Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘Short story’

Neon…a short story

Free Slow Down Logo Stock Photo

She leaned against the glass door and practically fell into the lobby.  She straightened herself and went to the desk.

“Yes?  Can I help you?” asked the man greeting people.

“That’s a really heavy door.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I want to know why you think it’s a good thing to slow down?  What if some people want to go fast?”

“It’s just the name of the place,” he whispered, bending over, hoping she would leave.  “It doesn’t really have to mean anything.”

“People are always saying slow down and smell the roses, or going on and on about how much people who go fast are missing.  Those people would be wrong.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, smiling at the people behind her, pointing them toward the interior of the bar.

“I think people who go slow miss a lot more because they only see one or two things, while the rest of us fast people see everything, or almost everything.”

“I agree.  Now, if you’ll just step out of the way….”

“And people are born with slow or fast personalities, so there’s nothing wrong with being either one, although how people can go slow is beyond me.”

“Of course it is,” he said, looking at the line starting to form behind her.

“Slow is slow.  You can’t get anything done.  I mean, I like to go fast, so does that mean I can’t go inside?”

“It does not,” he said, happily.  “In fact, why don’t you go inside right now.”

“What are you?”

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Fast or slow?”  What are you?”

“Uh, more in the middle, I think.”

“So, not slow?”

“No,” he admitted.  “Not slow.”

“Do you own this place?”

“Seriously?  Do I look like I own this place?”

“You don’t, but I thought I’d ask, just to make sure.  I think you should add the word DON’T to the top of the sign.”

“Don’t slow down?”

“Yes.  You may get a bunch of different people stopping by, but they’d probably drink more and party harder.”

He smiled, then started laughing.  “You might be right.”

“All the people who are going inside, look like they could fall asleep.”

“That’s not true,” he snickered.

“Words need to be chosen carefully.”

“They do.”

“It’s not the journey, it’s the destination that matters.”

“I always thought that was true.”

“It is, for a lot of us.  But those who want to hold people back, the people who come to this place to go slow, don’t get that.”

“They certainly do not.”

“I’m not saying it’s wrong to want to go slow, I just don’t understand why some think it’s wrong to go fast.”

“You’re bring up some very good points,” he agreed.  “So you’re a fastie?

“I am.”

He tore off a sheet of paper from the ledger in front of him and wrote DON’T ALWAYS in big letters, with a marker.  The he taped it above the sign on the wall.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the people behind her.  “Fast and slow people can get along, at least for a few minutes, you know.”

People started mumbling and snickering.

“I mean it’s hard for fasties to drag things out when here’s so much they want to see and do, but it is possible.  So now this club is open to all of us.  Slow isn’t for everyone, neither is fast.  But it’s okay to be either one.”

There was a smattering of applause, although some people left, muttering about those awful fasties, always getting in their slow lanes.  Always in a hurry.

“Well, thank for your time,” she said.  “Have a great night.”

He watched her go, so did everyone else, for that matter, then a man in the back yelled, CAN YOU PLAY FASTER MUSIC IN THIS JOINT?  That’s when the fighting broke out.

A short story, about sprinkles. Neon sign.

Free Red neon signboard with inscription hanging on wall in dark public place at night Stock Photo

“I’d like a dozen plain donuts, than you,” he said, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“No sprinkles on any of them?” she asked, frowning at him.

“No.  All of them plain.”

“But sprinkles are special, they add color and fun.”

“I like them plain.”

“Okay,” she said, starting to put plain donuts into a box.  “The only reason I even have plain ones are because they haven’t been sprinkled yet.”

“Great.”

“I have a couple chocolate donuts without sprinkles, do you want one, or two?”

“What do you have against plain donuts?” he asked.

“Nothing, really.”

“I like them with coffee in the morning.  Not too sweet, and besides, the sprinkles are messy.”

“True,” she said.  “They can be messy.”

“And I’m not into frosting either.”

“Not even chocolate?”

“No, not even that.”

