Art and the philosophy of life

Archive for the ‘Short Stories’ Category

The true story of Adam and Eve…and the snake. A pretty short story.

Adam And Eve, Religion, Albrecht Dürer

“Great apple,” said Adam.  “Nice and juicy.”

“I’m leaving you.”

“Why?”

“Lilith warned me about you, I just didn’t listen.  Your heart is dark, there’s no light inside you.”

“Well, let me put it this way, Eveie,” he said, scratching his chest.  “If you leave me, I will curse all women, for all of time, making their lives impossibly difficult.  They will do all the grunt work, for free, never have enough of anything, so they’ll have to depend on men like me, whether they like it or not, and they will never have any power, including over their own lives and bodies.  They will be beaten, tortured, and killed.  They will NEVER be free.  They will live in fear and men shall rule them.  They will suffer FOREVER and I’ll make absolutely sure, that you take the blame.  Men will be gods and you will be…” he laughed, “whatever we say you are.”

Eve turned and started walking away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” hissed Adam, grabbing Eve’s arm.

“Let go of me,” she shouted, pulling away.

Adam raised his fist and Eve held up her hand.  “You will be the destruction of this world,” she said.  “You and those like you.  Everything you touch dies.”

“I’ll kill you,” he snarled.  “Or I’ll make you wish you were dead,” he shouted, at her back.

Adam was true to his word.  And even today, his lies and hatred can be felt through the land, and an entire religion is based upon his hatred, lies and evilness.

And Eve was right.  Adam, and those like him, are destroying the world.

 

Cinderella…a short story

Fairy Tale, Fashion Model, Cinderella

Cinderella’s name was actually, Alice.  She was named after her fourteenth great-grandmother, who was burned as a witch centuries ago.  The name Cinderella was made up by a man who wanted to make money off of her, without giving her a cut of the profits, or royalties.

Alice never swept anything, let alone a fireplace.  She never longed for a prince, or even a king, for that matter.  She wanted to be a singer in a girl band and tour the country.  Her mother didn’t die, she was sent away.  Her husband was ugly, inside and out.  He was nice in the beginning, at least that’s what her mother told her.  He was handsome and kind.  He was also poor.  As soon as he started making money, he changed.

Her mom left because her husband threatened to kill her if she stayed.  He told her that if she tried to take Alice, he would kill both of them.

So, Alice, being the clever and intelligent daughter that she was, waited until her father came home drunk, after a night out with who knows what.  Once he was unconscious,  she stabbed him about a hundred and fifty two times, more or less, she wasn’t actually counting.

So, you see there were no evil stepsisters, no evil stepmother, just an evil father.  Alice, once free, moved in with her mother. They lived happily in SoHo, New York, where they both became actors and poets.  And yes, Alice did play in a girl band but she decided she liked acting better, so that became her main gig.

There was a Fairy Goddess Mother.  She’s the one who got rid of the body, and made sure Alice and her mother inherited everything.  There never was a prince, by the way.  Never any glass slipper either.  In the original version of the story the Goddess Mother was a tree on her mother’s grave, because we all know that women in stories written by men, have to die.

Just thought you should know.

 

Picture:  Pixabay

Mr. Kent…a short story

Man, Vintage Fashion, Smoking Pipe

Mr. Kent taught English 101 at Easter Island High School.  Everyone thought he was weird.  People who don’t fit into certain molds, are always considered to be weird, and for sure, Mr. Kent didn’t fit into any mold anyone could recognize.

For one thing, he didn’t dress like the other teachers.  For another, he wore a hat two sizes too small and a jacket ten sizes too large.  Weird, right?  Don’t get me wrong, he was neat as a pin, but who wears a hat all the time?  He smoked a pipe…even during class.  No Smoking signs were everywhere, but the other teachers and staff never seemed to notice that Mr. Kent, was smoking. It’s as if their eyes slid off of him whenever they looked his way.

