October '07 Elimination

[Scheherazade]

Please vote for the story you like best and the winner will be take part in the final vote at the end of the year.

Discussion of the stories is not allowed not to influence the outcome of the poll.

If contributers would like to ask questions, they should email us at [email protected],
instead of asking them on here!

Please note that the authors agree to keep their identities secret when they enter the competition.
Those who breach this rule will be disqualified automatically.

Good luck, everyone!

Competition Rules

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Note: This poll will close on October 31, 2007

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[Scheherazade]

Little Shop of Quarters

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On the Friday after Thanksgiving, Frank Merchant had the day off. The crisp morning was perfect for a drive to a town he’d known as a boy. He hadn’t been there in years and thought he’d look around.

At first everything was as he’d remembered – - despite some newly-constructed houses on Route 203, he saw the familiar farms, graveyards, and the stately churches from Colonial times. The blue expanse of a lake twinkled with glints of sunlight. Geese etched the time-honored Victory sign in the sky. A pair of horses stood in a frost-filled field. The trees were bare, save for a few whose die-hard leaves stubbornly still clung.

But the town had starkly changed. The Victorian houses had been gussied up. The Mom and Pop pharmacy which decades ago had sold him sodas and penny candy had been swallowed up by high-end stores. The cobblestones had been replaced with asphalt to accommodate the SUVs and sports cars, parallel-parked along the sidewalks, where their affluent owners leisurely browsed. A few women carried trendily-dressed tots in a reverse papoose-style, strapped on their mothers’ fronts. Men swaggered down the sidewalks as if every last one of them owned the town. The quaint community Frank once loved had become gentrified.

Maybe only Main Street had gone upscale. Eagerly, he headed down the side street of the building which had once housed the upstairs flat of his relatives, where “Frankie” had spent many a happy summer. Of course his great-aunt and uncle and their friends were gone now, but the structure itself was still there, if no longer a two-family house: boards covered the upper floor windows. Downstairs there was now some sort of retail business . In the shop window hung a U.S. flag, apparently bleached by several seasons of direct sunlight. On the door under an old Camel sign and an ad for “Pepsi Free,” hung another sign which proclaimed in red: “Come in. We’re OPEN.” A bell tinkled as Frank stepped inside.

On counter after counter and row after row, mismatched merchandise had been jumbled together. A flock of feather dusters sat next to a pyramid of canned beef stew, the tops of the cans themselves covered with a fine grey powder. Bin after bin contained obscure brands of toilet paper, floor wax, toothpaste. In a large bin paperback books haphazardly commingled. A dozen coloring books -- whose cover featured a cartoon character unfamiliar to American kids-- were nestled under a column of copies of the same romance novel, each cover a clone of a woman disheveled by passion in the arms of the same nostril-flaring adventurer. Mingled among these were numerous paperback New Testaments printed in a language Frank took to be Portuguese.

Randomly-arranged items covered on the walls. Tiny bags of hooks and eyes hung next to columns of wooden pencils sans erasers. Plastic barrettes and polyester ribbons were suspended next to an assortment of holiday decorations, primarily for Easter. Plastic key chains unceremoniously fought for space with fingernail clippers and foil-wrapped squares of condoms.

Frank felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. “May I help you , Sir?” The man’s speech was lightly -seasoned with an accent which sounded like Bela Lugosi, or perhaps of Gandhi-- or rather Ben Kingsley’s movie version of him.

Turning around, Frank didn’t see a cape-clad Dracula nor a national hero draped in a diaper but a man in brown slacks, a gray cardigan sweater, and a bow-tie shaped like a twig of Christmas holly.

“Ah, perhaps I can interest you in somethings? Everything here is only one qwarter. Wery inexpensive. Good walue!”

The man plucked down a small item from one of the pegboard walls. He cupped the object in his palm as if it were a miniature Faberge egg, not a twenty-five cent piece of plastic. “It’s a compass, see?” Frank indeed saw – the tiny circle behind a slightly-scratched clear plastic lid held a moving arrow, which skittered slightly around the uppermost point. Instead of the usual four directions, it had tiny letters representing Up, Down, Right, and Left. A piece of junk, but maybe Christmas stocking- stuffer for his young nephew? What the hell, it was only a quarter. “Wery good, Sir. Vith this compass ,” the shopkeeper said, “ you don’t get lost. And perhaps you vould like a carrying case for it?” Out of nowhere, the shopkeeper produced a glossy plastic change purse. With some trouble, the man unfastened the zipper and popped the gizmo inside. “Vun thing about this purse . Ven you carry this purse, you alvays have exact change.”

“Can always use that, can’t we?”

“Yes! And another ting we alvays do is vatch our veight. Look.” The man showed Frank
a foil strip containing three pastel blue discs, each under its own tiny plastic dome. “Teese are mints,” he explained. “ Take vun, right before meals, you don’t have to vorry about gaining veight. Eat all you vant, no fat.” Frank took that item also.

The shopkeeper lifted up a board in the counter, which he then stood behind. The shopkeeper’s long, tapered fingers totaled up the sale on an ancient adding machine, one by one tapping in “Twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty five. Plus tax. That vill be eighty-three cents, please, Sir.”

From his pockets Frank exhumed three quarters and a nickel. He continued searching for the remaining three pennies. Momentarily he thought of having the man break a dollar, but no cash drawer was in sight.

”Ah!” the shopkeeper said. He unzipped up the little change purse, turned it upside down, and shook it. Three pennies fell out and bounced on the counter. “See? It vorks!” Like a magician brandishing a trick handkerchief, the shopkeeper then snapped open a white plastic bag -- big enough for a pair of jeans and a workshirt– -and carefully placed Frank’s purchases inside.

“Haff a nice day,” he said, and then inexplicably put his index finger to his lips, a gesture reminding Frank of an illustration of St. Nicholas from a Christmas coloring book, which could have been sold in that shop back in July.

Frank knew exactly where he was going as he motored north: Route 203 blends right into Route 20, the fastest way home. But somehow the road began to look unfamiliar, as if he had unwittingly taken a wrong turn. When he started down a bumpy dirt road, he knew for sure that he was lost. He felt as uneasy as if he had just hit a deer.

A deep breath, a glance around. Frank noticed that the all-but-forgotten items had rolled out of the bag to the floor of the car. He picked up the change purse and the strip of pills and put them back in his pocket. When he went to pick up the compass, he noticed that the little arrow stuck unwavering on “up.” Thus, he continued going forward.

He had gone a mile or so, when he looked down at the compass. It was pointing to “R.” Frank took his next right, another dirt road, which eventually led him right back to the center of the town he had just left. The arrow still pointed to “R,” so he took the next “right,” which led him over a small bridge over a rushing, rock-dotted creek. The compass pointed “L”, then “up,” and before he knew it, Frank was on Route 203 again, which brought him back to 20, which brought him home.

Later that night, Frank was hungry. Having overindulged on the holiday, he was reluctant to gorge himself – - but the remains of the previous day’s feast lured him. It was if the refrigerator was calling out to him like a siren’s song. Somehow he remembered the pre-dinner mints he had stashed in his pockets, along with questions on just how safe those “mints” would be, or their country of origin, or just how long they had sat unsold in that strange little shop. Then again, that change purse had come through. So had the low-tech compass . Frank pushed the plastic dome and the blue disc popped out the back of the aluminum foil strip. He chewed the thing, which tasted minty, but a little “off,” like the last squeeze from an old tube of toothpaste. Then he filled the microwave with paper plates heaped with leftover turkey, gravy and all the accompaniments: all wolfed down, then repeated, and finished with a slab of squash pie the size of an old Betamax video tape.

Next morning, Frank stepped on the bathroom scale. Since Thanksgiving, he had not gained a single ounce; if anything, he had actually lost a pound or two. This was something! Hastily he popped a second mint. Amid the Saturday morning traffic, he drove to a “Family restaurant” and ordered the Lumberjack’s Breakfast. Then he ordered the Hunter’s Special. After the two Gargantuan meals, he didn’t even feel bloated. Upon paying the check and finding he was a dollar short, he opened the change purse and four quarters bounced out.