“Wow.  You’re really hard core.”

“I guess I am,” he said, smiling.

“I’ll thrown in an extra one, for luck.”

“Thanks,” he said, handing her the money.  “Do you eat donuts with lots of sprinkles?”

“Nope.  I like ’em plain.”

Non-stop, a short story

a neon sign that says non stop hanging from a window

“A lot of people in other countries think Americans work non-stop.  Constantly moving, doing things, usually multitasking, never relaxing or having two hour lunches with friends, laughing and enjoying each other and life in general,” he said.  “I think they’re right.”

“Every culture is different,” she mumbled.

“Their way seems more friendly, more relaxing.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.  But it’s hard to know, since understanding the ways of another country is almost impossible.  One has to be indoctrinated from birth to really get what’s going on.   But we are a consumer society, greedy and competitive.  It’s sad when people come here expecting an American Dream, or streets paved with gold.  Some actually say it’s worse here than where they came from.”

“I’ve heard people say our country is getting more and more like Germany before the war.  Hard to argue with them, since things have changed so much and we no longer have privacy and the government works for itself, against us.”

“But,” she said, smiling, “it’s a beautiful day and there’s a butterfly over there.  The sky is blue and no poisonous com trails are running across it.  We are still able to assemble, even though there are only two of us, without being arrested and…”

“I think that will eventually change,” he said.

“I think so too,” she agreed.  “But we may as well enjoy the tiny moment we have, rather than waste it thinking about how we are no longer free, if we ever really were.”

“A country made of cards.  Not just a house,” he said.

“Absolutely.  If you could go anywhere,” she asked, “where would you want to go?”

“Time travel?” he asked, excitedly.  “To the past or the future?”

“Anywhere.”

“Can it be fictional?” he he asked.

“Um, no because then you’ll just say you want to be on the Enterprise in Star Trek.

“Okay, give me a minute,” he said, closing his eyes.  “Let me think.”

“It’s going to be dark soon,” she laughed, poking him.

“The fifties.  I’d want to go back to the fifties and be eighteen.  Before tech, I’d have a 57 Chevy, and I’d want to know everything I know now,” he said, grinning.  “Think about it.  Levi’s, white t-shirts, with cigarettes rolled up in the sleeves.  Cool.  No camera’s watching me, no phones in my pockets.  Just freedom.”

“I get that,” she said, nodding.  “That was supposed to have been a good time to be a teenager, even if it was a bit repressive.”

“How about you?” he asked.  “When would you like to be?”

“Two places,” she said.  “Paris with Sylvia Beach, the artists, writers and poets.  I’d also like to be in the future.  Maybe five hundred years from now, or a thousand.”

“There might not be a future,” he said.

“I know, but if there is one, I’d like to see it.”

“Do you think most of us go non-stop?”

“Definitely,” she said.  “People lay in bed at night playing with their phones. I think we are disconnecting from each other at an alarming rate, due to tech. There’s always a screen in front of us, or air pods in our ears.  The noise doesn’t stop.  People don’t need real friends, they can have pretend friends and experiences. Social skills will fall to the wayside. That will serve the bad guys well, since our sense of community will be dead.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go,” she said, standing up, looking around.  “I love this park.  The trees are beautiful.”

“Well, enjoy it.  I’ve heard they are going to tear it down and put up a parking lot.”

 

Photo:  Georgi Kalaydzhiev
Unsplash

 

It’s all about the Details…part three

“So,” said Clare, as they stood at the bus stop.  “What do you think about Freddy and his ring?”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Sunny, “other than that group was disbanded over a hundred years ago and you never see that symbol in America.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they are alive and well, but what are they doing now, and what are they doing here? They can’t still be fighting the church, right?  I mean it’s a losing battle.”

