I hope everyone is having a spectacular weekend!
And I hope to try to write a short story before it is over…
Me trying to look very serious right now…
Tag: short stories
Do You Believe In Destiny Or Fate?
I went from not really thinking about it at all, to being cynical and jaded and thinking “Is this All There is?”, back to thinking yes, there is something behind it all after all. Currently, yes, I do believe in fate or destiny. I think things happen for a reason even if we don’t understand that reason, and there does seem to be a point to it all. There have been times where I thought I should be dead now, but something intervened, somehow it wasn’t my time.
If you had told me I would still be here in my mid forties to me in my twenties, I wouldn’t have believed you. I thought I would die young, not sure how, or why, but I just didn’t feel like I belonged in this world. I never felt like I fit into any particular mold. I had trouble relating to people or making close friendships. I had trust issues that have only gotten worse.
So, why would I believe in destiny or fate now? If you asked me a few months ago I probably would have told you I don’t. But, sometimes things, or dominoes fall a certain way and change your view or thought process. And, that happened to me in November. I can’t fully explain it, not without sounding insane, but I will say, much like the butterfly effect, little things lead to bigger things, and alter one’s life path. However much I try to choose or do down a different path, I am always brought back to a certain place. I do not know the future. But, I do know what I should be doing.
There is a reason I say I am a writer, and not a published author. I am not a published author, although I would like to be someday. The good thing about that is it is a pathway that isn’t limited by age or looks, but ideas. I have ideas, I just need to follow through and put them down. I do believe I have a destiny, and I do believe there is a point to all this. I don’t claim to know it, or understand it, but I know it is there. I know where my path is supposed to lead if I can get out of my own way.
Time to Write — The Big Bad Bird
The crunch of brittle bones underneath her feet reminded her of where she was. The cave entrance was clammy and dark. The beam from her flashlight only traveled so far, illuminating one part of the massive wall. She could hear little skittering noises of some unknown critter running away from her obvious human footsteps. Her assistant cowered behind her slightly. She could hear his breathing and hear his steps.
“Just a little further, Wally. I know we are getting close.”
“Why does it have to stink so bad?” She shook her head and chuckled. She knew he would rather be in cozy office building or even a lab building. Anyplace with heat and light and less scurrying noises.
“Don’t worry. The blonde girl in front of you will protect you from the big bad bird.”
“Oh, whatever.” She heard him say under his breath, annoyed. He was such a child.
“Are you getting any of this? We should try to record as much as possible. Who knows when we will be allowed back.”
“The lighting is less than ideal, but I am trying.”
They ventured further in and the space got tighter. Hopefully there would be some eggshells or feather samples. A loud squawk could be heard outside suddenly. She stopped and waited. “Did you hear that, Wally?”
“Yeah. I don’t like it.”
She went against the wall slowly, motioning him to follow. She placed her fingers to her mouth in a quiet gesture. Wally followed her against the wall. She turned the flashlight off. He gasped, and she could feel his eyes on her. They held still and heard loud scratching and squawking as the bird creature entered the cave.
It seemed large, from the talon scratching although they had no light to see it. She gripped Wally’s hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Luckily, most birds don’t have a keen sense of smell. Although, vultures can smell decay. This creature was unknown. It was hard to say what its skills were. She made a silent prayer to God, even though it had been a while. It was an instinct to reach out to something somewhere.
She heard it scrape by its talons and heard it scrape the ground with its beak like a large chicken. Wally’s foot slipped slightly and skidded a rock which made a not so subtle noise. She heard the bird stop, and come back around slowly.
She tried to regulate her breathing to be quiet, but it was getting more difficult by the minute. It approached their wall slowly, she could hear the click clack of its talons. Her legs began to go numb from being in the same position and suddenly she dropped the flashlight.
She heard Wally scream and heard him go down. In a panic she found herself running to the cave entrance, and then felt a searing pain in her ankle, and she crashed into the bones. Then it was upon her, and she could feel the pain from the gouges until her mind completely shut down and spared her the additional pain.
The Crash
She listened to the waves crash along the beach, powerful water grabbing and releasing material into and out of the ocean in equal measure. The skies were dark, cloudy and the wind was brutal. She got up slowly, turning around to see the cliffs begin to crumble, boulders bounding down onto the beach from the imposing cliffside. The uneven rocks kept her feet on edge while the ground shook and broke apart underneath her. She hunkered down by a picnic table, looking for protection from the angry nature goddess throwing all the elements at her.
