Grandma and Her Pipe (Short Story)

I originally wrote this for a Writer's Craft class exercise. Basically, we had twenty minutes to write a story, and every two minutes or so the teacher would put a word/phrase on the board and we'd have to include it at whatever point we were at (the highlighted sections below represent those words). I think it turned out pretty well, and after a little bit of editing, here it is:

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"It was a long, cold, winter's night, and all through the house not a creature was stirring— not even a mouse," said the narrator on TV slowly. As he spoke, images of a dark mansion swooshed on to the screen, followed by shots of small children sleeping in their beds. Christmas spirit was truly in the air... just like the smoke from Artie's Grandmother's pipe.

"I never understood why they play this crap," she said, stroking her substantial belly. "I mean, it's impossible that the human race could have sunk this low. Why, back in my day we had Christmas turkeys you could buy for a dollar at Gimble's. They tasted like a fine cognac had been melted all over the top of them. And that smell! Oh, that smell! Like a freshly born baby, I tell ya! And what's more, a... h... hugh..."

"Grandma, don't get worked up," said Artie, turning around to see his Grandmother clutching her chest, pipe now the floor.

"Dang heart," she spluttered. She reached down to grab her pipe, making an odd noise like a stalled windmill as she did so, and her false teeth fell to the floor with a bang.

"Fore da lov of Pete!" she mumbled incoherently, a long thread of drool stretching from her mouth. "Ge' ma teef boay!"

"I'd rather take a bullet right n-"

"JUS' GE' MA TEEF!"

Artie gagged, reached down to the floor, and grabbed the wet, gummy teeth. Wincing, he handed them to his Grandmother, who snatched them out his hand and hurriedly stuffed them back into her mouth.

"Gosh darn things," she said. "Why, back in my day w-"

She was interrupted by a jittery sound of some sort.

"What in blazes... is that the telephone? Arthur, go get it."

"I don't think that's the telephone, Grandma."

"I know a telephone when I hear one, boy. Go ge-"

Suddenly, the entire left wall of their house was ripped off. An enormous sucking sound, like a giant plunger, and it was gone. The cold air from outside funnelled in through the opening, and standing out in the snowy garden were two small, green aliens. Their heads were the size of grape tomatoes, while their bodies couldn't have been more than three feet high.

"We come in peace," they squealed.

Artie stood motionless, mouth ajar.

"Are ya gonna get the phone or not? What's with this silence, Arthur?" Grandma shouted.

Artie pointed at the green aliens, chalk white in the face. Grandma adjusted her glasses slowly and squinted.

"Are those roaches back again? Always been a problem in this house. These look like some biggums too."

She reached behind the couch, grabbed a shotgun, and pumped the two aliens full of lead. It all happened so fast that Artie had no time to react. He felt like he was going to pass out. It had to be a dream that he would wake up from any second...

"Little chilly in here, ain't it?" Grandma said, reaching for her pipe which still lay, forgotten by Artie, on the floor.

Public Transit-Palooza

I take the HSR (Hamilton Street Railway... or in other words, the city bus) every day, and as you can probably imagine, a lot of wackos do too. I have some pretty funny stories about stuff happening on/around the city bus, and without further ado, here are a couple of them:

Hallowe'en Morning

I was sitting on the bus with one of my friends— we'll call her "NotCoffee"— Hallowe'en morning. It was pretty typical for a while, just us talking about random stuff and laughing a lot (though it's worth mentioning she has a loud voice, and is one of those people who yells without realizing it). There was an Indian guy— who looked like Chakotay from Voyager's dad— sitting with his eyes closed beside us, and a few other people scattered around the bus.

But of course, this wouldn't be a good story without something bizarre happening. And that it did. About twenty minutes into the ride, the driver pulled up to a stop sign and, without warning, something started banging on the back door. The whole bus looked over (other than the sleeping Indian) to see some girl SLAMMING her fists on the outside of the bus. Seriously: she was standing outside, punching this thirteen tonne vehicle with her bare hands. As if that wasn't enough, she bellowed at the top of her lungs for the driver to "OPEN THE DOOR!" and after the poor guy didn't comply, started kicking the outside of the bus.

