Flash Fiction
There are times when my mind wanders for a moment. I might stop and watch a magpie hopping along the grass before taking flight. A snail slowly making its way across a stone can be strangely captivating. I have often wondered if a bottle on the kitchen table aspires to be something more. Other times, I just want an excuse to write something creepy. These moments are the essence of flash fiction and inspire my short writings.
Water Cooler Cliché
17 April 2025
Oh hey, I didn’t even realize you were here. Yeah, I came in the back way. I couldn’t find parking out front. You didn’t park in the supermarket, did you? No, I know they close it after ten. He paused. So, Danny’s not here? No, she said. She looked at Mark. Broad and brawny with soft eyes and straight teeth. So, are you still thinking of quitting? Yeah. I mean, what’s the point of staying? I’m not going to get the promotion. She wrapped her fingers around her pint and squeezed. Why didn’t he just go talk to them? Mark was all shoulders and muscles but he never would speak up. Did you get an official response? Not yet. Then how do you know? Cuz I know. I know I’m not going to get the promotion. Mark, it’s not like they’ve sent an email or anything. I haven’t seen a posting on the eBoard. I just know. He went dark like a TV and slouched. She looked at his bigness. A balloon. She watched his eyes move from her and then to the barstool. She hasn’t invited him to sit. But why didn’t he take charge? Do you want to sit? Isn’t Danny coming? Later maybe. He hasn’t answered my message. She wondered if Mark saw her ears turn red. Danny had already answered. He wasn’t coming. Cool, yeah. I mean cool about us having a pint. Yeah, I know what you mean. She shrugged. You know I lost my cell phone? Why had she said that? Oh really? Then how did you message with Danny? I didn’t mean forever. I meant. I don’t know. She felt stupid and now her ears were red. They burned like solar flares. I didn’t mean to call you a liar. You didn’t. Now she was getting angry. I know. But the way I said it and then your look. What look? She was mad now. And she felt stupid. She really had lost her phone. Just for a few hours but it had driven her crazy. It had been in her purse the whole time with the ringer off. Inside a pocket she never used. Sorry. He shrugged his bear shoulders. Don’t say you’re sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I know. I just. He gave another big shrug, like two mountains heaving in a geological event. Nothing. It’s nothing. Nothing what? Nothing. I don’t know. What’s with Danny? She rolled her eyes. Mark, just forget about him. If he comes now, what do you think he’ll say? Mark, please. She had tucked away her irritation and now it was crawling back out of her pocket. I’m just saying. I mean, you asked me to sit down. Well, you were just standing there. It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn’t call it back. So, you just didn’t want to be mean? That’s not what I meant. You know why I haven’t quit. Her ears were burning. Mark, please. It’s not like you and Danny are married. I don’t want to talk about it. Yeah. Sorry. Sorry to bother you. No, Mark. Don’t be like that. Mark stood up. I’ll see you around the water cooler. He turned and disappeared to the right of the bar. Around the water cooler. Such a cliché. Such a big burly cliché.
Blackbird
26 March 2025
The old man sat heavily in his chair and sighed. It was nearly dusk in early summer and the sun hung low in the sky. He finished packing the tobacco in his pipe and reached for his matches. He struck the flame and puffed to start the embers. He tamped it down and gave a second light and drew in a deep, retro inhale and smoke billowed from his nose. Just as he puffed his preferred cadence, the old man looked up with a raised eyebrow as his grandson trudged past him silently. “What’s wrong, my boy?” He called out. The boy stopped and shrugged. “Nothing, grandpa.” The old man tapped his free hand on his knee. “Come here for a minute.” The boy sloughed forward and the old man reached for the boy’s hand. “Tough day at school?” The boy squirmed and lowered his eyes. “There’s a boy who’s picking on me.” “I see.” The old man inhaled deeply and blew the smoke over the boy’s head. He offered his grandson a wry smile. “It’s getting late, and you should be getting ready for bed.” He put a finger under his chin. “But before you brush your teeth, would you like to hear a story?” The boy nodded. “Sure, grandpa.” The old man puffed casually and settled into his chair. “Many years ago, I was in the yard cleaning up before dark. As I walked back to the house, I startled two blackbirds that were perched on the lemon tree.” He gestured to the century old tree off the back porch. “The female flew in a circle before disappearing into the leaves, and the male flew up on the roof. The male blackbird began tweeting furiously.” The old man smiled. “Now, I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I could see he was mad, and I knew why.” The old man paused and looked down at his grandson and puffed patiently. The boy tilted his head and was silent for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders. “Why was he mad?” The grandfather sighed and pinched his grandson’s cheek. “Well, think about it. There could be only one reason, really. They were nesting and I had intruded on their territory.” The boy cocked his