Category Archives: stories

Joshua’s dream

Previous stories:
https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/

My little Miss

Silver seeds

The yard

Don’t fence me in

The neighbours

Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void. It is shining. It is shining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Indeed, it was Old Granny in my rocking chair dream. Her back was to me, and the rocker creaked upon the wooden floor. I could see her white hair, and heard the clicking of knitting needles. I approached from behind, and bent to see what marvel she had produced. Nothing. Her hands had many fingers. I sought to look at her face, and she turned away, saying you must help me with the knitting. I stammered that I did not know how, and at last she said but you have all of the yarn. Then, blue deepness, unfathomable until morning.

Our subconscious, of necessity, is our savior.  Dark things we bury, sometimes forever.  Dreams and nightmares of great import wait in store, but recall is random and without choice.  It may come in the bright light of day, and the thing revealed is turned over in the waking mind, like a warm flat stone inscribed with vexing runes.

In my interview with Khostra, the fast flood of visions, symbols, and emotions had made their cryptic imprint within my own subconscious, and our disconnect had left me with a feeling of loss.  Of losing the thread of some essential story.  But, she had smiled a knowing smile.  It was one of reassurance, and I had gone to my sleep feeling held in warmth.

In the deepness of blue between the rocking chair dream and my tardy awakening
(by Raymond), I completed the knitting at Grandma’s behest.  After all, I did have the yarn.  It was Khostra’s yarn of many colours, knitted into the fabric of time.

Raymond handed me a hot mug, and we took a solitary stroll.  There was much to speak of, and, with each sip of stale coffee, my excitement grew.  I wondered if Khostra would return.

to be continued….

Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void. It is shining. It is shining.

 

Previous stories:

https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/

My little Miss

Silver seeds

The yard

Don’t fence me in

The neighbours

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her name, as near as I can make it, is Khostra, and she “spoke” to me in symbols, visions, and insinuative emotions.  I will liken it to a dream, where an unseen player wishes to impart something of great import to you.  Your mind clears of all the mundane.  You wait tensely, for you know this is a key.   The words are not remembered, lips do not move, a face is not seen.  Symbols appear, seemingly without meaning at first.  Wide vistas may come, in psychedelic vision.  The hissing of primal rains.  The tallest of growing things,
strobe lit in twilight thunder.  Movements in the deep.  Arrivals in the virgin desert.  The teachers come, and then… and then.  Building blocks.

As in dreams, I swam for the light.  What had been shown was shown.  My eyes were opened and the immediate world flowed in.  Khostra bowed her head once more and gently released me.  I was overcome by an insistent urge to lie down and sleep.  She put her hand on my shoulder and guided me through the sundering wall.  I looked once more into her face, and saw the smile within her eyes.  She and her companions then left us, in the full night, and Raymond took me to sleeping quarters in the mushroom house.
There was little talk, and no questions.

Most all of them knew, I suspect, what had transpired.  They were the initiates.
I was the new guy.  I slept, and had a dream of knitting.

to be continued…..

Crazy house

All is soft silence, save for a ringing in the ears.  Afterimage of thunderous chaos.
Mister Puss, saucer-eyed, meows a sick meow.  Looks this way and that, as if to say-
where is hammer?  Booming boots?  Cracking tiles?  Thuds and drags?  In the fourteen days, he had become inured, comfortable, expectant of the next morning’s assault.
As our savior, he had taken on our very nerve endings, mirrored our anxiousness, and transformed all into a metered purr.  If he was alright, then so were we.
And now, in this vacuous day, we trust he will show us the way.

The renos are done.

The neighbours

previous stories are:

Paved with good intentions
My little Miss
Silver seeds
The yard
Don’t fence me in

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were tall and olive skinned, with startling eyes.
I had fallen asleep beside the peoples’ perimeter, and was awakened by the sound of Raymond’s voice.  “Look, Joshua.  They come.”

Five figures approached us in a glide-like walk, and stood before us in a V formation.  The shortest of them was some seven feet, and their stature was even more enhanced by the odd but beautiful headdresses they wore.  Their long arms and many-fingered hands, their silent dignity, their benign manner all gave me pause as to how to proceed.  I turned to Raymond, and he said “You will know”.

