Talespinning

Word Count:  251

When his first child was born, his first son, he was thousands of miles away. Doing the right thing for humanity, helping rebuild a nation torn to strips of thin fragments by civil war. The people, broken but shining like sequins on a black velvet earth.

When his second came screaming her way into the world he was an ocean away in Japan. An earthquake, a resulting tsunami, a shoreline battered by water and the air layered in death.

He was there when his oldest hit high school. Missed his daughter’s first steps, first dance recital, and so many more.

Was hunkered down as the bombs blew the buildings around him. Missed the bombs and the crash of his son’s first car.

Flew back in for a month after the funeral. Flew back out where he felt people needed him more. What is one, when compared to so many? he explained to himself.

The divorce papers reached him too late to contest. Jungle travel is slow in the best of times, mail often lost. His daughter was hit by a drunk driver on her first day of school. No airports within miles, no roads left to get there. He cried and screamed out but the next day took care of the wounded and hungry and hurt.

It came time when he no longer could help them. He himself damaged and empty of pain. He came back to a place he’d thought of as home. But home was as barren as he.

Word Count:  219

It seemed to be taking forever. Waiting for clearance for liftoff. The hours of delay. The months and final weeks of preparation for this first trip to Mars.

He squirmed a bit in his seat. Radioed for clearance to unbuckle and float. His back was kinked into position. His legs starting to doze into sleep.

He felt better as soon as he stretched, bounced around, touching off walls. Had a snack with mission control’s reluctant permission. Sat back down, refreshed, settled in.

It still seemed to be taking forever. The planet no longer in view. They confirmed they’d had to make one small adjustment, realignment. No problem, no worry, they said.

He was the first, was the most trusted, the most experienced astronaut they’d been willing to send. He knew the dangers as well as he’d known the controls. Still, it seemed so much longer to get there than planned. They told him that was all right. Joked about light years and referred to the extra time spent on the pad.

Shouldn’t we tell him? the second man in control on the ground asked the first.

How long will the oxygen hold? was the reply.

Not much longer, an hour, maybe two…

He’ll just go to sleep. We can’t fix it now and it’s better that he’ll never know.

Word Count:  373

She felt so alone. That deep black widow alone. It was just starting to hit her, the loss.

They said it was common. To see him around corners, to feel him still in their bed. She tried to embrace it and yet it still scared her, still smashed into her belly with grief over and new again.

In the evenings she’d think he was out there, a glimpse through the trees hovering the edges of their backyard. The first time it was so real she dropped a plate into the sink, cutting her fingers on the sharp broken edge as reality sought to grasp it.

Her friends told her everything they could think of to help her adjust. Time, they said, it would take time. But the shadows she saw–thought she saw–became common.

One time she even went out to call him. His name thin and light on the wind. She felt like a fool; he would’ve answered. If he were real. And the pain of the loss slapped like a hand once again.

Go see someone, they suggested. Not knowing what else to say. A grief counselor, that’s what they’re for. They’ll help you through it, they said. What they thought and left unspoken was that it had been too long, almost a year. She should have adapted by now.

When do you see him? the counselor asked. When’s the most frequent time?

In the night, she explained. Outside the windows.

And he talked her through it, the way the mind can play tricks, the need to hold on.

It took a few months. Of changing routines. Of drawing the drapes. Of not looking out as she washed the lone plate, the single fork with its mate of a knife. If she didn’t look out the windows, avoided the night that held him, he said eventually she would be fine. Move on with her life. Savor the memories for that’s all that it was.

And it worked. She did believe it was under control, what she thought she had seen was all in her mind. But the man who was watching was waiting for this, sighed with relief, grinned in the dark. For the man who was watching was real.

Word Count:  222

Morning sun cut through the kitchen. She flicked off the radio. Put their empty coffee mugs into the sink. “Where were you?” she asked. “I know where I was. Where were you?”

He turned quickly at her question. She had asked him out of simple curiosity. Yet the fear struck him that somehow she knew.

