copyright Roger Bultot
The phone rang immediately. Of course.
Be strong. I picked up the receiver.
“Josh,” the female voice said. “You covered your camera again.”
“Look, I’m just not comfortable—“
“Josh.” She was chiding. “It’s for your own good. How many lives does SIS save?”
Everyone knew the statistics. Special Interior Surveillance saved 47,000 lives a year. They said.
“What if you have another panic attack? Like last month? We need to see to help you.”
My chest was already tightening at the thought. “Okay,” I mumbled.
She made a kissing noise into the phone. “Thanks, Josh. SIS loves you, remember?”
The title is a terrible pun, I know. I just hope I’m the first one to make it this week.
copyright Adam Ickes
My grandfather said it was a relic, that hideous taxidermist’s ram that sat in the corner and stared with unblinking eyes. He said he got it in Africa. He told the tale in great detail and I listened, worried, since it hadn’t been in his nursing home room the week before.
Finally, I stole it while he was sleeping. That night, I picked it apart. I found the hidden cameras inside, the listening devices. Armed with damning evidence, I threatened to sue the nursing home.
Turns out, my grandfather bought it online. He thought the nurses were stealing his books.