Their “spokesperson” stepped slightly forward, and performed what I can only describe as a curtsy, with a bow of the head.  I will call her She, as that is the impression I had.  She  held her strange hands in a praying position, then slowly opened them to me,  as a butterfly unfolds its wings.  Taking another half step, she extended these hands, palms up, as if to offer something.  I felt that what she desired was contact,
and so I timidly laid my hands upon hers.  She then raised her head from its bowing posture, and looked at me full face.

I could not, and would not, look away.  All of my surroundings faded, as if I were staring at the proverbial dot on the screen, and I tasted the flavor of her mind only. It must have looked odd to the bystanders, and the time it took was uncertain, but in that small space, with joined hands, and without speaking, she told me the story of their Years.
to be continued….

Don’t fence me in

previous stories are
“Paved with good intentions” https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/
“My little Miss” https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/10/18/my-little-miss/
“Silver seeds”   http://secret-lifeof.com/2019/01/10/silver-seeds/
and “The yard”   http://secret-lifeof.com/2019/01/14/the-yard/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The children kept up their play, as children do.  As I approached the perimeter of the yard, the group at the table noticed me first.  They alerted some of the others, who walked curiously toward the grassy area I stood upon.  These were people with whom one could blend easily- a ragtag group at ease with themselves, seeming to have been lifted from any suburban neighbourhood.  A man clad in what once was a dress shirt and pants, now soiled and without a belt.  A Mexican woman with two shoeless toddlers tugging at her sun dress.  Some few who were surely couples.  All looked to be in good health, save for those who had telltale sores.

As I came closer, the man in the white shirt faced me and made a curious shushing motion, palms out and towards the ground.  I stopped short, and he began to speak.
“I am Raymond”, he said.  Then, jokingly, “Welcome to heaven!”  “I am Joshua”
said I.  Raymond laughed, but did not step onto the grass.  “It’s a biblical day, Joshua!”
Seeing my confusion, he said “Come join us, if you like.  Walk slowly, if you will.”
I shouldered my pack, and made to walk up and shake his hand, whereupon I ran face first into a solid (but soft) wall that was not there.  I fell backwards, more surprised and embarrassed than anything else, and, dusting myself off, I returned their smiles.

“We are held here, for a time” said Raymond.  “I think it is more for their protection than for any fear of our escaping.”  Seeing my questioning glance, he again spoke in riddles.  “We are, I think, part of the harvest of those remaining on this Earth.  We were picked up, rescued, or captured if you like, in our various states of misery, and brought here to this compound.” “The people of the ships- they have shown us that we are to prepare for a great Leaving in due time, as the world’s survivors are collected.  You will meet them soon…some will visit us at dusk, and you will join our numbers.”  Seeing my rough appearance, my burned and flaking skin, my unlaced boots and scraggly jeans, Raymond asked how long I had been on my own.  “Some years, I think.  It’s hard to tell.”  “We know”, he said, and asked me for my story.  I sat on my pack, and a group gathered ’round to listen as I told them of trials in the wild, desperation and despair, my meeting with only one speaking person in that time (the little girl), and of her death.  They gave me food and drink, tossing it through the invisible barrier, and I gratefully warmed up to them as the sun began its evening westering.

“We’ve not long to wait now” said Raymond, and I fell into an expectant silence.

to be continued….

 

The yard

The heaviest of the fog was burning off, as quickly as clouds in a time lapse.
The sun, westering towards zenith, cast a kaleidoscope of blinding beams on the silvered mirrors below.  I had no guide, no precedent, to tell me how to proceed.  Wary, at least, I must be.  In the glare, I could make out little, until presently a water-coloured cloudbank approached.

In the dun light, vision was sharpened, and the ships (for so I thought they were) took on a sepia tone and a strange air of unreality.  There were hundreds, in seeming shapes of domes and standing bullets.  All was still and silent, as the world here had been since yesterday.  The clearing in the valley was otherwise featureless, save for an oddly shaped structure which resembled a bisected mushroom head .