On Sunday, he repeated the process. Same result. This was really something. These mints could start a dietary revolution. Imagine being able to eat everything you wanted and not gain a pound. It was the American Dream come true!

The storms in Frank’s brain kicked into cyclones. An answer to World Hunger! He’d become a Humanitarian! Or better yet, he could put it on the market and become the Richest Guy in the World! All he had to do was make a deal with the shopkeeper’s supplier.

On Monday morning, Frank didn’t even bother calling his boss to tell him he’d be a little late– or more to the point, that he wouldn’t need the job any more. In no time Frank was back in the little town. Once again, it was crowded with shoppers, and the only parking space Frank could find was out of the way.

Sprinting down the side street, he was unaware that the slippery material of his change purse had caused it to bounce out of his pocket, roll over to the curb, and fall into a sewer. He did notice some construction equipment blocking the street. Again his stomach felt queasy. The site of the shop was now a vacant lot, the center of which was occupied by a huge backhoe, its serrated maw in mid-bite.

“Where’s the-?” Maybe he had lost his way again, had taken a wrong turn. With shaking hands, he reached for the compass, which he immediately dropped. Before he could turn to pick it up, he heard a crunching sound. He looked up at the hard-hatted head of a burly construction worker, and looked down to see the broken shards of the compass under a heavy-booted foot.

“Street’s closed!” The construction worker said. “Sorry, buddy, but you’ll have to move it.”

“ What happened to that store? It was just here on Friday!” How could a whole shop totally disappear over the weekend?

The construction worker looked at Frank as if he were unrecognizable Thanksgiving leftover. “Go back on Main Street. They got plenty o’ stores. No stores here.”

No stores, indeed. The fantastic shop was gone. No Closing Sales, no “Everything must go!” signs, not even the tell-tale hint of soaped-up windows.

“I said, you gotta like beat it, Sir,” the tone of the “Sir” sounding like a threat.

By the time Frank returned to his car on hoity-toity Main Street, he knew he’d never find the shopkeeper again. It was unrealistic to think that the guy could survive by selling items for no more than a quarter, especially in a town populated by self-absorbed folks who wouldn’t dream of purchasing anything without a three-figure price tag.

With a sharp burst, a brisk wind hinted at the winter to come. Frank hunched his shoulders in a gesture that was more a shrug than a shiver. He got in his car, and returned to the existing world.

[Scheherazade]

An Eternity to Wait

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It had been five hundred years since I last came to this place. I had been around the world many times, but I avoided this place like others would avoid the plague. To look at me, you would never know that so much time had passed since I left. I still possessed the same midnight hair, and my eyes still glowed like emeralds in the night. My body was still that of the man I was, but I was no longer the same carefree man who once called this place home. No more did I romp with my sweetheart, Katie, and dream of the days when I would have a child to call my own. Too much had changed over the years, and I had been responsible for too many evil deeds to ever be happy again.

Just being at my old home caused me pain. The buildings had changed, but I could still detect the faint smell of earth and trees that marked this as my home. When I had last seen it, there had been a small town. Dirt roads and a few buildings were all that had marked the surrounding patchwork of ranches as an organized settlement. There had been the general store, owned by my dear Katie’s father, and a five room inn that was run by my family. There had also been a saloon and a mortuary. Now the area was covered by a vast city, but I could still feel the essence of the place it had been. It was here, in this peaceful little spot, that all of my dreams had been stolen by a creature straight from the bowels of hell. In a matter of moments one autumn, everything in my life was altered.

The fall harvest had just been completed, and everyone was gathered in celebration for the bountiful year. Katie and I had just announced our plan to be married at Christmas. Mary, the mortician’s wife, had just birthed a healthy baby boy who they named Samuel. There were many things for our little town to rejoice in. We knew that the coming winter would be harsh for all of us, but we were still optimistic and joyful. We danced and drank well into the darkest hours of the night, and it was then that she came to us.

Drawn by the sound of our music, the lone rider approached atop a palomino guided by the glow of the moon. She came to the clearing where we were all gathered and dismounted. We were unable to distinguish anything more than the rider was a woman, but all eyes still turned to the place where the stranger stood. Pale hands rose to remove her hood, and there was a collective gasp as she was revealed to us. She was stunning. Her hair was the color of honey and it seemed to float around her like a curly halo. Her eyes were the color of cut sapphires and held us all spellbound. Her crimson lips were full and pouting

“Good evening, I am Lilith. Is there somewhere that I may stay the night?”

“We have an inn that you can bed down at. I’ll set you up there right away,” I spoke up from the crowd. My parents were the owners, but I normally ran the place now that they were getting older. “My name is Lucien, but folks just call me Luke. If you will follow me, I’ll set you up with a room, and you can come join us.”


She followed me down the road to the inn, and I was quick to set her up with a room. It only took a few minutes to get her name in the book and start her a tab. I showed her up the stairs to the room she would be staying in. I had decided to give her our finest room. It had a fine, large, canopy bed that was draped in gauzy white curtains. The coverlet had small pink and blue roses embroidered across it. She surveyed the room then turned to me. I thought that she was going to thank me for the room, but that wasn’t what Lilith wanted to do.

I didn’t see the strike coming. One moment I had been watching Lilith come towards me with a smile on her face, and the next moment I was waking up to a darkened room. My neck was sore, but I did not know why it would pain me. I moved to the mirror, and I saw the bloody imprint of teeth where my neck and shoulder met. It was still seeping blood, so I grabbed an old handkerchief to staunch the flow. Panic seized me, and I knew I needed to get back to the others. I had to tell them what had occurred at the inn. I didn’t know what Lilith was, but I knew she was a danger to everyone I cared for.

I raced out of the inn and back to the assembly. The sight that greeted me was something out of my nightmares. There was no longer a fiddler playing. The decorations, so carefully hung, were now in tatters. Some were spattered with blood, and all around the dirt dance floor bodies were scattered. They looked like broken dolls with their limbs sitting at odd angles. I glanced and saw that both my parents and Katie were among the people who were killed. The mortician was spread at my feet. His face was frozen in terror and his eyes were empty with death.

Seeing him made me remember his wife and young Samuel. Surely the baby was unharmed. I began to wade through the carnage looking for any trace of the infant. It was the one vestige of hope that I was clinging to. When I finally located him I wished that I had never done so. Something within me shattered at the sight before me. He was clutched tightly in Mary’s arms, and she was soaked with blood from where her throat had been torn out. Tiny Samuel’s head was sitting in an unusual manner, and I knew, by the angle, that his neck had been broken. My head fell back and I screamed my grief and horror to the heavens. After a while I lapsed into unconsciousness again. I welcomed the oblivion.

While I was steeped in sorrow, Lilith came for me again. She whispered soft words of love to me, and told me that she could take all the pain away. She asked me to trust her, and I felt a sharp sting in the crook of my elbow. I believed that she meant to kill me as well, so I gave my consent to what she wished. On the brink of death, I felt joy at being able to join the others. Then I felt as if something pulled me back from the afterlife denying me peace. I was yanked out of my stupor and awoke to violent retching. Lilith was beside me, and she offered comfort as I was rid of the last of my humanity. She guided me into the soil where we rested for the daylight hours. When I rose that evening, I was like her. I had no conscience, and I thirsted for not only the sweet nectar of blood but violence as well.

I ducked my head in shame at thoughts of what I had done in the first three hundred years of my new existence. I had killed without mercy. Lilith and I had committed worse travesties than what was done to my own town. It was about two centuries ago that I woke from my daytime slumber and found that I was my old self again. I still had the craving for blood that had consumed my existence, but I had my soul again. The desire for violence and tumult had vanished. I had been blessed, or cursed if you will, by a witch whose daughter I had killed the night before. I was consumed with guilt, and to escape my pain I entered the ground to stay. I had intended to stay buried, but I emerged a few decades ago when excavators ventured too close to my resting place. The same agony clawed at me even after more than a century spent at rest.

