Out of Shadows [FICTION]

Dark streets. Darker thoughts. I shiver and pull my coat tighter around my body. It doesn’t keep out the chill or the lingering damp that thrives at midnight. Tap. Tap. Tap. I glance up and down the street. I can’t see a source for the tapping.

Nerves on edge, I walk faster. Once I round the corner, I will be a half a block from my house. I’ll be able to see the comforting glow of the light next to my front door. Tap. Tap. Tap. My nerves hammer against each other, screaming for caution, begging me to run. 

As my footsteps bring me closer to the corner, I focus on the light spilling from the street lamp. Comfort washes over me. Tap. Tap. Tap. Comfort flees as I notice a shadow stretching out from the street lamp—a shadow it can not cast.

I slow down. Tap. Tap. Tap. The shadow undulates with the tapping. As my footsteps falter, the tapping also decreases its speed, taking its time to taunt me. I look over my shoulder. The street behind me lies in greater darkness than that ahead.

I take a deep breath and step back toward the street lamp and the shadow. As I draw closer, the shadow becomes shorter and squatter. Tap. Tap. Tap. I shudder with every slow, drawn out tap, but I force my feet forward.

As I turn the corner, the shadow merges with a figure cloaked in black. I stifle a scream as the figure launches itself at me. As strong arms encircle me in an embrace, a familiar laugh pierces the midnight air.

“January, where have you been? I’ve been waiting forever to walk you home.” Malinda squeals with delight.

Relieved, I return her hug. “You could have met me at the party and walked me home.”

“But then I wouldn’t have got to see the fear in your eyes.” She laughs and pulls a stick from the pocket of her long cloak to softly tap the lamppost. Tap tap tap.

Have you missed these precious posts? 

Do you know why I had to post this one today?

I only have one week to wish you:

Happy Halloween, my lovelies.

Movement [POETRY]

You move inside me and wrap me up in warmth
How can I love one I have not yet seen face to face?
I ask the question, but I need no answer
For you bring the light to the darkest space
Soon you will push out into the world
And I shall hold you close in my arms
And share you with the world outside
So they to can bask in the light of your charms

April is poetry month, so snippets of verse like this should flow regularly to this page. Wish me luck. 

Where Did the Stories Go?

For those who noticed an absence of stories to read on the average Monday, I offer reassurance that the stories will return. Life has thrown a little more at me than my somewhat defective body could handle, so I put a brief pause on my weekly writing deadlines and boutique inventory updates.

So what keeps a hobbit that busy?

1. Chasing my tiny boss. A two year old has more energy than a dozen mommas of my advanced age. She keeps me busy from dawn until dusk, and often all the other hours in between. I actually started this post about twelve hours ago, but quickly got roped into playing, preparing food, and comforting for sorrows I may never understand.
2. Running to the bathroom. Having one toddler was not enough. Another tiny hobbit is growing happily inside my tummy, which means my bladder needs emptied frequently. This also means I get to discuss the previously mentioned advanced age with my doctors on a regular basis.
3. And if that doesn't make you a little more forgiving of my neglect of the gift of words, our growing family suggested a need for a slightly larger base of operations. We've been moving my hoard of craft supplies, costumes, baby accouterments, and papers for over a month. We finally have some places to plant our bottoms in the new house, so the end might be just around the corner.

Wish me luck, send up prayers that the stress doesn't melt my brain, and hopefully you will be reading lovely works of fiction again soon.

Even Exchange [FICTION]

Even Exchange

“50,000 is more than I can overlook, Johnson.”

“I know. I know.” I look down at my hands, trying not to look at my legs, which will soon be twisted in ways I don’t want to imagine.

“But you have something some of my other customers don’t have.”

My stomach lurches. My eyes slowly rise. I expect to be greeted by a lecherous glare. Instead, I see him staring at a ledger before him intently. I raise an eyebrow.

“What is that?” A frog creeps into my throat and makes my words bounce nervously.

A smile crawls across his face. “Don’t worry. I don’t need your body. You came through the club to get here…”

He waves his hand toward the office door. Outside its heavy oaken surface, dozens of scantily clad women with a high tolerance for leering gyrate in far too little clothing. I nod my understanding.

