The Creator of Shrinky Dinks, Demonstrates Her Product to the Milton Bradley Board of Directors

Good afternoon gentlemen, my name is Betty Morris.  I must first start off by saying how proud I am to be showing you, the board of directors for Milton Bradley, this creation of mine.  Well mine and Kathryn’s, but really all she ever did for the project was to color the plastic.  And let us just be honest for a moment, my sweet little boys manage to do better, and one of them (bless his heart) has a touch of the epilepsy. But regardless of who contributed the most to this endeavor, I would like to present to you: Shrinky Dinks!

What’s that Kathryn?  Don’t be silly, we loved the name and you seemed very agreeable to it last night.  And you can’t keep using your drinking as an excuse to not honor a contract agreement.  A verbal contract still counts in a number of place darling.  

She does have a taste for the liquor, which is why I’ll gladly be the face of the product.  

Now to continue, and I certainly hope you all know how to hold questions till the end, you start with a sheet of our special plastic.  Then you can just draw whatever the heck you could want on them.  Simple enough, right?  I’ve had my own little artists make some examples.  Let me just take them out of this folder and… Hmm.  It appears both Billy and Sammy have grown an interest in human anatomy. A vivid interest.  A vivd interest and generous imagination.  No matter, we’re all adults here, and I’m sure all you gentlemen have seen your own share of… these.

Taking this one here, you can see it is already drawn and filled with color. Next, we’ll just cut along the edges, like so.  The beauty of this is that you can really make your own toys customized to each child.  My goodness, I’ll just keep a couple extra inches on that end, it would be embarrassing to have such a small bit. Sir, I wish you would stop squirming, you’ll want to watch what happens next.

So we put the cut-out on this tray, which we can put it into this oven, and bake it.  Why we could even ship them with those things the little girls make the goodies with.  You know those small ovens, right?  Oh that is such a clever idea, a tiny oven for tiny toys!  I’ll have to jot that down for later. Don’t even try to weasel credit on that one Kathryn, there are witnesses here who saw how quickly that idea evolved and from whom.

Oh yes, there is a slight burning smell.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it, the parents may not like it, but the children won’t even mind. Heck I know for a fact that, most children have a scent of rancid milk and body odor about them so they will hardly even notice that burnt plastic smell.  

Oh and there is the ding!  Let me take them out of there.  Oh my yes that smell is just a tad strong but you know what else doesn’t smell so good.  Money.  And I’m sure you won’t mind rolling in that, would you?

But if I could draw your attention away from the other drawings from my boys, and focus on something other than the smell, you’ll notice the... toys have all shrunk to about one-third of their size!  Isn't that just marvelous? Here let me hand that around so you can look at and feel the weight of it.  It grows thicker as it shrinks, but also the coloring get more vibrant.   Why it almost looks like the real thing!  No thanks sir, I’ll let you all keep that, as you seemed to handle it in such a fond manner just now.

So now that you’ve seen it in action, I would like to thank you again for this opportunity present my… "our" idea.  I think this will present many children and parents the opportunity to bond, draw and create images of almost startling clarity.  Good day!

The Flight of Jenna Stephens

Jenna had seen the blue sky earlier and wanted to escape into it as she had before.  She wanted to feel the exhilaration of gliding through the world again, free of worries and fears.  The damage to her legs, especially her knees made it hard to walk without wincing, and the cold chains in her hands were of little comfort.  

The cuts and bruising could have been much worse she was told.  These wounds, no badges of pride, had happened the last time she had tried, the tears from her failure still fresh in her mind.  But Jenna would not be cowed into submission by a few failed attempts.  She waited, her routine still carrying her back and forth, back and forth. Those around her seemed content with that kind of life, but not this girl.  Some windows of opportunity had presented themselves to her, and she wished she had taken them, but she was ready now.  Fear of failure no longer holding her back.

And after careful waiting and planning she finally had found the moment she had been looking for.  Without a word of warning for anyone around her, Jenna Stephens jumped.

The girl’s world changed around her, falling away and speeding by.  The chains behind her jangled as her leapt from their protective yet, stifling grasp.  Looking ahead she felt herself propelling forward and upward, flying.  The air sped through her hair, lifting brown curls,with hints of blonde, and Jenna tossed them back from her face.  Her clothing, a pretty pink dress at odds with her worn shoes, also flowed beautifully.  Pieces of her fabric rippled gracefully around her.