I decided that the only course I had left to me was to return here. It seemed fitting that the place where my new existence had begun was the same place that it would end. I hadn’t counted on the old wounds of my townspeople’s deaths being as raw as they were, but it only fueled my resolve. I decided to meet the sun in the morning on the day I arrived, and I sat outside my refuge and waited to see the sky turn pink and orange to herald the coming day. I waited for the sun’s rays to burn my skin and flesh putting end to this torture I called life. I sat and waited, and I watched for the coming dawn. It came, as dawn always will, but it didn’t bring with it my death. The sun rose high in the sky and I continued to wait, but still death would not come to claim me. Night fell again, and I began to weep and rage. It seemed that I was to live in torment forever for my crimes. I was unable to die by the light of day.

Unlike Lilith, who I burned before my long rest, I am doomed to walk the world. She, who had thrust this existence upon me, rested in peace. Meanwhile I am forced to live for eternity in hell. I walk each night, killing when necessary, abstaining when not, and I sit each morning at this place of my birth waiting for the sun to rise and end my torment. Each morning I face the day, but I fear that my long wait is in vain. I fear I will never be free of the torturous grip of my life.

[Scheherazade]

What Is That In The Small Bed?

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I have been living alone in this large house.
It is my favorite place and, mine, my days were peaceful.

I was lonely, but glad for my loneliness, until came that day, when I was at the balcony of my room in the upper floor, and I saw a couple, who have stopped their car at my gate, staring at my house , as if they had finally found something that was missing.

"They are looking at my own house! What do they want?" I wondered.
They seemed to be very happy as if my house was what they were looking for long time ago, and then they drove away.

After few days, at an early hour at morning, I heard a sound of a car, I was asleep at that time but I noticed the sound because I am not used to cars around my house, since there were no houses near but mine, an nobody came to this side for a very long time.

I thought it was the same car that I saw few days ago, but it was a bigger one having furniture on it, I had never seen a furniture like this before, mine was very old and dirty. Oh, yes, the car I saw that day was coming too, the same man and woman in it, but now they have children, two boys and a baby.
"What are they going to do here? And what for is this furniture?" I wondered.

In the big car, I saw two men bringing the furniture to the garden, and then they entered my house,
"oh, no, this table is mine", I shouted, but they turned deaf ears to me, and they took all my furniture and put it in the back yard as if they will set a fire.

They brought their furniture into my house, my bedroom became the young boy's, the night came but I could not sleep because the boys kept playing fighting for a long time before they went to bed, how noisy their sounds were!! However, what I hated more was my position in the corner of my own room.

The next morning, I went to the kitchen where the couple were having breakfast and talking, I was afraid of them, so I hid behind a box, and listened,
And heard the man saying:"Do you think green will be fine?", the woman answered: "Of course, you know how much I love green. Besides, the garden is dry as you can see, and needs a long time to become green, so green will be fine for the indoors at least".

He: "Oh, right, by mentioning the garden, what are your plans for it, my dear?"
She: "Yes, the garden, of course I'll pick the dry plants and I'll plant flowers from many kinds and colors, and don't worry about this, dear, you know gardening is my hobby".

He said: "Of course, then I'll go to the city to buy some seeds, and some paint."

I stayed there thinking, "What is that which they want to make it green? In addition, what is wrong with the garden? ".

Then I returned to my room, the boys were asleep, and later the man came back with large cans and a bag, then started moving the furniture away from the walls, I remember that the sound of moving the furniture annoyed me very much, then he started painting the wall.

I shouted, "HEY, YOU, DO NOT PAINT MY WALL, I LIKE ITS OLD COLOR", but he ignored me, I became very sad.

Then I went to my room again, I found it empty, boys were having their lunch, so I sat at the balcony on a new chair, watching the mountains around my house, and thinking about my life before their occupation, "How quiet it was! I was alone, nobody bothered me, but now they are here, playing, shouting, and walking all around my house as if I do not exist."

Then I thought," I have to find a solution, I can't bare this any more, it seems they'll stay here forever, they changed my house, how can I make them leave?, maybe if I teased them, or if I scared them, they may leave."

Then I returned to them at the living room, and screamed, "Who are you people? What do you want? Leave my house ! Why do not you answer?", but they continued as if nothing happened.

I left them and went upstairs, to a room where they put a large bed, and a small one, where the baby was asleep,
and there was a mirror, I had never seen a mirror before, except in an old painting that used to be in the living room in which a woman is drawn looking at a mirror and seeing her face in it, I walked to the mirror and looked in it, and…..
"Oh my god! … For the first time I realized that I cannot see my face in the mirror, am I a ghost?!

Then, this is why they could not hear me, "will this be an advantage?"
I wondered, "So I had to do something else instead of screaming."

I woke up early the next morning, and walked towards the kitchen, but in my way, I looked through the door of the parent's room and found the baby awake playing with her hands, I stared at her for a while, how beautiful she was! , then I continued walking, I went down the stairs and was surprised when I saw the new color of the living room, I felt alienated, but it was nice to have green walls.

Then I asked myself, "What did I plan for? Aha, I wanted to break some dishes in order to annoy the family."

I took two dishes and threw them on the floor, and I did it repeatedly until I heard them shouting, "Who is there? "

I stayed in the corner watching, "Oh my god!" the woman said, "Who did this?", "what could it be?" asked the man, "do you think it is a thief?",
"How can I tell? Answered the woman, "A thief, then why would he try to awaken us, besides, no boy lives around, Any way, I'll clean this before kids' wakeup."

I left them and went to my room, the boys were still asleep, so I opened the door of the balcony, the wind came in, the boys opened their eyes and stretched there bodies but still in beds, then I pulled the toy box and started throwing toys all over the room.

The boys were scared and the mother came in because of the noise, then the boys started screaming and crying, she rushed to them, hugged them and asked," who did this young boys?", they said that it all happened by itself, and then she was terrified.
She took them to their father in the living room, and said:"take care of them, I'll bring the baby, then came back. The father asked:" What is wrong?", so she whispered in his ears, but I could not listen, then he shouted, "A GHOST!?",
So she told him about the toys incident.

After that, they were silent and worried but then he said, "We won't leave, we sold our house for this place, and now you want to leave? I thought you like it here!", "No, I loved this house," answered the woman, "but what happened today scared me very much, I cannot bare any more."

Then the baby started crying, the mother took her to the kitchen to feed her, I followed her and watched her feeding the baby in a small dish, I saw the mother crying silently.

Meanwhile, I heard a noise out side, the boys were playing with their father, so I went to sit at my balcony to watch them, then their mother called them to have the breakfast, I fell asleep at that moment.

When I woke up, I found the baby in a small bed next to me, and her mother was in the room collecting the toys.

"Oh, how beautiful you are! I think I'll miss you when you leave." I said to the baby, she was looking at the clouds and smiling.

The boys were playing in the garden with their father again; they are laughing and shouting again.

Suddenly, the baby started crying loudly, I did not know what to do; the mother came and tried to calm the baby down, but to no avail.

I became worried, I did not know what was happening, the baby didn't stop crying, her mother started crying and calling for the father to come, he came fast and asked, "What happened?", then she shouted, "Didn't I tell you there is something wrong with this house? Now the baby is sick," "What is wrong with her?" he asked while taking the baby, and she said, "I do not know, I feel she is in pain, she is sick and we have to take her to the doctor right away."

I shouted," Oh no, what is going on? I did nothing to the baby, I swear, please believe me!", but they did not hear me, and took the baby and the boys to the car and drove it fast.

I stayed at my balcony waiting for them, and when they came it was almost midnight, I was so glad to see their car again, but it was just the father and the boys.

I went to the living room where they came in, the eldest boy asked his father, "why did not my mum come home with us daddy?"
The father answered, "Your baby sister is very sick, and she needs mummy to stay with her at the hospital till tomorrow, and then we'll go to bring them home, but now we will have dinner and then we will go to sleep."

After that they went to the kitchen, and I followed them, the father did not eat anything, he just fed his sons, then he took them to bed while I stayed in the living room, looking at the window, and waiting for the next day to come.

Finally the sun rose, I went to my room and found them all asleep,
I waited until the father woke up, he slept next to his kids, he did not change his clothes, he must be worried, he looked at his watch, and awoken the boys, took them to the bathroom, washed their faces, changed their clothes and took them to the car.

I felt good for they will finally, bring back the baby, but they took a long time to come back, so I slept on at the balcony.

After that, I woke up when I heard the sound of their car, so I was glad and surprised, and I shouted, "Finally, the baby girl is back."