Her car had broken down on arrival, and she wasn’t mechanically inclined, and had no idea what was wrong with it. Her phone was nearly dead, and she had no bars in this remote place.
She knew she should have taken the car in; she should have brought a friend or maybe her brother, just anyone, so she wouldn’t have to be here all alone, which was the most frightening thing about all this. Being alone and unable to reach anyone or anything, trapped in loneliness, trapped in helplessness.
Trapped by her own pride in not being able to ask for help. Why couldn’t she just reach out, once, at least. Look up the weather, look up how a car or even how a phone works. The rain started to come down freezing cold at an angle, chilling her to the bone. She could see a house on top of the cliff. A remote mansion, in that new modern style, suggesting solar panels, and smart features, the kind of house you might see in a movie.
Anything would be better than staying out here in this mess, she thought, trying to find how to get up there. Is there a pathway, or a road? She saw a path, a foot path, that may lead in that direction.
She walked steadily embracing her coat fiercely to keep warm toward the path.
Musings and Plans
I decided to look at some famous writers who happened to have been born in November. There were some good ones, Madeline L’engle was tempting, but I think I covered her a long time ago. Mark Twain’s birthday is coming up too. I happen to be a descendant of his younger half sister from his Dad’s second marriage. There are no direct descendants because all his daughters died without having children. So, I guess I’m as close as one gets? Consolation prize?
But, I am just not feeling it. There are a lot of influential sci fi writers from the classical era that I could cover as well, Spider Robinson, Gordon R Dickson. But I am just not feeling like doing the research on these guys. I know of them, but I would need to read up on them more to do them justice. And, I just had a long workout at the gym. Feel like maybe I overdid it. Probably going to be feeling it tomorrow.
I am sapped energy wise. Probably should have written beforehand. Oh well, guess that is a lesson learned. I appreciate people reading this blog and plan on doing more fiction soon. I am also thinking about compiling my short fiction into a collection. I have to polish them up first, and then decide how to go about that.
I may attempt something drastic with the novel. I may cut the beginning until I find it interesting, switch the main protagonist to the character that I find the most interesting. It will change the tone and feel quite a bit. But it isn’t like I don’t have a hard copy of the original if I hate it.
I could try to plot out a new novel. I have some ideas. I just am trying to get the wheels turning and feel like I need some WD 40 to get it working. Thanks for being here and there. Your support means the world to me and I take nothing for granted. Thank you. JennRae.
Time to Write — Belief
She slowly shut the car door, defeated from a long dull day at work. Her feet took heavy steps toward the small brick house with the tidy yard. Her eyes looked up and saw the door wide open. She ran up the steps and peered inside. It sounded quiet but also looked emptier than she remembered. The tv was gone, the couches, the computer, even the fan and the kitchen table.
She was left with an empty house. She fell down and cried in despair. Why me? Why now? This wasn’t fair. She didn’t have a lot that she cared about. She went about each room in the house mentally cataloging what was missing. There were clothes left strewn about the floor along with papers from the desk drawer. The antique box given to her by her deceased grandma, gone. She reached into her coat pocket to call the police to report the theft, speaking calmly, drained of emotion or energy.
“I need to report a robbery. I’ll make a list. No, I don’t think anyone else is here. ” The police were on the way. She sat down on the bedroom floor dumbfounded. How was she going to explain this to Eric when he got home from high school? How would she replace all this stuff? She remembers thinking renter’s insurance was a waste of money. She rocked herself anxiously on the floor, wrapping herself in her coat like a cocoon. It was going to be all right. It’s just stuff. It will be fine. They will find the stuff, catch the person. At least no one was hurt.
The police took her statement, and she made a list of missing items, thinking about her son who would be home soon. They left and she waited. She knew she should eat something, or do something, call somebody. But she was paralyzed. She sat there. The sky darkened and her son still wasn’t home. She reluctantly got up. Picked up her phone again to give him a call. The phone went straight to voice mail. It was off then. Where was he? She called her mom hoping she had heard from him, no such luck. “Can I come over? This place is empty and depressing, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Of course, honey.” Her mom said with concern. She walked out of the house locking the door behind her out of habit. Her phone rings suddenly startling her. She answers reluctantly. It is the police. She can’t have any more bad news today.
“We have your son and two of his friends here. They admitted to the burglary and breaking into the house. “
“I don’t believe you.”
But she knew it was true. It explained everything. She just didn’t want to believe it.
