Posted in Fables And Taller Tales

Dead Of Winter

 

          I came into consciousness on the floor. Slowly I got to my feet, looked around in the pitch black of what I knew was the living room and drew a complete blank. Where were the light switch and my clothes? How many times had I been here, why couldn’t I find anything? Staggering a little I made it to the kitchen and looked out the window at my house where my children and his son slept. I’d never liked this arrangement, never liked being separated from them. The night was breathtakingly frozen, trees covered in ice, the drive in plowed snow. I found my way back and put my hand on the arm of the couch directly onto my keys. How did they get there? Breathing a thank-you I grasped them tight. Not caring about anything else, I firmly positioned the one in my hand that would unlock my door.

Making my way back to the kitchen door, I breathed in, opened it, stepped out and ran. I let my body tense forbidding the cold to touch me. My feet didn’t slip as I became a mythical creature of the night bounding a few graceful strides to the front steps. I slid the key into place, and the door opened onto a vision of children asleep under piles of blankets. With the final stride I entered and slid under with them as it slammed behind me. No one stirred. My body began to tremble from the shock of below zero; I calmed my breathing and felt warmth begin creeping up from my toes.

I awoke a few hours later, the sun blazing through a window onto my face and no other sounds but soft breathing. I rose, pulled on a pair of men’s sweats, a cowl neck sweater, my favorite oversized flannel shirt, slouchy socks, and walked over to the phone. I had one chance that he’d wake and let me in so I could get what was left behind. He answered on the third ring and I crossed the drive. I gathered things together surprised at how close they’d been to where I’d stood. Arms full, I teased a goodnight and left. The children slept peacefully as I made coffee. I walked to the window with my steaming cup and looked out on a perfect frozen morning, stunningly brilliant, intoxicatingly crisp.

Posted in Flashes, Thought Food

Challenges For Grown-Ups

 

“Freedom is a word I rarely use without thinking” played through her mind like it was only yesterday. Her thoughts drifted to that strange email.

 

A man had contacted her claiming to be an attorney. Someone who’d just passed had her last name, same spelling; this could be her inheritance. She had no relatives there; it was an ex-married name she explained. He insisted it was 15 million, 600,000 could be hers. She mused about who got the rest.

There’d be an interview but no way was she about to lie to a bank.

 

“Could’ve been an international thief. Hmmm… No.”

 

 

100wcgu-7

https://jfb57.wordpress.com/2015/01/12/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week163/

 

“The prompt for your 100 Words is:

 FREEDOM”

 

Posted in Flashback And Memoir, Flashes, REsponses To

Laughing Out Loud At The Cloudy Sky

 

The sea was cold today. I sat upstairs, the ferry’s engine rumbled; as we floated back turning toward open water I felt the icy spray. I admire how gulls light on the surface bobbing with ripples and crests, unmoved and unimpressed. They have the good life but what about the rest?

It causes me to consider.

Creationism at it’s worst; splitting the atom – creation energy in a tube – all impressive. I remember don’t eat of this fruit, you’ll make yourself a god knowing good and evil and be exiled from the garden. Respect, knowing and forms make the garden that I see. Am I alone? Doesn’t anyone agree?

The sea is rough as well as cold; icy spray refreshes from thought. Dolphins swim along side laughing out loud at the cloudy sky; the junction where currents collide impress them not as they dance. I watch. Thoughts become present again.

Brutalized by students. They act out, they cheat, they reason, “we’re legion and she’ll never know, we can get away with crime” or at least it is in their mind but why would one want to loot in the dark? Why is the aspiration to outwit what’s right, because it can’t see? But, it can. They don’t know me. Yet there’s no victory if I identify each one. Did I prevail? No though I asked their help, they directed me. I paid for their responsibility, for the responsibility of the higher ranking than me as far up as the principal and here I sit. My heart aches, is heavy, and I wonder if I should have let them rule the day accepting my fate. But, I’m a teacher. I thought it was my job, to guide, to teach, to show the right way. Let’s make your teacher happy who’s gone these couple days. Let her see how much you can do, your commitment, the contract… I’m exhausted.

I hope life goes on. What an awful way to feel.

Bennett said Nietsche is dead, God remains, but Nietsche’s writings remain too his spirit present, his thoughts survive. Now what do we do? The ferry has docked; I think I’ll walk and get a fish sandwich to go with an espresso to take the chill; then up to a top floor and rooftop café overlooking the city above fog, pollution and mist. What can I say? Even cloudy it can be a good day.