The father got off the car, he opened the door for the boys and his wife, but the baby was not with them …the mother was alone.

I went to the front door while they were entering, and I heard the mother saying, "Take care of the boys until I pack the clothes,"
"And call your friends to help us transfer the furniture, I will not stay here any more, I do not want to loose any other kid, there is something wrong with this house."

I did not know what has she meant by saying that, but I was very sad, the mother cried and went up stairs, and then I went to my balcony.

After a while, the big car came again, the men filled it with the furniture, but they left the chair at the balcony and the baby bed at my room, and they left.

Until today, I still feel sorry for them, and I feel guilty, I know I did nothing wrong, but I miss the baby so much that I still hear her playing, and babbling,
She was so beautiful.

God! What is that in the small bed!

Looks like the baby… but …Oh my God!

It is the baby!


The End

[Scheherazade]

The Good

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Telling me my Good, a dictation of my destiny. Screaming in through the windows these old morals and codes of an age long past, buried in the blood of millions, buried in its disastrous contradictions. As I listen to its song I am drawn to recite it, as if I am the speaker to this hypocritical stereo.

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I awoke from a sleep I would rather forget, sweat dripping down my forehead, the salty bath stinging my eyes. Cold and shaking I rush to my washroom to douse myself in tap water, hoping that the water would wash away my uncertainty. I merely a fourteen year old child frantically claiming to a faith that did not make sense to me, a fact that seemed only to make itself clear when my eyes were closed and my body was limp.

Drawing breathe after the water washes over my eyes, I think of my history. The history of the train of thought I had adopted as a child. In my thoughts the blood of the Jews stains my mind. The motherless Arabs and the innocent beggars hit my foundations of belief with stones, hurtled by contradictions and lies. Where was God when his words were demonized? I thought to myself, as I drew water for the shower.

I begin to think of the world in which we lived, new hypocrites have taken the stage. The same lies are being told, different faces, different skin tones. I think of the new western god, Commercialism, and its founding principal, that humans are selfish. I begin to understand its truth. I begin to think that selfishness and self interest, and self benefit is the road to my happiness. As the water runs down my body branching like the streams from the Amazon, I make a promise to myself to demolish all principals that dwell in my being, that lay to contradict my own selfishness, as I decide it will be my path to happiness. No longer will I stand to be ruled by hypocrisy and unreason.

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Oh yes, religion class. One of the many benefits of my Catholic education. A class dedicated to telling us what other religions think, and how they are foolish not to agree with us. My teacher, a small woman, who seems to be on the fringe of A.D.D. as her mind and topics change as flicks of a finger. I dare not pay attention for I cannot even keep up with her trains of thought, as they will skip from town to town with no connection, and no rails.

She assigns to us an essay asking us to explain the motivation of radical Islam to resort to terrorism. An essay I had spent the night writing under my newest motivations. So after spending the night downplaying the spiritual hypocrisies of religious extremism and blaming their reaction on North American atheism I was not at all surprised with my “A+, good work.” Written on the top of my title page. Selfishness trumping my principal of truth, seemed to work wonders for my marks, but it never made me feel happy, as I would receive my praise of my intelligence, I felt dirty.

-------------

Nearing the end of the school year I was up for a summer internship with the Mayor of the city. I would work filing and getting coffee, but more intriguing I would be given a chance to see the operations of City Hall. My marks were second only to this one girl, who was also up for the internship, and it was unlikely that would change. I knew that if I was to land such an internship, I would all but guarantee various scholarships that would be allotted to people who have performed many extra curricular activities, as this was the extra curricular activity.

The girl was a very nice girl, her and I had actually became friends in our two years at high school. We had dated once before but had decided we were better off as friends. Though I knew what had to be done. I am not to contradict my selfish principal, and fair play is not selfish when compared to cheating.

One day I went to the back end of our school, where there stood a rock. This was where all the kids who smoke would hang out. I neither socialized with the kids who went out there, or sympathized with their out of school habits. But today was different.

I walked straight into the middle of the group, kids in Abercrombie starred at me, while the kids in black starred at the kids in Abercrombie, nothing seems to unite the two orders of the middle class as much as mutual suicide. As the air had a bite of breathing in stale ash, and the ground was littered with burnt out smoke butts. I knew that in this place I would be out of my element. I turned to a group of guys hanging on the rock, the one I was looking for was there, his brown Fubu hood hanging off his back, deep sandbags hung on his malnourished face, he laughed with his friends as he talked about their exploits of parties from the night before, “Yeah man it was awesome, Johnny was like ‘Man where the hell are we’ and we just kicked him again and passed back out.” When he saw me moving toward him, he grinned, and asked me what the hell I was doing there. I merely responded, “I was told you were the guy to talk to about--” I paused in nervousness, I needed to the right term or they’ll think I’m a narc.

“E?” He came to my rescue.

“Yeah. I need three hits.”

“Sixty bucks.” he said as he wiped out a plastic bag filled with dusty pills. I handed him the money and he dropped three pills in my hand, and I left.

Latter that day I walked by the office, and dropped a note on the secretary’s desk without her seeing me, and left to see my competitor.

She was sitting at the lunch table that we usually shared with mutual friends. She was laughing, she sat holding her sandwich, looking like the ray of sun in the parting clouds after a hurricane. Her flowing blonde hair shimmered like the golden fields of prairie wheat on a summer‘s noon, and seemed out of place in the cloudy, dank, jail like cafeteria. When I asked her to move over, she obliged with no protest . When I asked to see her notes from history, she shared them, even despite our competition. When I handed it back to her, that’s when the principal had arrived, demanding to see her backpack.

When he found the pills he suspended her for the required three weeks, she was unable to write her final exams and subsequently failed her entire semester. I had won the internship, but I wasn’t happy. In my selfishness, I had ruined the hard work of a girl who was my friend, and for all accounts and purposes, she was a great friend. She selflessly handed me her notes, even though we were amidst a competition that would have a great impact on our futures. This selflessness, seemed at its core, a contradiction to my non-contradictory principal of the nature of humanity, and as I continued to think about it, I seemed to act selfishly against my very nature. I wondered then if nature of humanity is even a constant. I wondered that as I turned myself in for the crimes I had committed.

-------------

As I saw a kid who sold drugs which ruined the lives of others, another who seemed not to care about her future as much as her friends and finally a person who will act horribly so long as he can justify it, I came back to the idea of the good.

What if humanity was, in its basic nature, always trying to achieve the Good? But since the Good is so ambiguous, we merely convince ourselves to act on one principal, a principal that is the heart of all our actions. This is our subjective good. All of our bad actions are committed in hopes that this good we have in our soul, is actualized. Meaning if one were to know exactly what the truest form of the good was, one would then always be happy, and never be wrong.

These thoughts of my nature comforted me this morning as I watched that yet another suicide bomber had died.

[Scheherazade]

Claw

.

The open talons descended at a thumb's command. Half a dozen hopeful eyes watched as they whirred towards the booty below. A pair of teenage fists pounded the glass when they emerged fruitless from the sea of bounty. "GAAAHH!!"

"Dude, relax." Richard gave his aggravated friend a consoling pat on the shoulder, then returned his hand to his side a little quickly, wiping the sweat off on his jeans. "Kinda stressed?"

"Why can't I get that stupid stuffed…thingie?? I'm supposed to be good at this!!" Jason's frustrated eyes looked skywards, as if expecting a divine explanation for his past sixteen failures. The theater arcade's moldy ceiling tiles seemed to shrug in apology. "The ones at Origami-Land aren't even this hard! And their claws are made out of folded paper!!"

"Do you really want it that bad?" asked Tim. "I mean…what is it?" The three boys peered through the glass at the object of Jason's obsession, which looked like nothing so much as a furry representation of what banana Jell-O would look like after being riddled with bullets and dropped from a third-story window. "Don't they fill these machines with factory rejects, anyway?"

Richard cocked his head and pressed his nose against the glass. "I don't think even the factory rejects would wanna hang out with that thing."

"Then why won't they let me have it??" Jason growled through the pane at his newly-designated mortal enemy.

"Still want it?"

"It's war now. There's no turning back." Jason went to the coin-dispenser machine to exchange another dollar.