eyebrow. “But it’s your yard.” The grandfather grimaced and mumbled, “I think you need more than one lesson, my boy.” He shook his head. “So, I cautiously backed away and out of the corner of my eye I looked at the lemon tree. It was dark, but I thought I spotted something. I tiptoed back inside, grabbed my flashlight and from a distance scanned the tree. Sure enough, the female was watching me through the leaves sitting in her recently woven nest.” The old man pointed to the lemon tree. “It was low enough that I could reach out and grab it.” “Did you?” The boy craned his neck as he looked at the tree. “No, I carefully walked back inside.” He took his grandson’s hands. “I want you to think about what the blackbirds did.” The boy looked up at his grandfather and to the old man’s delight he answered wisely. “They were defending the nest from you.” “Exactly!” The old man chortled. “The male tried to distract me so I wouldn’t see it, and the female took her spot on the nest to defend her eggs.” The boy nodded slowly. He looked at the lemon tree and then turned back to stare at his grandfather. “You said the nest was low, so you could have taken the eggs.” His big brown eyes were unblinking. “What could two tiny blackbirds have done to stop you?” “Nothing, my boy.” The grandfather hugged him close. “All that mattered was that they stood their ground. With that one courageous gesture they won my love and admiration.” The boy nodded and he turned again to look at the lemon tree now bursting with summer fruit. The old man watched him carefully, certain that the wheels were turning in his young mind. He gave his grandson another hug and was warmed to feel the boy’s small arms grip him fiercely. He released his grandson who smiled broadly and waved as he walked into the house. With a satisfied grunt the old man puffed deeply from his pipe and lost his gaze in the lemon tree.
Lucid As A Hatter
06 March 2025
My head lifted instinctually at the chiming bells. The door opened and I crossed gazes with a rather dour looking gentleman. Though I must admit, I was quite pleased to see he was without a hat. Very unusual considering his stately apparel, but very convenient for my trade. “Good day to you, my fine sir!” I said gaily. “Wonderful dry spell we’re having.” “Harump!” He offered in response. “Yes, it’s a day, though I would not say it’s good.” “Perhaps together we can make it a fine day, Mr – ?” “Crobblehence,” he said abruptly. I must confess I had never heard that name in London. Perhaps he was a foreigner. “Mr Crobblehence, sir? Did I hear right?” “Yes, hatter, that is my name.” He struck his umbrella’s end tip sharply on the stone floor. “Are you deaf or mad?” My goodness, what a character. I could feel his cold eyes on me as I spoke. “I meant no offence, Mr Crobblehence. It just struck me as an unusual name.” “What do you mean?” He appeared before my desk. It was very curious. He didn’t seem to walk, yet he had covered ten paces without me noticing. “Well, it’s not common.” I cast a glance down at his feet before I met his cold eyes. “I meant nothing by it.” “But you said it, though.” Crobblehence raised his chin and the gaslight on the wall flickered. “Have you been breathing in mercury vapour?” “Of course not!” What an offensive thought! “My laboratory has large windows that are always open when I form my hats.” It would appear I would sell my top hat to an impolite man. “Impolite?” I blanched. “Pardon me?” “I said your speech sounds slurred.” The hatless Mr Crobblehence curled his lip as he pointed to the window. “Open them wide the next time you shape a hat.” I looked closely at the discourteous Mr Crobblehence. His attire was quite rich. His clothes were finely stitched and the watch chain that disappeared into his coat seemed to be solid gold. My business had not been what it used to be since my former apprentice opened his own shop not two blocks from my own. I feared I would have to swallow my pride and engage him to the best of my abilities. “I shall remember to open the windows fully.” “See that you do,” he said as he turned to look at the racks of hats. “Well, what have you to show me? If you aren’t blind as well as deaf and mad you can see my head needs a shelter.” I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows at the curious choice of words, though I kept my tongue. “How about this one? It’s quite fashionable and required many hours of painstaking labour.” “Trying to get me to pay more, eh?” His finger flicked out and I had to stop the hat from toppling off the bench. “It looks like the tower of London.” “Then, how about this one?” I reached up to a higher shelf. “It’s sleeker.” “It looks like a strangled snake.” “Then perhaps this bowler?” “I’ve seen gravediggers with better apparel.” Mr Crobblehence presented me with a vicious grin. “Just yesterday, in fact.” I was getting desperate, if I could not find a suitable hat I would lose a sale. “How about—" “Yes, I know you’re desperate. You need my sale.” How did he know? Had I spoken aloud? Worse, it was likely he would purchase a hat from my former apprentice. “If you—" “Most probably, yes.” His gleaming black eyes were cold. “I think I will visit your apprentice.” “How, how? This can’t be!” I felt a terrible tremor. “Y-you can’t have heard what I said! I didn’t speak.” “You’re shaking.” Mr Crobblehence tsked and shook his head. “You’re mad as a hatter.” “No, I’m not!” Mr Crobblehence