Mightier Than

"At last! The Mighty Pen!" cried Oswald.

"What's so special about it?" I asked. Oswald is usually good for ten minutes' entertainment when he gets wound up.

"It is the master of all spelling and grammar. I can rewrite the very language with it!"

"Everyone does that," I said. "It's called 'linguistic drift.'"

Oswald glared at me. He retrieved a Post-It note, wrote "hair" on is, and stuck it to my forehead.

"What're you-?"

He reached up and added a smooth curve. A "C"?

"Oswald, what-?"

An abrupt weight pulled my head forward, and I heard a distinctly wooden clunk...

Bag Full of Name

He had forgotten name. Not just his name, but the whole idea of names and naming. He didn’t like it. He climbed from the soft, warm thing and went into the cold, shiny place. He splashed something wet on his face.

He looked at the very shiny thing and saw something behind him. It was gray and had sharp teeth. It also had a bag full of name.

“I’ve stolen them all,” the thing told him. “What will you sacrifice to have them back?”

His face wrinkled, and more wet came out. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”