And then there were none

And Then There Were None

When he was young, he heard lots of stories about generations past. He was amazed at how extensive their living quarters were in their infancy. There was no lack of food; you could always find something to eat. The warm environments left by nature sustained them. 

Their lifespan was something to be dreamed of and admired. They were independent and allowed to do their thing.

It might have taken a few days to get accustomed to growing up when they emerged from their cozy surroundings, but they did. 

And then came adulthood, when the chemistry of love and desire took hold. They’d light up the darkest times with joy and mutual satisfaction. 

They were envied by all in the living world. An outlander’s goal was to capture the sight and light of their existence, to capture their being, and to be awed at what something so small could create. Their light from within and throughout the summer nights brightened even the gloomiest of observers. 

He was amazed when he was told that many of his ancestors didn’t eat at all in adulthood. Others fed on the nectar of life. All used the time they had left to put on displays to each other and the world to create a new generation of beings like himself. 

 

He thought life was so short. We must use the time we have to relish what is important to us: being born, growing from babyhood to childhood, and eventually adulthood, and finding our significant others so that we can continue our evolution as a species. 

This was his dream. Unfortunately, it is not coming true. The inhabitants around him have damaged their habitats, poisoned their fields, and taken away the environment that he needs to survive just to satisfy their narcissistic sense of what they consider beautiful. 

He may be one of the last of his species. That is a great loss to humanity. 

 

———

 

Author’s note: Last night, as the lights of the houses around mine were turned off, I looked out upon a clear and ever-present darkness. Unlike in my youth, when I saw and enjoyed their multitudes, this night, I did not see a single firefly. What have we done?

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Advice – What to choose?

Advice – What to choose?

The choice to be made was nigh on impossible to make. Should she or shouldn’t she? 

Clara was sitting at home when the phone rang. The person on the other end sounded very familiar, but Clara just couldn’t place it. The voice was calm in her demeanor yet somewhat forceful in what she had to say. 

“You have two choices, and you must choose one now!”

Clara responded, “What do you mean? And who are you to make such a demand?

“Now is not the time to discuss that,” was the immediate reaction, “you have a choice to make, my…your life may depend on it. It is irrelevant who I am.”

This did not make any sense to Clara. What could possibly be so important that she had to make this decision now?

“Listen carefully, for I will only say this once,” the voice said, “There will be a knock at your door in exactly…seven minutes. Do not under any circumstance answer that knock or open that door. Ignore it.”

“Why? Who is it going to be?” Clara asked.

“It’s not important,” the voice said. “No matter who it is or who it looks like, do not answer the door!”

This was very perplexing to Clara. She needed more information. “I need to know why,” she shouted in frustration. 

“I can’t tell you. It disrupts the …” There was a pause, and then Clara heard the word “continuum.”

“What? I didn’t get one of your words.”

“There are some things that we’re not permitted to say,” was the quick answer. “Suffice it to say Time, and I repeat Time, is of the essence. Do not answer the door. Lives depend on it, particularly yours.”

The phone line clicked at that point, and a dial tone returned. 

Clara did not understand what was happening. It was then that there was a knock at the door. 

She got up slowly and moved toward the door. Looking through a side window, she saw who was standing outside the door. It was a mirror image of herself, dressed exactly as Clara was today. It was then that she remembered the voice she had heard on the phone and recognized it—it was her own voice. 

The choice to be made was nigh on impossible to make. Should she or shouldn’t she? 

 

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Perfect in Every Way

 

The following writing piece is fictional. Any resemblance of a character within this writing to a real person is purely coincidental. 

** I approve of this message. HH

Perfect in every way

There’s a song sung by Mac Davis. It starts Oh Lord, It’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way. https://youtu.be/dg8NPPEms54

People always looked up to Fred. Ask anyone. Well, actually, the person you could ask about that would be Fred. Fred was the kind of person that only thought about himself. Everyone else that didn’t agree with him was wrong. 

He was in his comfort zone when he was followed by people who fawned upon him. I’m sure you know people like that. 

Laughter was his out. He would laugh it off and belittle that person or idea when he couldn’t think of anything positive to say. Thinking positive of others was not his strong point.

Some people say that Fred graduated from the University of Ineptitude with honors. 

Fred’s strength was in numbers. The more he could convince people to follow him, the more powerful he became. 

Everything that Fred attempted to do, according to him, he was the best at. 

There were those who knew Fred and were confused about why he was so popular. On the other hand, even though they knew in their hearts that he was wrong, most of the time, they followed his teachings and supported him anyway, hoping that someday it would rub off on them and they would be as loved as it seemed the people around Fred were with him. 

