Short stories.

#84— (Planet) PSR J1719-1438,

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#81 Puzzled

 

As a child, questions like why I existed never arose because I was too busy searching for food, clothing, or something exciting to make life worth living.  Never gave a thought to the meaning of life, the future or anything else.

I struggled to stay alive until I grew up and learned how to earn a living. I had children whose lives weren’t as good as they could have been, but they were far better than mine had been as a child. They grew and had kids, and their kids had kids. A great grandfather to four, I struggled to avoid the ravages of time. Growing old, getting sick and suffering before death was the fate I faced. What was coming terrified me. I rebelled, got angry at everything responsible for my being here. Then it dawned on me that experiencing pain was only a gentle reminder that time is short and to make life worthwhile, I tried to finish what I came here to do, but I died before that happened.

My spirit wanted to say goodbye to my kids, but shimmering spirits surrounded me. “It’s not allowed,” they said. “The rules say you have to come with us.”

I saw no reason to obey any stupid rules. My spirit dissolved into a haze and reappeared in the presence my family. I tried and tried to explain to them that there is a place to go after one dies, but my words made no sound. I stood there until the shimmering spirits caught me.

“Why do you care what I do?” I asked.

“It’s our job as soul catchers to round up any wayward souls and put them on the wheel that weighs your soul for good deeds and bad. That will decide where you’ll go.”

The scale showed many more bad than good.

“You’re destined to return as the creature you found most repulsive in your previous life so you’ll know what it’s like to be one of them.”

Horrified that I’d return to the world as the thing I found most repulsive in life. My spirit disintegrated in a flash of light and I was reborn as a female cockroach.

During my life, I had always thanked God I wasn’t born a woman, so God must think this is the perfect punishment for me. Life as a roach wasn’t much different than when in my previous life if I wanted to eat, I had to find garbage or something dead. I adjusted to that, but to be held by a male roach bigger and stronger than me who did whatever he desired made me want to puke all the dead things I had eaten. I thought if I found my daughter from my previous life, I’d be safe.

One bleak and rainy day I found her house and waited on her countertop for her to come home. I feasted on bread and cakes she must have left out for me. It was warm and cozy in her house and for the first time in this roach life, I felt safe. The door opened. When I saw her face, I jumped for joy. She stepped back when she saw me, reached under the sink and pulled out a can of Raid.

“Wait,” I cried in my bug’s voice. “It’s me, your Dad.”

She said, “Die Roach!” and pressed the button. The spray hit me. I went into convulsions and could no longer breathe. She rolled up a newspaper as I shouted, “Don’t you recognize me?” She couldn’t hear me and even if she did, she’d never believe a roach was me. The rolled up paper squashed my back legs. I felt no pain because the spray had numbed me.

I dragged myself under the toaster. She picked the appliance up. “Got you now,” she yelled and slammed the newspaper down on me. My guts squirted onto the counter, but I didn’t give up. I crawled to a crack in the wall and hid.

Satisfied she’d mortally wounded me, she didn’t search for me. Time passed, I got hungry. I wondered if I could eat the guts hanging from my ruptured body. I decided against that and crawled toward the toaster where a feast of crumbs waited for me. That wasn’t all that waited. My daughter jumped out with her rolled up newspaper and said, “Gotcha,” as she smashed me to death.

My spirit rose and the soul catchers were waiting. They put me back in line to return to the wheel. Wonder what I’d be next time around.

The end

 

 

 

 

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#65 Internal Disintegrating Words From the Id

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#65   Internal Disintegrating Words From the Id

 

I’m a mellow guy and get along with most everyone. Sometimes though, I come across a person who clashes with my energy field so much that being in the same room sets off sparks of animosity, hatred, violence, and vengeance.

Ms. T. is one of those. The sight of her white hair and sardonically lined face puts my emotions into an altered state. She and I belong to the same writing critique group, and she savors her opportunity to tell me how insignificant my work is compared to hers.

I watch in trepidation as she lurks in her chair, waiting to critique my work like a hawk looking for a meal. Her beady eyes set upon me as though I’ll be lunch if I utter a sound.

Her turn to critique my story comes, and she swoops in with cutting words.

“Your work is thrown together with little thought,” she says and turns my peaceful nature into a violent volcano. Inside, my collection of synapses, flesh, and bone erupts and my emotions flow like molten rock.

I fire hot language right back at this white piece of feminine saline salaciously craving to emasculate me with her list of things I wrote wrong. I’m mortified that a shrew like her can bring forth my loathing.

Her fury is awakened by mine, and her next words slash my thrown together first drafts—according to her—comparing them to her carefully thought out Greek odyssey she’s been writing for most of her life.

I’d like to be cool and intellectual and say I’m better than that, but I feel pitted like a dog, and my nature causes me to respond in kind. The replies backed up in my mouth come out laced with wicked words that flow through my lips, calculated so she’ll taste the bitter flavor of my anger.

I feel like a fool for arguing with this demon that passes for a woman. I remember what my mother always said: “If you get into an argument with an idiot, it’s soon hard to tell who the idiot is.”