“If I were writing the story,” said Clare, “they would still be fighting the church, trying to get secret documents out of the Vatican basement, hoping to tell the truth and free the people.   If I was the pope, on the other hand, I’d have the church’s hitmen go after all the members, until none were left to tell the truth.  The one guy, who was vacationing in Aruba, when the others were murdered, would be killed when he came home. Then I’d have two fabulous women find his body, in an empty apartment, and have them solve the case in spite of the bumbling Detective in charge of the.”

They high-fived each other and waited for the door of the bus to open.

Clare handed Sunny another candy bar.

“How many did you take?” asked Sunny.

“All of them,” she said.  “They were on a desk in the reception area.”

“Does a police station have a reception desk?  I mean it’s not a hotel.”

“Well, some people do stay overnight, they are given a bed, food and water, but there’s no pool or mint on the pillow.”

“I see your point,” smiled Sunny.

“What’s with the Detective?”

“I think he’s tired, overworked, has no life outside his job and he doesn’t know what to do with us.  I think he hates the fact that we might have helped him. He knows we didn’t kill the guy, but he doesn’t have any real leads.  Do you truly think a woman killed him?”

“Makes sense.  There didn’t appear to be any indication that he fought back.  She was able to get close enough to shive him.”

“Oh I love it when you say words like shive and things,” said Sunny.

Clare laughed.  “That’s why I said it, but the word wasn’t used correctly.  Doesn’t matter though, as long as you liked it.  She had to be pretty strong to stab him the way she did.  She could have gone between his ribs, but she did it the hard way.”

“Do you think he knew her?” asked Sunny.

“No.  If he knew her, he would have known something was up.  I’m wondering if he was killed somewhere else and the body dumped in the apartment.  I think there should have been more blood.  If only Sherlock were here,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

“You don’t think it could have been a guy dressed up as a female, do you?”

“No, Freddie would have fought back.”

“Let’s get off here,” said Sunny, getting up.  “The real estate lady gave me the key to another apartment and I think it’s right over there.”

They disembarked and found the apartment building.  Busy street, small clothing store on the bottom level, two stories high. Brick, new windows and well cared for.

“It’s on the top floor,” said Sunny, “and it’s facing east, so I should get a lot of sun on the back porch in the summer, which means a nice garden.”

“This is a good area, but there is a lot of traffic.”

“It’s move in ready, everything’s been newly painted, and it’s only been on the market since yesterday.  Best of all, the rent covers everything,” she said, opening the door.

“Do you think the dead guy over there is included as well?” asked Clare.

“How is this possible?” groaned Sunny.  “Dead guys can’t be following me, I mean they were already dead when I got here,” said Sunny.  “Who knew apartment hunting could be this weird.”

“No one,” said Clare.  “No one at all.”

“Thanks,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“No.  Don’t call…”

“Hi.  It’s me, Sunny.  We found another dead guy.”

“So, said Detective Austin.  “You came to look at a second apartment, and found the dead guy in the corner.”

“Yes,” said Sunny.  “That’s exactly what happened.”

“It was different this time,” said Clare.  “This dead guy has been shot through the head, not stabbed.”

Detective Austin stared at her.

“Well, it’s true,” said Clare, frowning at him.

“No symbolic ring, he’s right handed and I didn’t kick him,” said Sunny.  “Not even once.”

“And you,” he said to Clare. “Was he killed by a woman?”

“I think so.  I mean no indication that this dead guy fought back either and it looks as if the shooter was close, when he was blown away.”

“Do you believe in life after death, Detective?” asked Sunny.  “Maybe someone on the other side can tell us who’s doing these things.  Oh, and Clare doesn’t think the first dead guy was killed in that apartment.  She thinks he was moved from someplace else, because there wasn’t enough blood for him to be stabbed where we found him.”

“The first guy was killed in the gangway next to the building, and brought up to the apartment, where you found him,” said the Detective.

Clare and Sunny did a complex handshake, to their own music, while the Detective shook his head and covered his eyes.

“You okay Robbie?” asked Sunny.  “You look a bit peaked.  Want a candy bar?”

Clare handed him a candy bar.  “Eat it, you’ll feel better after the sugar rush.”