Fred had high aspirations and there came a time when things weren’t going so well for him. His goal was to be a giant. Which is why he went on that sailing cruise to parts unknown. He figured he could find a place inhabited by those who would bow to his every whim. 

The last I heard, he found such a place. I never would have guessed that the fictional Island of Lilliput was real. 

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I Remember It Well

I Remember It Well

On the street where I live there was John. John was compulsive. Everything that he did had to be in a certain way. Don’t ask him to define that way or admit he had a certain way of doing things. He would deny it. But just by watching everything he did, you could predict his next move or thought, which is why he never should have taken that trip to Las Vegas. At least, that’s the prevailing thought.

You’ve heard the saying, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” The inference in that saying is that the rules of everyday life don’t apply to you. You can go crazy, indulge, and do whatever you want because when you leave to return to your routine life, none of that will have happened. 

I’m not sure who suggested going to Vegas, but John jumped on the idea. This was his way of proving to everyone that he was not set in his ways. He said, “With a little bit of luck, I’ll show you how I am not the person you think I am.”

If we were a betting community, we would all have put money down on John becoming obsessed with Vegas, and it would become a yearly compulsion to do whatever he did there. 

I would like to say that we were correct in our assumption, and it is possible that we were correct, except for one minor glitch in John’s actions. 

Remember, I said that he was compulsive. We thought he would latch on to some routine that met his standard of obsession while in Vegas and add it to his list of things he had to do when he returned. That assumption relied on one action—that he would come back. 

John left on the first of May. He packed up two large suitcases, hailed a cab, and told us not to worry about his house because he had someone caring for it during the week he was gone. “If ever I should leave you for a longer period, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” was his last remark. 

We should have been suspicious. If he was going away for only a week, why would he even mention leaving us for longer, and why did he pack two large suitcases?

The people who had been watching John’s house for that week were very reclusive. We rarely saw them at all. As the week came to an end, John had not communicated about his return or how he was doing in Vegas. Our suspicions were heightened when the moving trucks came and pretty much gutted John’s house. 

 

It’s been over five years now. The house still stands, though no one has moved in. Curious as we were, none of us could find any information about John or his whereabouts. Internet searches and police inquiries led nowhere. It’s as if John didn’t exist anymore, which, of course, some of us believed was the case. On a side note, we’ve seen a white van with D.C. license plates drive by every month or so. 

Had he come into contact with some nefarious gangsters and rubbed them the wrong way? Did he change his name and start a new life as someone else who was not hassled by neighbors about his compulsions? Was John not his real name to begin with, and was he part of a witness protection plan for some high-stakes criminal case? Did he even go to Vegas?

 

Any thoughts? We are open to all your ideas and theories. Has this happened to any of you on the street where you live? I’m not claiming this is a compulsion of mine, but I really have to know. 

 

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A Puzzling Image

A Puzzling Image

She stood alone at the beachfront. The ocean waves rolled ashore and then receded. Staring out at the water was mesmerizing. Why did he tell her to meet him here?

 That last splash broke her trance. Looking down, she noticed the piece of glass. It was not sea glass; it was clear, polished glass. No, it was not glass; it was a piece of a mirror. 

She picked it up in her hand and gazed into it. The reflection was perfect. Wet, wind-swept dark hair. The image was not smiling. She could not take her eyes off of it. The image was of someone else. 

As she moved the mirror around, it reflected more of the picture. The woman in the picture was standing on the same beach as she was. She recognized the scenery behind her, but it was different. It seemed much older, from a different time. 

She slowly moved around and watched the reflection of her surroundings. They were identical to where she was. 

Who was this person in the mirror? 

It was then that her cell phone rang, breaking the spell. 

 

—————-

 

He dialed the phone. In his research, he found the clues to help solve the mystery of her disappearance in 1950—that was only five years ago. He knew that when Sarah disappeared, nothing was left but a mirror missing a shard. He was sure that somehow, that mirror piece held the solution not only to her whereabouts but also to her rescue. 

But it was 1955 now. The paper he had recently found listed a phone number to call, a location, a person to contact, and a beach location nearby. He anxiously waited for someone to answer the call. 

There was a click and then a voice. Could it be her?  It had a faint resemblance to her voice. He told her to meet him at the listed location. He verified the date and time. It sounded too unreal. Twenty twenty-four? How could that be?

He went to beach and no one was there. So he continued to go there each year, in the hopes that he would find her. 

 

—————-

 

She answered the phone. A much older voice was on the other end. “Is it you?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” was her reply.

“It must be.” he said, “I’ve waited so long. Please wait.”