turned. “I’ll be on my way.” “No, please! I have more to show you.” I reached towards him but felt instantly repulsed. I was shaking. I could barely stammer. “D-don’t l-leave just yet.” “Are you sure?” The gaslight dimmed as Crobblehence spoke. “Are you absolutely sure you want me to stay?” “Y-yes, I have many more hats to show you.” “I don’t recommend it,” his smile was smug and wretched. “I think I should leave for both our sakes’.” “No, don’t leave!” “Don’t look at the wall.” “I didn’t look at the wall!” “Don’t look at my shadow on the wall!” His mouth expanded atrociously over his grey flesh as I felt a strong pull on my neck and numbness down to my fingers. My bowels turned to ice when I saw a long, dark shadow on the wall slip out from the hatless man’s head and slither towards me. The shadow’s ethereal hands grasped my head and feet. I felt the nothingness pull until my vertebrae separated. As I gasped my last breath, I understood why Mr Crobblehence’s head needed a shelter. *** Shadow Demon #2 ***
Slipping
01 March 2025
I put one foot in front of the other, but I didn’t seem to get anywhere. I felt my hand slide along the wall when my legs betrayed me. My teeth chattered and I felt my left eye twitch when my chin slammed to the ground. I may have blacked out but all I remember was deliriously shouting to the heavens. “There is ice on the stairs! Clear the damned ice off the stairs!” The maids rushed around me, like cawing magpies. I shooed them away and I steadied my hand on the wall to push myself up. I put my fingers to my bloodied chin as I looked out the window to see the green meadow. The sun was burning like a furnace, but I was very cold. Why did my vision suddenly dim if everything was so damned shiny? I woke up, I think. But if I did then I woke up in a blurry rainbow. Or maybe inside a kaleidoscope. I could have been inside a vat of coloured glass. But it didn’t feel cold and smooth like glass, so maybe I was dreaming. But in the dream, there were talking shapes that tilted and reflected the multicoloured light. The shapes were speaking. “– feel better, Mr Moriarty? You need bed rest and your pills.” “I don’t want my pills.” Had I said that? It felt like the sound came out of my mouth, but I cannot say that my lips moved. The shapes had taken form, wicked and frayed silhouettes. Then I could see them. Two maids and a nurse. “Oh, come on now, Mr Moriarty! Don’t be a dour Damian.” “Damian? Who’s that?” “Oh, Mr Moriarty, it’s just an expression!” The nurse crooned. “Someone needs to take his pi-ills!” There was no expression like ‘dour Damian’, was there? Was that supposed to be me? Was I Damian Moriarty? Why did I have two maids and a nurse? Was I rich? The furnishings looked expensive, but they were oblique. The room was large, but too shiny. There was ice on the stairs. “No! I won’t ingest any of your garbage! Get me, get me –” I felt myself floundering like a limp fish. Or maybe like a mollusc with pinched tendrils. I could feel that I was slipping away. There was that damned, polished ice. “It’ll be over in a jiff. Just a little pill to the lobe. Then a little pill-jab to the heart!” “What? What do you mean? What is that?” The nurse held something over me. I was slipping backwards on black ice. My vision, my vision! “It’s just our usual jabby-jabby pilly-pilly, Mr Moriarty. Just like all the other jabby-jabby pilly-pilly times.” “Why are my hands tied to the table? Let me get up!” “Your hands aren’t tied. You’re just a snug old bug in a rug. You don’t want to slip on the ice again, do you?” “There was ice! You made me slip!” “Mr Moriarty, it’s July. There is no ice in July.” “But you said there was! You just said I’d slip on the ice!” I watched the nurse as she shook her spikey head and gave me a patronizing look. “No, Mr Moriarty. You’re hearing things again.” She glanced over her shoulder at the maids. “Right, girls? “He’s hearing things again!” They sang in a chorus. In a chorus! No one does that! And they look the same. Maybe they are twins? Twin maids in my house. I don’t remember having maids. And why would I hire two of the same? “Untie me! Untie me now!” I shouted with all my strength, but the icy bands were too strong. “I’ll let you meander spaciously in just a jiff.” The shiny nurse said. “First, let me just get the forceps.” “No! Why forceps? You said you were going to give me a pill!” “Oh, Mr Moriarty, you’re such a silly Sidney.” The nurse sang to the robots. “He’s hearing things agaaaain!” “He’s hearing things agaaaain!” The robots yodelled. But they were maids! And now they were gleaming robots. They were made of chrome and ice! What was happening? “You have to let me go. I have to catch the bus. Yes, a bus. I have to catch the bus to Garble Knob Creek, where the fish whistle The Ride of the Valkyries.” “There we go, that lobe is coming out nice and snappy.” The translucent nurse said. “I’ll be done in a jiff, Mr Moriarty.” “The corroborating evidence for space-time dimensional shift is Euclidean.” Her red eyes were multi-faceted rubies against her gleaming ectoplasm. “Just installing the Augmenting Transmute Chip. You don’t want to be without one, do you?” “I need to be on Moonbase Hathor. You can’t leave me in a fishbowl next to the sink of dreams. I won the lottery the other day in a pig’s pen. I thought about things, once.” “Oh-droid! Look at your new cortex, MR.MoR-1-RT! The Foundation Cyborg will be so proud of you!”