“Did you take this from the station?”

“I thought they were there for the guests,” said Clare.  “They looked free, so I took a couple.”

He sighed and unwrapped the candy bar.  He ate it in two bites and went over to look at the body.

“He’s in the same corner as the other dead guy, said Clare.  “Do you think the body’s been moved?”

“Maybe the real estate lady is involved,” said Sunny.  “She might give us the key to places knowing there’s a dead guy on the floor.”

“She seemed really nice,” said Clare.

“You’re right,” agreed Sunny.  “She’d never do anything like that.  But what if…”

“The dead guys are about the same age, they kind of look alike, so maybe they knew each other,” said Clare.

“I bet it’s the hit guys from the Vatican,” said Sunny.

“What are you two TALKING ABOUT,” shouted the Detective.

“We’er brainstorming,” said Sunny.  “What’s wrong with you?  Want another candy bar?”

“There’s a pigeon tapping on the window,” said Clare.

“The whole city is filled with pigeons,” said the Detective.  “They’re everywhere.”

“Yeah, but not all of them have bits of paper attached to their legs.”

The Detective opened the window and grabbed the pigeon.”

“You hurt that bird and I’ll rip your hear out and feed it to hungry wolves, then I’ll throw you to the ground and stomp on you until nothing is left,” said Sunny, gently taking the cooing pigeon from his hands.  “He’s sorry, baby, he’s just a mean icky man who doesn’t know how to appreciate a beautiful being like you.”

“Back up,” said Clare, waving the Detective away form Sunny.  “She means what she said.  Wait until she takes the letter off the bird’s leg.  She will do anything to protect animals.”

A few minutes later, after Sunny kissed the bird all over it’s back and face, she handed the note to the Detective, then carried the bird to the open window.  “Thank you,” she said, putting the pigeon on the windowsill.  “You’re a very good bird and you don’t have to run errands for humans, you can fly wherever you like.  Go to where it’s always warm and the days sunny.  Maybe you’ll like it.”  The bird cooed, bobbed up and down a couple of times, then flew away.

“What does it say?” asked Clare.

got held up
can’t make it
meet me at our special
place at midnight
L

“Well,” said Sunny, that’s not very helpful.”

“Do you still want to tear out my heart and stomp on me?” asked the Detective.

Sunny walked right up to him and stretched to her full height.  “If I EVER see you grab a bird like then again you won’t live long enough to ask that question.”  Then she moved away and said, “No.  I’m good. The bird’s okay and gone, so you don’t have to worry. You’re safe…for now.”

The Detective looked at Clare, who just smiled and whispered…”She really cares about all of them.”

The Forensic team moved in and they all left the apartment.

“There’s no blood in the hall or on the stairs,” said Clare, and there was a lot of blood on the floor and wall, so he was probably killed here, using a silencer, or people would have called you when they heard the shot.”

“Look for a tattoo above his right ankle,” said Sunny.  “If it’s the same as the symbol on the ring, we have a pattern.”

“I think we already have a pattern,” said the Detective, “and you two, are part of it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kevin…a short story.

Kevin’s looks hadn’t changed in the past eleven years.  He looked exactly as he did when he was eighteen  This was disturbing on many levels.  His friends, for example, started ignoring him, since they were aging, and he was not.  They were going bald, and getting fat, while he looked like a senior in high school.

Every now and then, he asked his mother about his lack of aging, but she always said the same thing.

“It must have been the vitamins I took while I was pregnant with you,” she would say, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes losing focus. “They were deep purple, but if you held them to the light you could see pink and silver sparkles dancing inside of them.”  That was usually when she snapped back to reality.

Today, he tried to keep the conversation going.  “Where did you get them,” he asked.

She smiled and touched his face.  “It was a long time ago, but they obviously did a good job, since you’re perfect.”

“Mom.  I don’t age.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she laughed.

“Tell me about my father again,” he said.