She didn’t have much time to process the information. Coming towards her was what appeared to be an 80-year-old man dressed in a dated 1960s-style suit. He had a smile on his face. He looked familiar. 

The recognition of his face broke the spell. She had come home. 

 

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Doug’s Dilemma

Doug’s Dilemma

Doug dimly dreamed of a delicious delicacy derived from Danish dairy desserts. At dawn, debt-diminished dollars denied Doug’s delight. In despair, Doug deduced that diabolic deeds be drafted. Doug deliberated, deciding to dodge drink and develop dangerous designs.

Doug decided on a dashing deceit, whereby demonstrating a drunken, deplorable, and decrepit demeanor, he dawdled into a drugstore, then demanded the druggist dispense dollars or a device Doug designed would detonate dynamite.

The Druggist didn’t dawdle and determined Doug was a dimwitted doofus, and his dubious, dodgy deception was deplorable. He decided to deter Doug’s demand by deliberately displaying a derringer and dagger directly toward Doug and daring him to do it. 

Doug was dumbfounded and disgusted. Detecting determination in the druggist’s demeanor, Doug decided to demonstrate dour discipline and deliberately depart in disgrace.

Doug’s departure into disrepute dictated doing deeds differently. 

Dutifully drawing a diagram of dynamic discoveries that determined definitive yet dubious diamonds, Doug decreed on X (formerly Twitter) delivery dependent on dollars deposited. Doug dispatched the document diligently without delay.

Unfortunately, a Deputy detective detected Doug’s deceit and determined Doug deserved detention, dealing Doug a disastrous defeat, and Doug’s destiny was dutifully defunct.

Moral: Don’t dabble in dishonesty to devour a doughnut.

 

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War and Peace

War and Peace

The sky was clear to the east. All you could see were fluffy white clouds in a clear field of blue.

To the west, the sky was different. Ominous thunder clouds, bright flashes of treacherous lightning amid ever-increasing darkness.

These two forces of nature met above them as they had countless times before – War and Peace.

“You look a bit flustered, my friend, more so than usual,” War said.

“And you look as cheerful as ever,” was Peace’s reply.

“And why shouldn’t I? “War retorted, “Gaza, Ukraine, unrest in so many countries – the right vs. the left, climate and vaccine deniers. Who could ask for anything more?”

Peace remained quiet for a moment. “You know this has all happened before. It’s the cycle of our existence.”

This time, it was War’s turn to pause.

Peace continued, “Just think, we’re heading towards world annihilation. What would become of us if that were to pass?”

“I would survive, and you would not,” War said.

“But what would you feed on then? Who would you interact with when I’m gone? It’s a very lone way to exist and die.”

The thought of being alone and dying hit War hard. “We can’t let that happen,” was his imploring cry.

“Then you must give way,” Peace demanded. “Let some violence cease. Let there be some sense of order and intelligence. Don’t leave it up to the rich and powerful.”

“And let the children decide?” War asked, “Unheard of. The rich and aged rule and decide!”

Peace was quick to react, “And where has that left us? – On the brink of the end for both of us.”

Was a compromise reached? Did an impasse occur? Are they leaving it up to us to decide our own fate?

There is nothing left of the transcript of this meeting.

Time will tell.

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The Remains of a Landmark

The remains of a Landmark – MSG

When I was 10 years old, my sister’s boyfriend, Hank, (later to become my brother-in-law) introduced me to the world of ice hockey. I started to watch a number of games on TV and then he took me to a game at Madison Square Garden on 8th Avenue and 49th Street in Manhattan, where the New York Rangers played. Hank had season’s tickets to the Rangers (at $52 for the season)

Up until that time I only was into baseball and knew very little about this sport of ice hockey. After going to the game and seeing it live, I was hooked.

I became an avid New York Ranger fan. Hank took me to a number of their home games.

From January to July in 1963, Hank had to leave for U.S. Army Reserves training. He was not permitted to have a radio to listen to, or keep track of, hockey games.

As a twelve year old hockey fan, I took it upon myself to listen to every hockey game I could, and I transcribed the action in writing, so that I could share it with Hank. It is not the simplest thing to do to transcribe a hockey game that’s on the radio or television, but I tried.

Five years later, the New York City Landmark, Madison Square Garden is going to close down to be replaced by a brand new building at Penn Station. The final Ranger game at Madison Square Garden was on February 11, 1968 against the Detroit Red Wings, and I had a ticket.

For me, the game was not memorable. The game ended with the Rangers coming back from a 2-goal deficit and ended with a 3-3 tie.

