During a family vacation in Wisconsin Dells, I took my eight-year-old grandson to Mirror Palace Maze. After having bought the tickets, we entered the first cubicle with mirrors on all sides. Looking at our multiple images, he expressed his joy. We proceeded to other similar cubicles... Soon, the kid got tired. ‘Want to get out of these mirror-studded place,’ he yelled. ‘Okay, let us find the exit,’ I said. In our haste, we started entering the spots we already had entered before. My grandson lost his patience and yelled, ‘Oh, Grandpa, why didn’t you bring the GPS?’
Gilly chews gum as she waits, leaning against the railing. He's late. Always late. His bloody kids. Ffs, why can't they just get on with their lives but no, he is always bloody needed to do something, drive them somewhere, pick them up, drop them off. She wishes they would just disappear. Along with his pathetic wife.
Lacy negligee, naughty knickers, breast-baring bra: clichés in pretty wrappings. Their road trip. A weekend away. At last, the BMW pulls alongside. His extremely angry, very lovely wife emerges—there’s no sign of her cowardly husband. Gilly totters away on perilously high heels. Marie hated seeing her daughter Wendy this way, staring out her window, looking heartbroken. On top of a bad day at school, not getting what she wanted, and of course, Wendy blamed her.
Marie's heart hurt for her, but this was just cruelty. Trying to hold her temper, she begged Wendy to think of all she has. "Is it really so bad?" She asked. Wendy didn't answer. Years later, during visiting hours, Wendy frustratedly tries to break through her mother's sorrow and pain. "Are things really so bad, Mama?" She asks, nearly crying. Like someone long ago, Marie can't answer. The fuller a glass is, the more water will be lost when it cracks. The bigger a heart is, the more it will hurt when it breaks. And I didn’t know that as my heart swelled bigger and bigger, only to be popped like a balloon. Cold water rushed through the lines spiderwebbed over sparkly red, anxiety and taxes and work, until it left no room to breathe. I was wheezing, gasping, the light in the tunnel clouding over as more rain threatened to pour. I begged for someone, anyone, to help me up from drowning...but no one came.
“Bill Gates started Microsoft on the principle,” began an anonymous voice from one of the pods…oops, I mean workstations, in our Section, “every function must be able to be done in at least two ways.”
There was a moment of silence and then from the other end of the Section, “Yep, some functions several ways.” “That’s right, at least two ways,” from the initial voice. “Is anyone surprised to learn Bill had himself a wife and a mistress?” Congratulations. You’ve just demolished our circa 1940 sink by leaning your 250 pounds on it as you expunged that disgusting cyst next to your nose. It’s not just the sink. In the process, you snapped the cold water line, which will have to be replaced after we figure out how to remediate all the mold which is undoubtably brewing behind our plaster walls. Then I will have the unpleasant task of shopping for a new sink which matches our antique décor yet satisfies the exacting yet indecipherable requirements of my wife, your sister-in-law. Please do visit us more often.
A beautiful day on the Dorset coast with the afternoon spent in Lyme Regis with Golden Cap and the famous cliffs looming behind our backs.
“Ma! Look what Cissy found!” I was surprised to see my son, Robbie, so excited about his sister—someone he normally considers to be the most boring person on the planet. “What is it?” I asked. “A tooth!” Cissy beamed, holding up what looked like the largest shark’s tooth I had ever seen. “The fish that owned this must have been really scary!” “Just like you!” Robbie smirked. I sighed. Everything was back to normal. You had given me tidbits of daily wisdom...calmed my fears...laughed with me...sighed with me and shared your love with me.
I knew you also loved her. You always would...perhaps that is why you couldn't let her go into The Beyond alone. You wouldn't let her be afraid and left to wander aimlessly searching for you. After that tragic accident without any survivors, I was left alone and afraid. But you felt Emily needed you more than I did. You made a very wise decision. Our little girl needed her daddy. Baby's crying. Rock and pace and hum. Tell them how good they are and loved. Pace some more and rock. Hold their hands and rub their heads. Pray for guidance. Pray for help. Pray for the baby. Sing a song. Something spiritual. Something sweet. Sing to the poor little baby who cries in the night, wailing for a mother who never comes to feed it and mend it and hold it and love it. Sing a song to help the baby through the night. Wailing. Wailing. Let's hope all will be better in the morning light. Sweet dreams.
