The Greeter

A special thank you to Gill James for featuring my story today! https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2019/12/the-greeter.html

The World of Myth Magazine

Hi Everyone!
I'm thrilled to have 2 stories featured this month in The World of Myth Magazine. One is a 100 word drabble intitled Getting Rid of the Guns. The second is a SF piece entitled The Test.
I hope you enjoy them.
Here's the link:
http://www.theworldofmyth.com/

The Magic of Butterflies

Hi Everyone!
If you get a chance check out my story in The Writers Cafe Magazine. Here's the link. Scroll down until you get to it.

 https://thewriterscafemagazine.wordpress.com/2019/12/22/the-writers-cafe-magazine-issue-18-fairy-tale/

I'm also posting it below.

The Magic of Butterflies

In the instant before Annie passed away, her Fairy God Mother came to her and held her hand.

            In the instant after she breathed her final breath, her Fairy God Mother held her to her bosom and said, "Welcome, my dear. Welcome home."

            Annie looked at the kindly lady and wept tears of joy. She was finally pain free. She had never felt so good.

            Her Fairy God Mother said, "Now, Annie dear, here's comes the fun part. If you want to go back, you can. Do you want to?"

            "Oh, I'd love to go back! Would it be possible to see Andy?" She clapped her hands with joy. "I'd like that so much."

            "Yes you can. You can go see your husband but there's a catch. You can't return as a human. You have to pick something else. Can you do that?"

            Janie didn't have to think. "Yes. I know exactly what I want to go back as."

            "Then it is done," her Fairy God Mother replied, waving her wand and dusting Annie with shimmering golden glitter. "You are free to return."

Oh, how the butterflies danced that morning on the summer breeze, drifting through the garden, keeping Andy company as he bent to his tasks. He smiled remembering how Annie loved them, even talked to them, whispering in their own ethereal language. Before she died they would relax on their garden bench, butterflies fluttering about, a poetic dance of daintiness, those colorful swallowtails, painted ladies, red admirals and monarchs fluttering among the flowers, alighting sometimes on Annie's outstretched hand.

            Suddenly his memories were interrupted by a caramel colored butterfly landing daintily on his shoulder. It stretched open its wings wide catching the warm rays of the early morning sun. Then it turned to him.

            "Hello, darling," the lovely painted lady said. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

            Andy's heart quickened. For the past two years she had returned, and now this third time he finally realized it wasn't a dream. Annie really would re-appear every year.

            "It is my dear," he smiled and reached out to stroke her wings. "It's a beautiful day."

            She tittered, "Oh, no you don't. No touching. It's not good for my wings." Then she laughed, "You know that you silly man."

            He turned serious for a moment, "I know, but sometimes I forget." Then he grinned, "Oh, Annie, it's so good to see you again. It's been so long."

            "I know. A year. You understand, though, that I can't stay with you. I have to leave, right? I have to go through my change." She sighed," But it's always good to see you and be with you if even for a short while. It makes my year."

            "Mine too," he said, dripping some sweetened ice tea into the palm of his hand. "Here you go sweetheart. This is for you."

            She alighted on his wrist and eagerly sipped up the sweet liquid. "My goodness Andy, that tastes wonderful."

            "It's sun tea with herbs from the garden. I made it thinking of you."

            Annie flew up on a soft breeze. "You're so thoughtful." She brushed closed to his face. Butterfly kisses. "Come. Walk with me."

            They strolled casually among the daylilies, geraniums, cosmos and sunflowers.

            "Do you like how the garden is looking this year?"

            She flew to his shoulder and alighted. "It looks wonderful, my dear. As always."

            They shared the rest of the day and he was never so happy as he was now, when they were together. But, alas, all good things had to come to an end and toward sunset she flew close and said, "Okay, dear, I'm getting tired. I've got to go and get ready for next year so I can come back and see you again."

            "I'll be here I hope," he said, smiling, making a little joke.

            Then he waved good-bye, watching as she floated away on the warm summer breeze. A tear formed. He'd miss her so.

            He was taking a step to go inside when suddenly a stabbing pain shot through his upper body. He clutched at his chest, the world spinning away as he staggered forward, one step, two steps. Then all went black and he dropped to the ground. He died instantly. Heart attack, is what people said

The next year the neighbors would remark on the two butterflies that could be seen in the area. A painted lady and a red admiral, flying close like they knew each other, never far from the other's side, like they were meant to be together.