Time To Write… Vacant
Looking around the room would leave most with the impression that no one lived here. It would be a kindness to call it a sterile environment. Furnishings were sparse and bare, one drab grey colored rug in the center of the floor, a solitary wooden chair sitting in the corner. An ancient television on a plain wooden stand against a wall and one of those tall lamps with a nondescript beige shade and a brass strand you pull to turn it on.
There were a couple small windows letting in a sliver of light. Off white curtains were hung up on both blocking most of the light, with a hint of a cobweb in the corner of one.
The place was too quiet. It was eerie. You expected poltergeists or something, maybe bats or mice, or something to crawl out of somewhere. Slam a door, or wind to gust creepily in from an open window. Instead, everything was silent.
The report stated that a small pale face was seen peeking out one of the windows. In a place that had been vacant for years. It was assumed the child was a runaway, or a homeless waif, or perhaps was a scared lonely little soul that had been lost or was abducted. But, there was no trace of anyone. Dust covered the floors and corners, and the fridge was empty, except some mold from something long ago. There was no bed, or table.
The county records show the property had been foreclosed on, and it was repossessed by the bank and had been listed for sale for quite some time. There were water stains on the ceiling, and some water damage behind the toilet. Otherwise, there wasn’t much that was in disrepair. It was just empty.
There were no crumbs, or fingerprints in the dust. Perhaps the person thought they saw someone when they didn’t? Perhaps, I hated to say it, as I waved the flashlight around the small room, it was a ghost?
A preposterous idea. I almost wanted a sound, any sign of life. Something, anything. We waited a few minutes more, before we took another walk around the property. The yard was overgrown. It looked like an old swing set was somewhere in there, but the black berry bushes had grown to the point where most of it was hidden. A child lived here once, but it did not look like it was recent.
“What do you think, Andre? Is it possible to have multiple sightings of someone that was never here, or is it more likely we have a small person who leaves no trace behind them? Maybe the witnesses are
in on some weird prank. If so, I do not think it is funny.”
“No one is that bored. Why waste our time? Besides, I would hope they would do something at least a little bit funny. This? A waste of time, and boring as hell.”
“Well, I guess we should examine the yard. There could be someone hiding in this mess, and we probably wouldn’t know it. It seems the bank gave up on selling this place.”
“I think they have it listed as land. I think the house is pretty much toast, but then I am no realtor. So, who knows.”
We both scanned the tall grass with our flashlights, listening for something small and scared. It was getting darker, and if there were a child out here it would be getting awfully cold soon, with no heat in the house, or blankets. And, who knows what out here.
Coyotes for sure, and maybe something much worse, I thought to myself, part of me hoping to find something or someone just to have the day have some kind of achievement. A meaning, we were doing this for a reason and not wasting our time or resources.
Someone’s child may be out here, alone. Starving, freezing. scared. I was that child once. I remembered it all too well. Parts of it, anyway. Some parts, I sealed off from myself. Some families do more harm than good. That was why I went into this business after all. I wanted to help children who were in horrible situations. Like I wished someone had done for me.
Timed Write — First Thing that Comes to Mind
She walked down the street quietly, hands embedded into the pockets of an overly large beige rain coat. A piece of garbage blew past dancing along the street to some silent tune while the occasional rain puddle stood showing the sky in its natural mirror.
She sighed. Perhaps she just wanted to hear more than the occasional dripping of droplets from rooftops trying to hurry to the ground in their own wet way.
Sometimes she liked to hear her own voice, it almost sounded like it was coming from some other person. Her voice wasn’t how she imagined it would sound like in her head. It was higher, tinnier, distant. Like an echo of what she assumed was her voice.
She was young, wearing a maroon scarf and a small black hat askew. She had her own fashion sense, it was a bit nonsensical. Part retro part comfort, part a little bit detective movie, and a little bit couch potato. She wasn’t sure who she was yet, or who she would become and the impression she gave was of a whimsical and confused teen who wasn’t sure she liked herself all that much.
She knew she liked the rain. It was soothing when it hit her hat and her coat, it made a satisfying plop sound. It made its own music, a rhythmic percussion of sounds that set a tempo for action or just a lengthy walk.
She loved to walk. But, for some unknown reason, when the rain stopped something about the world seemed dark and gloomy. The music slowed down, and everything just sat wet and bland. Everything was just there, remaining around concrete and water.
The clouds were still overhead promising a return of rain in the near future. But in the meantime she was left walking down a largely deserted street wondering if the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse would resemble this.
Everything and everyone needs water, and rain is the form it often comes from. Rain was life, just like sunlight was. A plant would die without water just like it would without light. The air smelled different after a good rain.