The memory I have occurred at the end of the game. This was the last event that was going to held at the old Garden, and everyone knew it. Therefore, fans went crazy. Many people felt that it was important to have a piece of memorabilia from the old Garden, so they took whatever they could, as they left. Seats were destroyed as fans broke them apart and carried them away. I personally was not strong enough to break any of the seats, however, someone in their haste did manage to leave behind one slat from one of the seats on the ground that I managed to purloin on my out, and slip under my jacket.

That board remained in my possession at my parent’s apartment until my mother passed away and we were cleaning it out. At that point, I was 47 years old, an avid New York Islander fan, and saw no value in an old piece of wood that had no way of being identified. It got tossed out with the rest of the things we did not want to save.

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Making Waves

Making Waves

A definition of the word “wave” according to the American Heritage Dictionary is: 

 

  • “To make a signal with an up-and-down or back-and-forth movement of the hand or an object held in the hand.”

 

When I was about twelve years old, my father said something to me to which I decided to reply with a simple hand wave. You know the kind, A downward flick of your fingers, the one you would use for “It’s not important” or “Don’t worry,” which was what I meant to say, though it could have also been interpreted as “go away.” To my father, it meant none of those; he was furious with me and probably would have slapped me for being so impertinent. Little did I know that where he grew up in Germany, that hand signal was the equivalent of giving him the finger using present-day hand gestures. 

Hand waves have many meanings, depending on who is the sender and what the intent is. 

A wave of the hand from side to side can mean saying goodbye or greeting someone or a location beacon to specify where you are to someone farther away. 

A sideways back-and-forth wave when you are in a car and stopped might indicate that it is okay for a pedestrian to pass, with a promise that you won’t run them over. (Note that not everyone uses this signal. My wife, for example, uses a front facing palm-up hand held still for the same intent.)

Traffic police or school crossing guards use a variety of hand motions to control traffic. For example, holding one hand facing you and continuously curling and uncurling fingers signals one can move forward or cross the street if you are a pedestrian. A palm-facing hand or hands held up towards you with no motion definitely means to stop.

Military and Aviation signals involve waving hands, flags, or flashlights to communicate instructions or commands.

Sometimes, you only use one finger or two, whether it be the thumb pointing up or down at the end of a closed fist to represent approval/disapproval, two fingers representing the letter “V” can mean victory or peace, or a single finger, usually pointed up usually is a scolding, a reprimand, or just a strong opinion of a person, or their ideas. These sometimes get responses similar to yours in intensity right back to you. 

Raise your hand in a restaurant with a two-finger wave to signal you want some attention, perhaps a check or food. It could also mean, “Are you ever going to take my order and serve me?” A displeased facial expression usually accompanies this. 

Fluttering your fingers in a wave might be construed as flirting, depending on who receives the wave. 

If you were trapped on a desert island as a plane flew by or a ship was within view and you vigorously waved both hands over your hands, that would be a clear signal (if you were seen) that you needed help.

In sporting events or celebrations, waving hands can signify encouragement, support, or enthusiasm. In fact, at some events, fans standing up and down sequentially and waving their hands up and down can as the stand and sit represent a different kind of wave, an ocean wave.

Sign Language involves another use of hand waving. Many different signs signify words and phrases using hand movement and position. Some American Sign Language (ASL) examples include the signs for hello, goodbye, come here, go away, yes, wind (the blowing kind), applause, airplane, thank you, and wave. Be careful if you attempt to use ASL in another country. Not all sign languages use the same signs. A sign that means one thing in America might mean something totally different in a foreign country, as did the one I used on my father, what I thought was a simple hand gesture. 

Some exaggerated hand waves, in certain contexts, can even be considered mockery or ridicule of a person, their beliefs, or their individual lifestyle. These are the worst, in my opinion, and say a lot about the individual using them if their intention was deliberate.

With all this in mind, and a lot more that I don’t want to take the time to discuss, be careful and thoughtful whenever you make waves. Ensure your wave’s intent is communicated correctly to the person you’re waving to. And use them positively, PLEASE.

 

I leave you with some quotes about how some wave-making wasn’t quite received as intended, though in a comical way.

 

“I’ve waved at people I thought were waving at me, only to realize they were just scratching their heads or swatting flies.” – Steve Martin, American actor and comedian

 

“I made the mistake of waving at a squirrel once because I thought it was a person. I need to get out more.” – Zach Galifianakis, American actor and comedian

 

“I waved at a garden gnome in someone’s front yard thinking it was a small child. I need to get my eyes checked.” – Aziz Ansari, American actor and comedian

 

“I once waved to someone I thought was my friend’s mom, but it turned out to be a random woman walking her dog. She seemed very confused.” – Tina Fey, American actress and comedian

 

“I waved at a guy I knew, and he didn’t wave back. Turn’s out it wasn’t him.” – Mitch Hedberg, American comedian

 

“I waved at a painting in a museum once. That’s when I knew I needed a break from art appreciation.” – Demetri Martin, American comedian

 

“I’ve accidentally waved at trees swaying in the wind more times than I care to admit.” – Nick Offerman, American actor and comedian

 

 

                                      Bye—>

 

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The Runaway

The Runaway

a picture prompted story

Cheryl drafted the text to Harold. She was worried about her son, Mathew. Was it her fault he ran away? The letter would include directions for where to look. Drawings would be needed to help Harold find him—pictures of the old abandoned castle where she suspected their son might go. 

