Adventurous Comedic Short Stories

By Janae Miller

 In Adventurous Comedic Short Stories, it has many short stories that young adults can resonate with. There are many different jokes flowing throughout Aren't We Lucky, there are revenge seeking moments in The Mother of Midnight Stars and Vinny Deke and other themes throughout and hidden within each one. If you want a nice read but little t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jmm
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088250341

Janae Miller

Janae Miller was born in Topeka, Kansas. She grew up as a military brat, so in 2008, she began writing as a child and continued into adulthood for the familiar constant in her life. She lives in South Carolina, and Comedic Consequential Short Stories is her first publication. In 2022, Janae graduated with an interdisciplinary studies bachelor's degree with an emphasis on creative writing from the University of South Carolina. While attending, she worked alongside Brock Adams and created a plethora of stories full of comedy and serious yet sticky situations. With Adams advice and guidance, Janae continues to write today with words of encouragement from her former mentor.

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Adventurous Comedic Short Stories

Adventurous Comedic Short Stories

Adventurous Comedic Short Stories

Janae Miller

Janae Miller

Copyright © 2023 by Janae Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Printing, 2023

To my wonderful husband

To my beautiful daughter 

Thank you for being in my corner

Contents

Dedication

1 Finding Home

2 The Mother of Midnight Stars

3 The Court Jester

4 Rincón de Deméter

5 Aren't We Lucky?

6 Vinny Deke

1

Finding Home

I launched off of my rock to feel the hot sand beneath my feet - not feet claws - boil my blood and warms me to the core. The dog woke up from inside the house and began to bark. Behind the door that opened out to the porch was a devilish man that always called himself my father but yet he looked nothing like me. He didn’t walk on all fours but rather two. He had hair that felt like strands of loose moss that was too straight and dark. Moist moss sounds refreshing right now, it would help me shed this extra layer of white ghoulish skin that sat across my body. The ghoulish layer stuck to the spikes that covered my back, legs, tail and beard. I lick at the sand beneath my feet hoping that Father dropped in some mealworms that buried themselves beneath the sand but I couldn’t find any. There were no worms, crickets, leaves, fruit or water in sight for the past twelve days. Even when Father gave me water it was boiled by the sun that penetrated the mesh that made up the screened porch. 

This ‘home’ that Father built for me was not a pretty sight. I had a branch that fell from a tree beyond the screened porch in my small tank. I remember the day that Father found the branch laying on the luscious grass and placing it in my tank. Other than the branch, sand lightly coated the bottom of my tank with one dry shallow bowl in the corner. Despite the awful tank of mine, I felt worse for my roommate, Moe.

Moe was a cockatiel that was a striking yellow with a grey belly and face. He lives in an old hamster cage that is half the size of my 20 gallon tank. If the bars weren't so narrow, Moe would have escaped by now. In his cage, newspapers line the bottom with a water bowl that a mouse couldn’t fit in. Ohh, a mouse sounds yummy! Moe gets food and water more often than me. I have to wait almost two weeks for food but Moe gets food every three days and the small amount of water he gets every other day. Despite Moe getting fed more, he always acted as if he were starving. Moe is a strange bird. 

I have to admit that I’m jealous of Moe. Over the past year of knowing Moe, resentment grew in me. Everytime I look at him, my beard flares up and turns black out of habit. Everytime he looks at me, he screams and turns around showing me his back, like he is right now. He acts like he’s better than me.

The worst part wasn’t even what we lived in, it’s what's on the screened in porch. Scattered across the cement slab were old needle wrappers, small pill bottles with something that was vaguely green and a biohazard rubbish bin that is at least two meters tall. Nearest to the door sat a foldable beach chair with a foldable dining table scattered with water bottles.  

The dogs insistent barking got closer and through the backdoor window pane I could see Father. Father walked out with that precious dog of his following his heel. The dog looked so plump and happy. Apparently giving me some worms and water was too hard for Father to do because he always had bloodshot eyes and little holes in his arms where they bent. Today, Father smelt bad and held a small bottle with the green stuff in it as he walked with the dog into the backyard. Greens sound good...anything sounds good! Moe and I glared at Father hoping he would grab some worms from the ground beneath his barren feet. Father reached his hand downward towards the earth and picked up a cylinder tube that he placed to his mouth instead. Father pursed his lips, wrapping them around the tube and let out a cloud of smoke from his mouth. The dog rushed towards the screened porch when he finished using the bathroom, waiting to go inside to escape the heat of the sun. Father let the dog in and approached my tank. He patted me on the back and my beard began to expand, the spikes that covered my body rose and  I opened my mouth showing my razor-like teeth. It doesn’t phase Father so I lurch towards his hand and sink my teeth into his finger. He yanks his hand back towards his body and hits it on the glass of the tank. He bends down in front of my tank where I see his face. His dark beard covered his skinny lanky neck with remnants of the green stuff in it from the small bottle. Father’s eyes were red and his face was the color of my outer layer of skin; ghoulish white. Green lines covered his forehead, hands and arms. He spat on my glass. 

Was gonna get my fix today and some food for ya Texas. I ain't buying you nothing, you filthy bearded dragon. Father walks away towards the door. He turns his head towards me while letting the dog in. Filthy bludga. Father slams the door leaving Moe and I on the back porch.

I began to puff my beard out in anger. As I walk towards my bark in the corner to hide under from the sun, Moe chirps to me. In the past year since I had Moe as a roommate, I learned how to speak cockatiel. Moe and I spoke at least once a week and conversed about our hatred for Father and the dog. Sometimes we fight because I make my jealousy known. His chirps were not full of hatred or jealousy today. They were different.

Tex, Fathers gettin’ his green stuff an’ white stuff he sniffs soon, Moe said. 

Moe’s voice sounded similar to Father’s; thick with an australian accent. Moe learned how to speak Father’s language and often would mock the words that Father has said before. Just listening to Moe angered me because of the accent he has is like Father’s. 

Yeah, I know but I don’t care, I just want some worms, I said to Moe.

I wanna be able to stretch my wings and get out of this wretched cage, yeah, Moe said. 

I would love to magically make this tank fall over and eat some grass.

Inside the house, I could hear Father yelling. His belts of anger grew closer and he soon opened the door and threw the dog at my tank. I could feel my stomach lurch into my throat while in midair and plopped down in front of the broken tank. Glass scattered everywhere and I ran as fast as I could away from the glass and towards the biohazard rubbish bin. Fathers face grew red and his body a shade of pink.

Piss off ya dog. Father spat with every word he said frightening the dog. 

In this one instance, I feel bad for the dog and fear with him of Father’s wrath. Father slammed the door shut and I could hear him stomp through the house and slam another door. Something roared to life from the front yard. The roaring grew quieter as it grew farther. The dog ran, pushing the screen door, opening and breaking it’s hinges with his strength. He ran through the bushes that acted like a fence separating us from the temperate forests beyond. The dog got smaller every yard he ran and he soon vanished from my sight into the forests of Australia.

"Tex, get me outta