As noted, his jacket was ten sizes too large.  Large enough to hide his hands AND he wore the same thing every single day. No one knew if what he was wearing was the same outfit, or if all of his clothes were just exactly the same.  No one knew where he lived either.  Some of the kids tried following him home, but they could never keep him in sight.  Just weird

His voice was rather monotone and he didn’t use contractions.  He sounded like Data on Star Trek.  And he didn’t move the way others did either. It was if he was learning how to be human as he went.

No one could remember when he started working at the school.  No one knew anything about Mr. Kent.  Not really.

Then one day, just before Halloween.  Mr. Kent stood in front of his desk and stared at the class.  “I have learned a lot, dudes,” he said. “Like thanks a bunch.”

The class gasped and held its collective breath.

“I’m totally into this life force but must like, really, really go back to my home planet.  The surf is way better there.”

Then Mr. Kent shimmered, and a light, bright enough to burn out retinas, flashed through the room. When the students opened their eyes and looked around, they saw Ms. Summer writing on the blackboard.

When asked, Ms. Summer told the class there was no such person as a Mr. Kent teaching at the school.

The students looked at each other, nodded, and signaled that they would talk about it later.  Just one more weird thing in life on Easter Island.  Well, that and all the rabbits, of course.

Photo:  Pixabay

A dog named kitty…a very short story

Curious dog standing near shabby blue wall with shadows of group of people on street in city in bright daylight

Kitty was a stray.  She lived on the street and often slept in doorways and back yards.  People would often pet her and call her by name.  She belonged to everyone and was well cared for.

But Kitty wasn’t like other dogs.  She had an active imagination and the heart of a poet. She would walk through town, dreaming that she had a family who loved her. Now and then, her dreams showed up in the shadows around her.  When she dreamed, she was never alone.  Her imaginary family was always with her and she was always loved.

 

Photo:  Gato Villanova

Morgan…A short Halloween story…1 photo

Morgan was on the far side of five, when his interest in dinosaurs set in.  He loved them.  All of them.  No matter the occasion, whatever the gift, all he ever asked for was a dinosaur.

People bought him books and t-shirts with dinosaurs on the front, but while Morgan wore his dinosaur clothing, and read his books, noting truly satisfied him.  At first, people thought his love of dinosaurs was cute, but then it turned into a full-blown obsession.

It was near Halloween and, of course, Morgan wanted to go the school Halloween party, dressed as a dinosaur.  His mother had a costume all ready for him.  But the night before the party, Morgan couldn’t sleep.  It wasn’t that he was excited, it was more that he wanted to BE a T-Rex.  He finally dozed off around two in the morning.

His mother had breakfast ready, knowing this was a big day for school children, but when she went to tell him his waffles were ready, he was nowhere to be found.  She heard a soft noise in the yard.  When she looked out of the window, she finally saw Morgan.  His wish had come true.

White Horse on Brown Soil

 

 

The Seer…A Short Halloween story.

“I was told you were a Seer,” he said, walking into the room.

She nodded.  “Sit down.”

“How much will it cost?”

“That is yet to be decided.  It depends on what I see.”

“I want a price up front,” he said, smiling at her.

“I see that you’re in danger.”

“You probably say that to everyone.”

“No, not to everyone.  I only say it to people who are in danger.”

He laughed.

“You can leave now.”

“What?”

“I don’t like you.  And your negativity will poison this space.  Go away.”

“But I want to know my future.”

“You will.  You’ll know it as it plays out.  Of course, someone named Randy, your best friend and partner, I believe, is going to kill you in two days.  So your future won’t be as long as you thought it would be.”

He stared at her.

“Goodbye,” she said, standing up.  “I have clients who are serious about what I can tell them and you are using up their valuable time. ”

“Randy’s going to kill me?” he said, laughing loudly.  “You must be joking.   And how do you know Randy?”

“It would be good if you removed yourself immediately.  I don’t think you’d like being a frog, although some men do actually like it, or so I’ve been told.”

“I’ll pay your price, whatever it is.   Tell me how he’s going to kill..ribbit…ribbit.”

“I just saved your life,” she snickered.  “He won’t find you in the pond out back.  But he will take over the company you built together, and he’ll try to get your wife to marry him.  She won’t.  She never really liked him.  I don’t think she liked you either, at least not for the past couple of years.  She’ll going to buy herself a beautiful house on the ocean and live happily ever after, without you.  If if makes you feel any better, she won’t be the least bit lonely.”