“Oh, he was beautiful.  White blonde hair and eyes the color of teal.  I love that color, all blue and gray, just perfect.  He had fair skin that was flawless.  You have his hair and eyes.  But you can’t hide the Italian side of you.  Not with your olive skin.”

“But who was he, mom?”

She shook her head and frowned. “No idea.  Sorry, I don’t even know his name.  It was just a random thing.  Never saw him before that night and never saw him after.”

“Do you remember anything more?  Anything at all?”

His mother smiled.  “It was the most wonderful night of my life, other than the night you were born, of course,” she added quickly.

“What did his voice sound like?”

“Oh, honey, we didn’t spend a lot of time talking.  Not really.  It was a beautiful, warm summer evening.  I was with my friends, we were all dancing, and then I saw him.  After that, everyone else disappeared,” she laughed.  “I only had eyes for him.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so,” she said.  “I don’t remember seeing anyone around him.”

“What did he say to you?” he asked.

“Nothing,  He just held out his hands and I went to him.”

“That’s so unlike you, to just go off with a stranger like that.”

“Sweetie, I’m sure it seems that way to you but children never really know their parents.  They only see the grown up version of them.”

“So you’re saying it wasn’t unusual for you to just go off with anyone?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all.  I’m saying that when I saw your father, it felt like the only thing I could do.  My heart led the way and I just followed along.”

“I don’t think he was entirely human, mom.”

“Maybe.”

“MAYBE?”

“Yes.  What difference could that possibly make?”

“Mom, I’m stuck being eighteen years old, that’s what difference it makes.”

“You only look eighteen.  We both know you’re far older than that.”

“I think my father was a fairy.”

“They don’t use that word anymore.  It’s considered a derogatory term. They are same sex couples or gay people now.”

“NO, not gay, mom, a REAL fairy.  A fairy with wings and little people in another world.”

“Could be,” she said.

“COULD BE?  You think you may have had sex with an other-worldly being and now I’m half fairy?”

“Anything is possible,” she said.  “I don’t see why it matters.  What difference does it make, what he was?”

“It matters because that means I’m half of whatever he is.”

“You don’t have wings. and now you can start a group and carry signs that say, DON’T DISCRIMINATE AGAINST THE FAE.”

“The Fae?”

“Yes, I think that’s what they’re called.  It’s French.”

“I don’t know you at all,” he said, quietly.  “Not at all.”

“I’m sure that’s true, darling, but parents and children never know each other, they just think they do. Both keep secrets from each other, for many reasons, it’s just the way of the relationship.”

“Are you human?”

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed.  “I’m Sicilian, you know that.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“I mean no one knows who, or what, they really are.  Things are passed through generations and lies become truths.  But as far as I know…I’m entirely human.”

“I can’t have kids.  What if they were wee and could fly.”

“Doubtful.  I think they’d have to be full Fae for that to happen.  Besides who would have kids when the world is falling apart?”

“Will I ever meet that side of my family?”

“Highly unlikely, and besides, we don’t know that we wasn’t human, so either way, they aren’t part of our lives.”

He stared at his mother for a few minutes.  “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, Ducky,” she said happily.  “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“That’s from a song.”

“I know,” she laughed.  “How about some cookies.”

“Sure, why not.”

 

 

Magic, Neon…a short story.

“Where are you going?” he asked, stepping from behind the counter.

“I’m going in here, where the magic happens,” she said, reaching for the doorknob.  “Where does it look like I’m going?”

“You can’t go in there, it’s for employees only.”

“No it’s not.  There’s no sign that says it for employees only.”

“Well, it is.”

“You just made that up.”

“Did not,” he said.

“Did too.”

“You won’t like it in there.”

“How do you know.  If there’s magic in there I want to see it, or be part of it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Stop telling me what I want to do, or what I will like.  I bought a ticket and…”

“You bought a ticket into the bar, not into that room.”

“I want to speak to the manager.”

“I’m the manager,” he said, standing straighter.