In the end he decided that he would leave a note.
It was just a few scribbled lines saying that he loved them but he really needed to find a life for himself. That they shouldn’t worry, he’d be ok, but not to try to find him and that it would be best if they just forgot all about him. They found the note some years later, fallen behind the radiator in his room where it had lain undisturbed. They wondered if they had found it sooner whether it would have made any difference and concluded that it wouldn’t. In her greyish-brown dress she looks a trifle humdrum but the iridescent green necklace around her neck tarts it up. She doesn’t need a posh frock to create allure.
Flexing his muscles he shows-off his dance moves…not great but he’s trying. She waits for him to make his next attempt to curry favour. He swaggers towards her; his seduction launched in earnest as he entices with his sexual prowess. Fully erect now he claims his reward…she submits. Bowing to his magnificence, the under-dressed peahen is embraced by the glorious turquoise, purple, green and blue feathers of her peacock mate. I felt the trickle of faith dissipating from each step I took as I ran towards the one place I know I am happiest in. People told me of the dangers inside, but I could hardly care.
The loud thumping of music was enough to keep me distracted from everything. I danced through the crowd and basked in the smoke under the blinking lights. I wanted the people to touch me. I craved their attention. Just then, someone whispered, "you look like you're in need of a fun time." He was right, so I followed him. Before you read this, I should warn you, I’m no storyteller.
It’s a world where the sky is green and the grass is blue. The main guy? Angry. You won’t really like him. Why? ‘Cus his life is so messed up, he finds the world hard, people difficult, no friends. Yes, I suppose that’s a challenge he overcomes. ‘Cus by the end, he’s not so mean and has a friend. Then he sees the sky was always blue, and the grass green. I certainly didn’t weave metaphor through those pages. Really, Miss, I’m no storyteller. But here is my assignment. The locals have it right: they call me Aluahuarawa, worship me, and keep well clear.
To everyone else I'm 'K2735'. I don't understand why they treat me this way. Don't they realise I'm alive? I hate their hands and feet crawling over me. They're so dirty, and they dump their unwanted rubbish. Their sharp axes hurt so much. Look, there's a group of five on my north face now. That's my best side. They're trying to stand right on my very summit! I can't allow that. There. I've shrugged them off. Watch them fall far into the valley below. Goodbye. I parked the car just down the street from Janet's house. Marty had called me earlier. "She's no good, Fred. She's been sleeping around for God knows how long. You need to go see for yourself."
I sat in the dark car, watching. The guy came and stayed; then I came and went, leaving them both still and silent in their little love nest. Then I drove to Marty's place. I still had three bullets--all for Marty. I had found one of his cufflinks on the floor in Janet's bedroom. He had been one of her sleep around partners. Tim had stored a ton of his old Friday Flash Fiction stories in his Facebook account. When he logged in one evening, though, he saw that his account had been locked.
“Drat!” he thought. “So much content there that I need to recover.” He tried completing online forms for “Unlock my account” and in the Help Community. However, neither would submit. He waved his trusty magic wand, exclaiming, “Alakazam!” No dice on either. Tim’s pet dragon and wizard companion couldn’t help, so he turned to the wisdom of the Internet for advice. Surely someone knew how to unlock his account. The door had been left ajar, an invitation to enter. It was cold; he hadn't realized it would be quite that cold and he pulled his hand back quickly.
Grasping the handle, he studied the smeared fingerprints and eased the door open a little more. Boxes and packages were piled high. He gazed in wonder. A familiar sight caught his eye. Filled with the joy of discovery, he reached inside. The silence was broken. " Put that ice-cream back Micky," his mother sighed. "I knew a fridge-freezer was a bad idea". After ten years, Jason had the gall to leave her. Forget benevolent exits to distant ports, the bastard took up with the mayor’s daughter. The couple headlined the paper’s society pages nearly every weekend. Disgusting.