"Well, all right, man," said Richard. "It's almost showtime, so we're gonna go grab seats."

"Best of luck," said Tim as they left. Jason stared at the claw from the front of the machine, then from the side, tweaking by millimeters.



Two hours later, Richard and Tim walked back into the arcade, Tim with a girl on his arm. Making their way to the claw machine, they found it seemingly unattended.

"Where's your friend?" asked the girl.

"I dunno, he was here when we went in…" replied Tim.

"Up here," slurred a voice from above. Their gazes tracking upwards, the trio of moviegoers raised their eyebrows at Jason, sitting atop the zombie shooter game. Jason took a deep swig from a brown bottle in his hand.

"I didn't know they had Happy Hour at the multiplex," said Tim.
Richard was indignant. "How'd you get that? You're underage!"

Jason ignored the question. "I swear, those claws are physically incapable of lifting anything heavier than dryer lint," he said, waving the screwdriver in his other hand at the demonic machine in question. "Hey…who's the dame?"

"Oh, this is Stephanie," said Tim, gesturing unnecessarily to the brunette at his side. "Stephanie, this is my friend, Jason."

"Hi…?" Stephanie waved tentatively at the seemingly-inebriated Jason.

"Jason, you wanna come down from there?"

"Nggghh…sure." A lethargic roll and a thud later, Jason was staggering to his feet and dusting himself off. Richard picked up the dropped beverage

"Dude, you really shouldn't drink, it's not…what the – ?" Richard examined the bottle more closely, then bludgeoned Jason in the arm with it. "Cream soda?? Holy teetotaler, Jason, you had us worried!"

"They don't have Happy Hour here?" asked Tim, sounding perhaps more disappointed than he should have.

"They have cream soda here?" asked Stephanie, examining the concessions menu more closely.

Richard over-vigorously beat the dirt off of Jason's clothes as the sober teenager straightened. "How much did you spend in there, man?"

"I dunno. How much did I have in my pockets?"

"Are you kidding me? You spent all of your money? At the movie theater arcade?? On PAYDAY??? And you don't even have that stupid plushie to show for it!!"
"Fine, rub it in." Jason pouted a bit. "…can I borrow a quarter?"

Tim and Stephanie bodily dragged Jason, teeth gnashing, through the double doors into the dense night air, Richard trying to pry the screwdriver from Jason's hand before he put someone's eye out.



That night, Jason's mother sat in the den with her son, watching the evening news. "How was your trip to the movies?" she asked. Jason only grumbled a bit, squeezing his factory reject Pikachu (manufactured with an unflatteringly located third eye) closer to his chest as the façade of the multiplex came on the screen, paramedics rushing through the doorway.

"This was the scene earlier tonight at the movie theater, as a freak accident left one person hospitalized and several bystanders suffering from severe psychological trauma. The claw machine in the arcade apparently malfunctioned, breaking through the plexiglas barrier and attempting to drag the young boy operating it, age twelve, into the machine."

"Uh-oh."

"Jason? What were you up to?"

"…is in stable condition. Security footage suggests foul play, and authorities are investigating the possibility that the machine was tampered with. The police commissioner has declined to comment, but said that a party has been identified and will be sought for questioning immediately. More details as they come in. Now, back to Bruce in the studio."

The doorbell rang. Jason whimpered. Pikachu squeaked as Jason hugged it closer.

[Scheherazade]

A Chance Meeting

.

The summer dust was everywhere. But, Grace was used to dust and heat and mosquitoes and blisters on her hands. The cotton needed chopping and she had to work alongside the rest of her family in the fields. Five days a week her days started before sunup and didn’t end till the sun was down. Saturday was a half day, ending at the noon break. That was just the way of life for field hands. This Saturday afternoon though, she was making the three mile walk to see a movie even if she had to walk by herself. Grace had not been to town for two weeks.

The only shoes Grace owned were her work shoes and they weren’t fit to wear to town. She hoped to be able to buy her own pair by the end of the pickin’ season, but right now she’d have to be nice to her sister so she could borrow her pair and go to town. Not that her sister had lots of shoes, she only had two pair; the old ones and the not so old ones. If sister wasn’t going to town, Grace would get to wear the not so old ones. Of course, this would cost her in chores the next week, but it would be worth it. Luck was with her when Sister said she was staying home to wait for her beau.

So with shoes polished, skirt pressed, and hair curled, Grace headed down the mile of dusty road to the highway. There the highway would take her the two miles into town. Surely there would be someone there she knew to sit with. Otherwise, she would sit by herself and enjoy her time away from field work and the heat.

The line at the theater was long as usual. This was the only entertainment in a small cotton town and the only place that had air-conditioning. There must have been a hundred people waiting for the box office to open. As she stood in line, Grace watched for someone she knew to come by, someone she wouldn’t mind sitting through a movie with.

Emmit was glad it was Saturday. After a week of hard work, he deserved the break. Going to the movie was what Emmit worked the fields for. Every week he would go and watch and dream of making a life like the ones shown on the screen. The quarter he got to keep from his week of hard work was enough to escape for a couple of hours from the only life he’d ever known. And, although it would take all of his money, he would go and watch the newsreel and movie and enjoy the air-conditioned darkness. It was a lonely trip walking by him self, but he was fine with that. Large families could make a man want some time alone. And the five mile walk gave him time to think about where his life was going. Staying in the fields was not what he wanted to do.

Grace saw Emmit as he was walking toward the back of the waiting line. As he walked near, he made eye contact and smiled; she reached out and touched his arm, pretending that she had been waiting on him the whole time. “Oh, I was afraid you weren’t coming.” she said, just loud enough for the people around her to hear. Emmit understood, knowing that some would be angry if he just cut in line. So he stepped in beside her and said, “I was late getting the chores done.” It was easy to pretend that he had been looking for her. She was petite with brown hair and soft brown eyes. They had worked the same fields often and he knew her to be quiet and a little shy.

“I’m glad you made it.” She said. Grace didn’t want to be the only girl at the movies alone. And she had known Emmit and his family most of her life. Knowing that Emmit would offer to walk her home was a relief. Walking home in the dark alone wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

As they stood in line waiting and talking about unimportant things, more friends came by. Neither asked others to step in line with them. Without questioning they both pretended like they had planned this meeting.

The heat was waiting when they left the theater. “Is it alright if I walk with you?” Emmit asked, knowing it would add an extra two miles to his walk home, but not caring. He was enjoying the company more than he would have imagined. “I’d like that.” Grace replied. “I was dreading the walk back home alone.” They started off toward the homes and lives they lived, walking slow and holding hands. It was a quiet night after they left the town with the crowds and cars passing. The sky was clear and full of stars. They talked of family and of work and of what they hoped their lives would be.

When they reach the small house Grace and her family lived in, they were both reluctant to part. “I’ll go to the show again in two weeks.” Emmit stated quietly, knowing it would take that long to save the money to pay for both their tickets. “I’ll come by and walk you into town if you want to go.”

“That would be nice, should I meet you at the highway?” she asked.

“No, I’ll come by proper and walk you.”

They smiled at each other, both realizing that it could be as simple as that. Their lives would change and lives would be created because of this chance meeting in a small cotton town.

[Scheherazade]

A Quick Trip North

.

Jay had many talents, he could stuff an entire box of Twinkies in his mouth at once, and could read words backwards as if the turntable was spinning the wrong way. But his greatest talent was telling a story. And he told many. But my favorite was the one he told about his trip to Chicago the night after he graduated from high school in a small Delta town.

It was graduation night. The night they left For Chi town. It was hot and dusty like most places in East Arkansas. The town was small and offered a young man little in the way of a career. Jay’s intentions were to find his fame and fortune in the Windy City. Chicago would be the largest place he could make in an overnight drive. Two friends tagged along, Clete and Joe Bob. Jay agreed because it could make the trip a bit less boring and maybe they could help drive the old 63 Ford. What do young men do on a road trip? They discuss women and listen to music, all while drinking beer. See eighteen year olds could buy beer back in those days. But young men also start to think about their future. All thought Chicago held the answer. Maybe they could be bankers, or big tycoons, or even baseball players and actors. It’s a big place, they could just get lost in the possibilities of what their future would hold. The trio arrived just before sunrise. Traveling along the lake front they spotted a small park which would be a great place to stop, get their bearings and maybe sober up. And it would give them a great view of the rising sun. They all were relaxing, sitting there, still pondering what the future would bring. But the long over night drive and the beer caused Jay to fall asleep. After what seemed like hours, Jay felt this elbow being punched into his side…”Jay wake up, wake up! I just thought of something.” says Clete. “Dang what?” Jay sleepily asked. Then Clete jumped to his feet and exclaimed with absolute authority as he pointed across the glistening waters of Lake Michigan,

“Just think the Beatles live right
across them waters.”