He stared at her slim silhouette. His life up through the time that he met her, the sacrifices he made, their life together these last four years in the city. It all collided and rumbled inside the moment as she turned to face him when he didn’t reply.

He could lose everything just when he thought it was all behind him. When he turned his own back on all he’d believed in and held dear. A furious love burst inside him. For her, for before her, for him.

She had a quizzical look without humor. Her eyebrows bent into a vague frown.

He came up close to her, held her face in his hands, slowly kissed her. Drew back and looked fearfully into her eyes. He realized he’d have to make sacrifices, have to give up all that he loved once again.

“Were you here, in the city,” she asked as his hands slid down to her throat, when the planes hit the Towers? forever remaining unsaid.

Word Count:  305

She gets up from the couch and goes upstairs to dig out a sweater. Resists the urge to change cutoffs to long jeans. Makes the bed to avoid creeping back in there and pulling the covers up over her head.

Settled back on the sofa, feeling the CPU heat of her laptop through the lap robe she’s thrown over her legs, she starts yawning. Odd since she slept two hours later than normal. The morning sun in September usually comes up while she’s pouring her second cup.

She tries to avoid thinking crisp autumn weather because it sounds so cliche. But the rustle of wind touching leaves and the curtain tips dancing in the barely open windows are unmistakeable signs.

The yawning is near constant. She doesn’t bother to cover her mouth anymore. Her eyelids are aching to close. Before ten a.m. she has finished a large egg and toast breakfast, a sandwich and two bowls of soup.

By late afternoon she has allowed herself several naps, finally finding a dark corner behind the chair in the den. She has pulled a mountain of pillows atop her to block out the sun.

When he comes home before dinner he calls out her name. She thinks she is dreaming, not sure so she doesn’t think to answer his search. It takes her a while to slip from the grip of deep sleep but she opens her eyes as he finds her.

What are you doing down there? he laughs, reaching down to help pull her up. I’m hungry, he says, what’s for dinner?

She doesn’t accept the hand that he’s offered. Growls low, annoyed at being awakened. Glares at his long meaty arms, his nice rounded belly. Thinks to herself, I’m hungry too. It’ll be a long winter. Then leaps up and snaps at his throat.

Word Count:  46

In a locked room at the top of the stairs lives a senile old woman who was once a young girl who lived in a locked room at the top of the stairs.

That’s all I know of it. What more is there to be said?

Word Count:  310

She hated her nose, too round, the bridge bumpy, and wanted one like her friend Caroline’s, straight and noble. He, loving her, killed Caroline, cut off her nose, brought it home and removing her’s, carefully stitched Caroline’s in its place.

She loved it, was happy, at least for a while. But her breasts were too small, she complained. It took him several days and long nights of looking until he found the exact perfect pair.

She was delighted and he, we admit, was as well, and they lived content and peaceful for almost a year. Then she saw pouty lips on famous faces. Saw the full lips luscious with hot fuchsia lipstick in magazine ads and commercials and even pouting hers out to their puffiest only made her more resentful and sad. He could not bear to see her cry.

He gave her new lips for her birthday. For Christmas, she got a complete set of new nails. Over the years he replaced, rebuilt, reshaped her the way that she wanted. The most difficult one was the hair. Her’s thin and lank, impossible to build strand by strand, he brought her a scalp covered with thick and long redheaded hair.

As the years went by, he was busy replacing replaced parts as they aged, for she would get depressed and lament her lost youth. He loved her so much, he ran out to fulfill each whim, though whim was no longer the issue. Bones were slid out and new ones inserted. Her teeth came complete with a jaw. Skin grafts and muscles, joints and clear eyes, he was capable of taking care of them all.

But what they’d forgotten–or in her mind, had never been even considered–was that he was growing old too.

It made her unhappy. And he would do anything to make his sweet woman smile.

Word Count:  362

One midsummer’s evening she left him to go live in a well. An old one, deep and dark with fieldstone walls that caught the sunlight at noon. The walls sparkled like sequins for fifteen minutes then faded back to rough granitey gray.