“No you’re not.  You’re too young to be the manager.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “I’m…preconscious.”

“Oh, give me a break,” she sighed. “I’m going in.”

She turned the handle, jiggled it, leaned into it, but the door wouldn’t open.

“It’s locked.  Open it!” she demanded.

“No.”

“What kind of magic is in there?”

“You wouldn’t recognize it.”

“How do you know what I would recognize?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

“It’s new.  Anyway, the magic happens in the bar.”

“No it doesn’t, there’s just a bunch of people in there getting drunk and looking for anyone who will make them feel better about themselves.”

That’s the magic,” he said softly.

“What?”

“The magic happens when people meet other people who make them feel okay.  The okay part is the magic.”

“That’s not magic, that’s alcohol, dark lightening and music.”

“All of those things are magic,” he said.

“That’s not new magic, then, it’s old magic,” she said.  “People have been using those things since forever.”

“I know, but they still work.”

She leaned against the door.  “What’s really behind this door?”

“It’s a store room.  We keep the extra napkins, glasses and things in there.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

She nodded.  “Me too.”

“Did you really think there was magic in there?” he asked.

“I guess I was hoping there was.”

“So you believe in magic?”

“I do,” she said, making a frog appear on her palm.  “Don’t you?”

“How’d you do that?” he asked.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said.  “Even if you use false advertising.”

“It’s not false, it’s true.  Just not the way you expected it to be.”

“You can keep the frog,” she said, walking away.  “He used to be my old boyfriend.  His name is Gregory, but you can call him anything you like.”

He watched her leave, then turned to the frog.

“Gregory?”

“What,” said the frog.

 

 

 

Neon…a short story.

text

She walked into the shop and said, “I have new ideas for other times.  Where should I put them?”

“Over there,” said, the guy behind the counter.  “With the others.”

She looked to where he pointing and saw a computer next to a big cardboard box.

“You mean you want me to type my new ideas into that old computer?”

“Or you can drop them into the box.  Either way, that’s the place the ideas go.”

“But who will see them?”

“No one,” he said.  “No one cares anymore, haven’t you noticed?”

“But I thought this place was different.”

“No place is different,” he said, without looking up.  “Places are made to look different, or seem different, but they’re all the same.”

“How will that change anything?” she asked, frowning at him.

“Nothing’s gong to change.”

“That’s a terrible attitude,” she said.  “We are the only ones who can change anything.”

He stared at her.  “How?”

“With new ideas, with cooperation, with determination, with…”

“Just put your new ideas where the box is,” he sighed, picking up a pencil and checking things off on a sheet of paper.

“Why does this shop exist, if not to bring about change and ideas for the betterment of everyone?  Why do you stand there just to point to a box and an old computer, if no one cares?”

“Look,” he said, tiredly.  “This is a government facility.  It’s a place that’s supposed to give people unrealistic hope that things will get better.  Places like this exist to give people false hope, that way they feel as if they’re doing something, when they aren’t.  It keeps the masses quiet.  This place exists to stop people from waking up.  Stop them from making demands, stop them from acting out.  What part of that don’t you get?”

“How can you do this to people?”

“The pay and benefits are good.  I even get dental.  There’s nothing I can do to save us, so I’m just biding my time until it’s over.”

“So, you’re just one more government stooge?”

“Call me whatever you like,” he said, putting the pencil down.  “You’re just a cog, or slave of the system.  We’re all something.  Something that keeps the people in power going.”

“What if we all stopped doing everything?”

“China and Russia would attack us while we’re fighting among ourselves.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked.

“I think they’re going to attack us anyway, but that would open the door for them.”

“What can we do to turn things around?”

“I’m going to go on my break.  That’s what I’m going to do.”

“So you’re giving up?”

“Giving up what?”