“So what do you want from me?”

“You forget I knew your father?”

“I know you knew my dad, but…”

“And I knew him well enough for him to tell me how proud he was of his daughter, who took to burglary better than a son ever could.”

“But, Mr. Clarence, I haven’t used those skills in years.”

“Like riding a bike.” He slams his hand down on the ledger emphatically. “At least, you better hope it is.”

“Well, I could probably crack a safe…”

“Oh. I need a little more than that. You’ve heard about my recent problems.” He pauses until I nod my head. “So I need some evidence to disappear from lockup.”

“You want me to break into the police station?”

“I need you to break into the police station.” He pauses while I process. “You need me to forgive your debt. $50,000.” He repeats the amount as if I could forget.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I sigh, hoping the air escaping my mouth covers the hammering of my heart.

“Here’s a picture of what I need.” He slips an envelope across the desk.

I pick it up and open the flap.

“Not here, Johnson.” He waves his hand toward the door.

I slide the envelope into my purse and stand up. “Hopefully, I have what I owe you soon.”

~

A few nights later, I dress up to deliver a pizza to the police station. Part of me hopes I succeed because, even in private, the bragging rights would be unparalleled. Most of me wants to fail so I can plead my case and beg for clemency and protective custody. I try not to fidget as I stand at the front desk with twenty pizzas obscuring my face.

“We didn’t order pizza. You realize this is a police station?”

“I just deliver where the boss tells me to deliver.” I squeak in my youngest voice.

The desk sergeant pushes the boxes aside to peer into my face. The lid of the top box flops open. He breathes deeply. His eyes close as he inhales again.

“You say these are paid for?” He glances at the name on the box again. “Mama De Medici’s is the best in town.”

As he bites his lip, I flip through my order book. “Completely paid. Deliver to this address.”

“Okay. Bring them on back.”

He stands up and motions for me to follow. I keep my head down as we make our way into the bullpen. Every officer looks up curiously. Most of them sniff the air appreciatively as I walk past.

“Someone sent us some free pies.” The desk sergeant announces to the curious faces.

One of the younger officers stands up to step toward us. “Did they now?” He lifts the boxes from my arms easily.

I stumble as my balance shifts. He places the boxes on the nearest table and places a hand on each of my shoulders.

“I happen to know that Mama De Medici’s doesn’t deliver to this side of town.” He raises a hand from my shoulder to pull the baseball cap from my head, peering into my now exposed face. “So maybe you should tell us why you are really here.”

“I’m delivering pizza.” My words hold steady but sweat pours down my forehead.

“Pizza I think you paid for.” He replies.

“Come on, Evans. You’re so paranoid.” The desk sergeant grabs a slice of plain cheese from the top box and begins to eat.

A few other officers dig into the pizza. I breath a sigh of relief. Evans doesn’t release my shoulders.

“I should thank you for the pizza, but I think I will give you a trip to an interrogation room instead.” He grabs my elbow, turning toward a female officer he says. “We should probably give her a pat down.”

The blood drains from my face as she steps forward and gently pats my shoulders. My head grows lighter and lighter as her hands approach my ankle, where my lock pick nestles in my sock.

“Looks like your instincts are sharp, Evans.”

I hang my head as he takes my arm. “Let’s go have a talk, Miss Pizza.”

I know I posted a little late today. Did you miss your morning read?

Meet Me Where? [FICTION]

The phone rings. I roll over and put it to my ear. “Yes?”

“Lucille?”

I sigh. “Call me Lucy, Chuck.”

A heavier sigh echoes mine. I picture him gritting his teeth. “Call me Charles. We are not characters from ‘Peanuts’.”

I giggle sleepily. “Fine, Charles, what do you need?” I glance at the clock and hastily add. “At this hour.”

“I need your help, right now, at the corner of Leaf and Vine.”

The address registers in my sleepy mind but fails to complete the circuit. “Leaf and Vine?”

“Just get here quick.”

