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.

The Write Start to 2018

So my number ONE resolution for this year is to give my writer more freedom. She has been languishing so long that I might need to give her a solid kick in the direction of putting words to page, so feel free to drop encouragement.

Resolution number TWO is to make headway in the battle with my desire to create in other forms. From cards to jewelry to journals to quilts to stuffed creatures, I like to craft from paper and cloth until I have something new. If you are interested in purchasing one of my creations, please let me know. For instance, I created this choker necklace:

I should have more than two resolutions, but I feel like those two goals need the most attention in 2018. What goals do you have?

UPDATE: I found resolution number THREE. It was actually gently suggested to me by a beautiful and sweet friend. What is it? I need to work on being a better, mire-loving person (in the words of my friend, I need to look for ways to follow the example of Christ in my daily life). Hopefully, many people add a similar resolution to their list. I've heard far too much news of people destroying each other's lives instead of lifting each other up. We need to lift each other up. We need each other more than we know...