“Everything?” she said.  “Freedom, the right to…”

“Freedom?” he laughed.  “They know everything you do and say.  Look.  I’m going to go out back and smoke.  Then I’m going to have a slice of pizza from the place across the street.  Then, I’m going to work four more hours, after which I will go home, watch tv, go to bed and do the same thing tomorrow.  We are rats in a maze, or rats running on a wheel, if you will.  Your choices are limited and the thing is, if you want to fight back, you have to run on the wheel to get a bit of cash to even print a sign that states your purpose.  You can’t fight back.  You can’t win.  You are powerless against the machine.  We all are.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, turning to leave.  “Enjoy your pizza.”

When the door closed, another man walked out from the back room.  “You got a dreamer?”

“Yes.  That’s the third one today,” he said.

“Some people never learn,” said the second man.

“Is that a bad thing?” asked the guy.

“I honestly don’t know.  I feel bad for them.  Once they realize the truth, what do they have left?”

“What if we took their new ideas seriously?”

The man put his hand on the guy’s shoulder.  “Go have your smoke,” he said, gently. “I think the job is finally getting to you.”

 

Photo:  Adrian Balasoiu
Unsplash

Okay, I put part two on the same post, right after part one…so scroll down to find it.Clevven 461…a short story…in two parts…or maybe three…this is part 1

a paper plate with a picture of a man wearing a crown

Clevven 461 worked in the castle.  Well, it wasn’t actually a castle, but there’s no other word to describe it.  Let’s just say it was castle like, and for the purpose of this short story, I’ll just call it the castle.  Anyway, the castle floated, was partially invisible, laid on its side, rather than straight up and down, and there were no doors, just huge cracks in the exterior, that were used both as windows, entrances and exits.  Other than that, there was nothing remarkable about the place, unless you count the fact that it was made of mostly pink and gray stone, when the stones could be seen, of course, and sometimes they were blue and black.

Clevven 461 was in charge of the staff who worked in the castle.  It was an important job and gave him a bit of power.  But Clevven 461 was nice, and rarely ever abused anyone or took advantage of his position.  Because of that, things ran smoothly and there were seldom any bumps in the road, as the old saying goes.

The two royals, if that’s what you want to call them, were also nice.  One was called “A,” the other “B.”  They had names and titles, of course, but thought them too confusing for the commoners, so they went with A and B.

Every now and then, the castle would start to float away, which could be quite inconvenient.  “C”, A and B’s only child, enjoyed when that happened and called it the Great Escape.  It wasn’t much fun for the staff, however, and trying to get the castle back to it’s proper position was difficult at best.  If was raining at the time, things got rather dicy, since that’s when the Rain hogs came out.  And you know what that means, right?  Ever try securing a castle while being dive-bombed by Rain hogs?  Yeah, I didn’t think so.  But take my word, it’s NOT easy.  Even with the help of the resident Witches, it’s still not easy.

to be continued…unless the Rain hogs get everyone first.
I thought I felt a few drops when I left.

 

Phot: hesamLink
Unsplash

Part 2

 

Clevven 461 had no family of his own, so he was happy to watch over C.  In the beginning, before C got her wings, taking care of her was rather easy.  Sometimes Clevven 461 would simply strap her to his back and carry her around all day.  But as she grew, that went from difficult to impossible.  Now watching over her was almost a full time job, since he spent much of his valuable time looking for her.  C, on the other hand, thought she and Clevven 461 were playing hid and seek, and saw no reason to change her behavior to make life easier for anyone.  At first, she liked to hide in the invisible part of the castle, but when he couldn’t find her, she ended up spending hours sitting behind a glass wall, waiting and waiting and waiting.  She didn’t realize that Clevven 461 knew exactly where she was, and knew that if he left her there, he could attend to other matters.