Finding those pictures was difficult.  She had to go to the library, which contained hundreds of books on the castle’s history. Climbing up the spiral staircase to glance at these shelves for the books she needed was tedious; there were hundreds of books. Once found, she had to find a way to retrieve them so that she could sketch the area where her husband needed to look. Time was of the essence. The directions were the easy part. Her husband could follow a map. That area had no cell signal, so she knew he would be out of communication range once the text was sent.

Mathew’s cat strolled by as she drew the pictures Harold would need. She couldn’t understand how their son could leave his cat behind. She drew fast, not bothering to eat or put on her shoes. She stopped periodically to look out at the lake outside the window. It calmed her down so she could complete her task. 

She was not the one to go on the hunt; she needed to be home in case he returned. 

Cheryl finished drawing the castle’s outside and inside based on the descriptions in the books she found, scanned her drawings, completed her text with directions to the castle and where their son might hide, and sent them to her husband. It took her phone over a minute to change from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read.’ She got a hugging emoji ? back. It was all up to Harold now. 

———–

Mathew was distraught. Why couldn’t his mother ever listen to his side of the story? It wasn’t his fault that he got in trouble with the principal. He was just trying to stop the fight, not engage in it. Besides, her honor was being defended by his friend Jack. But she didn’t even want to hear what he had to say. So he decided to run away. It would serve her right to worry about him for a change. He knew his mother had issues. She was suffering from some sort of mental problem, which was why she always took the medicine her doctor prescribed. But that was no excuse for taking it out on him. He learned to put up with all of the taunts from other kids. His friend Jack was the only one who stood up for him, which is how the fight started. 

He did leave a note. It said, “I’m going away for a while; don’t try to find me. Maybe I’ll come back when you’ve found your senses.”

So he left. He ran out of the village and entered the woods just as the fog settled in. This was great; now, it would be harder for anyone to find him. 

———

Having received Cheryl’s message, Harold took his road map and plotted a course to the castle. It would take him to a dense part of the woods. As the fog rolled in, he became more than somewhat concerned about his son. 

As he reached the abandoned castle and looked upon it, the immensity of it all overwhelmed him. The castle itself was threatening: the darkness of its walls, the vines growing up its sides, and the ugly-shaped gargoyles that stood guard over each portal. Add to that the fog, which now was very dense, and the bone-strewn pathway leading up to the front door. Why would anyone want to enter there?

Of course, Harold was aware of Mathew’s proclivities and knew this was just where his son would seek refuge.  

Cheryl’s note was clear: do not enter through the front door. Harold assumed it was some legend about ghosts and death. He went to the side of the castle, the one that, on any given day, would be more in the sun. He found the foothold Cheryl referred to and climbed the wall to the first opening. Ignoring the ever-present gargoyle, Harold climbed through the window. 

Once inside, it wasn’t hard to find Mathew. He could hear the familiar sounds of sniffling and tears. Mathew was sitting in the dark corner of what must have been a bed chamber. Harold sat down next to his son and put an arm around him. 

Mathew leaned into his father’s embrace and sobbed, “Why won’t she listen to me? It wasn’t my fault. I was preventing Jack from fighting. He was defending mom.”

Harold comforted his son, “I know you know it’s not her fault either. It’s just as hard for her as it is for you. Maybe we should talk to her together. We need to give her time. We also need to address the handling of this incident with your principal. That certainly would help. Would you like to try that?”

Wiping his tear-stained face, Mathew hugged his father tightly. “Yes, I would,” was his reply. 

“Then we’ll do it together as a family.” His father helped him up, and they began climbing back out of the castle. (Why tempt fate by using the front door?)

When they got within signal range, Harold called Cheryl and explained the situation. 

———-

Mathew hesitated before going back into the house. Reassured by his dad, he slowly went in, his head down as he walked towards his mother. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

With tears in her eyes, she hugged him tightly and sobbed, “So am I. I’ll try to be a better person. I will listen to you.”

Harold walked over, put his arms around them, and assured them, “We all will.”

 

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