Fluffing his feathers as he took off, flakes swirled, soaring upward. His wings, following this well-traveled path, cut through the air with long, steady strokes.
Banking right, he flew due south, racing the gathering storm. Clusters of icy snowflakes slowed his pace.
He scanned the snow-patched ground, and there, in the distance, a familiar view.
Beyond the blue ribbon of river, just over the treetops…he was almost there.
Crouched beneath the trees, a camouflaged man heard a honking. A lone gander approached—tracking it, he sprang up, aimed and fired a ten-shot burst with his SLR.
It was beautiful.
The car was full before Mike slid in, hip-checked Tom, and said, “When did you start wearing horseshit for deodorant?”
“Screw you!” Tom spat back, “Maybe you should dial back on the donuts, blimp boy.”
“Move your ass out of my face,” a muffled voice screamed.
Rolling to a stop the driver erupted, “Everybody shut the hell up, and get out!”
An avalanche of clowns began piling out, pushing, shoving, and slapping as the Big Top roared with laughter.
A vicious clown brawl ensued, but the people in the stands couldn’t tell…
It seems clowns paint their smiles on for a reason.
On the eighth day, the Creator danced with joy, delighting in His wondrous handiwork.
Rays of sunlight, wrapped in a cerulean-hued sky, surround and comfort all living things.
Mankind flourishes, pure and innocent; A precocious masterpiece.
Always there, She appears and stares awestruck.
“Look at everything!” He says, running to Her side pointing out to the heavens.
“A glorious first creation,” She says, marveling at the dazzling blue orb, spinning in its celestial home.
“Mankind will need your grace, they’ll love you, yet sometimes break your heart. You’ll understand this someday child — but for now, it’s your bedtime.”
I felt zombie-like, practically sleepwalking through the airport.
My odyssey had three weather delays and two re-routes. I was booked on the red-eye in an hour and needed a cup of coffee—bad.
“What can I get you, sir?”
“Latte, Frappuccino, Expresso, Iced…”
“Regular or decaffeinated?”
“Very good: ‘Lighty Brighty,’ ‘Roasty Toasty,’ or ‘Lava Java’?”
“Uh… we’re still talking coffee…right?”
“Of course sir.”
“I’ll try the Roasty Toasty. Extra large.”
Glancing up, I saw ‘Delayed’ pop up next to my flight.
Handing me the coffee, “That’ll be fourteen dollars, sir.”
With a disappearing smile…“Of course, it will.”
Photo Public Domain
The music is uplifting…yet full of despair. The intertwined melodies of the flute and cello fill the room.
Powerless loved ones surround a dying child and pray — Life and Death dance together unnoticed, each desperately trying to lead.
When the dance ends with the flute’s rising trill, Death stands back as Life steps forward.
Then, with an unseen power, the lost child awakes from the abyss and reaches for loving arms; hopeful and joyous.
Life and Death enter the next room and wonder, how will this dance end — with the flute…or the cello?
This website offers a variety of snack-sized stories. Tasty little lies — appetizers, that will enhance your larger novel cravings. New stories may pop-up at any time, but generally, they will be posted on a Wednesday, Thursday, or a Friday — Most people are happier when the weekend is in sight, and so are readers;)
This week in the series; ‘Adventures of Catbaby’ we have Episode 8—’Blue Man’