Tag Archives: short story

Lillian

Lillian maintained her sanity by reading and writing.  Granted reading the same shelf of books over and over again had gotten old a long time ago…so now she was reading them backwards to shake things up a bit and keep her mind sharp.  What else can one do when there is no tv, no computer, no phone, no radio and no one else around?

So she reads and she writes and writes and writes.  At first she wasted paper but now she compresses everything and uses all available space.

She writes from corner to corner, across margins, front and back.  After all she doesn’t have an unlimited supply of paper and who knows when or if more will be provided.  So Lillian has started writing smaller and smaller until her handwriting is as neat as a font and barely legible without a magnifying glass.  But no matter, who will ever read any of it anyway?

Yet she writes and in between her poetry, ramblings and stories she makes sure to write to him every day.  Maybe just maybe he will read them one day and know that she loved him, always.

 

~Melanie Thomason

1/13/2020

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Ethan

Ethan was having a hard time holding his tongue.  He’d been holding it for about 20 years already and he knew if he started speaking his mind things would go to shit quickly.  He took an angry drag from his cigarette instead and slowly exhaled.  Rather than looking at his father as he continued his tirade, about how he was wasting his life and would never amount to anything, he focused on his reflection in the hallway mirror.  He was looking kind of haggard and could definitely use a shave.  He didn’t need to listen as he’d heard it all before and his art was not a waste of time no matter what the old man thought.

If he could just maintain his poise and deal with his thoughts alone he knew he could wait this out.  “Alone,” Ethan thought, “well that’s the rub isn’t it?  I’ve always been alone.” Growing up with no mother and a negligent father had made sure of that.  His father had never had time for him, never taken an interest really until now that he was softly knocking on death’s door.  Ethan knew that as an only child, he was set to inherit everything if he could just keep his damn mouth shut.

Not that he cared about the grand old house or the fancy cars… he would sell those off.  He just wanted the funds so that he could finally really search for her.  If he could only find her, he was sure she could untangle at least some of the lies he had been fed his entire life.  He had never met his Aunt Katrina but he was sure she could tell him the truth about his mother.  He had quietly been searching for her, with his limited resources, without his father finding out but so far there were no traces of her.  Ethan had to know what happened, it was imponderable to him that his mother had simply left him there and never looked back.

He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t even realize that his father had come to an end of his scintillating monologue and was impatiently awaiting a response until he heard, “Ethan!” “You worthless shit, I asked you a question, have you even been listening?”  Ethan looked at his father blankly and lit another cigarette.

~Melanie Thomason

01/13/2020

 

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a conversation

“Take the gun.  Better to have it and not need it…”

She shook her head no, as she sharpened her knife and slipped it back into her pocket.  “You know I detest violence, but a girl does have to defend herself.”

“Well, until something drastic happens in this world to change things, it is never safe out there.  Especially alone.  Especially at night. Especially if you are a woman.”

“Exactly right.  I’ll call you when I get there so you can stop worrying.”

“I’ll never stop worrying cause you, my love, were born a girl.”

~Melanie Thomason

7/5/19

 

 

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Exit…

A magical, beautiful short story by the fabulous Gigi!

Rethinking Life

Galaxy, Starry Sky, Trees, Away

She grew up, playing in the forest.  She knew all the animals, and often slept surrounded by rabbits, squirrels, and birds.  The forest was beautiful during the sunny days of spring and summer.  Cooler during blustery fall.  When cold winter stopped by, she curled up in tree trunks and pressed against larger animals to stay warm, sleeping on and off, until the days grew longer and warmer.  She trilled with birds and nukked, nukked to stags.  She was happy.  The stream was cold and clean, the berries abundant.  She ate what the animals did, only getting sick, every now and then.

She danced and climbed trees, until she grew much older and stayed longer on the ground, until she rarely slept in the branches, any longer.  She tended the wounded, and buried the dead.  She was one with nature.  She never saw another animal who looked the way she did. …

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Rock and the Leaf

I wanted to share a short story that I recently found while going through the belongings my best friend’s recently departed brother.   I found the story charming and thought that more than just I should read it…so I typed it up to share here.  My only edits are adding a bit of punctuation and a couple words [indicated in brackets] just for clarity and ease of reading.  I do hope you enjoy it!