The humidity messed with her hair more than her hat did, and she would stop to readjust a strand that somehow got into her face. It was a constant battle between her hat and her hair and her glasses. There was never a real victor, much like the rain or the sun, hair always came back.
Occasionally she would yank a particular strand out and examine the root of it, before tossing it. It would grow back. She guessed that was okay, after all, she didn’t want to be bald. Then again, since she liked to wear hats, perhaps that didn’t matter very much to her. Hair was kind of a symbol of vitality or health though.
People looked at a girl funny without hair. Everyone would probably make insane assumptions like cancer, or some terminal illness if she lost all her hair. Perhaps it is better to have it, so she can blend into the surroundings better. She didn’t want to attract too much attention. she didn’t want any more stares than she occasionally got for the hats she would wear.
A little attention was nice, a lot of attention was scary. She didn’t want stares, a glance was okay, but a stare would be altogether different. She wanted to be different, but not necessarily a freak.
It was a delicate balance that she might not ever perfect. But she was learning how to be herself and sometimes mistakes would be made.
The Problem —A Character Study
The nightmare was about over when she laid the test face down at the front of the room, shuffling out the door shouldering a book bag that was lighter than it should have been. She knew she was failing geometry. Math was not her specialty. She cared less about school every year, as she felt her soul slipping away slowly, painfully, drifting away from its purpose.
Nothing seemed real, or important. She would watch the news at night talking about possible nuclear war, and people starving in some country across the world with the deep cynicism of one far removed from it all. She imagined the bomb going off and not having to explain to her parents her failure in geometry. It almost would be a relief, if only it was painless, and quick.
A post nuclear world seemed strangely interesting and a world that she would want to explore in a video game, or a comic book, or even a movie. In reality, perhaps not. I’m sure a resident of Nagasaki during World War II would probably love to switch with her and have a failing grade instead of all the radiation and cancer and sudden death.
What was it a friend of hers always said? First World Problems. Yeah, it makes everyone who complains about slow internet, or waiting in line to buy new shoes feel like a jerk. Some big eyed waif in some third world country someplace was doing hard labor without shoes, and here she was in ‘Ross Dress For Less’ cursing at a long wait while she buys a pair of zebra striped patent leather heels.
First world problems, indeed. Meanwhile, she would go to school, go to bed, and wake up to go to school while both her parents worked during the day and were tired in the evening. She had a younger brother that had some special issues that seemed to take their time, and she felt like an afterthought. Someone that was background noise. Until she screwed up, but that wasn’t the kind of attention she wanted. She would rather be background noise.
She had saved up for those zebra striped heels from babysitting a cousin who was in that age bracket where they are too old to be a baby but too young for real school.
It was hard work because the little guy had a ton of energy and could completely destroy a room in a matter of minutes. Plus, he put everything in his mouth, so she had to watch him carefully. Balancing that with school work and studying was hard.
School used to be easy for her, but this year she felt suddenly stupid. She couldn’t concentrate and found herself slipping from the room while the teacher’s voice became a constant drone like a hive of bees. She felt so incredibly tired.
Finally, her teacher cornered her the next day as she was attempting to sneak out. “Natalie, wait a moment will you? I want to speak to you.” She gulped and sat at the nearest desk watching the others file out the door, some looking at her blankly, most not even looking at her. She had become invisible to most.
“Okay, come here my dear, just sit down.” Mrs. Grimble got up and shut the door after the last student had left, leaving the room to just Natalie and herself. “Okay, you need to tell me what is going on with you. I see you struggling. Coming in late, not turning in homework. I can see it in your face. Is everything all right at home?”
“This is about the test, isn’t it?” She said tiredly.
Mrs. Grimble looked her in the eye, and pulled out her test from a drawer, handing it out to her.
“I think it is more than that. I looked at your records from last year, and I can see a drastic difference in your work. I hope you know I want what is best for you, and I hope you feel you can trust me. I just want to help you.”
Natalie looked down at the desk, and then eyed the wall clock ticking away. “I think I will be late for my next class, Mrs. Grimble.”
“I talked to your other teachers. We do compare notes on occasion. And, it is the same story. There is something going on. We can see it. You just aren’t really present in class. Would you like to speak with the counselor? Would that be helpful?”
“I do not know what’s wrong. I guess I feel like I have to be perfect all the time. And, no one likes me. I feel stupid this year. I just can’t think. I am just so tired. I just want to sleep and not wake up.”