The baby album, now stuffed with newspaper clippings, was mailed. “Let’s go to the beach, kids,” Meddie said, strapping the twins tight into their car seats. “Hey Siri,” she hissed, “Navigate to hell.” The SUV traversed the steep shoreline and was soon under water, swallowed whole by the voracious waves. At the gates, the unrepentant sisterhood salivated as it watched, waited and cheered her on. I appreciated the gasps as I put my chocolate cake down.
‘Looks fab, Mel. Does it taste wonderful? I hurled your school rock cakes through the window. Poor glass.’ I’d heard this from my twin a thousand times. I’d kept score. ‘Leave it then, Lucy.’ ‘And miss out? No way.’ ‘I made two. I’ll slice this and then cut the other in the kitchen for us. Chocolate sauce, everyone? Okay. I’ll bring that in. Lucy, I’ll do ours.’ I returned with Lucy’s cake and the sauce. Her slice had extra cream and liquid laxative in the sauce. “God forgive me for what I’m about to do”…. He always shuddered momentarily whenever he heard the words intoned by one of the lay preachers. They were always said with such fervour and formality, imbued with an air of seriousness that threatened to bring down the church roof upon his head if he dared indulge in any unholy behaviour.
Needs must, he reasoned to himself. There weren’t many benefits to being a priest, he thought as he slipped off his cassock and pocketed the paltry collection of coins that unsuspecting congregation had donated to the Church Restoration Fund. He felt like a prisoner in his tiny apartment. His only excitement these days was a knock on his door when a faceless worker would bring a meal and leave it on a bench outside. No visitors allowed. His loneliness had become unbearable.
He had watched the snow fall for three days. His small yard was now a harbor of pure white. The alabaster trees just beyond beckoned him. He zipped up his coat, slid open the patio door and waded through the deep snow toward the woods. The frigid air stung his nostrils. At last, he felt alive. After ten years, Jason had the gall to leave her. Forget benevolent exits to distant ports, the bastard took up with the mayor’s daughter. The couple headlined the paper’s society pages nearly every weekend. Disgusting.
The baby album, now stuffed with newspaper clippings, was mailed. “Let’s go to the beach, kids,” Meddie said, strapping the twins tight into their car seats. “Hey Siri,” she hissed, “Navigate to hell.” The SUV traversed the steep shoreline and was soon under water, swallowed whole by the voracious waves. At the gates, the unrepentant sisterhood salivated as it watched, waited and cheered her on. You can forget bed-time stories and happy- ever- afters; she wasn’t that kind of mother.
What did she love? Who knows? Her garden maybe? Listen, I’ve confessed. What else is there? I don’t want to rake it all up, turn over old ground, examine my ‘motive’. I’ve got rid of the dead wood. This is the place. I remember her frantic hand: drowning, not waving. She favoured a striped lawn with neat borders; Primulas, begonias, that sort of thing. This watery bog sprouts wild edges: Purple Loosestrife, Brookweed and Cuckoo Spit. Mother would have hated it. A fitting resting place. I awoke to find her staring at me from her side. First time I slept since she returned.
“You were snoring.” “Was I? I didn’t mean to. Did I keep you awake?” “You did, but I-” “I’m sorry. I’ll put my head up so I don’t keep you awake.” “Please don’t.” “But you need your sleep.” She hesitated. I could see the tears welling in her eyes. “But I need to hear you snore even more. I was all alone there for a month. A month. All I heard was my ventilator. Your snoring, it lets me know I’m home.” The repeat telecast of the dying and dead, panicked attendants, and shouting ambulances made me gasp for breath. I left for the backyard where, in thick darkness, on a bench, I did some deep breathing for plenty of oxygen. As I felt relaxed, someone sat down beside me, gently placing his/her right arm around me. Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning. I saw the arm around me was covered with corona-like spikes and from the other dangled bunches of currency notes. With a Satanic smile, the stranger whispered, “I am a human variant of Covid-19, waiting to be named.”
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"Classic"
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