 


Rock and the Leaf

Once there was a rock.  Not a big rock but a rock securely anchored with other rocks which were under water.  The water slewed around him and over them and made a quiet little eddy behind.  He made a nice, precise little place and the water just flowed around him.

He set there for a long time and the mosses and bugs that lived around began to trust him.  They began to grow and live around him.  Beautiful green moss nourished by the water flourished on his back.  He provided shelter for the bugs that lived in and around the water.  He sheltered them well through the dry hard times when the water ebbed and his brother rocks could see what he was doing then and he sheltered them when the creek raged.

Beautiful creatures began to live there; the wondrous water boatmen, pixie flies and quick water striders.  They all praised him for his strength and great power.  It was about this time that strangers came and began to marvel at the beautiful effect that came with all the wonderful creatures living around him.  Water burbled, birds sang, sunlight glinted off “his” water.  People came from all around to look at this beautiful sight.  Somebody set up a stone bench so that people could stop, rest, and gaze [at] this little scene.  It was so beautiful.

Then one day, on a warm sparkling autumn day, a leaf float[ing] by became enchanted by the quiet little cove created by the rock and his friends.  So she slipped.  “Hi,” she said in a throaty voice.  “Hi,” said the rock, pleased with the creek, the water, and everything.  He was doing a good job and he knew it.  “This is a nice place,” she said, “I like what you’ve done here.”  “Thank you,” said the rock, “I like how you swirl [and] your colors are so pretty.”  “Thank you,” said the leaf, “Do you mind if I rest here a bit? I’m a little tired.”  “By all means, please do,” said the rock, “That is why I’m here.” His chest swelled noticeably.  The leaf smiled and nestled right in.  The rock smiled benevolently upon [the] leaf.  He liked the way she lay against him. The edge of her stem tickled him.  The tips of her touched him in a way he’d never been touched before.  It was strange but nice, sort of like the wings of a butterfly.  She fell asleep.

The next day she awoke in the bright sunshine.  The rock said, “Hello, good morning.”  She said, “Hello, sleep well.”  “I don’t sleep,” said the rock, “I have to stand fast or else all creatures under my care are cast away.”  “Oh really?” she asked. “I never really worry about that, I just find another rock when I need to, or a log, or the side of a branch.  It’s really no trouble and quite simple.

They talked many hours.  He told her about the bugs and the people.  She told [him] about the many sights she had seen; the mosque on the hill, the beautiful cherries, cemeteries, [and] people’s homes.  She talked of many things.  He talked about the many storms he’d weathered.  [About how he had] almost been dislodged once and he’d hung on saving the delicate green mosses [and] the minnows their home.

So they lived for a while.  Her colors fascinated him; she had reds, greens, yellows all over and a streak of dark red that made him [think] of winter frost.

One night there was a storm and she wasn’t near him.  He couldn’t see in the dark.  He couldn’t feel her touch either.  He was afraid she’d gone, but she hadn’t.  In the morning he found her drifting near where the current was strong.  “Don’t leave,” he called.  She spun his way, all crinkly, and said, “Oh, but I must.  I don’t want to stay here.  You are very beautiful but there are other sights to see and things to do.”  “There are sights here, too” he said.  “It’s too quiet here,” she said laughing gaily.  “The quiet is where the deepest wonder is,” he said miserably.

She floated off.  He watched her drift off.  “I don’t care if you leave,” he muttered, “…I don’t…”  She didn’t hear.

He didn’t miss her until the next night, when the tendril of touch that she used to hold on with was gone.  Night followed day and then night.  “Leaf-la,” he thought, “where have you gone?”  As the water moved around him it began to eat away under his moorings.  His grip became looser and still the water wore on.  His brothers called to him in dismay, but he paid no heed.  He kept looking downstream.  “I wish I were a leaf,” he thought despairingly.  “Leaf-la where are you?” he said.