C didn’t know why Clevven 461 didn’t have wings.  She felt sorry for him and for herself, because she wanted to fly with him.  He was her best friend, after all.  Sure he had other attributes, he was fast, could hold his breath for a long time, and he could burn things with flames from his finger tips, but he couldn’t fly.  He was also strong.  She had seen him fight two Rain hogs and win.  Everyone respected him for his fighting skills.  But even though he was constantly busy, C felt that Cevven 461 was lonely.   She wasn’t sure what he was, or where he came from.  She’d never been without him.  She knew that he was old, but she didn’t know how old.  She also knew he wasn’t all one thing, that he was made of parts of things, but she didn’t know what.  Actually, she didn’t know what she was either.

“Clevven 461,” said C.  “What am I?”

“You are my charge, sweet one.”

“I know that, silly, but what AM I inside, like a breed or species, or bug.”

“You are not a bug.  Of that I am certain.  As to the rest?  You’ll have to ask the chemists.”

“Don’t you know?  I mean why do I have wings?”

“So you can fly, I would imagine.”

“You know what I mean.  A and B don’t have wings, and neither do you.”

“Fairies do.”

“Am I a fairy?”

“Maybe a little part of you is.”

“And what of my claws?  When I’m angry, they come out all by themselves?”

“Perhaps you’re part kitty.”

“Really?” she said excitedly.

“I do not know.”

“And no one else has orange eyes.  Just me.”

“They make you more beautiful.”

“You’re no help at all, are you, Clevven 461,” she sighed, unhappily.

“I’m sorry, sweet one.  I do not have answers for you.”

“What are you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“I’m not sure,” he said truthfully.  “I seem to have always just…been.”

“I’ve seen some of your gears, maybe you’re a bot.”

“No.  Well maybe partially, but I have consciousness.”

“And you eat and things.”

“Yes.  I do,” he said, smiling at her.

“Why do wear those clothes?”

“They suit me,” he said.

“Oh, like mine suit me,” she said, running her hands down the camouflaged body suit.

“Just like that.”

“Clevven 461…”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I think I’m tired,” she said, closing her eyes.

“I think you are too, so just think of something beautiful and I’ll wake you at midnight.”

She grunted and curled into a ball.  “I wish you could fly with me,” she whispered.

“As do I my sweet,” he said, covering her with a sliver quilt.

He watched her for a few minutes, then he left her room and went about his duties.  He checked, to make sure the planets stayed in their orbits and the aliens kept their eyes on a blue rock that was threatening some of the others.  He had a snack, made sure the Rain hogs were gone, then went to a meeting with A and B, to ask when they were going to tell C, exactly what she was.

So, that was part 2.  Part 3 will be next.

A very short love story.

a couple of dandelions sitting on top of a field

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Remember when we were young and yellow?”

“I do.  You were beautiful.”

“So were you.”

“You’re still lovely.”

“I feel lighter.”

“So do I.”

“Shall we fly away together?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I can hear the wind.”

“Goodbye.”                                  …

“Goodb…            ..         ..                …
..            ..            ..
….               …..          ….            ….

 

Photo:  Emannuel Phaeton
Unsplash

 

 

 

A short story about choices…

Free vector graphics of Astronaut

 

“Cool picture,” she said.

“How long before he dies?” he asked.

“Not long.  Is he dancing, or trying to run?” she said.  “Hard to tell.”

“Still, It does look cool.”

“Definitely cool,” she agreed.

“Art is an interesting concept,” he said.

“Do you want to go into space?”

“Like this?  No.  Do you?” he laughed.

“I get car sick, remember?  But I’d probably be okay if the ship was the Enterprise.”

“What about the Borg?” he asked.

“I think they killed all of them.”

“Don’t forget that it’s cold out there, and there’s no sound.”

“No birds or babbling brooks,” she sighed.  “No screaming kids or music.”

“None of those things.”

“No five star hotels either.”

“No mints on the pillow,” he snickered.

“So we’re staying?” she asked, smiling at him. “It’s kind of fun being on earth, don’t you think?  I mean these bodies, while tight and small, can do so many things.”

“Good point,” he said.  “I’m sure I can get used to only having two eyes.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said.  “Of course you can. You can always turn around, if you want to see behind you.”

 

 

Photo:  Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

 

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