The phone goes silent. I roll over and close my eyes. The street names echo through my head, denying me entrance to sleep and dragging me from my bed. I rise slowly, fumbling for the wad of clothes on the floor. As I slip them on, I yawn and stretch. I step into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. I raise my brush and realize I still wear an amethyst cowl over my blond locks. I giggle as I remove it and fix my hair.

Soon I am standing on the corner of Leaf and Vine, remembering the significance of this intersection. A large warehouse looms empty over the deserted street. I recognize Chuck’s old yellow Jetta with the black scratch down the driver’s side. I kick the door gently on my way by and step into the dark interior of the warehouse.

My entrance triggers a sensor and soft pink light suffuses the air. In the pulsating glow, I see Chuck’s bald dome gleaming below me in the sunken interior of the warehouse. Metallic clanging fills the air as I hurry down the stairs. Reaching the lower level, I can see the glittery purple goop that has his shoes and ankles pinned to the ground. He wears a tight yellow, spandex unitard with black underwear on the outside and an equally tight shirt, which reveals muscles I never expected on wimpy little Chuck. A black mask covers his head except for his eyes, lips, and bald head.

“Oh, Chuck, what have you got yourself into?”

“I don’t know what it is. I just need you to find a way to get me out.”

I ignore his request. “What brought you to this place anyway?”

“I think you can guess.”

“I could, but I want to know for sure.”

“I’m the Bald Barrier. I’ve been moonlighting for a year now and I think I finally found the Purple Panic’s lair, but she set a booby trap. Just get me free.”

“Sorry, Chuck.” I grin. “I can’t help you.”

“Just pull me out.”

“But then you’ll foil my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Sorry, Chuck. I have to keep creating purple panic.”

I lean over to push a button, which releases more of the scintillating purple goo until it buries Charles up to his hips. 

“I’m going to have to step out now, Chuck. This is no reflection on our friendship. I just can’t let you ruin my master plan.”

“Lucy, please.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be quick from here.”

I depress the button again and pull my headphones from my pocket. As music pours into my ears to block out the sound of his voice, I wave one last goodbye and head for the door.

I hope you enjoyed this week's contribution to the online literary world. Feel free to leave accolades, moral support, and love in the comments. And have a fantastic week.

Rental Car [FICTION]

Since I perpetually run late, I don’t bother to haggle with the woman behind the counter when she hands me the keys to an older model sedan instead of the new compact car I reserved. I frown at her, sign the papers, and take the keys she proffers. I listen long enough to her spiel to know which direction to walk in order to find my car before I sprint in that direction.

Begrudgingly taking time it takes to toss my bag into the passenger seat, I slide behind the wheel and turn the key. The engine purrs happily. I survey the parking lot and back out of the space. Soon fields of towering corn wave from either side of the flat interstate. I marvel at being able to see so far before the horizon appears in the distance. My mind wanders again. When it returns, I check the clock on the dashboard against my watch. Surprisingly, it displays the correct time, which means I am still running ten minutes late for my meeting. 

I survey the road. No vehicles appear anywhere within my line of sight, so I push the gas pedal a little harder. The car lurches forward as if it has never exceeded the speed limit by more than five miles per hour. I leave my foot where it is and wait. The car settles down, but I decide not to push my luck.

Thump. Thump. Thump. I tighten my grip on the wheel, prepared to fight what sounds like a flat tire. The wheel stays steady, as does the thumping. I push the hazard button and edge toward the shoulder of the road. Gravel spins up from the tires as I come to a stop so close to a field of corn that I can smell the sweetness of a few ripe ears. I ignore the grumbling in my stomach and step out of the car. I circle it, kicking the tires, confused as my foot bounces back from four firm surfaces.

“Well, that’s weird.” I mutter as I place my hands on my hips and survey the rear tires critically.

As I mull over this peculiarity, the thumping begins anew. Something or someone bangs against the trunk of the car—from the inside. I step closer.

“Is someone in there?”