More Than Dead
14 February 2025
I am dead. That is what they told me when they brought me here. It wasn’t a long journey, but it took just enough to make me think that they were right. I can’t feel my heartbeat, nor can I sense my pulse. I tried breathing out on the silver back of my watch as it passed by my face, but I could see no moisture clinging to the steel. Much to my relief I could see myself casting a shadow. You might think casting a shadow is a strange relief, but being dead is one thing, being a vampire is another. I wondered if I could be a zombie. I looked at the man standing in front of me, but I felt no hunger. This was also a small consolation prize. Can you imagine eating someone’s brain? It’s fine in films, but if you sit and stare at the man next to you – I mean, really stare – can you imagine yourself eating his brains? What a horrid thought! I could rule out being a zombie and a vampire. This was a good start, but it wasn’t enough. Death begs a very important question: now what? I can’t be dead forever, can I? Is my thought a contradiction, an oxymoron or just plain nonsense? It’s hard to say which grammatical rules apply in death. Do they all apply? Just some? Which ones? How am I supposed to figure this out now? I looked at the man in the room but I’m not sure if he truly sees me. I’m certain he sees something of me, but I’m no more than a body to him now. Somehow that doesn’t feel right. If I’m dead, then I must be something more. I can’t deny that most of me stops, but now there is something other part of me that has started. Before being dead I would have assumed that after death I would have been less. It is quite refreshing to have suddenly realized that I am more. But how do I communicate being 'more'? I figured the most logical step would be to call out to the man and say, ‘I’m something more now that I’m dead!’, but my lips won’t move. I tried to raise a finger, but no luck there. It should have been easy enough to wink, but my eyelids would not take my commands. I could feel my frustration growing as the man left my peripheral vision. Even though I was more, how could I communicate it to the world? “Hello.” “Oh, hello. Where did you come from?” “From over there.” “From where?” “From over there.” “Oh, I see. Wait, you can see me! That man could see me, but he couldn’t really see me, if you know what I mean.” “I know exactly what you mean.” “That is such a relief! But please, be honest. Can you really see me?” “Oh yes, I can really see you very well. You are more, after all.” “Yes, yes! I am more! I’m glad someone finally recognized it! You have no idea what it’s like to be underappreciated.” “You’d be surprised. We all felt that way for a time. It’s not easy being more.” “We? There are more of us that are more?” “There are lots of us.” “Can I meet them?” “Of course you can. Come with me. It’s time for you to be more than dead forever.”