I was partly down the steep slope, keeping to the camouflage of brush, when I spied movement in the shade of the structure.  Figures.  People.  The first I had seen alive since my sojourn with little Miss.  Some were gathered in groups, talking, while others sat at a large round table.  I crept further downslope, and saw that they varied in description:  young and old, men and women, even small children.  The scene was peculiar in that they all kept to a semicircle of bare earth, about the size of a baseball infield, around which there was no visible fence or boundary.

I halted to consider what to do next, when my inhibitions were put to rest upon hearing some laughter from the group, and the sounds of happy children.

At this, I stepped out from the forest gloom, foolishly perhaps, and showed myself.

to be continued……….

….previous story is “Silver seeds”

 

Humbug

The moon slides down into dizzy vision, a bright dime in deepening blue.
Along the street of home, straggling snow in sleepy silence.
Rising chimney smoke is breezeless, straight and true. 

I return from the shopping mall, having invented unneeded things to buy.
The right things seem to elude me, always.  Ahhh, no matter, I think.
After all, it is the thought that counts, eh?  Finding the opportune moment to sneak away, braving the Christmas traffic, the idiotic parking contests, the miles between washrooms.  And then, overpaying for some unique item you couldn’t find anywhere else.  After all, the rents in these places are sky-high.  You gotta expect that.

Gaining entry to my empty house,  and laden with parcels, I nearly fall down fourteen stairs as the stupid cat tries to trip me in a bid for attention.  Apparently, I forgot his food this morning.  As I set everything down haphazardly, it strikes me that I am bringing coals to Newcastle.  All around me are boxes from our recent move, as yet unpacked, accumulated during 42 years of marriage.  Some, I am sure, contain items unique at one time, that have never seen the light of day.  Discouraging, to say the least.

These are the things we become inured to in the life domestic.  Laugh if you like, at this
“First world problem”,  but there comes a breaking point.  I suspect it will be after I carry it all back up the fourteen stairs, in the spring, put it out for a “garage sale”, and then bring it back in again when no one wants it.

Merry Christmas!

A riddle in the corn…

“It was up here” he said. Out in a grayish dream of dank fog, we plodded through the cold muck of a cornfield. Thanks to the lights of a faraway farm, I could make out the crowning hill for which we were bound. Jim hadn’t been himself for some time. My visits were not frequent, and the last time I saw him, it was a shock. We were friendly enough that I could get personal with him, but he had shrugged off my questions, saying that he had been ill for a time and was getting better now.

He had told me that, on a mid August morning, he had felt there was something odd and foreign about the hilltop. A curious local dome of excited airs lay upon it. Rather than take the tractor, Jim had walked slowly and quietly through the corn rows. On closer approach, he stopped when he heard a peculiar sound of rapid crackling, which he could only describe as being like fireworks heard from a distance, or the sound a woolen sweater makes when pulled from the dryer, still warm.

Since I have known him, Jim has always been a bit of a joker, with an outgoing nature, great smile, and keen sense of humor. This night, he was quiet, morose, but at the same time strangely agitated. The blue veins of his thinness alarmed me, as did his continuous rubbing of his arms.

I am no scientist, so I can only set down here what I experienced that night, and not what it means. We were nearing the base of the hill, about 150 feet across, when a pungent odor became evident. I liken it to the unpleasant smell an electric motor makes when it burns out. As we began the climb, vegetation was thinning out, and the smell grew stronger. Halfway up, and Jim would go no further. Assuring that he was alright, I continued on and reached the top.

There was a great bowl there, some fifty feet across, seemingly covered in fine black cinders, the source of the odor. In a concentric pattern along its inner rim, there were solidified puddles of what looked like molten lead, cooled. Without flying over it to confirm, I still would say the bowl depression was a perfect circle, and I wondered what could have done it.

I got back with Jim, and on the slow walk to his house, I related what I had found. The more I spoke, the greater his sense of relief was, and he said “At least I know I’m not crazy.”

Jimmy then began to tell me what had happened that August morning, and in the time since then…..

Rites of passage

There was a man who loved his daughter.

Not unusual, but this particular man was not very good at showing emotion, and thought that people would know, by his actions, how he felt.  He knew that this made them needy at times, and he blamed himself for it, but still he could not open up.

There was jealousy within the family because of this, and he bore the stress unto himself, trying to please everyone.