The only response is more enthusiastic banging. I rub the key between my fingers and ponder my options. Finally, I lean forward and insert the key in the lock, releasing the catch. I open the trunk a crack and peer inside, expecting the trunk to fly out into my face at any moment. The banging continues, but without enough momentum to open the trunk. I lift it higher, letting in more light. Multiple pairs of oblong eyes gleam back at me in the sliver of sun. I open the trunk a little further and take a better look.

Long ears. Twitching noses. Protruding teeth. Bunnies?

I gently close the lid and lean against it. Who would fill the trunk of a rental car with bunnies? And then leave them there? And why? I shake away the questions and get back in the car. I’ll play amateur detective after my meeting—if I make it in time. I sigh and pull back out onto the road, risking the high speed lurch again.

Somehow, I pull into the conference center with a few minutes to spare. I grab my purse and race into the building, scanning the map at the entrance. I find the right room. I answer questions by rote. My mind keeps wandering to the strange find in my trunk. If I don’t get the job, can I sue the rental company for fouling things up with their wrongly assigned rental car and its mystery cargo?

As I stalk across the parking lot, I pull my phone out and scroll through the recent numbers until I find the car rental agency. I stab the screen maliciously and wait for the call to connect. A chipper voice on the other end inquires how she can help me.

“I have a problem with my rental car.”

“What is the nature of your problem?”

“You gave me the wrong car and the trunk is full of bunnies.”

“Excuse me?”

“The trunk of my rental car is full of bunnies.”

Silence answers me from the other end of the line.

“I expect some sort of compensation when I return the car.”

“We check all of our cars. If the trunk is full of bunnies, you put them there.”

As I near the car, a faint aroma wafts out at me from the trunk. “I think their output will verify that they were in the car before I got the key.”

She resumes her chipper speech, after a moment of silence. “I will alert the manager that you want to speak to him. When can we expect you?”

“An hour if all goes well.” I glance at my watch.

“We look forward to helping you. Drive safe.” She hangs up before I can say more.

As I pull into the rental lot, I decide to park right outside. Pulling up to the entrance, I see two men arguing just inside the double glass doors. One wears a suit and tie while the other seems ready for a gala, decked out in a tux with long tails and a black bowtie. Their attention turns my way as the car jerks to a halt. The man in the tux waves his arms excitedly toward the car as he barrels through the door. The other follows in his wake. I open my door.

“There must have been a computer error, Mr. Magnifique, but the car is here safe and sound.”

“If one of my little darlings is hurt…” The man’s tirade dissolves into a mix of French and English too confusing to follow as he races to the back of the car and begins cooing at the trunk. After a moment, he turns to me. “Le clé.”

“Um.” I say, glancing between him and the man in the suit.

“The key. The key.” The man shouts as he takes a few steps toward me.

I put the other man between us. 

“Sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. I am Mr. Hiker, the manager of this branch of Reliable Rentals.” He holds out his hand as if to shake mine.

I shove my hand further into my pocket. He frowns and turns his attention to his other irate customer.

“Please be patient, sir. You shouldn’t have left anything, particularly live animals in the car when you returned it. Even if you planned to rent the same car the next day.”

“I could not take them with me. I reserved the car.” The man blustered.

“But that only meant it would be available the next day. Not that it would not be used again before then.” He held up his hand to stop further protests and turned to me. “Maureen is prepared to provide you with a full refund and a voucher for a free day rental if you will just give me the key and go inside.”

I start to pull the key from my pocket and pause. “If I give you the key…”

He raises his hand to me this time. “I promise you will receive the full refund and the voucher. Then I can resolve Mr. Magnifique’s concerns.”

As the thumping began again, I pull the key from my pocket and hand it to Mr. Hiker. 

Break My Heart (FICTION)

Break My Heart

“We need one more song. One with a hook.” Janice whined as she looked through the stack of lyrics again.

“They all have hooks.” Lydia raised a drumstick defensively.

“Not the right size hook for the fish we want to buy our album.” Janice rejoined.

“I think that…” I started but Artie’s ringtone broke my focus.

Janice rolled her eyes. “Go ahead. Answer the call of your one true love.” She grabbed her guitar and headed toward the door with a beckoning gesture to Lydia.