What is Howling Will Be Healing
08 February 2025
“What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” Their bodies swayed from side to side as bone white arms reached upwards. Softly kneeling, they relaxed on their heels as they swayed. Their heads bobbed calmly as they chanted. Serene smiles on their lips. Their eyes were closed as they focused. Their thoughts floated close enough to their fingertips so they would not get lost in the void. It was the beginning. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” Pain was no longer a concern, nor was want, nor was longing. With a simple chant, suffering had been eliminated and minds had been cleansed. When an acolyte was afflicted, he had only to join his brothers and sisters and chant. As his body relaxed and his hands stretched upwards, the healing chorus mended all wounds and calmed the intellect. It was the perfect solution to all of society’s problems. This was the beginning. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” If only it had been understood sooner! So much time had been wasted in fruitless doubt. Doubt was not the realm of the philosopher; it was the stronghold of the ignorant. Perfect healing had always been possible if only trust had been absolute. The learned men who guided the inhabitants had known this all along and finally it had been understood. The beginning was strong. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” The last of the stragglers had reached the temple to have all suspicions washed away. The stark beauty of conformity had been recognized. Oh, the learned men! Thankfully they had reached the ignorant masses in time to save them all. Down to the last man all had joined the temple to sway and heal! The beginning was coming full circle to reach the end. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” There was one man, though. Behind the stragglers there was one, brooding, forlorn figure that did not step forward. He stood silently and did not drop to his knees. He kept his hands down and did not sway. He resisted against perfect healing and glorious thoughts. He did not understand the circle of faith. He opened his mouth and spewed blasphemy: “If you tolerate this, then your children will be next!” Kill that man.
Time is the Soul
27 January 2025
"Yes! Yes! It's a success!” The artist raised his tools in triumph. “A grand success, I tell you!" "How do you know it’s a success?" The wizened scientist peered intently at the creation. "What else could it be?" "A failure." The artist gaped at his colleague and then curled his lip in distain. This was all you could get out of a scientist, he thought. Black or white. One or zero. Left or right. The scientists never could understand the artistic in-between that the rest of the world lived in. No, they made all of their calculations and when they had finished, they expected that one plus one would be two every single time. And then two plus two must equal four. But that just wasn't how the world worked. Once again, he was tasked to explain this. "Don't you see it?" He put his tools in his apron and pulled on the scientist's sleeve. "Tilt your head and look at it." The scientist frowned. "It looks the same." The artist snorted. "You aren't even trying! Come over here. No, over here!" He yanked the scientist's arm and steered him to a mark on the floor. "Exactly. Stand here and now tilt your head." "My head is tilted." "No! You have to tilt it more, don't you see? Like this." The artist inclined his head severely and gestured at the scientist. "You see how I’m doing it? Do the same. Exactly, yes! Now what do you see?" The scientist massaged his neck. "I see the same thing. A failure." The artist reached into his apron, grabbed his tools and threw them on the hard tiles as he cursed. "You aren't even trying to see what I see!" "That's because I have to see what is actually there." The scientist rested a hand on the work of art. "It has to stand the test of time, and this will not." The artist grabbed the scientist's shoulders and shook him violently. "How can you say that? You don't even understand what time is!" "Of course I do." The scientist gave the artist a smug look. "Time is a measurable period where an object or action exists." "Bah! Nonsense!" The artist flailed his arms. "Time is nothing of the sort! You have no soul! That's why you cannot understand time." "There is no such thing as a soul." "Now you are sounding foolish! Completely silly! I was only being facetious when I said you had no soul. Of course you have a soul!" The artist paced as he ranted. "How could I have created this if I had no soul? How could you have unjustly criticized this masterpiece if you yourself were just a cog in the machine?" "That's all we are." The scientist bowed his head to the invisible universal laws that tugged at them. "We are just cogs and sprockets." "No! You heartless fool! We are so much more than that!" The artist covered his face with his calloused hands and whispered. "How can I make you understand?" The artist paced and flailed his arms above his head. He stopped and chewed on his nail. Then he bit his thumb. Then he winced in pain and paraded to and fro. The artist thought it was all so futile. Scientists were simply too dimwitted to understand the soul, or Time, let alone grasp his masterpiece. The artist felt pressed under a granite block with a spark jolted his mind. He stopped suddenly and raised his index finger. "I have it!" The artist crowed. "I know how to make you understand!" "How?" The artist grinned ferociously as he put his hand on the immaterial masterpiece and bellowed with scarlet intensity.
