew0ck.
Imposters is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.
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