“RIBBIT!”

“Mary, will you take this lovely frog out to the pond and introduce him to the others?”

“Of course,” said Mary, picking him up off the floor.

“Then send in the next seeker, please.”

Mary smiled and nodded, softly closing the door behind her as she left.

 

 

Photo:  Charles C. Collingwood
Unsplash

Fog..A Short Halloween Tale…

It was the kind of night that encouraged one’s heart to beat faster.  Dense fog, and an empty platform.  Quiet as a grave, some would say.

The next train would arrive at eight, so twenty minutes to wait.  He didn’t want to go downstairs to the platform, until a few minutes before boarding, so he started pacing back and forth.  He texted his wife, telling her he’d be late, but she’d already left to pick him up and said she would just wait at the station.

The fog deepened.  He could barely see a foot in front of him.  He told himself there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.  After all, he was a six foot two, well built, man who knew how to fight.  But something was off.

The fog felt as if it was caressing him.  Wrapping itself around him.  He knew it couldn’t be whispering, but he didn’t know where else the whispers could be coming from.  He took out his phone.  He’d call her and talk until it was time to catch the train.  But the phone’s battery was dead, which was impossible, since it was fully charged ten minutes ago.

Then he heard his name being called.  The voice was throaty, deep and delicious.  He shook it off and thought maybe it was time for a check-up.  But he heard it again.  And then again.  He felt someone run a hand down his face, then his back.  It felt so real, but he was the only one there.   He’d been working too hard.  That was it.  It was time for a vacation.  He just needed some time off.

Then he felt soft lips against his and he fell back against the bench that was behind him.  He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Not funny,” he should out loud.

A female body was suddenly pressed tightly against him.  Fingers running through his hair.  Lips, once again on his.  He dropped his briefcase and tried to push whatever it was away, but the only thing there, was fog.  His hands fluttered in front of him, as her laughter washed over him.  He was finding it difficult to breath.  Fear wasn’t something he was used to and his senses went into overdrive.  Eyes wide, he tried to see through the fog.  He couldn’t remember what time it was, or where the stairs were.  The fog was too thick.  He couldn’t think.

Her hands were all over him, under his clothing, tugging his face forward, toward her waiting mouth.  His shirt was open, he was shivering, damp and cold.

“Yummy,” she whispered, into his ear, licking his shoulder, which was bare.

He started shouting.

“There’s noting to be afraid of,” she said, breathlessly, nipping at his chest.

“Nothing at all,” said a new voice, as more hands began touching him.

“What are you?  What do you want?” he said, trembling.  “Tell me,” he begged.  “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

They found his body on the platform, the next morning. The sun was out, the trains were running on time, and  everyone was talking about the strange fog they had noticed the night before.  Not one person mentioned the naked man covered in bite marks who had been found on the platform.  After all, it wasn’t the first time.

 

Photo:  Jonas Jaeken
Unsplash

 

A Halloween story about life on the outside…

grayscale photo of closed window with spiders webs and plants

Home, means different things to different people.  My home is the house that people drive out of their way to avoid driving past.  I’m not sure why.

I think my home is warm and cozy, but I suppose it’s all what one is used to.  It was actually my grandmother’s house, and her mother’s house before her.  My mother was born and raised here, as was I.

Some of the rooms in our home are used for different purposes, but I don’t see why that should matter.  The potion room spills from the kitchen into the living room, but there’s still a place for the sofa and chairs, lamps and a table.

The hall closet is a library, that’s kept locked at all times.  If a book from the closet is needed, two people need to be present.  One person opens the door and gets the book, while the other person casts the spell to keep the other things in there…well, in there.  One of the upstairs bedrooms is a library as well, but the door is usually open and the books mostly stay on their shelves.

Our dog is very large, and black as the vortex on the dark side of the moon, but he’s very gentle and likes to have his ears scratched.  His name is Spot, even though he doesn’t have one.  We have three cats, Minou, Mitzi and Thrasher.  All of them are guardians.   Minou usually sleeps curled at the bottom of my bed.  My mother said she did that from the moment I was born.