Frigid
19 January 2025
I picked her up in my arms and I ran. I didn't think my legs had the strength to carry my body up the flight of stairs so fast, but they did. I raced past the icy crystals that clung to the banister, taking two steps at a time. My lungs worked like a furnace bellows and my legs pumped like train pistons, propelling me upwards. Farther and farther and always upwards. I wished for heat, a burning hearth of resinous pine, or the burning wet rock that smelled of hard coal. But as I climbed all I felt was the growing cold, like a slippery sheet of glass threatening to cast me down into the abyss. I slipped at the curve on the landing and nearly lost my balance with my precious cargo. As unsteady as I was, I dared not touch the rail. I turned my head away and felt the air of the stairwell bite deep into my flesh. My heart skipped a beat when I heard her whimper. She buried her head in my neck, hoping to ward off the incapacitating frost. I gritted my teeth and pushed upwards, my cleats scraping and stabbing into the stairs. I hadn't realized that the momentary loss of balance had sapped my strength. My legs slowed and I felt my ankles go rigid. I was still so far from the top. I took a few more steps and slipped, thankful that I had reached the landing as I crashed and skidded. The spikes in my jacket caught and kept me from sliding into the wicked banister. The landing was wide but suffocated by a thin sheet of ice. Once again, I steadied my breathing and spoke softly in her ear to silence her cries. I wasn’t sure how I would be able to stand with the little one in my arms. If I slipped again and touched the rail, that would be the end of our ascent. I calmed her with a few, whispered lines of a timeless lullaby. My soft singing turned into a grunt as I pressed my right foot into the floor to rise. I took a moment to breathe and tested my left foot with a step. Injured, I cursed. My left foot definitely had suffered a twisted ankle or some broken bone. The fierce rawness of the cold made it impossible to understand. I couldn't even feel the pain and only knew I was injured from the spongy response to my staggered steps. I walked, plodding forward, one solid step followed by one, squishy trudge. The slow strides were extremely dangerous. Without my blood pumping hard, I could quickly be overtaken by the cold. The hard run had cleared my mind with just one focus; reach the top. My snail’s pace gave me unwanted time to look down every dark hall I passed. Instead of focusing on the run to the top I scrutinized every closed door. The ice crystals played tricks on the mind. Terrible tricks. I could never be certain if what I saw was a glacial mirage until I was nearly upon it. That's why I didn't stop when I saw the figure with the knife standing only a few paces away. Just behind the one, a dozen others. I will not excuse my failure; it's just how the cookie crumbled. "We are very, very hungry,” they said.
Forever and Ever
05 January 2025
The floor heaved upwards, and I was frightened. It shouldn't have done so, floors are supposed to stay where they are, solid like granite, or unmoving, like my brother's stubborn will. But not in this case. Somehow, the floor split and pushed upwards like fingers of two hands trying to make a steeple. It is a curious thing to see a floor reach for the sky like a mountain. And it is also terrifying. I wondered what to do. I could not go around the cracked mound, but I was too afraid to scale the peak. What if I fell through the cracks and into the earth? Who would hear my scream? Would anyone write my epitaph and remember me? I was torn by these thoughts, but I could not stay where I was forever. The strange concept of 'forever'. I think it only exists as a common convention to be less afraid of death. “There is no such thing as 'forever'”, I thought. And since I was very afraid, there could be such a thing as 'forever'. This always happened to me when I was afraid. I would have strange and confused thoughts enter my head. I approached the prominence and stared at it for what seemed like forever. Yes, yes, I know there is no such thing as forever! But pretending that forever exists calms me. I felt like it was working. I was not so afraid of the towering broken pile that was the floor. It didn’t seem so menacing now that I had a stronger belief in forever. Maybe not as strong as I needed to climb over the heap, but at least enough to start. My first pulls and pushes were awkward. The edges that seemed smooth from below were jagged. I tried to be very careful, but I couldn’t help cutting myself. The broken tiles slashed my palms and fingers and sliced my shins. I decided it would be smart to rest, so I crammed myself into a ledge which was a good place to watch the sunset. Only then did I notice there was no sun, it was all grey with a cautious, dim light. I felt the vertigo of fear take over and I closed my eyes and said “forever is forever, you can believe in forever”. It was just enough to stop the swells, and I continued my journey upwards. My hands felt for the peak. I wasn't sure how I knew I had reached it, but I could feel that I was there. The hard part would be standing up, but it was the only way to cross over. I closed my eyes and thought of forever. My legs trembled as I felt myself stand, teetering on the apex. I knew I had to open my eyes, or I would not make it over. I felt precarious like I was on the edge of an abyss. There was no wind, but something whipped around me, silent and vast. Vast, but not eternal. Huge, but not everlasting. I built up all of courage and opened my eyes in the hopes I would see forever and ever.