Mrs. Grimble looked horrified, and concerned all at once. Natalie wanted to shove her desk over and scatter all the pens and pencils onto the floor. She suddenly felt anger toward her for all the fake sympathy, the pity.
She didn’t want sympathy, or pity. She was all alone, and everyone seemed false and fake. She didn’t trust Mrs. Grimble. She didn’t trust anyone. She did have a secret, but she wouldn’t share it here, not with anyone at the school.
“I think dear, that we should schedule you with an appointment, to see Mrs. Fenton. It can’t hurt, right?”
“You want me to reassure you, Mrs. Grimble? Or is this your way of asking my permission?” Mrs. Grimble was jotting something down on a pink slip and she slid it across the desk toward Natalie.
“Are you going to tell my parents? I don’t want them to be bothered with this.”
“Don’t you think they should know that something is bothering you?”
Natalie looked at the slip in front of her, not reaching out to take it.
“It would just make them worry about me. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want them to fret or worry about me. They have their hands full dealing with Brian.”
“How is your brother doing, Natalie?”
“As good as can be expected for someone who is slowly dying. He takes all their time when they aren’t working, and they worry over him, and sometimes they get hopeful. Then other times things are bleak. I am tired of the roller coaster at this point. I just wish a miracle would happen, or it would be over. Sometimes I hate him. Isn’t that terrible? I am a horrible person aren’t I?”
“No, dear. You have a lot on your shoulders right now. Maybe you should just take a leave from school. It would be hard to catch up, but I can talk to the principle and the counselor, and we can explain the situation…”
“No, I don’t want to take a leave. I just want things to be easy again. I don’t want to be stuck in the house watching my brother all the time. Watching him slowly get worse. Just watching. I’d rather be bored out of my mind here.”
“Natalie, you want to graduate with your class, right?”
She said nothing. Mrs. Grimble pushed the paper a little closer to Natalie. “Take it. Go to Mrs. Fenton. It can’t hurt.”
Natalie reluctantly took it, and lifted her bag and didn’t say another word. Mrs. Grimble watched her leave and began composing an email on her computer.
The Secret
“What is life? Why are we here? I mean, what’s it all for anyhow?” The curious red head asked her Uncle in all seriousness, her eyes squinting to avoid the glare of the campfire as the flames toyed with each other in a never ending battle for supremacy. He laughed a deep, carefree laugh. She asked so many questions that he shook his head after awhile. She was a born inquisitor, and was tireless in her examinations. She wouldn’t quit, even after the rest of the children grew tired and went to sleep in their tents.
“Life,” began her Uncle choosing his words slowly, “is complicated. It can’t really be summed up in one word, nor can I explain it in a one night. It is one of those things that we do year after year. We search for the why’s and the what for’s. It wouldn’t be any fun if we started with all the answers, would it?”
She looked solemn a moment, her face puzzled, the words settling into the niches of her young brain. “Well, what if I want all the answers?” Her Uncle shook his head again, and chuckled. “Well, one of the first things you’ve got to learn, and this is a big secret. In fact, come closer.” He motioned with his hand gently for her to crane her head as near to him as she could conspiratorially.
“The secret?” She whispered hopefully when she deemed she was close enough. The fire warmed them both, and the crackling of the wood was soothing in its own way.
“Awh, yes, the secret. First, you must promise me something, then I will share the secret with you.” The red head gave a frown, unsure of the new conditions of this secret.
“All right, I promise.”
“Well, then. You promise? You promise this will be the last question tonight? Your Uncle is getting tired, and must get some sleep, too.”
She frowned, she didn’t like this promise, but since she had all ready agreed, she could do nothing but nod. “The secret is…,” he began again, watching her face light up in anticipation, “No one has all the answers, and the world doesn’t give you what you want, but dishes out what it has.”
“That can’t be the secret!” she shouted. Her Uncle laughed again.
“See? Not everything is as you would want it. Better to discover this now, then later. And, since you promised, you must go to bed. And, I can get some sleep.”
“But I didn’t promise to go to bed!” She cried, horrified at the thought.
“Well, I am tired, and I can’t stay up to watch you, so you must sleep like the others. Your mother is all ready asleep. It is only fair that I get to sleep too.”
She grudgingly agreed, and walked slowly to her tent with her little face turned toward the ground in disappointment. Her Uncle watched her in silence, as the fire started to die down. He absently added one more log, thinking. Who would be there to answer his questions when the time came? He got up stiffly, and made his way to his tent, contemplating life and its meaning.
The Infamous Jennisfora Strikes Again...or something like that 