Jay quickly jumped to his feet dangling his keys like he knew exactly what he had to do “This was a mistake. You boys, go get in the car. Clete, dad gum ya, didn’t you learn anything in high school.” Knowing that he might take the boy out of the county but he’d never take the county out of the boy, he loaded them up in the old car and started the drive back south.

My friend could always tell this story much better than me and I never tired of hearing it. I wish Jay was still around to tell it again. By the way, Jay did find his fame and fortune and I am a much person for it. But that’s another story.
.

[Scheherazade]

Princess Mona

.

When Andy was riding in the back of his mother’s car on a cool Wednesday in October, he knew that day would be a special one. Six-year-old Andy Hart and his mother were moving to another state, and already he was excitedly dreaming of the adventures he’d have there.

It was very late. So late, in fact, that Andy was still in his footie-pajamas, as he was expected to sleep through the car ride; but his mind was too busy for sleep. He stared out the window with wide-eyes, thinking the silly thoughts you’d expect out of a boy his age, only even sillier. Andy was famous for his imagination.

Suddenly, a bright flash caused his head to hurt, and a sudden tummy-ache overpowered the little boy. He was certain he was sick—definitely the flu. He closed his eyes for a moment or two.

And when he opened them again, he was far, far away from his mother’s car on that lonely highway. He rubbed his little eyes and looked around him—everything was lush and green. He stood in the center of a forest of some sort—of the magical sort. Beside him hummed a soft brook, and on his other side was a large, moss-covered rock.

“Where… am I?” Little Andy Hart could scarcely believe it. How on earth did he appear here, in this wilderness, when a mere second ago he was in the car with his mother? Flowers of every color were all around the forest and the sun penetrated the trees, warming his skin. Wherever he was, he was certain he liked it better, anyhow.

“Why, you’re in Mona’s Forest!” a sweet, singing voice beside him informed. “What a lucky little thing you are! Only the best, most well-behaved boys are chosen to come to Mona’s Forest.”

“Mona?” Andy asked, turning to look beside him at one of the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen—next to his mommy, of course. She was a transparent blue and white, with unnaturally lengthy hair. Since he could almost see through her, he was sure she wasn’t a real girl at all!

“Mona! Princess Mona!” The lady explained, sitting with her feet in the stream. “Everyone knows Princess Mona.”

“Everyone?” He asked, reaching out to touch the woman. She didn’t seem to mind, and her skin was very soft. “If everyone knows her… then I must not be making this up!”

“Making this up?” the woman asked, touching Andy’s face in return.

“I am always imagining things,” Andy explained. “Or at least, that’s what Mommy says… oh, Mommy!” he cried, putting his hands on his face. “I can’t stay here!”

“You can’t stay here?” the woman asked, perplexed. “Why not? Don’t you like it here?”

“I do, it’s very pretty,” Andy shook his head. “But I have to go home. My mommy will miss me.”

“Oh, well…” the lady thought. “The only way out of Mona’s forest is to go to Mona herself.”

“And she will let me out of here?” Andy asked eagerly.

“I think so!” The lady nodded. “But you’re going to need some help…”

“Oh, won’t you please help me?” Andy asked the woman.

“I think I will,” she agreed. “My name is Nixie. I’m a water sprite. Water is associated with healing, so I am perfect to take care of you until we get to see Princess Mona!”

“Oh, thank you, Nixie!” Andy hugged himself, hardly able to contain his excitement. “Can we start right now?”

“I think so!” She nodded, standing. She was taller than Andy, but all adult people were. She reached out and took Andy’s hand, gently guiding the small boy down along the stream.

“I am so glad you’re here, Nixie,” Andy confided as they walked. “You’re nice, and I think I might be lonely without you.”

“I’m just happy to help you, Andy,” Nixie explained, even though Andy had not yet told her his name. “But I have to warn you… Not everyone is worthy of meeting Princess Mona. You have to prove you’re brave, first.”

“Oh, anything to get out of this forest!” Andy nodded.

“Don’t speak too quickly,” Nixie warned. “The first test is very, very painful.”

Andy was scared. “Will you be there to help me, Nixie?” he asked.

“I’ll never be too far away,” Nixie assured, stopping suddenly. “Here we are, the first test.”

“Can you tell me your name, little boy?” a lovely young Nurse asked the tiny, broken body laying on the gurney.

“An…dy…” the tiny boy whispered, staring at the ceiling the way most heavily drugged patients will.

“Andy? That’s a lovely name. It means brave, did you know that?”

Andy couldn’t shake his head. He tried to utter a breathy ‘no’, but it wouldn’t come out.

“My name is Nixie. It’s German for ‘water sprite’. Do you know what a water sprite is, Andy?” she asked.

But the boy’s eyes closed, and he didn’t untter another word.

“Andy! Andy! If you can hear me, squeeze my hand!” Nurse Nixie called, running with the stretcher right off of the ambulance with several other doctors. “Patient is unresponsive!”

“Clear the OR!” shouted one of the paramedics, holding the young boy’s IV bag. “This can’t wait!”

Andy stood where Nixie told him to. Even though Nixie had promised she’d never be far away, he couldn’t see her and was really scared. Even worse, the sun was gone and it began to rain—besides, didn’t Nixie say the first trial would be very painful?

Several men and women wearing all white stepped forward and began to whisper spells behind masks that covered their mouths. Andy didn’t recognize the words they used, because they were long and strange—but they caused him a great deal of pain.

He doubled over, holding his stomach—that was where it hurt the most. He gasped and panted and gagged. He couldn’t speak or cry. All he could do was tolerate the pain. But tolerate he must, or he wouldn’t be deemed worthy of getting out of the forest, and he’d never see his mommy again!

But just as soon as the pain had come, it left again, and Andy took a moment to catch his breath and get to his feet. As soon as he looked up, there was Nixie again, right by his side.

“You’re a strong little boy!” she exclaimed, petting his hair. “Don’t worry, the next trial will be easier,” she cooed gently.

“Are there more trials after this?” Andy asked, tilting his head.

“No,” Nixie shook her head. “This is the very last one.”

“What will I have to do this time?” Andy asked. “Last time you didn’t give me a very good warning,” he accused in a pout.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “This time a man is going to come, and he will ask you all sorts of questions. Don’t look at him, and don’t answer him. That’s all you have to do.”

“No matter what?” Andy asked, looking at Nixie questioningly. “But that is awfully rude. And if I can’t look at him, where should I look?”

“Just look at the sky,” Nixie suggested.

“Nixie,” another nurse stepped into the OR. “There’s a visitor for you outside.”

Nixie handed the scalpel to one of the doctors, standing on her tiptoes. Outside stood her boyfriend of three years with some flowers.

“Go to him,” the nurse suggested. “I’ll scrub up and fill in.”

“I’ll only be a second,” Nixie said, going out into the hallway.

“Hey, babe!” the man smiled, handing her the flowers. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, the kid in there…” she pointed through the doors. “He was hit head-on by a drunk driver. His mother is already dead. We’re working on locating his father, but… I don’t think we’ll be able to, ah…”

“Oh…” the man said quietly. “Nixie, that’s rough… I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Yeah, actually… I need to get back to him. Thank you for the flowers, Jonathan, could I ask you to put them in my car?”

“Sure, no problem.” He kissed her head, then watched her turn around and walk back into surgery. He went to the elevator, frowning. He had a feeling that this case would stay with Nixie for a long time.

Again, Nixie released Andy’s hand. But this time he didn’t feel like she left him… he could feel her presence. A castle was just ahead, all he had to do was pass this last test…

A man stepped forward, and began to ask Andy questions, just as promised—only, Nixie didn’t tell him it’d be his own father!