The Fool
20 December 2024
"May I inquire after your name?" "Fool." "Yes, I know that is your, well, calling. I mean your birth name." "Fool." "Really? You have no other way of being called? Perhaps, you are called Geddrick, or Samuel or –" "Fool! What is it you cannot understand? I said my name is Fool!" I watched as the fool's chest rose and fell in gasps. His entire being glowered. I had not expected that my questions would have made him so angry. My only aim was to demonstrate respect for his person and position. "Of course,” I said. “Let us look at your accommodations in the castle." "I have accommodations." "I know, but they are above the stables. The Lord Steward has informed me that –" "I will not leave my room." The fool seethed. Or rather, Fool seethed. "No, of course not.” My brow felt hot. “Well, then let me see to your comfort considering –" "I am comfortable." "Yes, but the bed needs defeathering so that it can be –" "I like the feathers it has." I could feel myself sweating. I had expected a difficult engagement, but from a vacuous mind. The fool had a brutal gaze that burned into me. Every sentence of mine he interrupted seemed to be the result of instant thought. I was told of his strange abilities, but I had not suspected he could be a thought-reader. Of course, I was being foolish, he was only quick of wit. "I'm more than that." The fool hissed. "What? Pardon me, Mr, eh, Fool." "You heard me, Master Reeve. I am more than just shrewd. Much more." I could feel myself flush. Did he hear my thoughts? He could not possibly be psychic; those were things of legends. Perhaps he just guessed by studying my face. A good physiognomist was needed at court to receive foreign ambassadors. And I had thought he was quick of wit, not 'shrewd'. "I am both! Quick of wit and shrewd!" "My, my, what? I don't, I don’t, understand. You can't possible read –" "Don't look at the wall." "I'm not! Please Mr Fool –" "Fool! My name is Fool! Why is it you cannot get that into your thick skull!" "I apologize, Fool, if we could just be civil and –" "Don't look at my shadow on the wall!" I felt my eyes twitch to the left. I could feel my neck creak and groan. My shoulders pulled as I felt my body twist. I did not want to break his gaze but I so wanted to see his shadow! "Don't look at my shadow on the wall!" My head snapped suddenly, and my vertebrae pushed against my eyes. My tongue rolled as my body twitched. "I told you not to look." *** Shadow Demon #1 ***
Answers From Death
07 December 2024
I stared at the tombstone as hard as I could. Despite my efforts I couldn’t crack the granite, nor could I cause the earth to heave and buckle. It all stayed in place, still like twilight. There were answers deep inside the resting place. The hard part was pulling them out. Once I got the answers, I was sure I would know what to do with them. “You won’t get any answers from in there.” “How do you know I’m looking for answers?” “I can just tell. But you’re looking in the wrong place.” I ignored the advice and continued to stare. If you couldn’t get answers from the afterlife, where else could you get them from? This living world has only given us half-truths and confusion. But I wouldn’t look elsewhere. I would look where I knew I would find the answers I needed. “You’re still hoping and staring. Like I said, there are no answers in there for you.” “I’m not hoping. And why do you keep saying I want answers?” “You do. Like I said, I can tell.” The tombstone continued its silent vigil over the underworld. It was stubborn and stoic. Even the grass at its feet had a steely glint. Like millions upon millions of ringlets that held the answers fast. Everything about the sepulchre seemed to say that it would keep its secrets. It was a vault with no combination. It was untroubled by my stare. “You don’t give up easily, do you?” “Why did you say ‘there are no answers in there for you’?” “Got your attention, didn’t I?” Maybe there were no answers in there for me, but I knew this was the right place. So, what was the problem? Was I afraid that I couldn’t get in, or was I afraid I wouldn’t find anything if I did? Maybe I was afraid that after searching for so long I would find nothing. Maybe I didn’t really want to know what happened after. “You should give up now. It’ll make everything easier later on.” “How much later on?” “It won’t be much longer. Trust me, I know these things.” His strange negations gave me hope. He tried to dissuade me but now I knew I was where I should be. I wanted to reach out towards the tombstone to feel its rough surface. There were answers in there, I was sure of it now. I had only suffered a moment of dim panic, thinking I would find nothing. I was sure I would find everything. “You’re as tough as nails. Maybe you will find your answers after all.” “Is it time?” “Yes, it’s time. Come with me.”