At the age of 15, his girl told him she wanted to be like some of her friends and get a small tattoo, to which he readily agreed.  Not long after that, she wanted to get her tongue pierced, and this caused an uproar. Her mother would have none of it, and pressured him not to consider it, saying he was too soft, and their daughter had him wrapped around her finger.  So, he did tell her no, as firmly as he could muster, and there was much drama and sobbing off and on for a few days.  The subject was soon brought up again, after he thought it had been forgotten.  Seeing the potential of another fight, he spoke to his wife privately, and struck the bargain that if their daughter still wanted this in a year, when she turned 16, he would see about it.  Both thought that she would lose interest by then, and go on to something else.

Indeed, when the time came, he had already put it out of his mind, but his girl’s resolve was strong, and, on the very day of her birthday, she said it was time for him to keep his promise.  Eyeing his wife sheepishly, he said he would look into it, then spoke to friends and acquaintances whose kids had gone for similar things.  Their best advice was to find a place that was government inspected, had an autoclave, and used disposable needles.  He sought advice from an actual government website, and found similar admonitions.  Within a few days, he took her, and the deed was done, not without some squealing on her part and a look of instant regret.  However, she put a brave face on it, and there was relative calm within the house for a time, even though his wife was resentful.

A year later, when it was prom time at the high school, the big kerfuffle was to find his girl a dress.  She was valedictorian, so it needed to be something special.  Off to the city they all went, together with a couple of her friends, and landed at a fancy shopping mall.  Mom & Dad left the trio to their own devices, telling their daughter they would meet back at a certain time, and hopefully she would find something she liked.  He and his wife then wandered about for a while, looking into the windows of some dress shops as they went.  He spotted a formal gown in black, beaded with beautiful silver designs upon it, and said to his wife “That’s the one she’s going to want.”  They walked for a half hour more, and made another circuit of the mall.  Coming to the same shop again, he decided to go in and ask the price.  The saleswoman said “you know, we have someone in here trying one on right now”.  It was $425, and, of course, you know who was trying it on.  While they were there, she came out of the room to look at herself.  Dad saw her first, and looked pleadingly at his wife, who, after seeing this sight, had no choice but to give in.  Their girl was glowing, and her friends gave her some envious looks.

After the prom, she announced to her Dad, when they were home alone, that there was going to be a party at a cottage belonging to one of her friends’ parents.  He gave her something of a cross examination, and, respectfully enough, she told him that there was “probably” going to be booze, and maybe even drugs, there.  For the first time in his life, he gave her a flat “No”.  She pleaded and said that she, of all people, had to show up, and would stay away from that kind of activity.  He believed her, but would not let her go, and she kept testing his resolve.  Something let go within him, and this man who had always kept his thoughts to himself, began to cry silently.

A change came over his little girl, and she crossed the room to him, hugging him tightly.

She said “Dad.  Dad.  You have nothing to worry about ever again from me.  I will not go.”

On his birthday, the card she gave to him said “Dad, I love you because you love me”.
Fifteen years later, he still has it.

Hullo again

Awakes, he does, in the foldable bed.  Swims to the surface, breaks water.  Beats the living daylights out of whatever it was they gave him.  Geez, maybe it’s been a long time, he thinks.  The daylight smarts his eyes.  There’s a vague smell of stale urine.  Pupils adjust, and he sees the sea-green serenity of the room.  The netted curtains on their curvy tracks.  The vectored reachings of a needy houseplant.  There’s an ache in his arm  as he moves his hand to feel his face.   That damn tape rips out some hairs and maybe a layer of skin too.  Oh boy.  Now, touch those bristly whiskers.  They remind him of his stiff hairbrush at home.  How’d he get into this state?  There are two white-capped young nurses just outside his door.  They chatter a mile a minute, in low tones, about some difficult patient.  Down the hall?  Their lilting banter stirs him, and invokes a wide smile that cracks his lower lip.  Yep, it’s been a long time.  Fumbling for the bed switch, up he sits. Hey Nellie Bellie!  You got any chapstick?  Two girlish heads turn.  One drops her jaw, the other rolls her eyes heavenward.  Yes….there’s going to be some devilry today.