The joy that managed to fill Jenna was refreshing and clear. No worry about her injuries plagued her mind.  Not a single care about the things that had angered her earlier today surfaced in her thought.  And most of all, gone was the fear of failure that had marred her previous attempts.  Her freedom was complete.  

But it appeared her flight would not be permanent.  The world finally stopped pushing away from her, and her descent began.  The slight disappointment at this turn of events was quickly squashed, Jenna had already determined how to deal with this turn of events.  If she wasn’t careful, it would be goodbye to those she had met, and if her meeting with the ground was disastrous, she might not get the opportunity to try again for a very long time.  The timing was crucial.

Jenna brought her arms out to her side, she new balance would be key. She couldn’t see her feet, obscured by the dress  which had ballooned outward from her. The girl would need to rely on her memory.  She had prepared for this moment in her mind hundreds of times.  

The ground came rushing to meet her, clearly missing her company, and the moment of truth was at hand. Everything suddenly was a rush of activity.  Her arms reached out, and her torso bent to keep her from crashing face first.  Legs were tensing to prepare for the impact, and as her feet touched the ground, bits of rock were sent flying.  She managed to stay upright, she had her balance again. When everything had settled around Jenna, she looked around and smiled broadly.

Jenna waved at her mother, and ran back to her swing, ready to do it all again.

Not Dead Yet- 1

Those stories about the light being warm and inviting were all true.  I felt like I had just had a really really good massage, completely relaxed and at ease.  Then came the part you never hear about.

The light recedes, and you are stuck in a waiting room.  Don’t get me wrong it was really nice.  The chairs were super comfortable, with great support and they reclined.  There were magazines on the table, current magazines, soft and complimenting lighting, a great view from the windows, and the vending machine didn’t require any money.  Apparently M&M’s are still a hit in the afterlife.

I walked up to what I thought was the Reception desk.

“Excuse me-” I started.

“Just a moment sir.” The woman replied a little shortly.  Her red hair done in a 60’s beehive.  She would’ve been prettier if she smiled, though looking at the frown lines around her lips I doubted she did it often. 

After a couple minutes she called out, “Peters, Anderson.  Head to room 32!”  Her head followed something that I couldn’t see.  “Alright sir. How can I help you?”

“Well, I mean, I guess I’m dead, and I went into the light and everything… so what do I do now?”

“You take a number.” She pointed to a pull tape just like the ones from banks and deli’s.  

“Seriously?  There’s a wait in Heaven?”

“Honey,” the redhead, her nametag read Hope, clearly given by some ironic or idealistic parents. “This ain’t Heaven.”

“What, the white walls, and the etherial glow, and the whole white light thing are for people who go to Hell?”

“Sir, this isn’t Hell either.” She was clearly getting a little annoyed, the way her “sir” had been sort of sighed.

“Well where am I then?  I think I deserve to know!” Getting a little worked up wasn’t helping the situation, and thinking back on it I probably should have been nicer.  I had worked in a call center and I remember how much I hated helping people who were complete douches.

“You are in a waiting room, sir.  So you need to wait.  You don’t look deaf, so take a number and have a seat.  You don’t want me to call security, sir.” Judging by the glint in her eye, I bet she wanted nothing more than to call security, but I took the hint, and grabbed a number.

I was so confused.  Here I am, four days dead, and I am told I had to wait to be seen for whatever needed to happen for my afterlife.  So, I sat down in one of the chairs, after grabbing some candy from the vending machine.   I shuddered to think I might be sitting in the same seat as another person no matter who invisible and intangible they might be, but since there was no real way of telling I might as well rest and relax. The seats really were a quite nice, probably a fake suede but very comfy.  I looked down at my ticket: 42.  Douglas Adams would be proud of himself.

I couldn’t see any number board so I wasn’t sure if my wait would be long.

I appeared to be the only person there.  Well except for Hope, but really calling that shrew a person would be generous.

Eventually, probably after an hour or so, I heard a ding from above, and a sweet voice called out: “42.”  The ceiling looked like clouds so I’m not sure if the speaker was hidden or something.

I went up to Hope, took a breath and tapped on her desk.

“Excuse me, Hope.  They just called my number, where should I go?”

“You don’t go anywhere yet.  You Americans are all go, go, go even in death.  Just give me the number ticket and I take your name.”

I handed the woman my ticket, and told her, Jake Gilbert Koss.  She took a moment to enter some details into what looked like a relic of a computer system.  This day was getting just so weird.

“Alright, please have a seat till I call your name, then proceed to the room I tell you down that hall.”  She pointed to a bunch of clouds that split to reveal a long hallway.