Yum-Yum
23 November 2024
“You know,” he said as he slipped a toothpick between his fingers. “There ain’t no reason to be upset.” The father stared at the brute rasping at his teeth. He swallowed hard, his mouth a thin line with moisture on his lips. He moved his eyes to the big man’s companion. The brute said she was his daughter, but they seemed too close in age to seem true. He watched as she snickered quietly, vacant eyes and purple-blue hair. It reminded him of a documentary of a Dottyback fish, he recalled. “Really,” the brute continued. “We only want a bite to eat and then we’ll be on our way.” Dottyback guffawed, nearly spewing her milk. The brute’s supposed daughter had asked for milk even though his family had only ever had wine and water at the table. But he dared not risk his own household by saying no to any request. He looked at his wife and his own two daughters, all four of them defenceless before the big man. “Your wife’s cookin’ is delicious.” He turned and winked at his mauve patsy. “Ain’t that right, pumpkin? Go on, you tell ‘em.” “Yeah, delicious, um-yum! Yum-yum!” Dottyback began to cackle, a strange high pitch wheeze as milk dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, your wife did a number on it. I’m glad we brought such a big hunk.” The brute squeezed Dottyback’s breast. “A hunk. Ain’t that right darlin’?” The brute’s daughter couldn’t contain herself and coughed, spitting milk into her plate as she chortled. She gasped for air and started to choke until the big man began to pound her on the back. “Easy there, easy there, we can’t even understand a word of wha’ you is sayin’! What you trying to say then, little girl? What you trying to say to us?” “Yum-yum. Yum-yum-yum!” She giggled savagely. “Oh, yeah, that really was yum-yum! That hunk was real yum-yum!” The brute grinned wickedly. The husband caught his wife’s eye and thought he saw an imperceptible nod. Slowly, the husband moved his hand toward the carving knife. When the brute had put it down after the last cut, he laid it casually, not more than an arm’s length away. The point was no longer at his chest and he was certain he could reach it. “Hey, mister. You ain’t touched yours. Neither has your little girls, wifey to boot. You ain’t hungry? It was a big, gorgeous hunk.” The brute continued to pick at his teeth. Dottyback peeled with laughter and slapped her hand down on the table. Each thump turned the carving knife and bounced it a fraction of an inch closer to the husband. His fingertips could almost caress the handle. “No!” Dottyback growled. Her eyes went from vacant to fierce, like a beast staring down its prey. Her shoulders were hunched, both hands on the table. Suddenly she was a purple-blue dragon with a heaving chest. Her fierce stare burned the husband causing him to shrink back. “Oh no, oh no! Now look at what you gone and done. You done upset my daughter, you did. Now, you don’t want to be doing that, you know.” The brute was on his feet, his cruel heft projected down upon them like an executioner. The husband breathed heavily, his eyes pleading as they darted from the two strangers to his own family. A cold sweat had stained his shirt and he fumbled with his tie. “Aw, shucks. We don’t wanna ruin a perfect evenin’ after your lady cooked up that hunk for us? Hey, how’s about a toast then? Like rich people do?” He raised his empty glass and with wild eyes stared at Dottyback. “Whaddya say, baby girl?” “Yum-yum. Um-yum-yum.” “Yeah, that sounds ‘bout right. A toast, baby girl!” His body shook with delirious laughter as they shouted in unison. “UM-YUM-YUM! UM-YUM-YUM! UM-YUM-YUM. THAT BOY WAS UM-YUM-YUM!”
Dream Tree
20 November 2024
I was so tired from the efforts of the day that I couldn’t help but rest my head. The gnarled, exposed roots were an unexpected cradle for my aching bones. My body relaxed as I slouched and leaned against the tree. I thought I would just watch the sun set, but nestled in the roots I found myself with heavy eyes and a nodding head. As the slanting rays warmed my face, I fell asleep at the foot of the great beech tree. I was permeated by the sensation that I was sharing a dream with the tree. I knew I was asleep as the tree infused me with its nature. I felt it tap my consciousness lightly in the depths of my mind. The beech tree retained its familiar shape, with its silver-grey bark and dark green leaves. In the dream the tree had an unexpected scent of honey gold that heightened my perceptions. The tree allowed me to feel the birds tousle my hair and the earthworms wriggle between my toes. I felt the sap running through my veins as it pushed higher and higher up the canopy. The deeper I slept, the more the great beech shared. The beech allowed the changing seasons to wash over me. Crisp autumn, icy winter, tepid spring and sultry summer. The beech never spoke a word in my mind, but led me along by the hand, its branches caressing me as I floated forward. It dropped its leaves in the meadow next to a bouncing chipmunk. It pointed bare branches to the icy ground at its roots. It strained its buds towards the heavens to show me a floating butterfly. It rustled its leaves to bring my attention to a deer as it drank deeply from the brook. I awoke more rested than I had been for ages. There was no fatigue in my limbs and my mind was clear. I thanked the tree by placing a hand on its smooth trunk and walked through the meadow back to my car. I turned back often, hoping to see a sign of recognition from the giant beech, but it stood silent and watchful at the edge of the forest. For years I wondered what the tree had wanted to say to me. Season after season I would return but no sleep at its trunk brought other shared dreams. Over time my bemusement changed acceptance. I embraced the idea that in that one moment the tree had simply wished to share its life with someone. When I return to visit the beech tree, I place my hand on its trunk and say a silent thanks for having been the chosen one.