            And they are too, because forever and for all time they will be found on one day every year, the two of them floating from flower to flower, sipping sweet nectar and dancing their own ballet together on those soft summer breezes, winging their way to eternity.

            Such is the magic of the butterflies.

 

Ice Skating On Christmas Eve

 Hi Everyone!
Special thanks to Gill James for featuring my story today. Happy holidays!!
https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2019/12/ice-skating-on-christmas-eve.html

Silent Night

Thank you to Dagmara for featuring my story today. Happy holidays!

https://spillwords.com/silent-night/

Ralph Kaczynski had been a salvation army bell ringer for seventeen years and was by far and away the coldest and the snowiest winter he could ever recall. In spite of wearing long underwear, jeans, two sweaters, three pair of socks, heavy boots and a thick, insulated snowmobile suit, he was still cold. It didn't help that standing outside the huge big box store was a lesson in the both the good and the bad in humanity. Mostly the bad. People hurrying and yelling at each other, shoving and pushing...Man, talk about lack of good will toward mankind. He stole a quick glance at his wristwatch. Nine forty-five. Only fifteen minutes to go until the store closed. Then Christmas Eve tomorrow, and then he was done until next year. Thank god. It'd take him until July to thaw out.

            Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a commotion near the exit. A young woman was arguing with one of the security guards. He recognized her. She and her daughter had been frequent visitors since Thanksgiving, and he'd occasionally wondered what they'd been doing, so much time in the store like the did. They rarely left with any packages, anything he could see anyway. Hmm. Shop lifters, maybe? There'd been a rash of them this season.

            Suddenly the little girl, she must have been six years old or so, stepped away from her mother. She looked Ralph right in the eye, smiled a friendly smile and skipped across the slushy sidewalk toward him, going too fast in his estimation. "Watch out," he called out  above the noisy throng of shoppers. "It's slippery."

            She tried to slow down, but slipped and fell down hard anyway. "Oww," She said quietly as she slid along the sidewalk right up next to him.

            Ralph's heart immediately went out to the little girl. With her pink stocking cap and unicorn themed snow jacket, she reminded him of his daughter when she was that age. He bent down, "Here, honey, let me help you." Her mother was still preoccupied with the security guard. "Are you okay?"

            "I'm okay, mister," she said, wiping the slush off her tights. "It doesn't hurt too bad."

            He lifted the little girl to her feet and made sure was uninjured. He glanced back just as the security guard waved the mother away. She hurried over, saying to Ralph, "Thank you so much, sir." Then she knelt down next to her daughter, "Are you okay, Lisa? I told you to be more careful."

            The little girl's tights were torn at the knee, but she only had a small scrap, a tiny amount of blood. "I'm okay, mommy, really. This nice man helped me."

            Ralph was suddenly embarrassed. "It was nothing. She's a tough little girl."

            What was he talking about. He didn't know anything about her, but the little girl, this Lisa, had a way about her, a presence almost. He had to ask, just to be polite, because, after all, it was the holiday season, "Do you want anything special for Christmas, honey? A doll or something?"

            The little girl shocked him. "No. Not really."

            "Are you sure? Nothing at all?"

            The little girl thought hard for a moment and then said, "Well, what I'd really like is to sing a Christmas carol."

            "A Christmas carol?"

            "Yes, please. Right here." Ralph couldn't believe how polite the little girl was.

            "She didn't get to sing in the school concert this year," her mother added. "I had to work so I kept her with me."

            There was something about the two of them that Ralph found endearing.

            He put his bell aside and said, "You know. I'm not sure if it's against regulations or not, but to heck with it. You go right ahead, young lady. Sing any song you want."

            Lisa beamed a bright smile and took a moment to compose herself. Then she stood up straight and tall and starting singing "Silent Night". Her voice was quiet at first and the song hardly recognizable, but by the time she gotten to "Sleep in heavenly peace," she had found her confidence and passion, and her voice rang out loud and clear into the cold night air. Soon, a small crowd formed around the little singer, some even humming or singing along themselves. Ralph stood off to the side with Lisa's mother, watching, enjoying a bit of Christmas magic right there on the sidewalk of a big box store.

