30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 10

Expect the Unexpected



Do you ever think to yourself, how did I end up in this situation? How is it that I came to be in an empty warehouse hiding among garbage with an angry rabid dog chasing me?

There had been nothing unusually horrendous about the earlier part of my day to tip me off to what I had coming. In the morning, my alarm had gone off, I had awoken begrudgingly, and as usual it took only a few seconds of consciousness to remember how crappy my life was. I went to work, ate a bad sandwich at my desk, and pretended to be interested in what my co-workers were saying. Finally it was time for me to go home, I got in my car, got about five minutes away from home, and then wouldn’t you know it – I ran out of gas. Perfect timing. So out comes the old five gallon from the trunk, and as I’m bracing myself to walk the 20 blocks to the gas station, I see him. He looks kinda like a chocolate lab, only his coat is shaggier than it should be. I give the pooch a half smile and start walking. The dog starts following me. I walk faster. The dog walks faster. I could see where this was going and in a moment which I can only credit to childlike panic I break out into a sprint. That in retrospect was a mistake. Huge mistake. The dog starts running too, but after five seconds of pulling a Flo Jo I get a stitch in my side. I’m freaking out. I push past an open gate surrounding an empty warehouse. I guess the idea was that there would be walls and doors that I could put in between me and that dog. No such luck. All the doorways in this place were gaping and empty. Not a single door in the place. I loose all rational sense and get into the fetal position in a corner of a room. I can hear his nails clacking on the floor. Oh God he was coming. He stuck his head around the corner, and it is then I see that he has my car keys in his mouth. He drops them on the floor, barks, and runs off. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 9

Ray, when someone asks if you're a God, you say YES!



It was during my weekly staff meeting, and as usual, I found myself staring out of the vast windows and out onto the sprawl of majestic sky scrapers and noble architecture. I never grew tired of admiring the gradual tapering of the Vincenzo building turrets, or the way that the top of the Brennen towers seemed to graze the bottom of clouds. I could barely make out the shape that emerged darkly from 25th Ave. It looked like one of those giant balloons that would float in between the buildings during city parades, with the grace of the gondolas in Venice. As I looked closer, I saw that it was a giant hand, but not quite a human hand…it was more like a paw. A paw with a behemoth analog clock embedded inside it. I made a gasping sound, and turned to my colleagues to see if they saw what I saw, but everyone else seemed engrossed in their work. I rose from my chair silently, and walked closer to the massive panes of glass that separated me from reality. As this paw became fully exposed, I saw that it was attached to a giant arm comprised of metal sectionals, and attached this was a torso, a head, legs. It was like an enormous hybrid of Teddy Ruxbin and Robby the Robot. At that moment, I was unsure as to whether or not I should scream or laugh. There was a time when the idea of huge robotic bears taking over our dear city of Metropol would have seemed ridiculous. But today it became a reality.

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 8

Dead Man's Party



I do love a good party. The best thing about the mausoleum are the glorious high ceilings. They're at a simply divine height for stringing up the chandeliers. There's nothing quite as uplifiting as dragging out the old tuxedo for a social mixer. Gloria does the cleverest invites, I don't know where she finds them. These little bats that fly around to everyone, alerting them of the time and occasion for our little soiree. Why last time we were able to squeeze in almost all the residents of the lot! Gloria makes fantastic h'ordevores, and I make a mean martini if I do say so myself. We host functions several times a year; New Year's Eve, St. Patty's Day, Valentine's Day, and of course on Halloween we hobnob right up until the sun rises. This year my associate was somehow able to garner one of these new fangled "Flat Screen TV's", and we were able to watch the Academy Awards. They don't seem nearly as glamorous as when I used to attend them in the 40's. Well that was over sixty years ago now I suppose, when people had style; when they understood glamour. Now everything's gone to pot. Well, at least we've still got our festivities to liven' things up here every now and again. You should drop by in fact, we're having one next Saturday. Perhaps you're familiar with our gated community? Its called Hollywood Forever. Hope to see you there some day.

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 7

The Gloves



You'd never put on a glove like this before. In fact you'd never seen anything like these things in your entire life. Not ever. The damn gloves weren't invisible when the man sold them to you at the pawn shop. They had appeared to be exactly the kind of glove you were looking for. A simple pair of fireman’s gloves, flame resistant, with a slit up the middle for easy access, and good sturdy cloth on the inside. You had noticed with disinterest, the thick lining was brightly colored with diagonal pinstripes.