I let out a sigh and returned to the chair.  This was getting old, very fast.  I waited for probably another hour, though ever since I had died my sense of time had been slipping  a little, that and the fact that I may or may not have had a short nap, at one point.  I turned my gaze to the windows, and saw a bright blue sky, a lone cloud drifted by.

“I wonder if that is the equivalent of a car here,” I wondered out loud.  I would have pondered that one a little more, but apparently my time waiting was up.

“Koss, Jake!” Barked Hope. ”Head to Room 26.”

Not Dead Yet-Introduction

My name is Jake, and I’m dead.

It would be great to say that my death was very interesting.  Ideally I could tell you that I was killed because of some nasty love triangle involving the Mafia and a high profile politician. That I had been fed poison, stabbed, and thrown off a roof for good measure.  There would have been a media frenzy surrounding my death, and candlelight vigils would be held until the culprit had been held accountable.  Finally, when the dust had settled, my painstakingly made up corpse would be lowered into the ground, (perhaps with a memorial wreath beside the grave where a perfect picture of me smiling would stand) and maybe someone would throw themselves on the casket too.  Wailing about how life would hold no meaning and that I was taken far too soon.  And of course in a perfect world, this would have all occurred on a dark and stormy night. God, that would have been fantastic

Sadly none of these things happened to me.  My real life death?  Let me replay that back for you real quick.

It was a regular spring morning.  It was getting a little warm, but that’s Albuquerque for you.  Being smack dab in the middle of New Mexico typically means short springs and long hot summers.  I remember the grass was still springy in the park, and while most of the wild flowers had gone, succumbing to the recent heat, plenty of yellow ones still remained.  I actually kind of hated the yellow flowers, they reminded me of the pollen that would make my car look dirty for many, many months.
But that morning I didn’t hate them.  I‘m not saying loved them, but I didn’t hate them.  I was pretty much only focused on breathing.  There was a lot of that going on.  You see I had just recently decided I should jog a little.  My weight was starting to get to me and I was still in that first flush of thinking a couple morning jogs in the park would be fun.

I decided that morning, stupidly, I could handle jogging off the trail.  That off-path jogging quickly turned into a walk as soon as my calves felt a very strong burning sensation.  But by that time I started to notice my surroundings and the forest was starting to look pretty. I felt like taking it easy for the rest of the morning before I headed back.  Clearly my dedication to exercise was going the way of the calligraphy pens, the painting, and of course the previous exercise kick I had tried before.
After I was far enough off the trail, fate decided to be fickle, and a bee came at me.

You have to know that I can’t stand bees.  Really anything that can sting me, I don’t like.  I never understood why I was so irrational about them.  I’m not allergic, and have only been stung twice in my life and don’t remember it being all that terrible and painful.  But I suppose that is why the word irrational is stuck in there.

I was no longer in control of myself,  I swatted at the air, and I’m pretty sure I may have yelled in surprise,  then I took a step backwards.  Had I done what I normally would do- just freeze up and stand still- I would have lived long enough for food to kill me like any good American.  That fateful step back, though, spelled the end for Jake Koss.

I stepped onto a really big stick.  Not large enough to even be called a log, but a thick sturdy stick about the size of a forearm.  This stick decided it would roll out from under me and down I went.  I hit my head hard on the ground and blacked out.  Leaves stuck to my buzzed brown hair like bits of fabric on velcro.  And guess what?  That freaking bee stung me.  I guess those fears weren’t so irrational now, huh?

Some cute guy about a day later discovered my body while hiking.  He was kind enough to call an ambulance though really it was far too late. I learned later while I hovered (because that is what ghost’s do ,right?) by the coroner, that I had  suffered a pretty bad concussion, and that blood had pooled in my brain.  The death was pretty painless, I don’t remember feeling more than the initial feeling of my head meeting stony ground and of course that sting.  Stupid bee.

My funeral was quick and short: Mom cried and so did Dad surprisingly. A few sniffles and only one friend said a couple words about me before they threw the dirt over my coffin.  The turn out was lukewarm, overall.  I guess I had touched less people than I may have thought.  Oh well, I had been a pretty good person so I didn’t feel terrible about more people not showing up.  I was actually pretty much at peace with the whole situation.

And that was when I finally saw the light.  Four days of wandering around, watching my body and family, and the stupid light finally showed up.  So I did what any good soul would do.  I walked into it.

That would be the dumbest decision I had ever made.  Because here, my story really starts.