            When she was done with her song, the crowd applauded and asked for more. With a nod from Ralph she sang, "Joy To The World," and even the bell ringer, old curmudgeon that he was, felt a tear form in his eye.

            While her daughter sang, Meg, went through her mental checklist. Get Lisa into bed, snug and secure. Make sure the doors were locked. Make sure their extra blankets were handy because it was going to be cold tonight. Get to work tomorrow by nine in the morning for a full six hour day. Then back to the parking lot for the night, Christmas Eve.

            Meg considered herself lucky because she had a car to call home and a place for her and Lisa to sleep. Others weren't so fortunate. But it almost had all gone down the drain when that security guard had gotten in her face, telling her she had to move on and couldn't park there overnight. She had to remind him that she could, that the owners of the store had agreed to let ten cars park there for the winter and she was one of them, one of the homeless finding a place to live in the big box store parking lot.

            Finally he'd agreed, saying, threatening, "Well, you better watch yourself. No drugs or alcohol or anything like that."

            No problem. Meg told him, "Look, it's just me and my daughter. You've got nothing to worry about."

            He didn't either. Lance, her former boyfriend and Lisa's father, had no idea where they were and that was the way she wanted it. He was a drunk and was physically abusive to her, and she needed to stay away from him for the sake of herself and Lisa.

            When Lisa was done singing she ran over, "Mommy, Mommy, did you like them? Did you like my songs?"

            Meg smiled, "I did very much, sweetheart. You did really good." She turned to Ralph, "Thank you so much.

            He suddenly had a thought, "You know, tomorrow's Christmas Eve. I'll be here from four until six, closing. Maybe Lisa would like to come and sing. I'd like it and I think the crowds would, too."

            Meg thought for a moment. Why not? "What do you think, Lisa? Would you like to sing some more tomorrow?"

            "I would, Mommy, I really would."

            "Well, you heard her. I guess we'll be back."

            Ralph smiled, "Good. Great. See you then."

            "Okay. Right. See you tomorrow." The three of them all waved good-bye.

            The snow was starting to fall as Meg and Lisa made their way to the far corner of the parking lot to their car. They got in the backseat and spent a few minutes wrapping themselves in blankets for the night, then curled up together for warmth.

            Just before she fell asleep, Lisa spoke, "Mommy?"

            "What sweetheart?"

            "Am I really going to be able to sing tomorrow?"

            "Yes, you can. If you want to."

            "Oh, I do. I do."

            "Well, then you can."

            "Thank you Mommy."

            "Don't thank me, thank the nice man. Ralph."

            "I will tomorrow. Okay?"

            "Okay. Now, good night."

            "Good night. And Mommy?"

            "What, sweetie?"

            "If I can sing tomorrow, it's going to make it my best Christmas ever."

            Meg snuggled in close to her daughter. It was so peaceful and quiet she could hear the snowflakes settling on the roof of the car. A silent night. They were safe from Lance. They had a roof over their heads and she had a job. Most importantly, she and Lisa were together. Things could be a lot worse. "Mine, too," she said, hugging her little girl tight, "My best Christmas ever."                            

           

 

Freddie

Hi Everyone!
I hope you enjoy this story posted today on the Literary Yard.

https://literaryyard.com/2019/12/12/freddie/

I've also posted it below:

Early in June that summer I took two weeks off work and my friend Bobby and I hitched-hiked to Denver to a concert at Mile High Stadium. We saw Jimi Hendrix and had an unforgettable time. It was there I met Freddie, a willowy blond from a small town in southeastern Wyoming. Something clicked between us and we spent every moment together. She was the only person I ever loved. She was also the only person I ever knew who committed suicide.

            I'd been back in Minneapolis for about two months and just gotten home from my ten hour shift at Jorgenson's Sheet Metal. I was sitting on the front step of the duplex Bobby and I rented smoking a joint. Freddie and I wrote back and forth often, and I was reading a letter I'd just received posted marked nearly a week earlier.

            'Ben, I miss you so much,' she'd written, 'I was wondering if I could come out and visit. This town is really boring. Plus there's something I need to tell you. In person. It's good news, I think. There's also something else. I got accepted at Montana State. I'm going to major in art. Remember I told you how much I liked to draw? I've enclosed a little picture I drew of you...'