I try not to argue with her, but when I don’t, I have to pay the price for holding my rage inside. It eats away inside at any pride I own when that spiteful woman spews her sardonic wisdom, saying it’s my problem and not hers. My volcano wants to explode. If I had the power of God, I’d certainly repeat his action and subdue her into a pillar of salt. Ship her off to Sodom or Gomorrah for repeating her disintegrating words in a hostile manner that calls for a reaction from my Id.

The end

 

 

 

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Story of the day

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Mother Nature

Mother Nature Can Display Breathtaking Beauty, but She’s a Bitch.

 

     The ferocious winter wind blew off Lake Michigan dropping temperatures way below zero. Squirrels hid in their trees, and birds didn’t dare fly into the face of Mother Nature’s fury. Not one of them understood why she directed her rage at them. Joe’s girlfriend, Matilda sat in his car with the heater on and she said, “I love winter. Look how beautiful the snow is, and when I look at the ice floating on the lake, I think how lucky we are to view such a sight. Look.” She pointed to a mother duck trying to lead her ducklings to warmth somewhere in the snow covered park. “Isn’t that a beautiful thing to see? The babies are so cute.”

Joe looked through the windshield as wipers struggled to clear it of snow. He had parked as far out on the lake road as he could drive. They were all alone. Joe had hoped for some romance, but  Matilda  rattled on about snow.

He saw that gusting snowflakes surrounded the six baby ducks she pointed to. They were following their mother in a row. A blustering North wind came and blew them down, and mother duck tried with all her might to line her little ducks up in a row.

“Look at that,” he pointed to the babies rolling around like rubber balls, and getting scattered over the snow covered grass.

“Oh, that’s just nature’s way,” Matilda rolled down her window. The strong wind gusted in and almost covered her with snow.

“Don’t you think Mother Nature is cruel?” Joe hit the button, closed the window and shut out the wind and snow.

“She’s just doing what comes naturally.” Matilda scooped some snow off her sleeve and put it in her mouth. “Oh, I just love snow.”

Joe and Matlda watched as the cruelest mother of all took charge and blew the ducklings over again. As they rolled along the frozen ground, the mother duck frantic with worry gathered them up and put them once again in a row.

“How can Mother Nature be so cruel to those innocents?” Joe turned his head and saw how she seized their feet from under them with her cruel cutting wind?

“They’re made to withstand the weather. They’re lucky they’re not in here where it’s too warm.” As she spoke she removed her coat and put it on the back seat.

“Can’t you see she has more than one side? She not only shows us splendid winter scenes, but she’s showing her cruel side now,”

“How can you say she’s cruelwhen she gave me these for you.” Matilda lifted her sweater to show Joe her perfect breasts.

He reached across the seat to put my hand on one, but she slapped it away. “Look, but don’t touch,” she said.

He looked and looked and wanted to touch, but like Mother Nature, she had a cruel side too. She took off her boots. “It’s getting hot in here.” She took her sweater all the way off, and then her socks.

It was too hard to resist. Joe slid across the seat, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“No! I said no. Don’t you know what no means?”

She was being a tease. Why else would she take her clothes off? Maybe she wanted him to force her to have sex. He couldn’t do that; it went against his “Nature.”  He moved back behind the steering wheel to catch his breath. Joe needed to think of what to do.

“If you’re so hot, why don’t you step out in the snow?” She unbuttoned her jeans.

What was she trying to tell him? Maybe she wanted to do it in the snow? That wasn’t for Joe. He hated the cold and the snow. But his little brain took charge the minute she showed him her breasts. Trying to stick with her wintery mood, he recited a poem that Robert Frost had written.

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I  rued.

“You’re so romantic, Joe.” She slid her jeans down over her knees.

He moved closer to her and put his hand on her thigh.

“No!,” she yelled and slapped his hand away. “I told you to look and not touch.”

And Joe thought Mother Nature was cruel. Matilda was emulating her by being cruel on purpose. He could never understand why a girl would say no, but didn’t really mean no. He guessed that’s why they advertise on TV for guys who think like him. The ads say, “No, means No.” Logic told him to dump her in the snow and get out of there. However, his little brain told him to hump her in the snow. She laughed at those poor little ducks blown around by the winter winds. Her actions allowed his big brain to push the little one aside, and it took over.

“Why do you think it’s funny? What if you were out there in the cold and the snow?”

“I just love the cold and snow, you know that,” Matilda rolled down her window and snow blew in and settled on her ample chest.

“Step outside for a minute so I can take apicture of you naked in a winter wonderland.”

“That’s a great idea, Joe.”

She stepped from the car, took her panties off and poised like, Cailleach, (The Celtic winter Goddess).

“Step over by that tree, it’ll make a great picture.”

She walked toward the tree, and Joe could see she already shook from the cold when he started the motor, put the car in gear and slowly drove away. She chased after him for a while before she fell and embraced the winter snow she loved so much.

The end

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Dew Drop In

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Son of perdition

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Today’s short story.

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Relinquishing Relationships Formed Over Years

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