Lydia pointed her drumstick at me encouragingly and reluctantly followed. As they closed the door behind them, I could hear Janice strumming her guitar to a rhythm Lydia banged out on the doorframe. I swiped the screen and raised my phone to my ear.

“Hey, Artie.” I felt my stance change, relaxing. My hand strayed to my hair, twirling it slowly as his voice filled my ear.

“Kim, I need to see you.”

“I want to see you, too.”

“Good. Buck’s coffee shop? In a half hour?”

“Well, that’s soon…” My heart skipped a beat to know he couldn’t wait to see me. 

“I know you and the girls are practicing, but…” He failed to find a reason, so he switched gears and begged. “Please, Kim.”

“Alright. See you in a half hour.” I agreed.

We rushed our goodbyes and hung up. I glanced in the distorted mirror leaning against one wall. I adjusted my shirt and wondered if a half hour was enough time to freshen up. With travel time, I’d end up late, and I never wanted to make Artie wait.

“Is Artie on fire?”

“Are you going to blow him out?”

I ignored my friends’ jibes as I hurried to my car, but called over my shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully, with big news.”

I waved off their hoots of encouragement as if they didn’t matter, but their reassurance warmed me as I turned on the car and headed into town. I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes early. Peeking through the large glass window, I saw Artie seated at a table in the back. As I raised my hand to wave a cheerful hello, I realized he already had a companion. My eyebrows furrowed.

Long blond hair swung back from narrow shoulders as she tossed her head and laughed. Artie leaned in to whisper in her ear, caressing her cheek with his lips as he pulled away. The warmth in my heart faded, leaving an intense cold before giving way to  fires of rage.

Without conscious thought, heavy footfalls carried me to the door. I pulled the door open and released a volley of words before I realized I had decided what to say. “Artie, how could you?”

“Kim, I was going to explain…”

“So you brought my replacement to help?”

“It’s not like that…”

“I don’t care how it is. How dare you…”

He tried to explain, but the rage burning through me plugged my ears. I shook my head and turned away. As I crossed the threshold of the coffee shop, I turned toward my car and quickened my pace. Hoping he wasn’t following me, I balled my hands into fists and raced to my car. Hopping behind the wheel, I checked for anything in my path and pulled out of the space.

As I drove, a song hummed through my mind. By the time I reached my house, lyrics began to take form. I fumbled in my console for a pen and a takeout menu with some blank space around the edges. I scrawled words as they entered my head.

“Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

With just one kiss from your lips

I lost all control. My mind slips

When your eyes fall on me,

But I’m not the only one you see.

Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

I love you still. You loved for a moment.

All the words of love you sent

Melted into a cloud I cannot reach

This is the heartache only love can teach.

Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

You sing my words of love to someone new

And I find myself lost to all I once knew,

So sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.”

I know I should be posting a mushy love story for this week, but this might be more of interest to those celebrating Singles' Awareness Day.

Out of House and Home [FICTION]

Jacqueline and Gill stroll through the forest, enjoying the cool shade of the leafy canopy. They jump occasionally at the soft sounds of creatures in the underbrush. The birds in the treetops sing soothingly to calm them again. 

“I love being able to be outside without sweating my skin off.” Jacqueline releases her dark hair from a ponytail.

“Who knew I’d love trees so much?” Gill asks with a glance at her high-heeled boots.

“Even a trendy, city girl can be a treehugger.” 

“Given the right trees.”

They laugh and settle into peaceful silence, calmed by the sound of their shoes breaking twigs and shuffling through old leaves. Eventually, Gill’s pace slows. She finally pauses to lean against a tree, unzip her boots, and rub her feet.

“This city girl will have to buy some country shoes before our next walk.”

Jacqueline glances at her watch. “We have been walking for over an hour. We should head home.”

Gill nods agreement. “I have never been this far into the woods before.” She bites her lip.

Jacqueline glances up and down the deer path. “Head back the way we came?”

“That seems like the wisest choice.”

Jacqueline offers Gill her arm. Her weary friend takes it gratefully. As they head back along their previous path, they chat softly. Their conversation comes to a halt. Their mouths drop open as they gaze at the obstruction before them.

