Welcome to a brand-new concept for “Life Sucks. Laugh Here.” Dark Shorts is intended to supplement the longer weekly posts with some random, ad hoc, funny, shorter stories (usually just a paragraph). These will post randomly during the week as the spirit moves me to create content. Please let me know your thoughts, likes, dislikes, general feedback in the Comments section at the bottom of this page. – PS Conway
Mrs. Coyneslot ran a tight ship. Her fifth-grade class knew better than to rock the boat, as their Captain had a fickle temper that could blow like a North Sea gale in December. Suggestions unwelcome. Input admonished. Coyneslot’s meticulous daily plans tightly governed the actions of the day. Back turned to the room, she scrawled and scratched her history lesson across the chalkboard, white dust flying in the wake of her data maelstrom. Kids being kids, the room devolved into silent chaos when Coyneslot faced the board. Wriggling eels gestured, waved, made funny faces, stuck out tongues and mouthed expletives all in mutinous silence. That is, except for Windy. Windy was poor with stormy eyes. She wore paper bags for clothing. The unfortunate byproduct of her environmentally-woke but dismally-drab brown attire was that her smallest movements made loud, scratchy, irritating sounds. The one and only time Windy ever waved back at that nasty little jackanapes, Jimmy O’Brien, Coyneslot immediately heard the crunching and scraping from Windy’s arm bags. Coyneslot’s head whipped toward the offending sound, a tempest of rage flaring across her face. In a fit of panic, Windy soared from her chair and blew toward the hallway door like a pile of dry crunchy autumn leaves. The friction from the sudden movement created a spark. The spark created an ember. The ember erupted into a conflagration that disintegrated Windy midway toward her escape. As the horror settled into the hushed room, and order was hers for the taking, Coyneslot turned back to the chalkboard whistling, everyone knows it’s Windy.