You couldn’t get over how they had transformed your hands. The minute you put those gloves on, your fingers became cemented together. Your hand straightened out like a board, and then just as quickly bent into perfect fists. Iron fists that had saved more people in an hour that you had saved in a month as a fireman. You marveled at how the fists had killed the mugger in the alleyway, stopped a truck from careening onto a busy sidewalk, and steadied a building’s roof ready to collapse. It crossed your mind for moment that you had no idea how you were going to take these suckers off, but quickly became more focused by the fact that punching through brick walls with your hamfistedness caused you no pain. This was the beginning of something alright, of what you were still not certain….

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 6

Robot, Broken



Two metal rods, each wide enough from each other to fit our necks. We hung like that above the bunker floor. Put out of commission; retired as it were. There were three of us now. A3K version 1, myself - A3K version 2, and the latest addition to our group: A3K version 3, the final piece in our trinity of defeat. There were no words to exchange among ourselves, no conversations to be had. The sad dull metal glint in our eyes communicated all we had to say. We had been bested, improved upon, and therefore inevitably made obsolete. The mind of Dr. Merric Stone had performed the functions of natural selection upon itself, weeding out the old ideas for the new, replacing the weaker designs with those that were stronger.
I sometimes feared that Dr. Stone would run out of room in his laboratory or grow tired of having his former mistakes hanging there for him to look at all day. In my worst dreams, the cruel fate of crushed metal awaited me in a junkyard . But in retrospect, even that could not be as painful as what had already happened . Being forgotten, being tossed aside for something newer; something better. That was the horrid fate that had already befallen me. Of course watching our replacement, version 4, day in day out, was torture in and of itself. I could notice the added grace that version 4 had in even the slightest of his movements. The way he spoke, the way he walked; Stone had improved upon all of it. Did he think because I was deactivated that I could not see it? That I could not feel it? My soul was wrenched out of my charging sockets like a cheap metal plug, and all because I had failed in my purpose. I had been made to serve and protect, but I was discarded as insufficient. Condemned to an eternity of futility.

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 5

Be Kind, Rewind



CHRIS: “I’m telling you man, they’re like razors. Real Freddy Kruger shit.”

ED: “Freddy Kruger shit, huh?”

CHRIS: “Uhuh.”

ED: “Seems to me like the only shit around here, is the stuff you’re shovelin’ right now.”

CHRIS: “Fine, don’t believe me, see if I care.”

ED: “Dude, what do you expect me to say. You’re trying to convince me that there’s a zombie in the basement of the video store where we work. A zombie which you’ve seen, and now want us to go kill with nothing more than a flashlight and some silly string?”

CHRIS: “I meant we could throw the cans at him, not spray him with it!”

ED: “I think you’ve been takin’ out too many Romero titles buddy. Gotta ease up on the horror section.”

{Ed gets up from his chair and starts organizing some DVD’s on the counter. Suddenly a muted crashing sound is hear. Like cardboard boxes falling over.}

CHRIS: “Christ! It’s him, it’s the zombie!”

{Chris instinctively ducks below the counter and covers his head with his hands. Ed leans over the counter, peering at Chris and shaking his head.}

ED: “You’ve really turned into one pathetic stoner haven’t you? Get up will ya? It was probably just some rats or something. Besides, two minutes ago you wanted to go down there and attack the thing, now you’re too petrified to move.”

CHRIS: “Yeah well, it just took me off guard that’s all. I thought it was trying to ambush us, ok?”

ED: “Ok, then let’s go. You and me, in the basement. Right now.”

{Chris gives a concerned look to Ed and shruggs his shoulders as his way of accepting the proposal. Ed walks towards the stairwell and turns the doorknob. The door creaks open slowly, as if with apprehension. Ed bends down and picks up the flashlight that lives on the second step down. He takes a deep breath and switches it on.}

CHRIS: Oh My God! Its him!

{The zombie moves slowly but with purpose, its crushed chest cavity oozing green. Ed and Chris stand paralyzed with fear, their feet rooted to the ground as the zombie raises its outstretched arms with those razor nails…..}

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 4

The Slouch



Carl didn't know what he would have done if he had had to listen to
one more minute of that maddening parrot with its infernal squawking.
"Get off of your duff Carl, get off of your duff!" Frederick used to
say to him every single time he tried to relax in his favorite chair
with a cold beer.

"Don't slouch in the seat Carl, don't slouch in the seat!"
Of all the things Carl's mother could have left him in her will, she
had to leave him Frederick. That horrible parrot. Carl remembered
how his mother used to call Frederick her best friend, her real life
time companion. Carl had no idea how long parrots were supposed to
live, but he was certain that Frederick should have died years ago.
Carl had taken it into his home, because it seemed like the decent
thing to do after his mother died. He could see his old mother right
now wringing her hands over what was to become of Frederick when she
would no longer be around to look after him. Of course Carl hadn't
counted on the screeching and the nagging. It was eerie really, like
a piece of his mother still lived in his house with him.
"Carl you're a real slouch. A real slouch."