“I think I should have drank more water. I’m hallucinating.” Gill whispers.

“If you see a Christmas tradition large enough to move into, I think we are sharing one.”

They look at each other then back at the house rising before them. White ribbons accented by colorful gumdrops break up dark gingerbread walls. Chocolate beams form a sturdy door. An immense globe of spun sugar makes a doorknob too sweet to turn without a taste.

“It can’t really be…” Gill begins as they step closer for a better look.

“Of course not…” Jacqueline pauses and sniffs the air. “Or can it?”

Ginger, cinnamon, and a billon traces of sweetness mingle in the air. The closer they step to the house, the more their minds swirl. All thoughts filter from their brains except sweet, sweet deliciousness. Soon they their lips are close enough to kiss the door frame. As spiced, delicate cookie fills their mouths, their eyes close. They remain closed as the door swings inward and a wizened old woman steps out. She cackles softly.

Gill’s eyes open slightly. She eyes the woman suspiciously until she takes another bite. As the cookie caresses her tongue, she forgets about the strange woman. Jacqueline doesn’t react at all, too lost in flavors to give attention to any of her other senses. 

The old woman reaches into the oversized pockets of her black apron, producing a warm gingerbread woman in each hand. She dangles these in front of the girls. They stop gnawing on the windowsill. Their noses twitch as they hone in on the freshly-baked sweet treats. Their eyes remain closed as they follow the old woman into the house. 

~~~

What happens next? Help decide.

1. The girls escape.
2. The girls become a savory meal for the owner of the sweet house.

Contrasting Cousins [FICTION]

Two brown mice sit down to dinner. Tied together by a great grandfather neither of them knew, they decided to meet and see what genetic inheritance he left them. What similarities did they share? How different could they be?

“Well, Buford, I’m glad you were able to dine with me.” The city mouse straightened his black and blue striped tie.

“Yeah, Willy. Thanks for invitin’ me.” The country mouse unbuttoned the top button of his flannel shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s much better.”

“William.” City mouse corrected with a frown as the maitre d’ approached with two menus and a speculative smile. He offered one more sideways look as he seated them and gestured for their waiter.

Awkward conversation finally commenced after the waiter took their order and disappeared. William cleared his throat and reached for his wine glass, sipping slowly to allow the flavors to infuse his tongue. Buford pushed his wine away and reached for water instead, taking a sip and savoring it in imitation of his cousin’s wine-tasting.

“This city water doesn’t taste right.” He placed the glass on the table.

“That’s why I drink the wine.” William smiled.

“I don’t touch the stuff. Need to be sharp to tend to a farm.”

“I’m sure.”

“What is it you do again?”

“I’m an investor for…”

Buford yawned loudly. “Yer sure we’re related?”

“The genealogist is.” William said sullenly.

“We have ta have somethin’ in common.” Buford grabbed a bread stick and broke it in half, eating each half from the middle to the end.

William picked up a breadstick and repeated the same procedure, mulling it over. “We eat breadsticks the same way.”

“Do ya like catsup on your eggs?”

“Ketchup.” William corrected. “And only if they’re scrambled.”

“My dad ate them that way.” They said in unison.

“Maybe, we are related.” William said, leaning back in his chair.

“And being different ain’t so bad.” Buford worked his way through another breadstick.

“I could always help you if you have investment questions…”

“…and I could introduce you to real food.” Buford eyed William’s plate of escargot suspiciously as he dug into his medium rare steak.

William shook his head. “This is real food.”

“Maybe to city folk. In the country, that’s a pest.”

“In honor of our shared ancestor, I’ll agree to peacefully disagree.”

“As long as you’re payin’, I can do that, too.” Buford agreed.

William tilted his head to indicate assent. They ate quietly, enjoying quiet companionship as they observed other shared quirks. They held their forks between the same fingers and paused to take a sip after every couple of bites. They tapped their fingers nervously on the table during lulls in the conversation. By the end of the evening, they decided they should meet up again and see what else they could discover.

Don't be shy. Feel free to leave some input, impressions, or encouragement.

