Mikolaj’s Christmas

Today Pegman took us to Wroclaw, Poland. I found this jolly Christmas village in the Magnolia Park Mall. In my mind, this tale started fairly fun before taking a dark turn. Sign of the times? Perhaps.

Let’s say that just this once Mikolaj loves Christmas. We’ll pretend Cecylia hasn’t left him and he has one last chance to buy gifts for their children. One boy. One girl.
Maybe not. Maybe Cecylia never had children and she spends all her time in the bedroom wondering why and her tears cause Mikolaj to run to Magnolia Park, the horrible mall at the center of Wroclaw, and he fights the crowds to buy his wife teddy bears, slippers, and her favorite perfume. Anything to slide under the tree to stop the crying.
Or perhaps our Mikolaj isn’t married. Maybe his parents fought all the time and he never wanted a life like that. Or they loved so deeply he knew, absolutely, he couldn’t have a life like theirs so didn’t even try.
In the end, let’s say his parents died in Auschwitz on Christmas day and Mikolaj was never born.

(150-words)

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The Gentle Goodbye

I fashioned this story for Friday Fictioneers from a Native American prayer my sister copied down for me while our mother was in hospice. It now hangs on the wall beside my writing desk. I find the words very gentle and soothing.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“When you need me, I’ll be there.”
“Where, Mama?”
“In a warm wind that blows your hair; the diamond glitter on snow.”
“But I want to touch you. Smell you. Give you kisses and hugs.”
“Oh, baby, you can. Feel me in a soft summer rain. Smell the earth. Listen to the whir of a thousand dove wings in circled flight. Look for me in each new dawn. And every brilliant sunset.”
“But where will you actually be, Mama? Where?”
“Oh, baby, I will be inside you, draped around your heart. Do not think of me as gone.”

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Nightmare

Photo by CEAyr

“Gawd that’s a big snake!”
Even though it was lying on its side, eyes staring at the trees, nostrils oozing sticky yellow goo and dead as dead could be, Tommy’s knees shook as he kicked the monster’s nose.
“That there critter ate your mamma and Uncle Tony and Auntie Sis.”
Tommy spat in the crook of the snake’s half-open mouth.
It groaned.
“Lordy! Boy! You done brought it back to life! Run!”
Tommy tried. He really did. But he felt as if he were running through mud. Getting nowhere fast.
SSSSUUUPPP!
He woke, tangled in bed sheets.

 

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Grandmother’s Advice

Thanks, Dale Rogerson, for these beautiful bouquets (haven’t I seen these beauties before?) And, thanks, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for posting them for the Friday Fictioneers.

Never sell yourself short, my beauty. Sometimes the world will require you to stay low as savanna grass; watching, waiting. Other times you must walk softly forward camouflaged as a delicate rose or an unremarkable daisy; collecting information, storing it in your heart. But a moment will come when you will be forced to take up the sword, shine like a bird of paradise in your glory and fight.
Machete resting against her fiery red dress, Rusayla strode across the sand. She had gathered and stored information about the men who stole her grandmother’s cattle. There would be no time to run.

 

 

 

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One Too Many Arguments

Today Pegman took us to Cape Town, South Africa. While scrolling through the sites I found this lovely sculpture on the lawn – somewhere.

“Damn it, June! You’ve hidden my eyeglasses again.”
You can’t keep track of your own nose, old man. “I think you left them on the lawn, next to the lounge chair, Samuel.” June tosses a sweater in the laundry bag.
“Why on God’s green earth would I do that?”
Why indeed. “You read out there last evening.” Five pairs of underpants and a bra go on top.
“That has nothin’ to do with nothin’. Where’d you put ’em?”
If I had a penny for every time you asked that I’d be rich. Two shirts and three pairs of slacks fill the bag. June tugs it closed before lacing up her favorite tennies and slinging the bag across her shoulders. “I’ll go check.”
” ‘Bout time you did something worth doin’.”
Junes steps on Samuel’s glasses on her way to the car, ticket to France bunched in her fist. It sure is.

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The Diary

Today Pegman took us to the Great Barrier Reef to swim with turtles! How fun is that? What a wonderful place for the imagination to spin out of control.

Clutching her tattered diary, the old woman speaks.
“I’ve flown with pelicans. Sung with whales and danced with fairies in the dark. Once I rode a turtle’s back. I’ve lived inside a volcano. Built a house from coral and carried it to the top of a mountain in the palm of my hand.”
The children giggle.
“I’ve lain in fields of golden glass poppies and slept in ice caves so blue and warm I needed to wear my swimsuit.” Wink. “Or nothing at all.”
The children go silent.
“I’ve loved and been loved by dragons and kings, princesses and Gollums. I’ve been to war, caused a war and ended a war. Fire is my friend. Weakness my enemy.”
The children grow bored. The woman falls asleep.
Carefully the eldest child steals the diary, opens it. Feathers and fairy wings, fire, coral, ice, and shards of golden glass drift upon the floor.

A Final Letter

Today Pegman took us to Cape Crozier for a wee camping trip. This is my 150-word story about this rocky place.

My Dearest Angela,
The wind blew brusquely last night. Twice I found myself braving the cold to place rocks around the tent base while Charles slept soundly. Although his face is blackened by frostbite and most of his fingers are gone, he remains a pleasant companion.
I’m afraid we shall be trapped on this outcrop until spring. Snow has fallen for ten full days and buried our supplies. How I wish I had planned better. We were forced to abandon our scientific equipment two months ago for it became too heavy for the ponies to pull. Our clothes soak up moisture and do not dry out. We have eaten our leather boots. Ice crystals tear at the wool of ours socks. They are shredded.
The ponies ran away four days ago.
We have eaten all the dogs.
My one wish is to see you. Faithfully yours, Frances

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