“Andy? Look at me. Andy?”

This test was even harder than the last! Andy never got to see daddy, and his mother told him that after the move he probably never would again. How could he resist this last chance to speak to him? But he had to, or he’d be stuck in the forest forever, and he’d never see his mommy! So he turned his eyes upwards to the sky, and pretended not to hear him.

“Talk to me, Andy. Remember me? Remember the games we used to play?”

But Andy stayed strong and ignored him, and soon enough the apparition of his father faded away. Nixie took his hand again, and guided him to the castle.

“Andy…” the exhausted Nurse Nixie whispered to the lifeless shell, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “If you don’t want to feel pain anymore, it’s okay to just… just ignore him…” she whispered. Her own words made her a little sick, and yet she felt it was the right thing to say. She stroked his tiny, broken hand softly.

“This is the father.” A social worker called, soundlessly opening the door.

Nixie nodded and released Andy, stepping aside to allow the father her seat.

“Andy? Look at me. Andy?”

But he couldn’t hear his father, and by the looks of him, he never would again. Defeated, Mr. Hart stood and walked out of the room, mumbling to the social worker, “I’ll sign the papers…”

Nixie sat back down, taking Andy’s hand once more. She should have been with the other patients, but she thought that maybe she would spend a few moments more with him.

Andy squealed excitedly as the forest became less and less dense all around him and they approached the castle. “We’re almost here! I’m going to see Princess Mona and get out of here!”

“That’s right!” Nixie nodded, skipping with him across a lovely bridge that spanned the moat. “Almost!” she helped him push open the doors, and standing behind them was Princess Mona herself.

She was an older woman with a tired, drawn face. Perhaps at one time she was kind, but now she was worn. Again he was a little scared. Would this ragged old lady let him out of her forest?

Head Surgeon and chief of staff Dr. Mona walked into the small room, reserved for critical patients, holding the usual clipboard. “You’ve done all you can? His father signed the papers?”

“Mmhm.” Nixie nodded.

“You, child, wish to leave my forest?” Princess Mona asked, arching an eyebrow. “Did you pass all of the tests?”

“He did!” Nixie nodded.

Andy nodded, too.

“Is he prepped?” Dr. Mona asked.

“Yeah, he’s ready.”

“The father didn’t want to see?”

“No. He left, I think.” Nixie squeezed Andy’s hand.

“Are you ready?” Princess Mona questioned, glowering down at the young boy.

“He’s ready,” Nixie agreed.

“The only way out of my forest is through that door,” Princess Mona pointed to a grand, heavy door at the top of a staircase.

Andy released Nixie’s hand and rushed to the stairs, bounding up them two at a time. He was breathless by the time he reached the top, but had just enough strength to open the door. He threw the latch, tugged hard on the nob, and—

Nurse Nixie stood back as Dr. Mona pulled the child off of life support.

[Scheherazade]

The Princess Lost

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful princess. She had flowing, sandy-blonde hair that sparkled in the sunlight when she rode her great Arabian horse, Moonbeam. She loved to ride, slowly through the forest or fast, flying through the fields and open spaces. She knew she was a lucky girl, but lately, she had grown unhappy.

One afternoon, she and the King quarreled horribly about her returning home later and later. The king had not schooled his daughter in the evils beyond his dominion, the terrible travesties perpetrated by desperate men upon solitary, helpless young women. The princess, an adolescent, believed she had always been obedient to her father. In her eyes, he didn't respect her maturity and treated her as a child.

She rode hard along the South Road away from the castle. She rode and rode until both she and Moonbeam were drenched with sweat and panting. The Princess was so upset, she became lost. She turned around. After a time, she came to a fork which she didn't remember. She decided to take the more traveled route.

It went down hill and the princess intended to slow Moonbeam, since they approached a detour -- there was a large hemlock tree lying across the road and people had been going around it. It was too much of a temptation for the agile Moonbeam. Nimbly, he took to the air, clearing the big hemlock and its branches with room to spare. This was all fine and good except a large branch hung down and swept the princess clean off her steed. Wheee, she flew for a while and then, bang, touched down roughly, her head glancing off a tortoise. Everything went black.

The King was furious! He had passed the point of trying to act as if everything was OK. This was something he did in times of trouble: he would parade around wearing his face of "everything is OK". This was how he had acted when the princess had ridden off in haste. He whistled around the two large wings of the castle, and even made an assault on the tower, climbing to its top lookout. There he looked out all three of the small windows. He saved the princesses favorite window, the south window, until last, whereupon he began to cry. He mustn't let anyone see him in this state. Certainly none of the Knights must see him showing weakness. He knocked the tears away, and strode noisily down the tower stairs, round and round. With each lower level attained, his countenance hardened, until at the bottom, he was a frightening, tyrannical leader of minions, who would show no mercy for those who crossed him.

Now, Moonbeam was a smart horse, as horses go. In his horse way of thinking, he was very proud at jumping over the large fallen tree. He pranced around, then, hearing no praise, began to think it was odd that the princess had chosen this time to dismount. He walked carefully back to where the princess lie. He had seen humans lie on the ground before. Sometimes, the princess would ride out into a big field, and simply lie in the grass. She was often singing softly to herself or fussing with her strange foodstuffs. But today, the princess lie in an odd position, face hidden from view and legs terribly askew. He walked very close. Something was wrong! He made a small whinny sound, then snorted. Nothing happened, the princess lie still. He scratched his front hooves on the ground then reared back and made a larger whinny sound, snorting as he gently touched down. Moonbeam circled round the fallen princess and sniffed her hair. This always got results from the princess if she were sleeping, since it tickled her nose. But still, there was no response, no movement at all. And then it happened. His ultra sensitive, rounded Arabian nostrils smelled blood! Something deep within him stirred. His eyes went round with fright, his muscles stiffened and his fine brown coat flowed with chills, looking like sudden, strong gusts of wind on a lake. He bolted! Eventually, he reached the castle.

"Hip-yo, hip-hey; drag dem logs, let's be 'ome t' day...", came the merry song through the forest. The chorus repeated, simple and hypnotic, "a sounder sleape from a busy day...", two huge horses could now be seen methodically climbing the hill towards the spot where the princess lie. The two great brutes were nearly all white, incredibly tall with lengthy, flowing mains and large woolly hooves. They pulled an interesting two wheeled travois laden with limbed logs and championed by a great, round, bearded man with an odd cap, having a single pheasants feather protruding rearward. "Ho up, me laddies!", said this odd man as he rather rolled down from his cart to the ground. It didn't take him long to assess her injury. He gently raised her to his frugal carriage. He had once seen an injury like this and knew the proper salve for its treatment.

The king's hopes were dashed when he saw Moonbeam return, riderless. Later, the Knights returned forlorn with no clue nor conception of what must've befallen the princess. The king walked quietly, brow bent with worry, spirit spent with gloom. They had done everything possible. The king's night became consumed with regret. The next day, and many days after, they would search fruitlessly for her.

Out of a strange darkness, first came warmth and an earthy smell. Next, a pleasing musical sound. Finally, a blurred view of the strangest assortment of things took shape and slowly came into focus. There were definitely cooking pots, crudely made but with obvious function, a rough table and chairs. Was she dreaming?

She reached down, touching her body, this was real, but where was she? Just then, the source of the singing sound which she had first become aware of, stood up and turned toward her. A strangely clad man stood there smiling. He was utterly unfamiliar to her; his countenance as well as his attire were extraordinary. This whole scene, while being quite bizarre, seemed auspiciously safe and comforting. There were many things hung about the walls which might be decoration or tools of some sort. The strange man was quite stout, with very broad shoulders, and thick hairy arms which were visible below his rolled up sleeves. Somehow, his beard, which only circled under his jaw, circumscribed his smile and had a disarming effect on her. He poured a cup of dark liquid from an earthen pot on the stove and handed it to her, bidding her to, she supposed, drink. More odd, was that she drank. This tea was wholly warming and comforting; like a warm fire and comfortable couch.