The water wore on.  Pieces of moss began to float away.  The bugs began going someplace else to eat and raise their young.  The minnows left.  People stopped coming to sit and watch the rock and his minions.  The water had a plain raucous sound.  “Rock what’s going on?” asked his brother rocks.  He would not reply.

That night a roaring rushing came down the creek.  Rock didn’t care.  “Leaf-la,” he thought [as] the water lifted him, “Leaf-la, I’m coming.”  Down the creek he went with other nomadic rocks.  Stumbling and splashing he jerked along.  “Leaf-la I’m coming.”

He used all his knowledge of water to move along.  He stayed where the current was strong. [He] avoided big stopper rocks.  Still even after all the rocks he’d known had stopped, he kept on bumping and stumbling ever onward, looking for Leaf-la.

By Bruce McJilton

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Things you may not know about Papa Noel, Santa or St. Nick…

You think you know Santa? Here is a story that might have you rethinking that. Enjoy this dark tale by Gigi 🙂

Rethinking Life

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Picture from: Pinterest

You think you know me, but you do not.  You make up stories about me and believe they are true, but they are not.  You mold me into what you wish me to be but I tell you, you know me not.  You give me names that suit you, suit your fiction and your beliefs, but do you ever wonder who I truly am?  Do you ask yourself what I am?

Humans are funny creatures, thinking that believing makes it so.  I can assure you that nothing is farther from the truth.  Outside of your slanted and tiny belief system are wonders untold.  Layers of life you are blind to, by choice and by circumstance.  You turn away from the things that do not fit into your story but those things do not disappear, they live on without your consent or acknowledgement.

Names have power, I will…

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Johnny unfiltered

I once knew a Vet named Johnny

that is to say

I made his acquaintance

I’d wager no one really knew him

not after the war

he came back different

as many do

he rarely ever spoke

and never about the things he had seen or done

we worked for the same company for a time

though I don’t know what he did there

all I know is that his office was always cloudy with smoke

from his habitually chain smoking unfiltered  Pall Malls

we weren’t friends

in fact I doubt he even knew my name

our encounters were usually limited

to meeting at the office coffee pot

till that one night

 

that one night

after closing

after everyone had gone

I stopped by the Circle K next door

before starting my walk home

as i was walking by our building

a man from my past

who refused to take no for an answer

stepped out from the shadows

with threats to end my life

we threw obscenities at each other

and he threw a couple punches

but I was holding my own

till he pulled out a crowbar

just as he was raising it above his head to strike

I saw headlights and heard the screech of tires

with the car still running and the door flung wide open

Johnny was out of his car

and in one fluid motion had taken the crowbar away

I looked on in awe and disbelief

as he proceeded to beat him bloody

Johnny never said a word

never broke a sweat

and never dropped the lit Pall Mall

from between his lips

When it was over

all I could say was

“Thank You”

but I’m not sure if he heard

cause he just got back in his car

and drove away

 

 

 

 

 

 

~Melanie Thomason

 

 

 

 

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Gaylord

Gaylord was lonely

not alone mind you

as a member of the royal family

he was well liked and sought after

after all  money and title are attractive things

but he cried out for

the one

she, who would know his soul

he did try to find her

dating the town’s daughters

of the right age

desperately, feverishly

smart, dull, slender, plump, short, tall

he dated them all

but alas she was not among them.

Gaylord was no Geppetto

nor a Dr. Frankenstein

really he was more of a dandy

a pretty, yet fairly useless man

i never understood why he felt deserving

of this mysterious, wonderful she

anyway back to Gaylord

he decided if he couldn’t find her

he would make her

and as he had no scientific training

nor even basic carpentry skills

he decide to use his talents as a master confectioner

yes, it’s true marzipan was usually

used to fashion

diminutive fruits and vegetables

yet, in a stroke of madness genius

he thought it the perfect medium

In his kitchen he donned an apron

to protect his exquisite

coat with blue velvet tails

and he sculpted her soft face

from the almond paste

and what happened next

 

was strange indeed

if fact my friends

you will not believe

for such things

you cannot conceive

so really it may be best to stop here

why continue in vain

this tale of love, madness and marzipan?

~Melanie Thomason

 

 

 

 

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