            It was a long letter and I had just finished reading it and was looking at the picture she'd drawn of me when Bobby drove up, slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car and ran over to me.

            "Ben! I've been looking everywhere for you."

            I took a hit of the weed, "What's up?

            "You'll never guess who called. Freddie's mom."

            "What'd she want?"

            Bobby sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, "Sorry to have to tell you this, man, but Freddie's dead. She committed suicide. She hung herself in her closet at home."

            What? I'd just seen her a couple of months ago! I was holding a letter she'd just written in my hand!! I felt my heart shattering, breaking in two. I couldn't help myself, I broke down, fell into Bobby's arms and started crying, bawling like a baby. I've never forgotten that moment, just like I've never forgotten her.

            Freddie's letter was so loving and affectionate. I had been mentally composing a reply to tell her that of course she was welcome. She could come anytime she wanted and stay forever as far as I was concerned. I was imagining us living together in the duplex with Bobby until she and I could find a place of our own. She could go to art school in Minneapolis. We'd share our life together, create a future. Now this. Not only was she dead, but she'd died by her own hand. What could have caused her to do that? If I'd have known what she was upset about, could I have done something to prevent her death? Being young and naive, I certainly hoped so.

            After I got myself somewhat composed, I realized I wanted to do something, anything, to show how much I cared for her. Suddenly I had an idea.

            "Bobby, I'm going to the funeral."

            "Are you nuts? You hardly knew her."

            I loved her, but he didn't know that. "I don't care. I'm going."

            And I did.

            Later that summer, after I'd returned, Bobby hitch-hiked to a three day concert in Woodstock, New York. I stayed home and worked and saved my money. I'd told Freddie's mom at the funeral that I'd help pay for her tombstone. It was the least I could do for the young woman I hadn't known meant so much to me until she was gone. Her mother told me something else, too. That "Something" Freddie wanted to tell me? It was huge news. She was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. That news, along with Freddie's death set the course of my life.

            What would have happened if she had lived? I never have stopped thinking about that possibility. She would have come out to visit and we would have had a long talk and she would have told me that she was pregnant. We were young. We were in love. I always wanted to have a family, so I'd like to think we would have stayed together and raised our child. We probably would have gotten married because that's what you did back then. We might even have had other children. We would have built a life together, of that much I was certain.

             But we never got the chance. Never. And I think that's what's bothered me the most for all these years. Even though we were just beginning to get to know each other, there was something between us I'd never felt with anyone else, either before or since. I felt it then and I think she did, too. In fact, it still bothers me to this day. Sure we were young, but...

            But what? Nothing else has mattered. I loved her then and I still love her now.

            Have I wasted my life mourning the loss of Freddie and my son? Lots of people think so. In the months following her death, I was in pretty bad shape. I started doing more drugs, messing up pretty bad. Finally, some friends intervened and I cut way back on the weed and other stuff, eventually quitting drugs altogether. My parents lent me money to go to a psychologist for most of that first year, but it didn't help. I was told I could only change if I wanted to, and, truth be told, I didn't want to. I was happy imaging Freddie with me all the time.

            I kept my job at Jorgenson's Sheet Metal, though. In fact, I'm still there now, all these years later, in the fabrication department. They sent me to school to learn computer aided design, and I work making those fancy light fixtures that cities use nowadays in their remodeling projects. I've been there over forty years, and I have to say, time has kind of flown by.

            I live by myself in an efficiency apartment in northeast Minneapolis. I can ride my bicycle to work. I still see Bobby and his wife on a fairly regular basis and occasionally even their kids and grandkids. I have a cat and I'm thinking about getting another one. I'm by myself, but I'm not lonely. I've learned to accept my life for what it is, one of remembering Freddie and the love we had and the life that we might have had together. All in all, it's not been a bad way to go.

            In looking back, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Well, of course, I'd have changed one thing. I'd have changed the beginning. In the beginning, Freddie wouldn't have hung herself in her bedroom closet. She'd have come out to live with me and we'd have had a life together with our child. And it wouldn't have been one of my imagination, either. She'd have been alive, living right here beside me. For all of these years.

            For real.