I found this funny and was laughing, but some people looked genuinely scared for their lives. That's probably why the driver floored it as soon as the light turned green, leaving the girl standing there screaming after us. (Well, that, and the fact that she was banging the bus so hard it sounded like a cannon being fired.)

Keep in mind, this was Hallowe'en morning, which made it all the spookier.

After that debacle, NotCoffee and I got back to talking. The recent excitement seemed to have energized her and she was talking even more loudly than usual.

Remember the sleeping Indian guy?

She had her back turned to him, but from my position I could see him perfectly. As NotCoffee was ranting about something, he opened his eyes and stared at the back of her head with this look of groggy hatred. Sensing someone was looking at her, NotCoffee turned around and was greeted by his aforementioned venomous, unwavering gaze. The Indian guy didn't do anything for a second or two, then put his finger to his lips and said:

"SSSSHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

Think about that for a second: a girl banging on the bus and screaming didn't wake this guy up, but NotCoffee's voice did.

Anyway, I found that freaking hilarious. As I laughed my ass off, the Indian closed his eyes again, the air got a lot quieter, and NotCoffee looked around the bus in shock.

Life Story

Don't you hate people who randomly start talking to you at the bus stop? I mean, yeah, it's fine if you have to ask me what time it's coming or something, but I don't want to hear your life story. I don't even know you, leave me alone to fantasize about naked girls.

One day, there was this morbidly obese woman sitting on the curb in front of the bus stop smoking a cigarette. I guess she really wanted to talk (or something), because she kept looking over at me. After a solid minute of this sideways glancing, I turned and gave her a small smile. Mistake #1. She used our millisecond of eye contact to initiate conversation:

Her: "You waiting for the bus?"
Me: "No, I just stand at bus stops for no reason." (Not really, but that would have been funny.) Me: "Yup."

Mistake #2. I never should have answered. This opened the god damn floodgates.

Her: "Oh, me too. I work at Wal-Mart. They were training a bunch of new workers there today and it was really boring. As soon as they came in I said: 'You don't know what you're in for, ha!' [Bla bla bla some more crap] Anyway, yeah, I'm here at the bus stop. I have to get home to my daughter."

Me: "How old is your daughter?"

Her: "Six. Yeah, her Dad never sees her cause he's lives in B.C."

Me: "Why does he live in B.C.?"

Her: 'He's in jail. He'll never see my daughter again, not if I can help it."

Me: "Oh... what'd he get put in jail for?"

Her: "Sexual assault... yeah, he sexually assaulted my daughter"

That isn't a funny topic, and if it really happened is awful, but seriously: why the hell are you telling me this? I literally JUST met you.

I spent the next two minutes agreeing her husband was an asshole who should be castrated and never see his daughter again. Thankfully, soon afterwards, the bus came. 

I got on quickly as she waddled behind me, croaking clumsily up the stairs. She held up her pass to the driver, but he shook his head:

Driver: "That's expired."
Her: "What the F*CK? No it isn't! YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM GETTING ON THIS BUS! I WORK AT WAL-MART YOU F*CKER, TREAT ME WITH SOME RESPECT."
Driver: "Sorry, that's exp-"
Her: "RRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWRRRRRRR!!!"

Then she pulled out a knife from her bra and stabbed the driver two, three, four times. Blood spurted all over her XXXXXXL shirt. People already on the bus screamed and ran frantically out the open back door— luckily though, I am a trained black belt and well-prepared for situations such as this. I ran up to her mid-stab, grabbing her wrist to stop her from making another hole in the innocent driver. Realizing my almighty grasp was too powerful to break through, she screamed hoarsely, dropped the knife, and ran off the bus. She was later caught, and I was awarded a key to the city for my valour. The driver lived, and has since dedicated his life to me and agreed to help me on my quest to find Spada's famed treasure.

Okay... I made that part up. Sue me.