Many weeks passed and the princess came to know only that she was found alone in the wood with a wound in the head. This kindly man had nursed her back to health and showed her the ways of his living. While she seemed intelligent; she knew not where she came from nor who she was. The man, she learned, lived alone here and traded twice or thrice yearly all manner of wood products with a distant village. He had once had a wife who had died bearing their only possible child, who herself was stillborn.

Sometimes, the man would work nearby, other times his work would take him deep into the forest. She was not prevented from leaving, but there was no horse to ride, and no place to go. She began to ponder more seriously her origin and her purpose in life. Sometimes, strange images would come into her mind of great hallways and ornate furniture and art. She readily learned many domestic duties for the first time. She would suddenly find herself singing a curious song remembering only some of its verse. At night, she would dream of flying. She would be flying through the air, low over the fields, the wind blowing her hair. Her dreams weren't always happy. One reoccurring nightmare was of some great beast howling and chasing her through great stone caverns.

She had been wearing a very fine and ornate riding outfit when he found her. When he replaced this with some of his wife's clothing, he told himself it was because she was wet. The truth gnawed at his thinking: her hands, her skin and simply the way she carried herself told of a special lineage. Why had he not told her of this? Over the weeks they spent together, his admiration grew. She was very smart, and was never satisfied knowing just a little about a thing; she thrived on learning and practice. This was in contrast to the fact that she seemed to have no knowledge at all of cooking and cleaning, yet she soon enjoyed both. He loved to watch her sleeping; just to allow his eyes to trace over the fine features of her face gave him joy. At first, he let himself imagine she was a gift from God. But later, as her questions became more direct, he found himself not answering her truthfully. This made him know it wasn't the work of God.

One day while traveling on the road away from home, the woodcutter met up with two of the King's knights. They questioned him at length about the missing Princess. He was ashamed of himself as he lied to the king's men; he denied any knowledge of her. He was filled with angst. He hated to keep the truth from her. He would tell her tonight where she belonged.

She was hanging her wash on the line outside the homestead as he drew up with his horses. The late afternoon sun's rays lit up her face and hair so that she looked as though she were glowing when she turned to welcome him. Suddenly, her expression turned to concerned alarm and then the two Kings men swept down on him knocking him to the ground and holding him there. He struggled to get free but they were young and strong and determined. They were yelling terrible oaths and used the word "treason" and referred to the young girl as "her Majesty". As those words were heard by the princess, it was as if an avalanche of memory flooded in and filled her all the way up.

The princess walked over to the assault and asked "you knew... you knew I was a princess?", with incredulity. She then turned on her heel and looked high and away. The beating then took a more violent turn. Tears and blood were flying from the woodcutter's face as he raised his head to try to speak, "I... I'm sorry... I love...", his message was cut short by a metal shrouded boot in the face.

A knight emerged, teeth grit, from the woodcutter's smoking shack, waving the princess's riding outfit in his clenched fist as he kicked again at the woodcutter's lifeless body. Flames licked the outside of the house through two windows.

A great celebration was held and the kingdom rejoiced at the return of the lost Princess. Officially, it had been ruled a kidnapping. The absence and ultimate return of the princess had greatly widened the realm and wealth of the kingdom, and had given the people hope. Now, there were handsome and prestigious suitors lining up for an opportunity to present gifts to the King and have a chance at capturing the heart of the famous princess.

Occasionally, the princess felt a pang of melancholy over the fate of the kindly woodcutter, but telling them the truth would take away all the good that had come from this. The King had put his entire dominion in reach of his newly recovered Princess; she couldn't see the value in revealing all over a bit of guilt. She imagined this was why lately, she had felt rather nauseous in the morning upon waking.

[Scheherazade]

The Cat


“What is that infernal noise?” Peering through the age-thinned curtain, yellow dust tickling his nose, straining to see beyond the dim porch light, he saw them there, two cats. A female, he surmised, crouching low, with a large tom caught in her stare. He rapped his knuckle against the window pane and the tom looked toward the noise. She, however, remained frozen, unblinking, her tail barely twitching.

Flicking off the light, he shuffled back to the rickety green chair. Picking up his old book of poems, something fell from the musty pages and he immediately recognized it. One of hers. One of her poems. He watched it come to rest by his scuffed shoe. He ached from within and without as he reached to pick it up. Placing it back in the book, he closed it and stared at his empty wine glass and the smudges of his grimy fingerprints.

“Blast it!” This time, trying to scare them away, he slammed open the door and saw the tom’s tail dart through the faded pink peonies. But where was she? Gone. Gone as if never there. He stood looking into the dreary night. No stars, no moon, a hanging smell so heavy he could not breathe it. But he could weep and weep he did, tasting his tears, trickling salty into the corner of his mouth. And tasting with his tongue how thirsty, how thirsty he was, and then he stood sobbing her poem, those words, those words.

Taking off his glasses, he dried his eyes on his wrinkled sleeve dreading his unmade bed. He had not slept in it for days knowing he would crumble at the scent of her. He pictured himself crumbled there on the floor, kneeling against the bed, praying like some small boy. “Dear God, please bless mommy and daddy.” But he saw his true and present form begging, “Please, bless me. Take it away, please, take it away.”

“What the….!” Stepping around the corner he was angered at the overhead light with one bulb burnt and the other not far behind, for playing tricks on his wet eyes. But it wasn’t a trick. He was not alone. She was there, sitting quietly in the middle of his kitchen floor.

He didn’t much care for cats and certainly not strays. He wanted to yell, “GET OUT”, but he was instead, suddenly calmed. She was so, so something, and his throat tightened, remembering. She had been something too. But what and why had she touched him so?

Wearily he leaned against the door jamb, rubbing his forehead, like a headache without the pain. He opened his eyes and saw that it was he who was caught in her stare. There was no screeching or warning noise, only a sweet and simple, meow. And he thought how that tiny voice was the only other one heard in his home in a very long time. And when he looked at her, she blinked.

“You must be hungry.” Her eyes followed him as he quickly stepped to the refrigerator, wondering what in the world he was doing. He had heard all the warnings, that if you feed them they will never go away. Once again, he was almost overcome as he remembered feeding her his stories. But her appetite was insatiable and he had no more to give her, his embarrassment pushing her away.

Finding yesterday’s leftover chicken thigh, he pulled the meat off the bone and placed it on the floor. She looked up at him, waiting for his invitation. Watching her eat so daintily he almost reached for her but instead took a clean glass down from the cupboard and poured himself a half glass of merlot. Twirling the dark juice, smelling the rich aroma, he lifted the glass to his lips and as he drank he saw her watching.

“And thirsty! Where are my manners?” Kneeling on supple knees that surprised him, he dipped his fingers into the glass and offered them to her. Closing her eyes, she licked them, the roughness of her tongue sending chills running through him. Carefully, he put his hand on her head and she raised her body to meet his touch. He followed the uphill curve of her back, the electricity of her response causing him to repeat the move over and over again. Stopping abruptly, she almost fell over and he smiled to himself as she brushed around and around his ankles, then followed him closely as he walked into the front parlor.

Pausing near a small round table, he felt for the small black switch and pushed it, lighting the lamp. He picked up a book, the one from Christmas, the one from his old friend at the university, the one he had never bothered to open. Looking it over and smelling the newness of it, he sat in his favorite chair.

“May I read to you?” Sitting on the oriental carpet, her colors blending, she watched as he read aloud. By God, I think she’s listening, he said to himself, peering over his glasses into her eyes. Walking to him, she once again rubbed against his ankles. Closing the book, he patted his knee and she placed her paws upon it and he petted her. He then patted his chest and she jumped up, kneading him, purring, and once again he began to weep. Quickly she jumped down and returned to her place on the carpet.

They sat looking at each other for a long time when suddenly a waft of lilacs, left by the housekeeper, drifted past his nose. The clock he hadn’t heard in days began to chime. He tasted the wine on his lips. And leaning forward, he saw his hands reach out, and touching her behind the ear and he asked, “Would you like to stay the night?”

[SleepyWitch]

ten stories? I'll make sure I find the time to read them and vote this time round

[Zippy]

I've picked my favourite - get voting people!

[Virgil]

ten stories? I'll make sure I find the time to read them and vote this time round

Yeah, wow. That's a lot of reading.

[applepie]

I'll be reading soon