Person One or Two? [FICTION]

Riding the bus filled me with fear, but I boarded the late night bus to the next town over. I hoped it would be worth it if I caught my best friend before her flight to Paris. Despite the late hour, only one seat remained open. The man in the adjoining seat winked as I sat down. He proffered a drink in a faded red Thermos. Had the coffee stain around the rim not deterred me, the aroma of fermented grain wafting from him would have. I shook my head and scooted to the far edge of my seat.

He smiled broadly and took a swig before initiating conversation in slurred syllables, “There are two kinds of people in this world.” He paused to wipe his nose with his already stained sleeve. “Those who live life and those who don’t.”

I raised my eyebrows but didn’t offer a response, hoping my silence would encourage his. He continued. “I can tell you don’t live life. Now me, I live life. That’s why I am on this bus. I am living my life—making every night and day an adventure.”

I leaned away and closed my eyes. He poked my arm. My eyes flew open to inspect crud under long, ragged fingernails as he withdrew his hand.

“People who live life don’t snooze on buses. They listen to the tales of their fellow passengers and are inspired or cautioned by them.” He nodded at this unquestionable wisdom. “Want to hear my tale of caution?”

“No.” I mumbled sullenly.

“Then you need to hear it more than I thought, son.” He leaned in, blowing enough potent fumes in my face to make me worry about my blood alcohol levels. “You need to start living life, so you don’t end up like me—an old sod on a bus, waiting for someone to sit next to them and listen to their laments.”

Something in his eyes, reminded me of my father. My heart softened. I still leaned away from him, but I waved my hand in reluctant surrender. “I’ve got time to listen. I guess.”

His smile returned. “When I was young, the booze hadn’t got me yet. I was well-groomed and didn’t have too much trouble with the ladies. Of course, my passion at the time was travel and a woman holds you back, you know?”

He paused to let me respond but hurried on when I only slightly inclined my head. As he regaled me with tales of women and opportunities that tried to convince him to stop living life, he reminded me less of my father. My attention strayed. I didn’t tune back in to his tirade until he tapped me lightly on the arm.

“Sorry, son, the time for talking is over. I have a life to live.”

“Huh?” I asked as he stumbled over my legs.

“Life calls!” He declared enthusiastically.

I shied away from the look in his eyes as he lurched to the front of the bus.

The driver noticed him in the mirror and quickly pulled over to the side of the road. “Right on schedule, Tommy.”

My traveling companion bounded down the stairs, calling out some string of gibberish that meant volumes more than I would ever understand. As his feet touched the gravel by the side of the road, he removed his coat. Snowflakes swirling down around him didn’t discourage him as he peeled off his shirt.

“Enjoy your night.” The bus driver called out as he closed the door and pulled away from the side of the road.

Through the back window of the bus, I could see Tommy dancing shirtless in the snow as he lived life. I shivered and resolved to live life more warmly than that even if it meant a stranger on the bus would judge me.

~~~

Hope you're enjoying the stories of 2018. Please feel free to leave love, encouragement, and feedback in the comments below.

Legless Doubts [FICTION]

Slithering through the soul, the creature’s slender body curves and twists from side to side. So small that it can slip in the smallest opening, the snake slithers into the darkest, most secret parts of its host. Hissing softly, it whispers. The mind fills with lies, insults, and doubts under the pressure of that soft voice. The spirit quivers and quakes as soft suggestions break through impenetrable barriers. Eventually, oft-repeated phrases and questions push aside reason.

“You’re not good enough.”

“Why do you even try?”

“You can’t do thisssss.”

“Do you think anyone caresssss?”

“You will fail.”

“Why don’t you give up?”

“You don’t dessssserve love.”

Having conquered the mind, the snake changes direction and heads south. Riding the river that flows to the center, it wraps itself around the warm, beating muscle it find there. The heart shudders with every exploratory squeeze, struggling to pump out enough blood with such constriction. Time passes. Heart and mind struggle to regain control. How long the battle lasts depends on when their owner chooses to seek help.