There is no basement.  When the house was built, my great-great-great-great-great grandmother said she didn’t want any part of the house below ground, making it easier for demons to reach us.  I’ve never seen a demon. My mother and grandmother said to consider myself lucky, so I do.  They just showed me their scars and I was convinced.

My crow’s name is Denise.  She sleeps on my headboard.  My mother and grandmother want me well guarded during the night.  Although, my grandmother said that night is only more dangerous than day, because we can’t see in the dark.  I think she’s right.

The house is set back in a little wooded area, where my grandmother and mother have a garden.  They grow the herbs and things necessary for their potions.  It’s a peaceful and beautiful spot and I spend a lot of time there when the weather permits.

My gift is understanding spirits and animals.  I try to help the spirits, when I can.  Most of them are just lost, or lonely.  Now and then a spirit might be really angry, but the fun part is chatting with the spirits ready to go into a new physical body.  They have completely forgotten, or dismissed, what happened to them last time they were on earth, and are eager to, “go on the ride and play the game,” once again.  I laugh with them and wish them luck.  I don’t tell them they’re going to need it.

I love talking with all the birds and animals.  I never tire of that.  Animals are much more grounded and loving than people.

The people who live around us often come to our back door after midnight and ask for things.  My grandmother and mother help them.  But the people they help, ignore and shun them, if they see them on the street.  I told my grandmother those people are hypocrites, but she said they have simply been conditioned to be unkind and to lie to themselves.  My grandmother is a lot nicer than I am.  I mean that.  She is.

I love my beautiful home.  I love my family, which includes our animals and plants.  I have no desire to be like the others.  I much prefer to live on the outside of what is considered be “normal,” when all normal really is, is a gigantic cult of conformity, in a world of fear.

 

Photo:  Denny Müller
Unsplash

 

Tommy…A short Halloween Story

Spooky Ghost

Tommy was a different than other children.  He stayed in his room, wearing his favorite sheet, waiting for his real parents to find him.  His mother and father tried to convince him that they were his real parents, but Tommy just moaned and whispered that his real parents were ghosts.

No one knew what to do.  His mother left peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on his bed at lunchtime, since she didn’t know what ghost children actually ate.  The sandwiches were still there at dinner.

The doctor said, “Give him time.  He’ll outgrow it.  It’s just a stage.”

When asked, exactly HOW MUCH TIME they should give him, the doctor shrugged and said, “It varies.”  Which was absolutely no help at all.

One morning, as his mother was bringing a breakfast tray into Tommy’s room, she noticed that he wasn’t sitting on the bed in his usual spot.  She was hopeful, put the tray on the bed, then slowly crept to the closet, her fingers crossed.  But Tommy wasn’t in the closet.  He wasn’t behind the door, or under the bed either.  Tommy didn’t seem to be…anywhere.

Sighing, she sat down on his little desk chair, and noticed a crumpled scrap of paper on the floor.  She picked it up, ran her hand over it several times, then read what it said.

Hello:

Thank you for watching over our son.  We appreciate all you have done, but it’s time for him to come home.   We aren’t sure when he drifted away, but many thanks for finding him.

Sincerely,

Tommy’s parents

She read the note four times, then went into the kitchen and made chocolate chip pancakes.

 

 

Photo:  Ryan Miguel Capill
Pexels

Field trip…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He knew it would be risky, but that was part of the thrill, and part of the reason he might receive a higher grade on his final.  It was an environmental class where they were studying the past, when climate change was on the brink of falling over the edge.  A time when the air was still clean enough to breath.  When people were able to survive outdoors, without wearing a monitor telling them their exposure time was up.

Things had changed rapidly, once they crossed the line.  Now the sky was dark, and things had come to a screeching halt.  Buildings were left unfinished, others shuttered, or abandoned.  There was no place to hide, no real safety to be found.

This was the legacy left to future generations by those who refused to change their behavior in the past. The name of the class was,  The Death of Nature and Beauty.

 

Photo:  Sergey Vinogradov
Unsplash

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