Each morning she’d wake to the soft first beams of the day and stirred to reach up to the light. Grab a fistful, gather it tight to her breast, hold onto this small portion she’d claimed as her own. And each lonely black night she would open her hand to find it had all slipped away.

He–no one–understood that she only could handle a little of life. That what she could grasp in her hand was more than enough. For the days were too full of brightness that blinded and the nights too filled with its loss.

He would call out her name, loud when he wandered nearby. Soft as the twilight as he circled farther away. Love wormed inside to cry out to him but fear fought her own impulse and held her hands over her mouth. Sometime in the cool evenings of early September he stopped searching.

She noticed the sun no longer swept directly over the well. She missed the silvery glints caught on the walls. She began to feel lonely, missed the sound of his voice, missed even the hum of the days going by. And cold, she began to feel cold and had not thought to bring with her a blanket.

One late September afternoon she stood up tall as she could on tiptoe to not miss the sound of his car up the drive. She called out to him, surprised at the strength of her voice swirling up towards the mouth of the well, growing in size, spilling out into the waning day in a sweet song.

He appeared within seconds, a stunned look on his face. He called her name softly. She smiled and reached up her hands. He disappeared for a moment. She imagined him finding a rope. Then the last of the day curved into a crescent, a sliver, and gone, as he slid the well cover in place.

Word Count:  318

She told him he could pick any toy he wanted. He dropped his hand from hers and ran like a monkey from one side of the aisle to another. She could hardly keep up.

He was only three. Her only child. His father gone since the conception. He was a good boy but  made of pure sugar. Energy she couldn’t always control. That was sometimes a problem.

Her new boyfriend didn’t want any kids. She herself wasn’t sure. This was the first guy who got to that serious future-family-stage of their talks. He’d had it taken care of already, though she asked him if someday he might not change his mind. He laughed. Said she was all that he wanted. Her, and yes of course, the boy. But she watched how he avoided childish pleadings to play. Grew silent when the three were together. She hoped it would change but she felt the man slipping away.

The little fast-moving blonde head was a blur as he bounced like a ball through the aisles. She grinned at his screams of delight. This! This one! he screeched, holding a Batman bear. They went through the register and as soon as outside, she drew the bear from the shopping bag, pulled off the tags, and handed it into his arms. He cuddled it, kissed it, tucked it under one arm as they walked through the mall.

Soon his attention was drawn to a bright colored display of flashing lights and winding whirring exciting sounds. A train track set up in a window just to catch little boys. He pulled her along and she followed. His eyes were wide with awe, delight lit his face. The two stood silently watching the trains whizzing around. She squeezed his hand, dropped it and lightly brushed the blonde head with a kiss from her fingertips.Then she silently turned and walked quickly away.

Word Count:  279

They’ve been married a very long time, fifteen years. Still love to play silly tricks on each other.

He’s hidden her credit cards. She’s hidden his keys. He’ll pretend he’s flown to LA on business. She’ll pretend she’s asleep. There have been times when their games have lasted over a month. Like the Christmas he did not want to spend with her family. She finally reported him missing at sea.

They celebrate each anniversary at Guido’s. Sneak crushed pills into each other’s glass of wine. She reacts faster so he always drives home, puts her to bed, then passes out on the floor. In the morning they sigh at their fortune to find themselves standing, shower, eat breakfast and kiss each other goodbye. Thus starts another new year.

But this time something is different. She feels something bad in her bones. When she tells him, he laughs and she wonders. Be careful, she warns as he heads off to work. He holds her a little bit longer. His kiss, just a tad bit softer than they’ve gotten used to. And now she is worried.

She throws out the rest of her coffee. Starts the car with the remote as she watches from safely inside. Tests the brakes, feels under the dashboard. Drives the speed limit all the way to her job.

She starts to relax as she flows with the traffic on the highway. Is annoyed when it starts to slow down. As she passes the charred car it hits her. She forgot to have him take the refilled propane tank out of the back seat. She pulls over, turns off the car and surprises herself when she cries.