Day in, day out, Frederick grated on his nerves. He couldn't even
watch his TV in peace anymore or take a nap without Frederick
interrupting. So today, he had taken Frederick into the bathroom.
Carl tried to do it as quickly as possible, but somehow all his
feathers got everywhere. He had wrapped up the body in a bunch of
garbage bags and put it in the trash can outside, but the house reeked
as though Frederick was still inside. That was ok by Carl. Just as
long as he had his silence. His silence and his Television and his
chair. That was all Carl had ever really wanted.

30 Minute Comics: Vol. 2 Issue 3

GLASS JAW JOE



“You weren’t expecting this were you kid?” Daimiano said, staring at Joe with his steely grey eyes. The cigarette stub he had stepped on still had a an orange ember or two left on its tip, and smoke twirled up into the air like a pair of ballerina legs. Joe stared at the pretty dancing smoke, wishing himself out of that garage.

“Hey Kid! Answer me!” Daimiano yelled, and shifted his weight, crushing his foot deeper into Joe’s chest. The concrete felt smooth and cool under Joe’s shirt, and he thought about how nice and easy it would be to just give up, and go to sleep here, forever.

“God Damn it Joey! I’m only going to ask you one more time! Where the hell did you put that money?!”
For the first time in about ten minutes, Joe made eye contact with Daimiano AKA The Judge. They called him that because he always carried that crazy walking stick with a judge’s gavel on one end. Joe had been bracing himself for the moment when the wooden mallet would come smashing down on his fingers, or his balls. But so far the Judge hadn’t completely lost his temper, or so he had told Joe. Daimiano met his eyes, and Joe thought he caught a glimmer of sympathy floating around with the silvery flecks of his cornea.

"Come on Joe. We all want to go home here. Don't do this."

Joe knew there was no backing down, and tried to keeps his thoughts on Lucinda and the baby. They would be able to move away and start a new life. Joe felt a pinching sensation in his heart as he admitted to himself they might even be better off without him. It was for them that he was doing this. For them. If he just repeated that in his head over and over again, he wouldn’t feel so scared. Joe clenched his jaw, and braced himself for the worst. Staring back at The Judge, he said,

“I don’t know where the money is.”

30 Minute Comics Vol.2 Issue 2

The Chase




The sun beat down on my face making me squint my eyes which were already stinging from the droplets of sweat that had trickled down off my forehead. How long had I been running? Five miles? Seven? It was difficult to tell. My chest wanted to explode, and the waves of nausea were almost unbearable. The only thing that kept me going was the image that had been burned into my mind. None of it made any sense really. First of all, the boogeyman wasn't supposed to exist; and second of all he was only supposed to come out at night. What the hell was he doing chasing me down the street in the broad daylight?

Speaking of which, where was everybody? The only sounds I could hear were the rubber soles of my shoes pounding on the hot pavement, and the faint grunting that persisted behind me. All the stores and buildings appeared to be vacant, and the streets were empty, no cars, no traffic. I wanted to stop, catch my breath, find a drink of water, but I couldn't. I couldn't even turn around and look behind me, because I was terrified that the boogeyman might be right there, just over my shoulder. He would pounce on me, devour me, take me to boogey-land, or whatever it is that the boogeyman does to his victims.

Then all of a sudden, a new sound pierced the quiet air. At first it was a faint and far off, but then it grew louder and more constant.

It was a ringing sound….in fact, it sounded just like my phone…

30 Minute Comics Vol. 2 Issue 1

The Clown that Likes to Murder People



Pain. Utter searing gut wrenching pangs. They always started slow. Creeping quietly up from the pit of his stomach, then spreading to his intestines, his kidneys, his bladder. It was like he had been running for hours and had gotten a stitch in his side that spread to his entire lower torso…
And there was only one way to make it stop. He had tried to go back in his mind to remember how he had discovered the singular cure for his agony. This cure was his joy. The way their flesh felt taught and warm under his white gloves, their life seeping through the cloth. Once he strangled them he would tear into their flesh with his knife, which doubled as a juggling prop. Each cut into their skin would bring him relief. Their blood was like a salve that spread out over the irritated lining of his stomach. The relief he felt at these moments, the happiness, was unlike any he could ever remember. When he wasn’t experiencing this, the ache would force him to double over, or lay on the filthy tiles of his bathroom, just as he was at this moment. He had to get up. He had to go out and find his antidote. A new victim; a new found moment of peace.