Sinking down to weary knees, a plea for help falls from ashen lips. As tears stream down a pale face, vision blurs. In the haze a winged creature swoops downward, disappearing before its talons touch the smooth skin of the sweat-soaked forehead.

“Who would help you?” A faint question echoes softly.

A feathery warmth spreads through until it finds its prey. A struggle ensues between wings and great worm. The winged creature bites and claws. Sharp talons find purchase in slick scales.

The snake’s hold loosens. Blood flows again from heart to hands to feet to head. Thoughts clear. The hissing doubts subside. Freedom follows faith. Freedom becomes true.

Any Other Friday Night [FICTION]

“Sarah! Mary!” Nothing beats the rush of hearing your name called when you enter your favorite piano bar after a long week of drudgery.

I can’t play a single note on the piano, so the image of me in a piano makes my friends laugh. Mary tried to teach me about middle C once and I made a joke that she forbid me to make again. I enjoy singing and luckily my voice is good enough for the often inebriated denizens of Puck’s Pub. After a rough Friday at the office, we put on slinky black dresses and headed down to the pub, anticipating the lift from our traditional greeting.

“Ready?” Mary asked, rearranging a wayward strand of my hair.

“Almost.” In turn, I wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her lip.

“Now?” She asked anxiously.

I nodded. We opened the door and stepped inside. We paused and waited. A few people glanced our way disinterestedly.

“That’s odd.” I muttered, let down by the absence of greeting.

“Yeah. What’s the joke?” Mary asked.

“Let’s see if we can find out.”

Mary directed her steps toward the piano while I made my way to the bar. 

“I’ll take a water, Joe.” I gushed as I leaned on the bar.

“My name’s Ralph, ma’am.” He replied gruffly, filling a glass from the tap and pushing it toward me.

“I know…” I paused.

Ralph’s reaction floored me. We’d played this same scene over and over with smiles on both sides every night. Suddenly, he didn’t want to joke anymore?

“Then don’t call me, Joe.” This time he didn’t add ma’am, which offered me a semblance of comfort.

“Arnold won’t let me play the piano.” Mary hissed in my ear.

I looked toward the piano. The short, bald man with his fingers on the keys eyed us suspiciously. His gaze morphed to annoyance as he saw our eyes resting on him.

“Really?”

“You can’t see the look he is giving us?”

I frowned. “Ralph acted like our standing joke was just me being stupid.”

“He refused to answer to Joe?”

He looked up as if he had heard the question or noticed our attention turn to him. His gaze lingered on me questioningly before turning to another regular. He leaned in to speak to the woman, who looked back at me with an equally quizical glance.

“She asked you to sing three songs last Friday and now we’re strangers?” Mary asked.

“What’s going on?”

Mary shrugged. “I think my urge to entertain has left the building.”

“Shall we join it?” I offered her my elbow. “Unless you want to take a try at amateur detective work?”

“We could do that…” She started toward the bar.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I called after her.

“What gives, Ralph? Why is everyone acting like we’re strangers?” She asked as he came over to take her order.

He looked up startled. “Sorry, ma’am?”

“Ma’am? Since when do you call me ma’am?”

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Mary.” She turned to me exasperated. “Are we crazy?”

“I think it is everyone else.” I muttered.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” Heavy hands clamped down on our shoulders, directing us to the door.

“What’s going on, Bruce?” I asked the bouncer as he continued to force us from the pub.

“I’ll tell you next Friday.” He whispered and then raised his gruff voice. “You’re causing trouble. You have to go.”

Mary and I looked at each other, frowning but this was the closest to an answer that we had received. I tried to keep my lips from moving too much as I tried again. “Why can’t you tell us now?”

“Not enough time.” With that, he shoved us toward the door which swung open as another customer entered the pub.

As the door closed behind us, Mary grabbed my hand and squeezed it gently. “I guess we’ll find out next week.”

“Maybe.” I looked at the door, pondering whether I wanted to return in a week for a repeat performance.

Shall our story continue? It's up the you, dear readers. Do Mary and Sarah return to Puck's Pub and find out what was going on. Feel free to cast your vote in the comments below.